{"product_id":"killer-chardonnay-isbn-9780593100189","title":"Killer Chardonnay","description":"\u003cb\u003eA young winery owner won't let one sour grape ruin the bunch in the first installment of this exciting cozy mystery series.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eParker Valentine has always dreamed of opening her own winery in her hometown of Boulder, Colorado. But she gets more than she bargained for when a food and wine critic unexpectedly shows up at Vino Valentine on opening day. A negative review could be fatal for her business, and not only does he seem to hate her chardonnay, he also collapses and dies shortly after drinking it. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlthough Parker hoped that the attendees would put a cork in it, soon her winery is at the center of a social media firestorm. With #killerchardonnay trending online, Parker's business is in danger of closing, and she has no choice but to investigate the murder herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo restore her reputation, catch a killer, and keep her struggling business open, Parker needs only one thing: some good proof.\"\u003ci\u003eKiller Chardonnay\u003c\/i\u003e offers a wonderful blend of suspense and humor. You’ll raise your glass to Parker Valentine, the charming sleuth at the center of this twisty and satisfying mystery. A most delightful debut!\"\u003cb\u003e—Cynthia Kuhn, Agatha Award winning author of the Lila Maclean Academic Mysteries\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Parker Valentine...will steal your heart and pair it with a smooth mystery in this sparkling debut. A wine rack full of suspects won’t stop the determined sleuth and vintner from bottling up a killer and saving her dream. \u003ci\u003eKiller Chardonnay\u003c\/i\u003e has legs!\"\u003cb\u003e—Leslie Budewitz, Agatha Award winning author of the Spice Shop Mysteries \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eKiller Chardonnay\u003c\/i\u003e is an engaging mystery filled with wine knowledge, romance, and a gutsy protagonist. Kate Lansing is a delightful new voice in the mystery genre and I can’t wait to read the next one in this series.\"\u003cb\u003e—Nadine Nettmann, author of the Anthony, Agatha, Lefty, and Mary Higgins Clark Award nominated Sommelier Mystery Series.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A wonderful debut to a hopefully long-lasting series...A must-read for all cozy mystery fans, especially for those who enjoy a nice relaxing glass of wine while getting lost in a great book.”\u003cb\u003e –Fresh Fiction\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Lansing’s brisk style and her heroine’s efficient approach make her debut a treat.\"\u003cb\u003e--\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eKate Lansing\u003c\/b\u003e is an award-winning short story author. She lives in Denver, Colorado with her husband, daughter, and a chair-napping tabby cat named Maple. \u003ci\u003eKiller Chardonnay \u003c\/i\u003eis her first novel.Chapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI arrange open bottles of wine behind the hard maple countertop from lightest to heaviest. A crisp white blend on the left, a jammy cabernet sauvignon on the right, and me, a cluster of nerves, right smack in the middle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eToday is the grand opening of my winery-I still can't believe I'm saying that-my winery, Vino Valentine. The world will finally get to taste the fruits of my labor, which is equal parts exciting and panic-inducing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecause this is really happening.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy crazy pipe dream is becoming a reality. Although, as I'm all too aware, my reality could very well turn into a nightmare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Parker, where would you like these?\" my assistant, Anita, asks, brandishing two baskets full of palate-cleansing crackers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTowering over me, her willowy frame is accentuated by wedge sandals, long blond hair pulled into a high ponytail, and a flowery tunic dress.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"One on each end of the tasting bar,\" I answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnita places them as directed and then returns to my side. She caught me in the back earlier hyperventilating into a paper bag that was meant for packaging goods. Ever since, she's kept an extra-close eye on me. Which I appreciate. Really. Except sometimes a girl needs to have a meltdown in peace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe pushes thick-framed glasses up her nose. \"So, are you ready?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No. Yes. I don't know.\" I bury my face in my hands and then peek through my fingers. \"What if no one shows?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTrue story, my parents couldn't even fit my opening into their busy schedules, as they so kindly informed me this morning via text. And it's a Saturday. Which begs the question, if my own mom can't make time for me, what hope do I have for the general public?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This is Colorado, the land of handcrafted concoctions; they'll show,\" Anita says with a confidence I wish I felt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eColorado may not be the first place that comes to mind when people think of wine tasting, but it's a burgeoning destination thanks to the high altitude and cooler climate, which give the fruit a more concentrated flavor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe continues, \"People are going to flock here like internet junkies to viral kitten videos. I mean, look at this place.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI must admit, the cozy area is picturesque. Shiny blue letters on the storefront window gleam with the name Vino Valentine. The interior is arranged with oak-barrel tables, simple espresso folding chairs, and wine-bottle lanterns overhead. More baskets full of crackers and pillar candles-unscented so as not to interfere with the delicate aromas of the wine-dot the tables, and photographs of vineyards from around the world adorn the walls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Maybe you're right,\" I concede.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, I'm definitely right.\" Anita's eyes sparkle with such good humor they rival the polished glasses lining the open shelves above the tasting bar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Okay,\" I say, clapping my hands together. \"All that's left to do is light the candles. You do that and I'll get the door.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnita flits away with a lighter, the candles giving the space a warm ambience.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I make my way toward the storefront, I tug at the delicate beaded necklace around my neck. As always, it makes me think of my late aunt Laura. I wish she were here to see her investment come to fruition. What I wouldn't give for her steadfast support, to hear her tell me everything will work out as it's supposed to. My chest aches for how badly I miss her. But instead of dwelling on my sadness, I focus on making her proud.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sign on the door is made of varnished oak and features a design of clinking glasses. It's heavy with importance as I flip it from closed to open.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd nothing happens.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's no great tilt to the universe, no angelic chorus overhead, no stampede to get trampled in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's only me, unlatching the door and taking in my surroundings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen I was deciding where to set up shop, I immediately landed on Boulder. It's where my heart is. I love the majestic mountain backdrop, sprawling blue skies, and ever-present scent of pine trees. The distinct city vibe but with trailheads practically in my backyard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy parents balked when I chose this location for my winery, but I saw potential in the industrial part of North Boulder. I leased space in a modern shopping center with white cement siding, charcoal awnings, and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of light. The trendy cafŽ next door keeps me in caffeine, and across the street is a nursery with rows of shrubs laid out like a welcome mat to the rolling foothills.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith a sigh, I pad back to the tasting bar to wait for someone to show up. Please, I think, someone show up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen the bell over the door jingles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI spin around as my first customer traipses through the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf course, it's my best friend, Sage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA petite redhead with a penchant for fashion and nerd canon, Sage is dressed in sky-blue capris, a drapey silk shirt, and her prized Khaleesi dragon-claw necklace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy face splits into a huge grin. \"Thank you for coming.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Wouldn't have missed it.\" She shoves her giant sunglasses on top of her head and looks around in awe. \"You did it. You effin' did it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy eyes swim with tears at the pride in her voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I had no doubt, obviously,\" she says. \"But it's even more amazing than you let on.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSage's live-in boyfriend trails behind her like an anchor. Jason is unremarkable in every way-mousy-brown hair, pale freckled skin, and eyes that are a little too close together. I've never understood what Sage sees in him. Nonetheless, I'm glad he's here. I tell him as much.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe bell jingles again and a group of college-age guys come through the door, followed by a chic couple who look vaguely familiar, and then my older brother, Liam, with a friend I've never met.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLiam envelops me in a giant bear hug, lifting me an inch off the ground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Set me down,\" I say through clenched teeth, swatting at him. I smooth my pencil skirt after my feet are back on solid ground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Relax, Parker,\" he says. \"The party has arrived.\" He takes a mock bow, clearly expecting me to fall over myself with gratitude.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI roll my eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnyone would peg us for siblings with our matching raven hair and blue-gray eyes. But our looks are where the similarities stop. What Liam lacks in ambition, he makes up for by having this weird sixth sense for where to find the next good time. Which I suppose bodes well for my opening.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI scan my suddenly bustling winery, nerves prickling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe group of college-age guys commandeers a long table made of three oak barrels smooshed together, the couple settles in at a private two-top in the corner, Sage and Jason tuck in near the front window, and my brother and his friend pick a table center stage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJust like that, I'm open for business.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnita and I hop to. We pour tasters, talk through the winemaking process, and give pairing tips for different varietals. Wine bottles deplete and new ones are opened. Baskets of crackers are replenished, and glasses swapped out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI feel myself easing into a groove, the butterflies that have filled my stomach for the last week finally subsiding. That is, until two things happen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFirst, the couple, who are apparently chic only in appearance, begin to bicker. Loudly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey raise their voices as accusations fly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Not my fault-\" the woman cries, getting to her feet. Anger radiates off her, from her clenched fists to her narrowed eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe man cuts her off, speaking in a continuous stream of angry French.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Taste this,\" she shouts as she raises her glass and, proof that real life is every bit as dramatic as a soap opera, throws the contents at the man.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTime seems to slow as every eye turns to them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDrops of the Ski Lodge Cherry wine dribble down the man's chiseled face, onto his cream-colored sweater, and all the way to my pristine hardwood floors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat's when the second thing happens: another customer walks through the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe has the stocky build of someone who enjoys a good meal, and is every inch the intimidating figure his reputation suggests. In slacks and a pressed collared shirt, he clutches a leather-bound tablet, his keen eye taking in every detail of my winery, lingering on each of my customers in turn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI recognize him immediately based on his pictures from social media, news articles, and, more important, his popular food and wine blog.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGaskel Brown, the most reputable critic in the Front Range, is in my winery. At the exact moment chaos descends.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChapter Two\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll sorts of problems can arise in winemaking-oxidation, tartrate crystals, overpowering aromas of vinegar or must. The tricky part is pinpointing the cause, like playing a fermentation detective, and course-correcting before the entire batch is ruined. The same is true in life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI glance desperately at Anita. She understands my silent plea for help and dashes toward the imploding couple.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGreeting the esteemed new arrival in a frazzled gush of niceties, I escort Gaskel to the tasting bar and wave him onto a barstool. \"Best seat in the house.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don't think I've ever heard someone actually harrumph, but I swear Gaskel does. \"I suppose this will do.\" He pulls out the stool and wipes a fleck of nonexistent dust from the seat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Take a look at our tasting menu and I'll be back in a jiff.\" I'm not sure which is more shocking, that the Gaskel Brown is here or that I used the word jiff unironically.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tag in for Anita, who has procured a towel for the spilled wine and directed the man to the restroom to freshen up. She mops up the last of the pink liquid and disappears to check on the other tables.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I can't believe I did that,\" the lady says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe sinks into her chair, her eyes rimmed in red. Her tanned skin flushes so deeply it almost matches the funky yet tasteful maroon highlights streaking her hair. She's decked out in a fashionable sheath dress, gorgeous suede kitten heels, and a statement necklace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI still get the sense I know her from somewhere, but no matter how much I strain my mind, I can't place where.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Please don't worry about it.\" I continue, in a tone I hope comes across as both stern and soothing, \"Only, let's try not to let it happen again.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe nods sullenly and I feel a pang of pity for her. Unfortunately, I know what it's like to experience a relationship going south. \"Let me know if you need anything.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe finally meets my gaze. \"I will. Thank you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt's my turn to nod.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen I shift my attention to Gaskel. He's settled in at the bar, waiting not so patiently with an empty glass before him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI scoot around the maple countertop and to the other side of the bar, flashing him my most winning smile. \"Let's get this tasting started.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy success or failure hinges on a glass of chardonnay. I've poured everything into opening my own winery-my savings account, the better part of my twenties, my social life. If this doesn't pan out, I'm not sure who I am anymore. Just a wannabe entrepreneur with an overfondness for wine on the fast track to spinsterhood. I can't blow this.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGaskel lifts his glass of golden liquid to the light, admiring the legs dripping down the sides of the crystal bowl. He breathes in the aroma, a tiny crease forming between two rather bushy eyebrows.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I detect peaches,\" he grumbles. \"These grapes must be from the Western Slope.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You have a good nose,\" I say in a champagne-bubbly voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Of course I do.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Right. Well, the grapes are from Palisade,\" I say, fiddling with my necklace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don't own my own vineyard and instead order grapes from growers outside of Grand Junction. Which means if Gaskel doesn't like my wine, it's because I didn't do the fruit justice, didn't manage to extract the full flavor profile. In short, it's all on me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI continue, \"In addition to peaches, there are hints of melon, honeysuckle, and an oaky finish.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We'll see about that.\" Gaskel takes a sip with the trademark gurgle of an expert.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hold my breath as he swishes the wine around in his mouth. The moment stretches on to an eternity. My stomach flips as I study his stoic face, scarcely daring to move.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the background, my winery is a flurry of motion. Absently, I notice the man of the Wine-Tossing Incident has returned to his table, now in an undershirt, his cream-colored sweater resting on the windowsill, blotched with pink. Thankfully, he and his counterpart seem to be behaving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI refocus on the distinguished figure before me, honored Gaskel deigned to show up for my opening. Honestly, I don't even know how he heard about it, although apparently, he has his ways.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the hottest places in town to the hidden gems, there's a mystique to how Gaskel selects which establishments to feature on his website. Some say it's a new way of preparing food or wine that attracts him, others surmise it's the promise of a free dessert, but I've always figured he must follow his stomach. Regardless, his presence could be huge for my business. Or an utter disaster. Gaskel is notoriously hard to please.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe swallows with a shudder and dumps the remaining wine into a decorative vase. A vase not meant for disposing of wine, hence the daisies.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wince but then force myself to smile, recalling the thousands of devoted subscribers who regularly read his blog and follow his recommendations. The daisies are a necessary casualty.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGaskel taps a note into the tablet before him, his jaw clenched into a frown. That can't be a good sign.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Can I get you a taste of something else?\" I ask with more than a hint of desperation. \"The Mount Sanitas White or the Pearl Street Pinot?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe names of my wines pay homage to the locale. The most popular parks, streets, and even the mascot of the local college in Boulder. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now they just sound silly rolling off my tongue.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'll just cleanse my palate first.\" Gaskel bites into a cracker, crumbs sticking to his silvering hipster goatee, a stark contrast to his otherwise meticulous appearance. He glances around my winery, his disapproval palpable.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI try to squelch the panic rising in my chest. Maybe his tastings always take forever. Maybe the fact that he's taking so long is actually a good sign. Maybe I can sneak a peek at his tablet.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302896652517,"sku":"NP9780593100189","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593100189.jpg?v=1767730724","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/killer-chardonnay-isbn-9780593100189","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}