Read Online Sinfandel by Gina Cresse - Free Book Online

coroner’s wagon blocked the van.  Two Clydesdales, now out of their harnesses, munched on hay I gave them in the lower pasture while Buster and Emlie tried to coax them to the fence for a chat.  A driver tried to squeeze his ambulance through the gate without hitting a police car, and I wondered which Larry, Curly or Mo had called for an ambulance in the first place.  It wasn’t as though the victim might pull through.
    One of the courteous officers instructed me to “stay away from the crime scene and plant my butt in the porch swing until the homicide people showed up.”
    Sitting there, watching the spectacle, I wondered just how long this would postpone completion of the harvesting of my grapes.
    Pete Mercado’s truck screeched to a stop in the middle of the road in front of my house.  He climbed out and gaped at the spectacle that my yard had become.  Shaking his head, he made his way through the chaos and found me in my swing.  “What’s going on?  Why aren’t these trucks moving?”
    “Had a little problem,” I said.  “Someone left a body in my cave.”
    Pete gazed toward the vineyard where police and county officials moved like a line of ants to a picnic.  “Dead?”
    “As a doornail.”
    Pete took off his baseball cap and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.  “Well crap.  These loads are scheduled.  Crushers are waiting.  People are breathing down my neck wanting to know where they are.”
    “I’m sorry, Pete.  Police won’t let anyone leave yet.  Can’t we re-schedule?”
    “How long are they gonna hold this up?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well hell.”  He stomped off back in the direction of his truck.  “I guess I can call Sun-Maid and see if they need any more raisins!”
    A perky young woman in a uniform appeared in front of me, pulling on heavy gloves that went all the way up to her elbows.  She had a smile on her face that seemed to be a permanent fixture.  Her blond hair was pulled tight in a neat ponytail and her uniform was clean and crisply pressed.  The insignia on her sleeve indicated she was with County Animal Control.  “The forensics team can’t work the crime scene until we remove the chicks,” she said as she handed another pair of gloves to her partner, who was equally as well groomed.  He took them and grabbed the handle of a large crate, which looked like a heavy duty pet carrier.
    “What will you do with them?” I asked.
    “Don’t worry,” the woman said.  “We won’t hurt your buzzards.”
    Why does everyone assume all the wild creatures on my property belong to me?  A thought flashed through my mind.  “You don’t do raccoons, do you?”
    They both shook their heads.  I was out of luck.
    “Won’t the parents miss them?  Or be mad and attack you for taking their babies?”  Visions of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds” came to mind.
    The male partner finally spoke up.  “With all the commotion and human presence around the cave, it’s doubtful the parents will return to the nest.  We’ll take the babies to a facility where they’ll be taken care of until they can survive on their own, and then they’ll be released back into the wild.”
    They each took a handle on the crate and headed for the cave.
    Andy was busy talking to a bunch of impatient truck drivers, all of them looking at their watches.  They weren’t getting paid by the hour, but by the load, and it didn’t look like any more loads were going out tonight.  The police cars had their trucks blocked in and no one was allowed near the cave who didn’t have a badge.  I couldn’t hear what was being said, but Andy seemed to have changed the mood of the mob of drivers.  After a few minutes, they were all laughing and slapping each other on the back.
    Two black Crown Victorias drove up my road and turned into my driveway.  I had no idea where they’d park, but I’d given up worrying about details like that hours ago.  They stopped side-by-side