By Avery Aames

This can be the second one on  A Cheese store secret series.The reasonable city of windfall has settled right down to general after final year's homicide.  Jonquils are in bloom.  The Cheese store is prospering.  and Charlotte's romance with Jordan is thriving.  But whilst her pal, Meredith, makes a decision to throw a fund-raiser to create a liberal arts university out of a long-abandoned winery--a vineyard that's rumored to carry not just buried our bodies yet buried treasure--Charlotte's joie de vivre deflates like a nasty souffle.Charlotte's fears are learned whilst an artwork scholar is located useless within the wine cellar, and Meredith's niece is the most suspect.

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The counties didn’t actually have flags, but Meredith believed imagination was the spice of life. Meredith met me as I pulled up the driveway. I rolled down the driver’s side window. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she yelled over the music. Local actors, dressed like mariachis, strummed guitars by the front door. As planned, their music was being piped through rocklike speakers that had been hidden in the garden behind tulips and jonquils. I wondered if my grandmother had shared what worried her with Meredith but didn’t want to ask and spoil Meredith’s buoyant mood.

All this talk is giving me a bad case of the creeps,” Rebecca whispered. I forced myself to be the model of calm and patted her arm. “Don’t worry. ” CHAPTER 3 The next day, by the time we arrived at Ziegler Winery for Meredith’s celebration, the rain had ended and dusk draped the earth with a soft purple light. The entrance to the mock castle on the hill looked exactly as Meredith had promised. Handmade Chinese lanterns on poles lined the driveway. Multicolored crepe paper encircled the Corinthian columns flanking the porch.

The closer to room temperature it was served, the better. That was true for any cheese. ” Meredith said. The last time I’d seen Quinn, I was her babysitter. “I told you she’s studying fine arts, didn’t I? She’s part of this tight-knit group that hopes to go on to the Sorbonne or the Pratt Institute or the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena. They’re coming to paint pictures of the winery before it becomes a college. Sort of like a Degas gathering. I’ve gotten them some press. ” Meredith polished off her breakfast, swigged some water, then rose from her chair.

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