Late Harvest Havoc Read Online Free PDF

is an important moment, Virgile,” Benjamin announced in anticipation. “This wine is really a cut above, young man!”
    Seeing the dark look on Louise’s face and Virgile’s disapproving expression, the winemaker said, “Um, I’m not sure that’s the best term to use under the circumstances.”
    Materne Haegelin concurred. “You can say that again.”

4
    Razor-like sheets of rain from the west were attacking the hillsides and mountains. The blue-tinged top of the Grand Ballon was quickly disappearing in the distance. From pointed steeples shrouded in mist, church bells pealed the twelve strokes of noon. The tolling was dull and dreary, reminiscent of a death knell.
    The news had spread like a vapor trail. In the cafés and wine cellars, the only topic of conversation was the latest attack, which cast suspicion on everyone.
    With one hand on the gearshift and one eye on the rearview mirror, Benjamin Cooker was trying his best to get the hang of the four-wheel-drive vehicle lent by the generous hotelier in Colmar. The winemaker was clumsily shifting gears, overtaxing the brakes, and clutching the steering wheel as if the big vehicle were uncontrollable. Benjamin had left the secondary roads and taken a shortcut on a deeply rutted trail with questionable signage. What did he want to see? Withered grapes hanging from crooked vine stocks awaiting the late harvest? Or was he hoping to catch a glimpse of a mischievous and suspicious-looking character?
    Benjamin could sense that Virgile was watching him and enjoying the sight of his boss skidding and trying to avoid the deep puddles and big stones. A couple of times Benjamin had to rock the vehicle out of the mud. Benjamin was already planning his revenge. He’d give his gleeful assistant the job of cleaning the car. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to savor the image of Virgile getting all wet and dirty at the do-it-yourself car wash. He had to swerve to avoid hitting a raging boar followed by her three piglets.
    â€œDamn, that was close,” Virgile shouted.
    By swerving right, Benjamin had spared the massive beast and her little ones, as well as the vehicle. Unfortunately, one vine stock had suffered from the desperate maneuver. The trunk of the pinot noir stock had been sliced through. The shoots and branches of the eight-year-old plant would soon wither and die. If it hadn’t been daytime, someone might have concluded that the damage was the work of the vineyard vandal.
    â€œWhat an awful day,” Benjamin cursed as he pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his sweaty forehead.
    The Toyota was stopped, its engine still running.
    â€œYou want me to drive, boss? You look like you could use a break.”
    â€œI’m fine, Virgile. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.” He put his handkerchief back in his pocket, and as he did that, he looked out the driver’s-side window. What he saw didn’t help him breathe any easier. The vehicle was perched precariously above a steep drop. Below him, rows of vines plunged toward Ribeauvillé. Another bad swerve to avoid an animal or a rock, and it would have been all over. The winemaker began shaking and let go of the steering wheel.
    â€œAre you sure you want to keep driving?” Virgile asked.
    â€œThis is too much for a man my age.”
    â€œAre you kidding? You did a great job maneuvering in all that confusion! We could have slid off the road and ended our lives here in Alsace. Okay, you sacrificed one vine, but we could have done so much more damage.”
    â€œGood Lord, looking down there gave me a scare,” the winemaker admitted. He climbed out of the Toyota and inspected the stock. He confirmed that it was the only one that had suffered any damage. The Toyota, meanwhile, seemed to be in good shape—just covered with mud.
    â€œI don’t want to sound superstitious, but I can’t help thinking that bad