A Poisonous Pour

Book 3: CeCe Barton Mystery

by Maddie Day

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Mystery; Animal Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Since moving from L.A. to California’s verdant wine country, widowed single mom Cece Barton has gone from Colinas wine bar manager to wine bar owner—with a chaser of sleuthing . . .

It’s Memorial Day weekend and Sonoma County’s Alexander Valley is buzzing with activity. For Cece, business at Vino y Vida is going great, as is her romance with new beau, Benjamin. Meanwhile, Cece’s neighbor, Richard Flora, is stirring up controversy with his newest article, an exposé of Regan Greene, power-hungry director of a valley district organization. Also in the mix is the town’s big classic car show, paired with wine tastings . . .

At the show, Cece spots Regan, who is displaying her restored green ’72 Thunderbird convertible. As Cece pours tastes, she witnesses several heated discussions with Regan—including an argument with wine afficionado and new Colinas hardware store owner Greg Jardis. Otherwise, all goes smoothly—until Sunday brings shocking news. Regan has been murdered . . .

Rumors fly that Richard may have orchestrated the homicide—or even committed it. But Cece knows that’s absurd. And others in Cece’s orbit seem to have discomfiting connections to Regan, from Cece’s employee, Dane, to her winemaking teacher’s sister, Yolanda, to Colinas Mayor Guittierez. And after Yolanda visits the wine bar, Benjamin says he recognizes her from a road race.

Determined to clear Richard’s name, and failing to extract any clues from detectives, Cece once again enlists her twin, Allie, as her partner-in-sleuthing. But they’ll have to act quickly, before the trail goes
sour . . .

Release date: April 28, 2026

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

The person who thought up the idea of a vintage car show paired with wine tasting should get the Brilliant Award. And on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend? Even better—at least until the anger-fueled fireworks started.

I backed Blue, my sixty-six Mustang, next to the white pop-up tent I was sharing with Jo Jarvin for the day. Jo’s forty-eight Chevy service truck was already parked on the other side of the tent, with JJ’s Automotive magnetic labels on both doors of the red pickup. The mechanic greeted me from one end of the long table she and I had been invited to share.

“I was just starting to set up, Cece.”

“Have you ever seen this many great cars in one place?” I gestured to the rows of cars, none made more recently than thirty years ago, with some dating back from the early years of the automobile. I pulled out a long black tablecloth and spread it on the table with Jo’s help, then tied on a maroon apron bearing the logo of Vino y Vida, the downtown Colinas wine bar I owned and managed.

“Isn’t it a gorgeous sight? I’d like to get my hands and tools on every one of those engines.” Jo rubbed her hands together. She worked only on cars made before computers became a part of engine compartments.

“These people get up early.” The hoods were raised on half the vehicles, and owners slouched in lawn chairs next to their pride and joy. I hoisted a case of Zelma wine onto the table and began pulling out bottles. “It’s eight thirty, and they look like they’ve been here for hours.”

“I think most of them have.” Jo set out her business cards and a plastic stand holding a poster for her business. Next to it, she arrayed a line of branded key chains to give away. “Does the tasting start before noon?”

“The organizers didn’t say, but I imagine so. If folks want to indulge in morning drinking, I’ll pour for them.”

The weather was perfect. The mercury had already climbed to the midsixties, and the day was forecast to reach into the high seventies with no fog or precipitation. You didn’t get much better Northern California weather than that. I’d donned a pink Vino y Vida polo shirt and tucked it into newish jeans for the day. My pink tennies would keep my feet comfortable, too.

I unloaded the cooler, which I’d preloaded with ice packs, from my car. I selected a half case of white wines and laid them in the cooler on their sides.

“Cece Barton?” A tall man strolled up to our table. “I’ve been hearing about Vino y Vida. I’m Greg Jardis, the new owner of Colinas Hardware.” He extended his hand. An older man who still had all his hair, he also wore a white Van Dyke–style beard.

We shook. “Glad to meet you, Greg. Do you also have a car here?”

“I do. Pamela the Pretty Porsche.” He gestured at a sleek silver sixties-era Porsche arrayed in the first row behind him.

Jo glanced at the car. “Is that a sixty-five?”

“Good eye,” Greg said.

“Greg, this is Jo Jarvin, owner of JJ’s Automotive,” I said. “You’re going to want her to take care of Pamela.”

The two shook hands. Jo handed him her business card.

“We almost share a last name. Did you move to Colinas recently?” she asked.

“Yes, this winter. I retired but found myself at loose ends, so I sold my place in Marin County and bought a new business.” He shrugged with an abashed smile. “Go figure.”

“Some of us love to work,” she said. “I’ll be happy to keep the Porsche in tiptop shape for you, from the routine to the more challenging issues.”

“Thanks. I had an ace mechanic in San Rafael, but that’s too far to go now.”

The two began talking about Jo’s truck and her business.

I finished setting out our tiny tasting cups and signage. Entrance to the show included being carded for legal drinking age, which meant I didn’t have to worry about checking IDs. The high school soccer teams, both boys and girls, had set up a kids area at the nearby park and were offering low-cost babysitting so parents weren’t excluded from the event.

Greg moved over to my area. He admired Blue and asked a few questions about the car. “Where’d you find her?”

“My father’s grandparents gave him the Mustang for his sixteenth birthday.”

He gave a whistle. “So she’s always been in the family?”

“Indeed.”

“Lucky. I had to buy mine.” He gazed at my wine offerings. “I’ve been loving this rich wine valley. Can I taste the Twomey sauvignon blanc?”

“Sure.” I poured and handed him the plastic cup. “It’s quite smooth, and I have bottles of everything for sale. Sorry about the plastic, but I do recycle the used ones.” I’d researched high-quality plastic stemless glasses that were easily washed and reused, but they were too big for sample tasting like I offered here.

He savored the taste. “That’s good. I’d like to try the 2021 pinot noir, too.”

“The Russian River Valley?”

“Yes.”

After he tasted the red, he bought a bottle of each. “Thanks, Cece. See both you ladies around,” he said as he headed back to his car to stash the purchases.

“Nice guy,” Jo said.

“Seems so. And you might have picked up a new customer.”

“I hope so. Thanks for the intro.”

The show picked up, for both Jo and me. She schmoozed with show participants and others, while I explained wines and gave out tastes, plus Vino y Vida corkscrews to anyone who bought a bottle.

A trim, petite woman in a business pantsuit and heels stopped by and fingered one of the JJ’s Automotive key chains. I gave her a quick look. That suit had to be either a designer brand or tailor-made, it fit her that well. The fabric was both soft and crisp. I wasn’t a slob and tried to dress reasonably well, but I would never look that good in my clothes.

I turned back to a trio of ladies wanting to taste everything, laughing and saying their husbands were looking at engines while they got the good stuff. Pantsuit must have moved on, because she didn’t visit my side of the table.

An hour or two later, I glanced up at the sound of raised voices. A woman stood face-to-face with Pantsuit. The fifty-something woman’s face was red, and walnut-colored hair was flying loose from the knot on top of her head. As I peered at the pair, I realized the other one was my part-time employee Dane Larsen, who was also a local artist. I’d never seen her irate before.

Jo also looked over. “That doesn’t look good, at least not for Dane.”

“Who’s the woman in the pantsuit?”

“You don’t know?”

I shook my head.

“That’s Regan Greene,” Jo said. “She’s the director of AVDA, the Alexander Valley District Association.”

“I’ve heard it’s a powerful group.”

“Yeah, and Regan holds most of the power. At least she’d like to.”

“Too bad we can’t hear what they’re saying,” I murmured. “Dane looks like she wants to slug her. I wonder if I should intervene.”

Dane shook her head, hard, before spinning on her heel and stalking away.

“I guess you don’t have to,” Jo said.

Good. I checked the time on my phone and groaned. It was twenty minutes after noon, but Dane was supposed to be at work at Vino y Vida at twelve thirty. Should I call over there to see if my regular weekend guy, Dev, was already there setting things up? No. He was super reliable. Dane, not so much, although when she did make it to work, she was great with customers and knew her wines.

My feet hurt after five hours of standing on pavement, but my bank account was a fat, happy camper. One of my supplying wineries had delivered reinforcements in the form of three more cases. We’d had a nearly nonstop flow of tasters and schmoozers straight through the lunch hour, many of whom had purchased a bottle or two to take home.

Jo had a good event, too. She had given out all her key chains to interested vintage auto owners. Plenty of them also added their names and email addresses to the sign-up sheet on her clipboard so they would receive her newsletter.

The show’s official closing time, for cars and wine tasting, was at two o’clock, a half hour from now.

“Did you save me a glass?”

I glanced up to see my fraternal twin, Allie, approaching arm in arm with her husband, Fuller Halstead.

“Of course,” I said. “I have a full bottle of red and two of white waiting to be tasted by both of you.” I came around the table and hugged them.

“Thank you, Cece, but I’ll hold off for now.” Fuller pushed up his glasses and ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. He sounded more subdued than usual, not that he was ever super effusive except with their boys.

“Whatever you want,” I said.

“I’m going to go check out that Porsche.” He squeezed Allie’s arm and headed across to Greg’s car.

“Al, what would you like?”

“I’ll start with the chardonnay.” Her gaze followed Fuller’s progress.

“I know it’s tiny, but refills are free.” I handed her a full little cup. “I think I’ll have a sip to keep you company. The show’s almost over.”

“Your first wine of the day?” She turned back to me and smiled.

“Yep. Come around the table and sit in Jo’s chair. She’s off wandering the grounds.”

Allie plopped down next to me.

“Where are the kiddos?” I asked her. Franklin and Arthur, Ali and Fuller’s fraternal twin sons, were now eleven and were two of my favorite people in the universe.

“Fuller’s dad took them for the day, bless his generous heart. Which means they probably baked banana bread and are now somewhere fishing.” She raised her cup. “It doesn’t make much sense to clink plastic, but cheers.”

I sipped mine. “Mmm. Nicely creamy with fruit notes of apple and citrus and a medium mouth fill.”

“I thought ‘buttery’ was the way to describe this wine,” Allie said.

“That’s a common descriptor of oaked chardonnays, and it works. One day I’ll pour you an unoaked. The Burgundian chardonnays can be leaner and more complex, with an interesting minerality.”

“You lost me.” She rolled her eyes. “Where’s Jo?”

“Handing out business cards to car owners, I imagine.”

“She has a captive audience.” Allie pointed with her chin. “Uh-oh. I’d say trouble’s brewing.”

I glanced in that direction. A few yards away, Regan Greene stood facing Colinas mayor Malia Gutierrez. Regan’s arms were folded on her chest, and Malia glared and gestured as she spoke, her curvy figure in a wraparound red dress.

“What do you know about Greene?” I asked Allie.

“She’s director of AVDA, and she’s a power grabber. I’m pretty sure she has her eye on a higher office than what she’s in, maybe county supervisor or something statewide. Richard has a new article out about her that’s going viral.”

“My Richard?” I stared at her. Richard Flora was my ninety-something neighbor who’d had a long career as a journalist and author. Usually we chatted in our back gardens about plants and growing things, but sometimes it veered into local politics. “He hasn’t said a word about it.”

“Ask him next time you see him. I haven’t seen it yet, but he apparently wrote an exposé about the association and Regan in particular.”

“You bet I’ll ask.” I finished my chardonnay while gazing at the two women. “She and Malia don’t look particularly happy with each other.”

“They have a bit of history, those two.” Allie drained her little cup. “Can I have a refill?”

“How about the pinot noir?”

“Hit me.”

I poured red wine into both our cups. “What’s the story?”

“I only know the dribs and drabs I’ve heard, and part of it is as mundane as love and jealousy.”

“Classic. What, did one of them steal the other’s husband or lover?”

“Something like that.” She clamped her mouth shut as Greg Jardis sauntered up.

“Afternoon, ladies.” He flashed Allie a big smile and proffered a hand. “I’m Greg Jardis.”

Allie actually blushed, which wasn’t like her. She pushed up to stand and shook his hand.

“Alicia Halstead.”

“Allie’s my twin, and the best real estate agent in the county,” I said. “Greg owns Colinas Hardware.”

The two chatted for a minute while I watched Malia and Regan’s continuing standoff. They’d moved nearer and raised their voices.

“You can’t do that to Colinas.” Malia now had her fists on her hips. Despite being in her fifties, her wavy dark hair had hardly any silver adorning it.

“Actually, I can. It’s in my job description.”

Greg and Allie fell quiet. He shook his head. “Please excuse me.” He made his way to the women.

“Ladies, ladies.” He didn’t exactly step between them, but he got close and held up both palms. “What seems to be the problem?”

Regan whirled to face him. “Butt out, Jardis,” she growled. “We don’t need you interfering, you of all people.”

“Whoa.” His tone seemed to mock her, but he took a pace backward. “Yes, ma’am, Madam Director.”

“We’ll be in touch, Greene.” Malia lifted her chin, spun on her heel, and strode away with measured steps.

Regan didn’t respond to the mayor, keeping her stare glued to Greg. “Seriously. Haven’t you done enough damage?”

“Who, me?” He dropped his facetious smile. “Can’t we be friends, Reenie?”

Reenie? I glanced at Allie, who rolled her eyes. Regan couldn’t have looked less like a Reenie. That’s what you called a little girl. No way it was the nickname for an ambitious valley official.

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed. “Why did you move to Colinas, anyway? You knew it was in my district.”

Greg shrugged. He gestured around. “What’s not to like about the place? Charming small town, friendly people, excellent wine.” He paused, waving toward where Allie and I sat.

Regan gave herself a little shake and turned away from him. She pulled out an asthma inhaler and took two puffs, then plastered on a smile as she approached.

“Afternoon, Ms. Halstead.” She held out a neatly manicured hand to Allie. “I don’t think we’ve met, but I recognized your picture from various real estate signage. I’m Regan Greene, the director of AVDA.”

“I’m glad to meet you at last.” Allie shook her hand. “Do you know Cece?”

I stood and held out my hand to shake Regan’s. “Cece Barton. I’m Allie’s sister, and I own the Vida y Vino wine bar.”

“Charming place. I’ve been in, but not when you were behind the bar, apparently. I hope you’re a member of AVDA.”

“All the adobe businesses are,” I said. That is, I had joined when I began managing Vino y Vida, which was housed in one of four historic adobe buildings, but I never became involved.

“Good.” She fished out two business cards and handed one to each of us. “If there’s ever anything you need from the association, I’m only an email away.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Would you like to sample any of the wines?”

“Do you have any without sulfites?”

“We don’t, sorry.”

“In that case, I’ll decline. Ladies.” She turned away.

Greg had disappeared, wisely moving back into the crowd. Regan continued down the line of booths but didn’t appear to taste wine from any of them.

“What was she arguing with the mayor about?” Fuller suddenly appeared. “I could hear them from a row away.”

“We’re not entirely sure,” Allie said. “Did you see some good models?”

“Yes.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m coveting that pretty Porsche, though.”

“Greg Jardis owns it,” I said.

“Does he? He took over the hardware store. Nice guy.”

“It’s too bad,” I said. “You missed him by a minute.”

Fuller smiled. “I know where he works.”

I wasn’t surprised I hadn’t met Greg at the store. I knew why. My small house was finally in good shape, over a year after I bought it. Lightbulbs never burned out anymore, and I had all the garden tools I needed. I hadn’t needed anything Colinas Hardware sold for half a year.

Now I wanted to go back in search of Greg’s history with Regan and maybe with Malia, too. Or not. It wasn’t any of my business, as far as I knew. It might be Allie’s, what with her real estate dealings. She’d let me know if I could help.

For now, I had a late-arriving crowd of thirsty and curious wine lovers to pour for.

I smiled at the group in front of my table. “Red or white to begin?”

Jo and I set to packing up at about three o’clock. The show had officially been over for an hour, but the customers kept coming. The antique cars began pulling out, one by one, and the flow of browsers finally ebbed enough for me to turn my back on them.

“Did you collect good prospects?” I asked Jo.

“You bet I did.” She ran a hand through her short hair. “If they all pan out, I’m going to have to hire another vintage mechanic.”

“Maybe you can train up a teenager, like somebody from the voc-tech high school.”

“That’s an idea.” She slid her last piece of literature into her bag. “Need a hand with your stuff?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“I’d better get over to my mom’s and relieve her of Ouro duty. He’ll be missing me.” Her golden retriever Ouro was a sweetheart and well behaved but completely attached to his human.

“Go. Are you going to the town picnic Monday?”

“I doubt it.” Jo eased open the door to her pickup. “A social event with a bunch of folks I don’t know? Not really my scene, Cece.”

“I heard there’s going to be a great bluegrass group playing, and a beer tent, too.”

Jo snorted as she climbed in behind the wheel. She twisted toward me, pointing to the front of her black T-shirt that read “AC/DC Back in Black.”

“Also not my scene. Take care.” She started up the truck’s engine, which purred, and eased out of the spot.

True. Bluegrass was about as far as you could get from heavy metal. Benjamin Cohen, the man I was seeing, and I both liked traditional acoustic music. We’d already planned our picnic meal for Monday.

I hoisted the two cases partly full of unopened bottles into the Mustang’s trunk and slid the three open bottles of red wine into their own case. I switched off the tablet, which doubled as credit card reader and email address recorder. A number of today’s customers seemed eager to sign up for my newsletter.

As I worked, I thought about the arguments I’d witnessed earlier. Regan Greene had clashed with Dane, Greg, and the mayor, and those were only the conflicts I’d witnessed. The AVDA director seemed to have a talent for rubbing people the wrong way.

I perked up when Malia Gutierrez approached my table. We’d met last year at a local business meet and greet event but hadn’t had much contact since.

“Darn, Cece. It looks like I’m too late to sample the wines you were offering.”

“For you, Mayor Gutierrez, I will pour.” I smiled. “Red or white?”

“A cool white sounds perfect, but only if you call me Malia.”

“It’s a deal.” I fished the open bottle of sauvignon blanc out of the cooler, grabbed a clean cup, and poured to nearly the brim. “Enjoy. Have a seat if you’d like.”

She came around the table and sank onto the other chair. “It’s been a day.” She took a sip and followed it by another.

I poured myself a cup, set the bottle on the table, and sat next to her. “Cheers.”

“Likewise.” She wore a chunky silver necklace featuring different colored beads, including turquoise, and matching turquoise earrings.

“I love your jewelry,” I said.

“Thanks. They’re a few of my better pieces.”

“You made the earrings and the necklace? I’m impressed.”

“I did.” A tinge of pink colored her cheeks. “It’s a hobby, but one I love. So, you had a good show?”

“Very much,” I said. “Vintage car fans—and owners—seem to like a little wine with their wheels, and I was happy to oblige. The show was your idea, I heard.” The banners had proclaimed “Mayor’s First Annual.”

“It was. I hope it’ll continue. Starting a tradition like this would be a nice, albeit minor, legacy to leave Colinas.”

“It’s good for the town. If the show keeps going, I’ll be back with wine and my vintage car every year.”

“I appreciate that.” Malia’s shoulders slumped. “My dad offered me his sixty-seven Volkswagen bug when he was getting a new car, and I very much regret not taking it. It was still his only vehicle thirty years after he bought it. He taught me how to drive in that little thing.”

“But you couldn’t accept the car?”

“No.” She let out a long breath. “My life was complicated at the time. But what a beauty of an automobile it was. Simple, straightforward. Like yours, on a smaller scale.” She tilted her head toward Blue.

“Blue is all of that.”

“I picked up an old bug at JJ’s recently, but it’s kind of a wreck. It’ll need work before I show it at a place like this.”

“Earlier I saw you and Regan Greene having some kind of disagreement.” I took another sip and refilled her empty cup. “Is everything okay?”

“Not exactly,” Malia said. “She thinks as the head of AVDA she can take over powers reserved for the town. She wants a cut of our taxes to support the association, and she’s made other egregious demands.”

“But. . .