A Vintage To Die For (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

English flawless.
    That got another sniff out of Dimitri. “It is a satisfactory wine.” High praise, indeed.
    “I didn’t even know Dimitri was married,” I said at my undiplomatic best. Actually, I found it unbelievable that any woman would marry Dimitri.
    “We don’t get many party invitations,” Alexandra replied, giving Dimitri a quick sidelong look. “And I keep myself busy at home.”
    “As is appropriate for a wife,” Dimitri said without looking at her. A real class act.
    But Alexandra paid him no mind. She was looking around at the other guests, her bright smile favoring all of them. And then I saw the smile falter. I turned my head to follow her glance and saw a small group of people whose centerpiece was Armand Rivincita.
    Armand was talking and laughing at the same time, tall and elegant and excruciatingly handsome. And far too young for me or Alexandra. But you could understand why her eyes had lingered and her smile faltered. Actually, the two of them would have made an exotic pair, despite the age difference. Both of them were tall and slender with elegant features, though he was blond haired and blue eyed while she had an olive complexion and brown eyes so dark they were almost black.
    Armand caught my eye and his expression lightened. He raised his juice glass in a toast and touched his heart with his free hand, his smile brilliant in the fading daylight. I smiled back and mouthed ‘thank you.’
    When I turned back to Alexandra her gaze had moved on to the view of the valley.
    “Is that Star Crossed?” she asked, pointing down the slope to a large white metal building that sat almost directly below my home. It was surrounded by trees that had once been a part of the Becker family apple orchard. Blake had knocked most of the trees down five years ago to build the warehouse and the wine cellar that lay beneath it.
    “Yes,” I said. “That used to be an apple orchard before Blake’s parents died,” I added wistfully, reminded as I so often am of the changes that have taken place in the Valley. Some were good, some were bad, but all of them had made it a far less diverse place to live.
    “Where is Xenos?” Dimitri repeated impatiently.
    “He’s in the cellar,” I replied. “But I wouldn’t bother him. He’s very—”
    “There you are, you evil old goat!” a voice - blurred by far too many glasses of cabernet - shouted and I turned to find Marjory coming across the lawn from the direction of the cellar, rumbling along on a collision course with Dimitri Pappos.
    The party ground to an immediate stop. The music was still playing - Tony Bennett was going From Rags to Riches - but no one was listening. Wine glasses and hors d’oeuvres were forgotten. Even the dancers who had braved the grass froze in mid-step. Only the wait staff in their black and white uniforms kept moving. All eyes were on Marjory.
    “Marjory,” I began, but she wasn’t listening. She pushed right past me, tossed her glass of wine on the grass, balled up her fist and punched Dimitri squarely in the nose.
    Marjory’s a big girl with an even bigger temper, and that punch packed a wallop. Dimitri went down hard on his butt, a dazed look on his face.
    “Kool-Aid!” Marjory bellowed, looming over him, churning her fists in front of her like a prize fighter. “Get on your feet so I can knock you back down again!”
    I grabbed Marjory by the arm and tried to pull her away, but that was like a tugboat jostling the Queen Mary. She jerked me around to left and right as Dimitri lay there on the grass looking up at her, blood leaking from his nose, his dark eyes smoldering. But he didn’t look surprised by the blow, and neither did his wife, Alexandra. This probably wasn’t the first time Dimitri had been knocked on his butt.
    For a protracted moment the partygoers maintained their silence, and then Angela Zorn, a small vineyard owner who lived just down the highway from me, began to clap. She was quickly joined by