Free Sinfandel by Gina Cresse

tracks.  When the trail took a turn down one of the vineyard rows, I stopped and peered back over my shoulder toward the barn.  The harvesting crew would show up any minute.  Chewing my bottom lip, I debated whether I should continue the hunt or try again later after I was dressed.  Not sure how much of a head start the raccoons had on me, and preferring to retrieve the container while it was still in the vineyard— if it was still in the vineyard—I forged on.
    Tromping through the vines in my cut-off sweat shorts, extra-large Dirty Harry “Go ahead punk… Make my day” T-shirt and rubber boots, I was glad the vines were fully leafed out so no one could see me from the road.  When I reached the top of the rise, I spotted the container about 100 feet away.  They must have abandoned the task when the sun came up, but I was sure they’d be back tonight for their treasure.  I started down the row to retrieve it when the sight of another family of vineyard residents stopped me.  Black with white stripes down their backs, a momma and three baby skunks meandered along the row from the other direction, apparently curious about the container the raccoon family had brought into the neighborhood.
    The sound of diesel engines rumbled at my gate.  I stood on tiptoe and peered over the vines.  The grape trucks were here.
    The container would have to wait.  I jogged back toward the vineyard gate, but the big rubber boots weren’t meant for any gait faster than a clumsy waddle. 
    Glancing over my shoulder as I shoved the gate closed, I saw Andy’s pickup pull into my driveway.  The vertical bar that engaged the latch on the vineyard gate was stuck.  I yanked, pushed, and pulled on it but it would not budge.  I picked up a big rock and hammered on the bar to break it free, but something was jammed in the mechanism.  It was a piece of cloth.  Using my fingernails, I tried to pry it loose, all the while aware of Andy’s approach from behind, and the view of me in my T-shirt and rubber boots.
    “Need a hand?” he said.  I could hear the amusement in his voice.
    “No!”
    “Sure?  Looks like you’re having a little trouble there.”
    “No, I’ve got it.”
    By the time I worked the cloth free, Andy stood next to me with his hand on the lever.  He shoved it over and latched the gate closed.  “There.  That wasn’t so hard.”
    Dangling the strip of red plaid flannel, which looked like someone had accidently caught it on his way through the gate and just yanked free, I said, “You think you can get your pickers to be a little more careful?  If I’d been out here in the middle of the night, I might never have gotten it closed.”
    “What would you be doing out here in the middle of the night?”
    “If it was any of your business—“
    “Well, I better get the crew started.  Looks like you just crawled out of your hole, so don’t let me keep you.”
    I stuck my tongue out at his back as he walked away, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
     
    After I showered and ate breakfast, I sat down at my desk to pick up where I’d left off on the grape harvest mystery.  Narrowing down the suspects was not as easy as I had hoped.  There was no single winery that appeared to benefit any more than the others by having more Zinfandel grapes available.  The conspiracy would have to involve them all, and that didn’t seem likely to me.
    It had to be a grower or a group of growers who were passing their generic grapes off as varietals for the higher prices, but which ones?  There were too many pieces missing from the information puzzle in front of me to see the whole picture.
    As I gazed out the window, tapping my pencil on the desk and hoping for the answer to materialize, I watched Andy harness the Clydesdales and hitch them to the buckboard.  The man who had driven the team here yesterday climbed aboard the wagon and took the lines, slapping the team into motion.  They maneuvered through the gate and