Late Harvest Havoc Read Online Free PDF Page A

exactly sorry for them. They’re stinking rich. They have beautiful vineyards and a fantastic terroir, and the two sons married well with those Keller twins, who have the most profitable winstubs in Riquewihr. The daughter married someone with money too. It’s not surprising that they would provoke envy.”
    â€œâ€˜The spirit of envy can destroy. It can never build.’”
    â€œWho said that, boss?”
    â€œMargaret Thatcher, son. So true in Alsace, as it is in the rest of the world. But let’s taste this wine, Virgile. Something tells me it could be the envy of many a winemaker.”
    Benjamin picked up the glass and gave it a close inspection. The riesling’s yellow transparency slowly gave way to infinite emerald reflections. Musky aromas wafted to his nose.
    Virgile also picked up his glass, looking like a jeweler appraising a precious stone. Then he plunged his nose into the glass, a part of the process he frequently rushed right past. He was always in a hurry to taste the wine.
    â€œDamn!”
    â€œVirgile! Your language!”
    â€œBut, boss, all these aromas take my breath away.”
    Benjamin said no more and silently watched his assistant taste the Lippelsberg, rolling its freshness and perfectly balanced acidity over his reliable palate.
    â€œAh, it puts on such a good show,” Virgile said when he finished. “Notes of citrus, tropical fruits, lime, grapefruit… Hats off. Truly.”
    At that exact moment, Materne Haegelin entered the tasting room. It was as if he had been listening at the door. Benjamin gave Virgile a knowing wink, and Virgile emptied his glass in one swallow. But instead of looking pleased with the praise heaped on his wine, the family patriarch was wearing a somber expression.
    Régine Haegelin went to her father, who reached for her hand and nervously pressed it to his chest. His own hand was shaking. Benjamin thought of Jeanne, struck down by a heart attack the previous day.
    Then the Alsace winemaker straightened his shoulders and walked over to Benjamin, giving him a firm handshake and a pat on the back that spoke volumes about the admiration the two men had for each other.
    â€œBenjamin, I’m delighted to see you. Forgive me for being so downcast. I just found out that someone cut down sixty more vine stocks with a chainsaw. It happened last night in Ribeauvillé. Who would do such a thing, and why?”
    â€œWhose vineyard?” Régine asked.
    â€œThe Deutzlers’. No one saw or heard anything.”
    â€œMaterne, do you think there could be a connection with what happened in Ammerschwihr?” Benjamin asked.
    â€œIt’s hard to say. The families aren’t related. But if that’s the case, the idiot sure can get around. Then again, it could be a copycat.”
    â€œLet’s pray that tomorrow it isn’t our turn,” said Louise Haegelin, the youngest daughter.
    â€œGod help us. I hope not,” Materne said. “Régine, would you pour me a glass of our local cognac? It’s the medicine I need at the moment.”
    â€œCognac in Alsace?” Virgile said. “I didn’t know.”
    â€œYes, it’s a witch’s brew, you young innocent.” Benjamin made a diabolical face and then winked at his assistant. “It’s actually pinot noir brandy, finely distilled the way you would distill plums or potatoes. It’s nothing like the eau-de-vie from Jarnac.”
    â€œCall it poor man’s cognac,” Materne said, drinking the whole glass in a few gulps. “It hits the spot.” His pale face began to take on some color, and he smiled at the winemaker. “So, Sir Cooker, where were you? I don’t see you drinking anything.”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, we were finishing the rieslings.”
    â€œIt’s time to get to the Gewürz. Let’s start with the best one: the Pfingstberg. What do you say?”
    â€œA work of art. This