The Chardonnay Charade (19 page)

When I was finished I went to get my cane. It must have slipped, because it was now wedged in the space between two warped boards. I had to go inside the stall to pull it through. I knelt and eased it out so I wouldn’t scratch the metal. There was something else there besides the cane. One of our old yellow flashlights—one of the original eight.

I didn’t see the dent on the rim where the glass met the aluminum barrel until I moved back into better light. Caught in the off-on switch were several strands of red hair.

Georgia Greenwood had been a redhead.

No doubt about it. Randy must have had this with him that night in the barn. I’d just found what he’d used to knock Georgia unconscious before he killed her.

I put the flashlight back more or less where I’d found it, then drove to the house to call Bobby.

“Dammit, you moved it,” he said when I finally got through to him.

“Of course I moved it. I picked it up.”

“Well, don’t touch it again. And don’t let anybody near that barn. I’ll be right there.”

He came with another detective and two technicians from the crime lab. By then Quinn had joined me.

“So now we know what Randy used to hit Georgia over the head,” I said.

“We won’t get his prints off that flashlight,” Bobby said. “If that’s what you’re getting at. You can’t lift fingerprints off a ridged surface.”

He pulled a pack of gum out of his pocket and offered it around.

“No, thanks,” I said.

Quinn shook his head. “What about the switch?” he asked.

“A hundred people could have touched the switch, the two of you included,” Bobby said. “Besides, something’s off about this. That flashlight wasn’t there the other day when we searched this place.”

“How can you be sure?” I said. “It was inside a dark stall. I only found it by accident because my cane fell through the space between two warped boards.”

“Place isn’t locked. Somebody could have walked in and planted it.” “After you searched? That doesn’t make sense. Maybe you just overlooked it.”

“I don’t know.” He stuck a piece of gum in his mouth. “Maybe. But I sure as hell don’t like this.”

It rained long and hard enough to dampen attendance at the Memorial Day picnic and our wine tasting. Only eighty of the nearly two hundred people who bought tickets showed up, even though we’d advertised that in case of rain we’d move indoors to the villa. Unfortunately, the hayrides planned for the rest of the afternoon were a complete washout and the grass was still too wet to set blankets or lawn chairs by the pond to get a good viewing spot for the fireworks. So everyone went home after lunch with most folks promising to return that evening. I talked to Hamp about postponing until the next day, but he’d been checking with the National Weather Service all afternoon. He told me the storms were heading southeast toward the Chesapeake Bay, so we’d have a clear evening.

“You gotta have fireworks on Memorial Day, Lucie,” he’d argued. “Unless it’s real bad weather and there’s wind. Having them the next day is kind of a letdown.”

So the fireworks were still on.

“Merde,”
Dominique said, “I hope we don’t end up
avec trois pelés et deux tondus
.”

She, Joe, and I stood on the rain-slicked terrace, watching as heavy cumulonimbus clouds slipped slowly into the distance like freighters leaving port. In their wake, the late-afternoon sky was washed clean and clear.

“Three what and two what?” Joe asked.

“It’s an old French expression. Three peeled ones and two shaved ones. It means nobody’s coming,” I said.

Joe laughed and slipped an arm around Dominique’s waist. He kissed her lightly on the mouth and said, “You people say the weirdest things. I think we’ll be fine. Birds are singing again, so that’s a good sign. I think a lot of people will show up. Peeled, unpeeled, shaved, hairy. Everyone loves fireworks. They’ll come.” Then he added ruefully, “Though I’ve got final exams to grade, so I might not make it.”

“You’ve got to!” I said. “It’s only half an hour. Can’t you leave your papers for later?”

“Graduation’s right around the corner,” he said. “June tenth. The prom is next week and I’m chaperoning. It’s always insane at the end of the school year, plus the kids are so wound up.”

“Please come,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”

He smiled. “I know it will. All right, I have a free period tomorrow. The sheriff’s bringing the sober-up car over to the school parking lot for the next ten days and the kids will be at a special assembly. I guess I could get to those papers then.”

“What is the ‘sober-up car’?” Dominique asked.

“Your worst nightmare,” Joe said. “We do it every year. The cops bring an honest-to-God wreck from an accident and give a talk to the kids about no drinking and driving on prom night or graduation.”

“Does it work?” she asked.

He shrugged. “We hope it does, but I think we really only know for sure when it doesn’t. Some kid goes joyriding after knocking back a bunch of beers, then wraps Daddy’s Lexus around a telephone pole.”

“Mon Dieu.”
Dominique sounded grim.

I looked at my watch. “I’m sorry to bring this up considering the conversation, but I’m late to get to the cemetery,” I said. “I’ll see you both tonight.”

“Why are you going to the cemetery?” Dominique asked.

“It’s Memorial Day.”

I had left a note on the kitchen table for Mia and a message on Eli’s answering machine saying I wanted to leave flowers and flags at the graves of our family members who served during the wars. Neither my brother nor my sister was sentimental about things like this, so I didn’t count on them showing up. I retrieved the white roses I’d picked earlier in the day and a box of small American flags and drove over to the cemetery. My foot, once again, ached from standing on it for so long.

Surprisingly, both of them were waiting next to Eli’s Jaguar. Mia, smoking a cigarette, dressed in yet another miniskirt and a cropped top, and Eli, deeply tanned in navy shorts and a new pale yellow “Sea Pines Resort” polo shirt, were talking and laughing as I drove up.

“You’re late,” Eli called as I got out of the Mini. “You were supposed to be here fourteen minutes ago.”

Eli owned an atomic watch that got its signal from someplace in Colorado and the National Institute of Standards and Technology. He lived by its every pulse.

“I was at the villa with Joe and Dominique. Can you take the box of flags while I get the flowers?”

He nodded and reached for them as Mia opened the door to the Jag, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray.

“Give me the roses, Lucie,” she said. “I’ll take them.”

“The Jag is a smoke-free zone, kiddo.” Eli sounded annoyed. “No cigarettes or butts allowed. Hopie will end up playing with them or putting them in her mouth.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “I’ll clean it as soon as we get back to the house. Jeez, Eli. That’s what ashtrays are
for.
Why are we doing this grave-site thing, anyway? We never did it when Mom was alive.”

“I know,” I said, “but I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s the first Memorial Day since Leland died. And it’s just the three of us now. I think it’s nice to pay tribute to everyone in the family who served the country. Especially since there was a Montgomery who fought in every war since the Revolution.”

“‘A martial race, bold, soldier featured and undismay’d,’” Eli quoted in a rich, thick Scottish brogue. “Aye, lassies, that be the fierce Montgomery clan, in the words of the immortal poet Rabbie Burns.”

Mia and I smiled. The three of us walked up the hill and Eli opened the wrought-iron gate. At the edge of the horizon, beyond the weather-etched tombstones and the brick wall that enclosed the cemetery, swollen rain clouds still hovered, obscuring the undulating horizon line of the Blue Ridge.

Eli sneezed three times and pulled out a handkerchief. “Oh, God, my allergies,” he complained. “There’s some plant here that always bothers me. I was fine in Hilton Head. I didn’t have any problems at Sea Pines.”

“We won’t be long,” I said. “Thank you both for doing this.”

“Some of these markers are falling over,” Mia said, threading her way between the oldest graves. “And the grass is still really wet. I’m taking off my sandals. They’ll get ruined.”

“It’s because whoever is buried there is…well, ashes to ashes,” Eli said cheerfully. “They didn’t always have coffins back in the day. And if it was just the body wrapped in a sheet or something and no embalming…two hundred years will do that to you. So it’s a sinkhole now.” He blew his nose again.

“Eli!” I said as Mia said, “That is disgusting.”

“But true,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s try to show a little respect while we do this.”

“I’d like to take care of Pop’s grave,” Mia said quietly. “If that’s okay with you guys.”

“Sure, Mimi,” I said.

“No problem.”

By the time we were done, the cemetery was dotted with flags and a single white rose at more than a dozen headstones.

“Who put the flowers on Mom’s grave? They must have really been nice,” Eli said. “You, Luce?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, jeez. It was her anniversary, wasn’t it?” he said. “May second. I don’t know how I forgot. Probably crashing on some project.”

Eli knew what he did every minute of his life. He hadn’t forgotten and we both knew it. No point saying anything, though. He was here now. It was good enough.

“I didn’t forget,” Mia said quietly. “I came by that day to talk to her and saw the flowers. They were pretty.”

“They were from all of us,” I said. “She knows that.”

Eli put an arm around my shoulder. “Thanks, babe. I’m glad you did that. And this was nice, too.”

I smiled. “I’m glad we were all together. Either of you two sticking around for the fireworks?”

“Hope’s too young,” Eli said. “They’d scare the daylights out of her. Maybe in a few more years.”

“I’m going out,” Mia said. “Eli, drive me back to the house, will you? My car is there.” She ran down the hill, barefoot, toward the Jaguar.

“Do not even think about getting in my car with those muddy feet,” Eli called after her.

“Oh, for God’s sake, will you
relax
? I’m putting my sandals on. Your precious Jag will still be pristine.” Mia turned around and stuck out her tongue at him.

“She’s probably going out with Abby Lang,” I said under my breath. “They’ve been drinking over at the old temperance grounds. She got fined for public drunkenness the other day. It was in the police blotter.”

“Yeah, she told me. Said it was no big deal,” Eli said in a low voice as we reached the Jaguar.

Mia, impatient in the passenger seat, twisted and untwisted a long strand of golden hair around a finger. “You two take forever,” she complained. “Let’s get out of here, Eli. I’m going to be late.”

“Coming home tonight?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“She’s fine, Luce. She’s a big girl,” Eli said soothingly.

Mia made an I-told-you-so face at me as Eli, driving show-off fast, blasted down the road to the house.

The fireworks went off without a hitch shortly after nine. About a hundred and fifty people came along to the vineyard to watch, so it was a good turnout after all. Quinn arrived with Bonita and there was something about the way they acted around each other that made me feel three would be a crowd if I sat with them. Then Kit and Bobby showed up, so I joined them and we listened to the oohs and aahs each time the sky exploded with colors.

I have to say Hamp outdid himself, especially with the finale, which was a deluge of red, white, and blue chrysanthemum fireworks, interspersed with rockets zooming straight up before breaking apart and sending multitiered cascades of filaments showering down on us.

I walked Kit and Bobby back to his car when it was over.

“That was fun,” Kit said. “Thanks for the invite. I’m glad we came.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bobby said. “Nice change to be here when it’s not about business.”

“Did your lab find out anything more about the flashlight?” I asked.

“Not on a holiday,” he said. “And we’re still waiting for the ME’s ruling about Randy’s death.”

“What do you mean? I thought it was suicide.”

“Not until he makes the final call,” Bobby said. “One of three choices.”

“Three?”

“Homicide. Suicide. Or the one I’d go for right now if it was me.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Pending,” he said. “I still think we got some loose ends here.”

Around one a.m. I gave up on the sheep-counting and got up. Maybe a cup of chamomile tea would bring sleep. I fixed one and went out to the veranda on a warm, star-filled night. Voices floated across the lawn from the direction of the summerhouse, the words inaudible, but obviously Quinn had brought Bonita again. Why couldn’t they just go to his place? Why did they have to do it here?

I drank my tea even though it was so hot it burned my mouth, and went back to bed. When Mia came in at three, I was still tossing and turning. I heard her stumbling on the staircase. Then the bathroom door closed unnaturally loudly and I got out of bed. She was throwing up. I knocked on the door, then tried the handle. Locked.

“Let me in,” I ordered.

“Go ’way, Lucie. Leave me ’lone.”

“You’re drunk.”

“No’m not.”

“Unlock the door or I’ll break it down with my cane.”

She fumbled with the handle, then finally jerked the door open and lost her balance. I reached out and grabbed her arm. Her eyes had the glazed, dull look of someone who didn’t have a clue. No point berating her. She was well and truly pissed.

“All right, cowgirl,” I said, “you had yourself enough of a rodeo for one night. I’d give you a couple of aspirins for that killer hangover you’re going to have, but I’m afraid you’d choke trying to get them down. So let’s just get you straight to bed.”

I managed to get her from the bathroom to her bedroom, though she leaned against me so heavily it was like dragging an anchor. She stank of alcohol, cigarettes, and vomit. I eased her down on the bed and pulled off her clothes as if I were undressing a rag doll. She watched, glassy-eyed and silent. Then I laid her down and pulled up the bedsheet.

“Good night,” I said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

She muttered something unintelligible and turned over. Out cold.

I was alone in my office the next morning when one of the girls who helped out selling wine in the villa stuck her head through the doorway.

“Dr. Greenwood’s here to see you,” she said. “Shall I send him back or tell him you’ll be out?”

“He is? Please tell him I’ll be right out.”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Wait till you see what he’s brought you.”

Two dozen gorgeous pink roses in a cut-glass vase.

“How can I ever thank you?” He wore blue hospital scrubs and running shoes, smiling for the first time in a while, though he still looked drawn and tired. “You saved my life. Sam called in some favors and got me released yesterday. God, I’m glad to be out of that place.”

“Well, we’re even, then.” I set the vase on the bar. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. You look like you could use a cup.”

“I wish I had time, but I ought to be getting over to the hospital,” he said. “I just wanted to say thanks in person.”

“You’re welcome. And I’m glad you’re home again, too.”

He said grimly, “It’s not over. There might be a trial, though Sammy thinks there isn’t enough evidence anymore to convict me.”

“Oh, God, Ross. A trial would be horrible.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll survive that, too,” he said. “But I’ve learned a lot the past ten days. I never thought after all the years I’ve been part of this community, saving lives and helping people, that so many of my so-called friends would believe I’m capable of murder.”

I wasn’t used to seeing this side of Ross. Angry. Resentful. Bitter. Then again, he’d just spent a few days in jail.

“No one thinks you killed Georgia,” I soothed him. “Some of the Romeos are upset about that Jeff Davis letter, but that has nothing to do with Georgia.”

I walked him to the door. His hands were jammed in his pockets and his head was down. He was in no mood to be cajoled or comforted.

“Don’t get me started on that goddam letter,” he said irritably. “I got a letter myself. Signed by several of the boys. They’re ready to lynch me. A couple of them offered to buy it off me. Urged me to ‘do the right thing.’ Don’t stir up any trouble. They offered a pittance.”

“What did you say?”

“Pass.”

“This will blow over,” I told him, though I wondered if it would. “You’re an important part of the community, Ross. Look at all the good you’re doing at the clinic, the people you’re helping. None of that’s changed. The Romeos will come around and it will be all right again.”

He shook his head. “No, they won’t. Anyway, it’s too late. I’m moving on after this is over. Making a new start somewhere else.”

I said, startled, “You’d leave here? The clinic, too? Does Siri know?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m thinking about asking her to come with me. We’re both free now. I have no children, hers are scattered around the world. My wife is dead. That chapter of my life is over. If I stay here, I’ll never get away from Georgia. She’ll haunt me.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Maybe you should think—”

“After what happened to Georgia,” he interrupted, “I’ve learned you never know when your time is up. There are things I still want to do. I’m going to do them, but it won’t be here. When I die, I don’t want any regrets.” He looked at me and added, “If there’s anyone who understands what it’s like to get a second chance in life, it should be you. So I’m counting on your support, because this won’t be easy.”

Then he kissed my forehead and left.

The rest of the day did not go well. At noon when I went back to the house, Mia was finally awake, out on the veranda nursing her hangover with an espresso and a cigarette. I expected her to be remorseful or even penitent after last night’s performance, but she was hostile and belligerent. So we fought, except this one ended more spectacularly than usual with her telling me to go to hell, before slamming doors as she left for Abby Lang’s place.

Then Quinn and I had words when he saw the two floral prints I’d finally propped up on the credenza in my office.

“Where’d you get those?” he asked.

“From Mac Macdonald. They’re original prints of native Virginia wildflowers,” I said. “I thought we could use them for the labels for our new wines. He’s looking for more like these.”

“Flowers? You want to use old prints of
flowers
on our wine labels?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to be new and edgy when your label is a couple of hundred years old and it’s a picture of a flower. I thought we were moving ahead, not backward.”

“We’re a
Virginia
winery,” I snapped. “And these are native wildflowers. I think they’d make great labels. Unique and very classy.”

“Yeah. Thomas Jefferson would love ’em.”

“You know, if you don’t like it here…” I stopped and pressed my lips together.

“What?” His eyes flashed anger.

“Nothing. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, you did.”

“Look, we were both up late last night, so we’re both tired,” I said wearily. “Let’s forget this conversation.”

“How do you know how late I was up last night?” His eyes were black and depthless.

“Because I went out on the veranda around midnight and I heard you and Bonita in the summerhouse, that’s how. I didn’t intend to, but you were kind of noisy. Next time, maybe you could find a more private place to conduct your affairs instead of my backyard, okay?”

That made two things I shouldn’t have said. “My affairs?” He looked bewildered, then his expression lightened. “Oh, so you’re talking about me and Bonita, is that it? Tell you what. How about if I take my telescope out of there so I won’t disturb your beauty sleep ever again? Would that suit you?”

“Wait—”

But he’d already left.

A moment later the front door to the villa slammed. I heard his car as it roared out of the parking lot. Probably going right over to the summerhouse.

I laid my head on my desk.

What had I done?

I had just gotten home for the day when my doorbell rang. Mick Dunne held a bottle of Dom Pérignon in one hand and a couple of shopping bags with the logo of an upscale grocery store in the other.

“I brought dinner,” he said. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh…gosh…I…” I had been planning on microwaving anything in the refrigerator that still looked edible and eating dinner while soaking in the tub. Then straight to bed.

“Is that a yes or a no?” he asked. “It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”

I opened the door and let him in. “It’s a yes. But I really need a shower. I just walked in the door.”

“Then show me where your kitchen is,” he said, “and go have your shower.”

He’d brought filet mignon, baking potatoes with sour cream, and white asparagus. A fabulous bottle of Pétrus to go with the dinner, and fresh local raspberries and blueberries for dessert.

By the time I got back downstairs he was making a vinaigrette for the asparagus. “This is very extravagant,” I said. “No offense, but I thought ‘British cuisine’ was an oxymoron.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about the British, then. Here, try this and tell me if there’s too much vinegar in it.” He held a spoon to my lips.

“It’s perfect.”

I didn’t have too many illusions and he wasn’t subtle. We started kissing in the kitchen and continued throughout dinner, which we ate at dusk on the veranda. I lit the candles and the torches that ringed the porch while he finished grilling the filet mignon.

He came around to my chair to refill my wineglass yet again and kissed my hair. Then he put the bottle down and started to rub my shoulders.

“You’re very tense,” he said. “Your shoulders feel like they’re made of concrete.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious. I’m giving you a massage tonight. You need it.”

If he meant what I thought he did, then he would finally see my bad foot, now well hidden under a floor-length halter dress. “Let’s take this kind of slow, okay?” I said. “I’m a little overwhelmed.”

He went back and sat down, then took my hands in both of his. “I signed the papers the other day so the Studebaker place is mine. I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“When do you move in?”

His mouth twitched. I’d changed the subject and we both knew it. “I’m going back to Florida in a few days to wrap up matters there.”

“Are you going to stay with Ross in the meantime?”

Mick shook his head. “I took a room at the Hilton by Dulles Airport the day of the funeral. Ross needs some time on his own.”

“He stopped by this morning,” I said. “He thinks there might be a trial. Did you know he’s planning to leave Atoka once it’s over?”

Mick picked up his wineglass and slowly swirled the contents around, watching the long viscous legs slide down the side of the glass. “I’m not surprised. Easier to forget an unhappy chapter of his life. Beginning with his marriage to Georgia.”

“What do you mean? He adored her.”

“She was miles out of his league. Not financially, of course. He had the dosh she needed to be Madame la Marquise. But she was rather a tart, wasn’t she? All those affairs, left, right, and center. Ross put the old blinders on because he loved her so much as you said, but it hurt.” He stood up and came around, pulling me to my feet. “And now enough about Ross and Georgia. Right now I want to concentrate on you.”

He kissed me again, a long, deep kiss, then murmured, “I assume we’ve got the place to ourselves? It’s nice here under the stars. You’re very beautiful by torchlight, you know?” He untied the straps to my dress and moved his hands down my body.

I thought of Quinn’s telescope in the summerhouse. He’d removed it this afternoon. I hadn’t checked, but I’d figured that’s where he’d gone after our argument.

“Mick,” I protested, “I’m not sure…”

But he wasn’t listening. Before I knew it, he’d slipped my dress off and it fell around my feet. He unbuttoned his shirt, then picked me up in his arms and carried me over to the hammock. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I met you,” he said.

“I thought we were going to wait and take it slow,” I whispered into his neck.

“We did wait,” he mumbled, laying me down as he finished undressing. He knelt over me and bent to kiss me again. “We finished dinner.”