Sour Puss (10 page)

“Let me look at your tongue.” Karen reached to hold open his jaw as if he were a horse.

Hy saved her the trouble by sticking out his tongue.

“Not too bad,” Susan remarked, and Karen concurred.

“Are you dizzy?” Coop inquired. She wanted to make sure he hadn’t suffered a concussion.

“No.”

“Headache?” she asked.

“No. What I am,” he dabbed his bleeding tongue, “is mad.”

“Would you like to press charges?” Coop never assumed anything.

“Yes. Throw the book at the bastard.” Hy’s face flamed crimson.

“Why don’t we go outside in the fresh air and you can sit in the car with me, windows down. We’ll go over everything.” Coop then told Harry, Susan, Karen, and Kyle she’d take statements from them in time. But they didn’t have to stick around. She’d find them.

As she put her hand under Hy’s elbow, he said, louder than he realized, “He’s been furious at me ever since I won the best new entry at the wine-tasting last year. He can’t stand it.”

Coop walked to the door with Hy. “Sure you don’t want some ice in a towel?”

“No,” Hy growled. “Toby is dangerous. I want him locked up.”

“Hy, that’s easier said than done, but come out in the fresh air. I’ll do what I can.”

“Why is it difficult? Assault and battery. Straightforward.”

“Toby is clever.” Coop left it at that as she opened the door.

Harry hoped to hear more of the conversation, but the door closed.

Karen Osborne shrugged. “Certifiable.” She didn’t say whether she thought Toby was nuts or Hy or both.

15

W
arm winters.” BoomBoom leaned over the paddock where Keepsake nursed Burly.

“1990 to 1995 were especially warm. Had the drought years in there, too.” Fair, having come from Big Mim’s to BoomBoom’s farm, rubbed his stubble.

His thick beard irritated him because it grew so quickly. He kept an electric razor in his truck to try and keep up with it. If he had time, he shaved in the morning with a safety razor and then again when he came home from work. He felt his wife was entitled to a smooth face at night.

“It really hasn’t been that cold since 2000 either. We’ve had a lot of snow and ice but not long periods of cold. Strange.”

“Guess there really is global warming. I don’t know if I read it in
The Wall Street Journal
or
The London Financial Times
, but there was an article about hybrid vehicles. Said those emissions would be just as hot as gasoline.”

“Since you get more miles to the gallon, maybe it would slow global warming,” BoomBoom, a true gearhead, replied.

Fair smiled as Burly left Keepsake to run a few circles, buck, then stop to stare at the two humans, only to repeat the process. “Personality.”

“To burn.” She laughed. “I’ve fallen in love with the little guy and I don’t care if he does have big ears.”

“So did Clark Gable.” Fair laughed, then said, “Driving so much gives me time to think. I think we don’t have any choice but to be done with the internal combustion engine.”

“God, all those beautiful engines.” BoomBoom’s hand involuntarily flew to her breast. It didn’t have to fly far. “I do love engines.” She sighed. “But we can’t very well destroy the planet because of it.”

“It’s kind of like if President Rutherford B. Hayes had declared the future of America was the whale industry because of whale-oil lamps. I expect some technology will replace the internal combustion engine, but I can’t imagine what or if it will happen in my time. You know, Boom, I think the proliferation of some of the equine disease we see is the result of the warming.”

“You mean West Nile?” She named a disease, often fatal, that infected horses and humans.

“That. What gives us some wiggle room there is that the virus has to go from the crow to the possum—usually a possum—and then the horse. People can get it directly from crows but not from horses. Fortunately, the fragility in the transfer of the virus means if we break the cycle in just one jump between species, we ought to knock it. But there’s something coming down the pike every day, it seems.” He shook his head.

“It’s odd, too, that so many of these new diseases—or what seem to be new to our hemisphere, anyway—evolve so quickly.” BoomBoom, a highly intelligent woman, read widely and often.

He nodded in agreement. “AIDS wins the prize there. But the old standbys are making a comeback: tuberculosis, syphilis, even measles. They return more resistant to treatment.”

“No one can blame those diseases on animals. Human-to-human transmission.”

“Actually, there’s not much that can be pinned to animals, because so few humans in the developed nations live close to them. ’Course it’s different in Asia, Africa, and parts of South America. Every time a new disease appears on the horizon, I have to laugh, because the medical profession is in such a hurry to trace it to a monkey or a snail or a lemur. It’s as though humans still can’t face the fact that we are perfectly capable of being agents of disease.” He checked his watch. “Didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“I’ve never spent a minute with you that I didn’t enjoy.”

He smiled. “I don’t know about that, but you’re kind to say it.”

“How’s Mim’s crop this year?”

“Beauties. She bred to Polish Navy, Mineshaft, Yankee Victor, and Buddha.”

“Mim has a head for breeding. Alicia says that because Mim and Mary Pat were so competitive with each other, each pushed the other higher.” BoomBoom mentioned Mary Pat Reines, now deceased, an excellent horsewoman.

“She had a good year last year. She came within a hair of taking the Colonial Cup.” Fair cited a famous steeplechase race. “The Polish Navy colt is a beauty, great shoulder on that guy. She says he’s going to be her old-age hunter.”

“Did she happen to say when old age would begin?”

“Next Thursday.” He burst out laughing.

Once BoomBoom stopped laughing, she said, “This global-warming thing—I was wondering if it will speed up all kinds of infections, in animals and plants. I was reading a book on the Black Death, and the ideal temperature for the bacillus to thrive in is between fifty and seventy degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Pretty much the same as the ideal temperature for humans.”

“Now there’s thought that not only can the rat flea carry the plague, but the human flea can, too. Something like thirty-two different flea varieties can carry the plague. Hope I got that right.”

“Warming might hasten disease spread, but I think more than anything you need the right kind of host and the speed of air travel.”

“What do you mean, ‘the right kind of host’?”

“A large population, living in filth, bad water supply, inadequate nutrition—they become the perfect host. All it takes is one visitor from a developed nation who is physically compromised to pick up the pest, be it virus or bacillus, get on a plane, and disembark in Berlin, Paris, London, New York, take your pick.”

“It’s a terrifying prospect.” She paused. “The panel with Professor Jenkins and Professor Forland got me to thinking—could an enemy reintroduce the plague?”

“They don’t have to reintroduce it, Boom, it’s here. Fortunately our hygiene is good, but given some disaster like the great San Francisco earthquake, the rats will come out of their holes. Some of those rats will carry the plague. At least, that’s what I believe.”

“Any word about Professor Forland?” BoomBoom asked since she’d just spoken of him.

“No. No one knows what to think.”

“He’s dead. That’s obvious to me, anyway.”

“God, I hope not.” He inhaled, then exhaled. “Why? Sure, it crossed my mind, but I can’t think why someone would kill him.”

A light breeze ruffled BoomBoom’s long blonde hair. “There are always reasons to kill someone, Fair. Greed. Jealousy. Revenge. Profit. Religion. Politics. Sex. Even sheer carelessness. You kill someone by accident, don’t want to pay the consequences, so you remove the body.”

“I guess. Pretty dismal.”

“The history of humankind is dismal, with a few bright exceptions.”

“I see it just the opposite. We’ve progressed in every field. There are periods of backsliding and regression, but no one can suppress progress for long.”

“A long discussion.” She paused. “Back to Professor Forland. The news reported his car was found in Queen Charlotte Square parking lot. There are businesses there. McGuire Woods law firm has their offices there. There are apartments. He could have had good reason to be there.”

“If Rick and Coop can find it.”

“Or Harry.” She smiled.

“Don’t even say it!” He shook his forefinger. “Don’t give her any ideas.”

“Me? She’s as curious as a cat. She won’t be able to resist trying to find out what’s happened to Professor Forland.”

Sighing, he leaned on the fence with both elbows. “You’re right. I guess the leopard can’t change her spots.”

Strangely enough, Arch Saunders was using that same phrase in talking to Harry, whom he ran into picking up mail.

They hadn’t seen each other alone since Arch’s return. Given that he hadn’t been in Crozet a full month, that didn’t seem odd, as he had a great deal to do in a short time. Harry, too, was extremely busy.

At first their conversation was polite, not too personal, then Arch asked her why she remarried Fair.

She replied that she loved him and he’d grown up a lot.

“The leopard doesn’t change his spots,” Arch said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice.

She compressed her lips, then changed the subject. “How do you like it at Spring Hill?”

“I’m going to make it one of the best vineyards in the state.” He added, “Lot to do, though. Like this morning I found downy mildew on some vines Rollie bought last fall. I didn’t like the way the rootstock looked. Rollie didn’t know enough to screen for it.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I can control it. I can spray with Ridomil. I have to spray every vine every twenty-one days, and it’s expensive. But it’s the only way.”

“Good luck.” She opened the door to the old F-150, the cats and dog on the bench seat.

“Hi there, Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter.”

“Hello,”
they replied.

After good-byes, Arch watched Harry drive off. He thought she looked even better than she did when they dated.

That same afternoon, Hy Maudant called Toby Pittman.

“Toby, one of my men, a new man, Concho, did drive on your premises. He didn’t see anyone so he left.”

“Why’d you send him?” Toby angrily replied.

“I didn’t. He’s new, like I said. He’s Mexican; his English is a little rocky. Anyway, he’d been visiting vineyards to schedule the use of my mobile bottling unit.”

“That’s half a year away,” Toby said.

“Which is why I’m scheduling now. By the fall it will be too late.”

“Thought you said his English was bad. Why would you send him out to make arrangements?”

Beginning to fume, Hy snapped, “Because I had a form drawn up. All Concho has to do is hand it to a prospective client. And furthermore, I said his English was rocky, not so bad he can’t understand. He improves every day.”

“Why would you send him here?”

“He’s new! He doesn’t know we don’t get along. He was just going from vineyard to vineyard like he was told to do.”

“You sent him to spy on me.”

“You’re crazy.” Hy was losing patience rapidly.

“And you’re a murderer,” Toby accused loudly.

“What?”

“I bet you killed Professor Forland.”

“You really are insane. Furthermore, he’s missing. That doesn’t mean he’s dead.”

“He’s dead, all right. I know him. He would never disappear for a few days. You killed him because you’re a jealous, scheming son of a bitch and you knew he was working with me. You can’t stand that I’m better than you. That—”

“He visited everyone. There’s no point in continuing this conversation.” Hy slammed down the phone.

Fiona walked into the library from the next room. “Whatever is it?”

“He’s mad. Totally insane.” Hy’s arms flailed in the air. “Toby Pittman accused me of murdering Professor Forland. They need to put him away.”

The phone rang. Fiona picked it up.

Before she could say “Hello,” Toby shouted, “If you or any of your men come on my farm I’ll kill you.”

“This is Fiona.”

He paused. “I won’t kill you, Fiona, but you must be dumber than snot to stay married to that low-rent bastard.”

Now she slammed down the phone. “He called me ‘dumber than snot.’ ”

Red flushed Hy’s cheeks. He started for the door. “No one is going to insult you. I’ll kill him before he kills me.”

She grabbed him. “Hy, calm down. I believe he really will try to kill you.”

“I’ll kill him first.”

“He’s not worth the fuss.”

Hy hit his palm with his fist. “Well, I am not putting up with him insulting my wife.”

“He’s off his rocker. Crazy people are more dangerous than sane ones.”

And the sane ones are bad enough.

16

G
oddamned snotty Virginians. They want to see me fail. Well, I won’t give the sons of bitches the satisfaction!” Rollie kicked his expensive wire-mesh designer wastebasket, sending white, pink, blue, and green pieces of paper all over the navy-blue old Chinese rug.

Arch breathed deep relief because Rollie wasn’t mad at him. “Spring Hill won’t fail. First, I caught it in time. Second, as we buy up land or rent it, we’ll grow different varieties of grapes. That will be an insurance policy. If one type has a bad year, the others should make up for it. Kind of like the balance between stocks and bonds.” He tried to use terms Rollie would understand.

He was surprised at how sensible the prickly fellow was, considering the news. Rollie wasn’t assigning blame. He appeared to grasp, tenuously, that nature had her own agenda.

“Order the stuff?”

“Should be here tomorrow morning.”

“Anyone else know?” Rollie raised one eyebrow.

“I called Hy Maudant.”

“Why him?”

“He’s very knowledgeable. He grew up in the vineyards in France and attended their agriculture school. Also, he’s established and he can tell me how best to contact other vineyards: should I make personal calls, use the phone, use e-mail. He’s very helpful.” His inflection rose slightly at the end of the sentence, the traditional method in English for asking a question or appearing less than certain.

“And?”

“He doesn’t have any downy mildew, but he said he’s found the beginnings of black rot in one lower-lying section of his vineyards. Not much, he said, but he’s already uprooted those vines and begun the spraying. ’Course, he’d spray anyway.”

“Why is he tearing them out?”

“Hy isn’t going to take any chances, and once the plant is infected, it’s always infected.”

“But if you control it, can’t the vines bear decent fruit?”

“They can. Depending on when you catch the fungus, but, boss, why take the chance? Those vines aren’t going to produce over the years like the clean ones. Kill them.”

“Hell of a lot of money.”

“Growing the perfect grape is not for the fainthearted.” Arch laid it on the line.

Rollie leaned over his desk, his weight on his knuckles. “For your information, I’ve got a set of balls. Do you think I’m going to fold my hands because of some stupid spores?”

“No.” Arch measured his words. “Nature is a brutal business partner sometimes. That’s why I think spreading the risk is the way to go. The more land you have under the umbrella, the better off you are.”

“Mmm, I’ll buy land if it’s necessary, but I’d rather buy up someone else’s yield. Let them do the work.”

“Kind of like a portfolio, gotta balance it out.” Arch nodded. “The Ridomil should do it, but I’ve got to apply it about every twenty-one days depending on rainfall.”

Rollie dropped back into his seat, the leather squeaking. He was about to dismiss Arch and get back to his work when a nasty idea popped into his overheated brain. “Could someone do this to us?”

“Infect our vines?”

“Yes.”

“Why would someone want to do that?”

“Competition. Drive me down or out.”

“I don’t think anyone would do that, because of the danger of the spores spreading to their own vineyards. They can be carried on the wind during their release times.”

“Could be someone who isn’t making wine but who hates my guts.”

“That would be one dead person. He’d have to be pretty stupid once the rest of the growers found out.”

“But is it possible to infect other people’s vines or crops?”

Arch rubbed his chin. “Yes. Don’t think downy mildew would be the way to go, but if someone was really determined, yes, I expect they could damage grapes or any other crop, really.

“If an employee were disgruntled, he could spray water without mixing in Ridomil. That would be one way to do it. You’d think your vines were protected but they’d be vulnerable.”

“A crooked person could sell infected stock,” Rollie said.

Arch shifted his weight from one foot to another. “There’s all kinds of ways to screw somebody.”

Rollie twirled his thumbs around each other. “Professor Forland didn’t say he saw anything.”

“There wasn’t enough leaf when he was here. There’s always something ready to get your grapes. Birds, deer, foxes, too. At least the foxes just eat the lower ones. The birds and deer can clean you out.”

“Can’t we cover the clusters when they develop?”

“No.” Arch shook his head. “You have to go to the canopy and you have to keep spraying. Shoot the deer or put up deer fences. There’s no other way.”

“All right.” Rollie waved his hand, dismissing Arch abruptly as his phone rang.

Arch stepped outside into the high golden sunlight of early afternoon. It could have been worse. Maybe Rollie was learning to trust him a little. It made up in small measure for the sadness, anger, envy he felt when Harry drove away. She made him angry because she didn’t want to talk about anything to do with their affair. Typical Harry, just stuff the emotions. And she made him sad because he knew he’d never find another woman like Harry.