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without sacrificing some of the precious vines.
    Unless we buy more property.
    That was the logical explanation, but so far none of the estate’s abutters had wanted to part with any of their acreage. The family had looked to other locations in the valley, but nothing had proven worth the expense and aggravation. And then Carson Creek Estate & Winery had come up for sale, offering the seemingly perfect solution: more vines and an established olive grove, along with a picturesque farmhouse ready to be converted into a restaurant.
    Andrea let the olive oil run in a slow dribble into the bowl while her food processor chopped the basil leaves and nuts. She grabbed a garlic bulb from the pantry, peeled it, and threw in several cloves. She ran the processor for a few seconds more, then tasted the bright green sauce. Salt and pepper, and some parmesan , she thought.
    The ringing of her cell phone sliced through the tranquil afternoon. She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at the screen.
    “Hello, darling.” She leaned against the granite countertop and listened for the sound of her husband Michael’s rough voice.
    “Andrea, I have terrible news.” He paused, sounding tired, very tired. “There’s been an accident at Carson Creek. It’s Selena. Dan Stewart found her this morning. She’s dead.”
    Andrea felt the silence of the house all around her. She drew in a quick breath and sank slowly onto the granite counter.

Three
    “Andrea, are you alright?”
    No, she wanted to say. No, I am not alright. “What happened?”
    “She was in her hot tub. She may have had a heart attack.” He exhaled. “I’m with Tim and Christophe in the far field. We’re all coming back to the house. Later on we’ll head up there, see what we can do.”
    “Of course.” She imagined the scene at Carson Creek Estate and shuddered. There would be family coming—Selena had at least two brothers—and maybe more relatives, plus friends from the valley dropping in to pay their respects. Everyone would be shocked at the tragedy. Selena had been well regarded, both for her business ethics and her kind personality, and liked by all who knew her.
    “I’ll go up there with you. I’ll bring along some pasta for them to heat up.”
    His voice softened. “That would be nice.”
    The click of his mobile disconnecting signaled the end of the conversation. Andrea placed her phone on the granite countertop, stood thinking a moment, and then returned to her pesto.
    ———
    Sophie Stewart, fourteen, flipped her long sandy brown hair off her face and picked up the pitcher of lemonade. With her other hand she grabbed a stack of plastic cups and headed toward the dining room at Carson Creek Estate & Winery.
    “I’m going to put the drinks in here, on this table,” she said, plunking down the pitcher and cups. She looked up at her father, standing with his back to the table, gazing silently out to the vineyard.
    “Dad?” It was creepy, the way he was so still, like he hadn’t even heard her. She walked behind him and rested a hand gently on his shoulder. He started and turned.
    “Sophie Doo,” he murmured. It was his pet name for her, something he’d coined because of her addiction to the Scooby Doo animated television show.
    She scrutinized his face. He looked like crap—that was the truth, with big bags under his eyes as if he’d been crying for two days straight. “Can I get you something? Make you a sandwich?”
    He shook his head and turned back to the window.
    Sophie eyed the array of sliced deli meats and bread on the farmhouse table and decided to make him one anyway. She spread mustard on a finger roll, added ham, a slice of turkey, some lettuce and a piece of Swiss, and placed it on a napkin. “Here,” she said, handing it to her father.
    Dan Stewart took the sandwich and gave the ghost of a grin. “Just like your mom. She never listened to what I said either.”
    Sophie felt a pang in her heart as she watched him devour the