Read Online The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Schweizer
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lot more.”
“ Really?” said Meg.
“ Really. Chateau Petrus Pomerol. It’s a Merlot—one of the favorite wines at the White House during the Kennedy years.” Bud sat back in his chair. “That’s the official name, Chateau Petrus, but even its label refers to it as simply ‘Petrus.’ The grapes are usually harvested early and left to mature slowly. The panoply of exotic aromas and flavors typically encompass black raspberry, mulberry, iron, cocoa powder, and truffle, while expensive new oak emanates from its rich purple robe.”
Meg and I looked at each other in astonishment. Bud was in his element now.
“ Petrus 1998.” Bud closed his eyes and looked as though he’d been transported to a vineyard in Italy. “The finish is something to wait for as it caresses the palate. A truly exquisite vintage.” He opened his eyes and peered at me. “It should reach maturity after the year 2012.”
“ So this is an investment,” I said.
“ Yep. It’s legendary and extravagantly priced. But this wine, from a prime vineyard on well-drained clay soil atop the Pomerol plateau in Italy, has for decades stood as the greatest example of Merlot in the world. Petrus is a wine that is extraordinarily creamy and thick but with the substantial tannic underpinning to ensure decades of development in the bottle.”
“ And this means...?” I said.
“ That after 2012, this wine will probably double in value.”
“ Making it worth...?” I coaxed.
“ Making it worth about $7000 per bottle. Three cases. Thirty-six bottles. That’s $252,000. It could even go higher!”
Bud looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one was.
“ I already did the math,” he whispered.
Meg’s eyes went wide. Mine, too.
“ You’re sure?” I asked.
Bud nodded. “I’m sure.”
“ Well, do the math again with thirty-two bottles instead of thirty-six,” I suggested, giving him a crooked grin. “’Cause Meg and I drank four of them.”
“ Oh, man,” said Bud, a hangdog look coming over him as he slumped in his chair. “I should have told you.”
“ Well, don’t worry about it,” I said magnanimously. “We drank it. We’ll take it off our end.” I looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re telling me that right now this wine is worth over a hundred thousand? And in a couple of years...”
Bud crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“ Yep.”
“ And we drank $28,000 worth of Merlot?” said Meg in a small, terrified voice.
“ Oh, yeah,” said Bud.
•••
Dr. Kent Murphee had been the Watauga County medical examiner for the better part of twenty years. When he called the station late on Friday afternoon, Nancy had already clocked out for the day and Dave was nowhere to be found, not that he should have been working. Dave was usually off on Fridays. I called Meg and she agreed to give me a ride into Boone if she could drop me off and go over to the mall for an hour. I happily agreed. The cast on my arm was such that I couldn’t really drive my pick-up truck. My 1962 Chevrolet, for all its wonderful features—a great stereo, a pretty good spare tire thrown into the back, a twelve-mile-per-gallon original V8 engine, and enough power to tow Rush Limbaugh out of a Rib Shack—didn’t have what anyone might label “power steering.” It was a two-handed job just to keep the truck in the middle of the road most of the time. I was used to it, of course, but Meg hated it, and so wouldn’t switch cars with me. I could have easily driven her Lexus.
“ Why don’t you buy another truck?” she said, when I suggested the switch.
“ I just need it for a few weeks. If I bought it, I’d be stuck with it.”
“ Then rent one. For heaven’s sakes, Hayden. You’re a millionaire. Remember?”
“ Yeah. Okay. I’ll rent one.”
But I hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.
Meg dropped me off and headed to the mall and I found myself sitting in Kent’s office, preparing to join him in his
“ Really?” said Meg.
“ Really. Chateau Petrus Pomerol. It’s a Merlot—one of the favorite wines at the White House during the Kennedy years.” Bud sat back in his chair. “That’s the official name, Chateau Petrus, but even its label refers to it as simply ‘Petrus.’ The grapes are usually harvested early and left to mature slowly. The panoply of exotic aromas and flavors typically encompass black raspberry, mulberry, iron, cocoa powder, and truffle, while expensive new oak emanates from its rich purple robe.”
Meg and I looked at each other in astonishment. Bud was in his element now.
“ Petrus 1998.” Bud closed his eyes and looked as though he’d been transported to a vineyard in Italy. “The finish is something to wait for as it caresses the palate. A truly exquisite vintage.” He opened his eyes and peered at me. “It should reach maturity after the year 2012.”
“ So this is an investment,” I said.
“ Yep. It’s legendary and extravagantly priced. But this wine, from a prime vineyard on well-drained clay soil atop the Pomerol plateau in Italy, has for decades stood as the greatest example of Merlot in the world. Petrus is a wine that is extraordinarily creamy and thick but with the substantial tannic underpinning to ensure decades of development in the bottle.”
“ And this means...?” I said.
“ That after 2012, this wine will probably double in value.”
“ Making it worth...?” I coaxed.
“ Making it worth about $7000 per bottle. Three cases. Thirty-six bottles. That’s $252,000. It could even go higher!”
Bud looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one was.
“ I already did the math,” he whispered.
Meg’s eyes went wide. Mine, too.
“ You’re sure?” I asked.
Bud nodded. “I’m sure.”
“ Well, do the math again with thirty-two bottles instead of thirty-six,” I suggested, giving him a crooked grin. “’Cause Meg and I drank four of them.”
“ Oh, man,” said Bud, a hangdog look coming over him as he slumped in his chair. “I should have told you.”
“ Well, don’t worry about it,” I said magnanimously. “We drank it. We’ll take it off our end.” I looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re telling me that right now this wine is worth over a hundred thousand? And in a couple of years...”
Bud crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“ Yep.”
“ And we drank $28,000 worth of Merlot?” said Meg in a small, terrified voice.
“ Oh, yeah,” said Bud.
•••
Dr. Kent Murphee had been the Watauga County medical examiner for the better part of twenty years. When he called the station late on Friday afternoon, Nancy had already clocked out for the day and Dave was nowhere to be found, not that he should have been working. Dave was usually off on Fridays. I called Meg and she agreed to give me a ride into Boone if she could drop me off and go over to the mall for an hour. I happily agreed. The cast on my arm was such that I couldn’t really drive my pick-up truck. My 1962 Chevrolet, for all its wonderful features—a great stereo, a pretty good spare tire thrown into the back, a twelve-mile-per-gallon original V8 engine, and enough power to tow Rush Limbaugh out of a Rib Shack—didn’t have what anyone might label “power steering.” It was a two-handed job just to keep the truck in the middle of the road most of the time. I was used to it, of course, but Meg hated it, and so wouldn’t switch cars with me. I could have easily driven her Lexus.
“ Why don’t you buy another truck?” she said, when I suggested the switch.
“ I just need it for a few weeks. If I bought it, I’d be stuck with it.”
“ Then rent one. For heaven’s sakes, Hayden. You’re a millionaire. Remember?”
“ Yeah. Okay. I’ll rent one.”
But I hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.
Meg dropped me off and headed to the mall and I found myself sitting in Kent’s office, preparing to join him in his
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