The Riesling Retribution (17 page)

“You know I was at Ball’s Bluff?”

“Course I do. That nice young man, Chancellor, was in yesterday evening. Buys a little something for his dinner on his way home from your vineyard at least once or twice a week. Good-lookin’ fellow, if I do say so. Got a smile that lights up a room. He always has time for me, you know?” Thelma blushed like a teenager and I wondered what made Chance turn his considerable charms on her. “He’s
always asking questions about folks around here. I like a person who tries to fit in when he’s new to a place.”

“He’s very personable.”

“Yes, indeedy. You’re lucky to have someone like that working for you.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, surveying me. “Ask me about your poppa, honey. What is it you want to know?”

“You know everything about everyone, don’t you, Thelma? You remember a lot of things.”

She smiled, slyly pleased. “You don’t need to butter me up, although I’m sure you’ve heard some people think of me as sort of a local Orifice of Delphi. The orifice was a special person in ancient Greece who talked a lot and answered everyone’s questions. She was supposed to be quite the fountain of wisdom.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of her…it.” Just how clear
was
her memory? “Bobby Noland told me he has enough evidence to conclude that Leland murdered Beau Kinkaid.”

It was news to Thelma. She stopped rocking and placed both hands on the arms of her rocking chair. “Where’d he get a damn-fool idea like that?”

“Dominique remembered Beau being at our house the day I was born, which fits with the information his ex-wife gave Bobby about the last time she saw him.” I shrugged. “Plus Leland was having an affair with Annabel Chastain. Opportunity and motive.”

“Phooey.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gives
her
a motive, is more like it. I remember her. Annie Kinkaid in those days. Now she’s”—Thelma waved a hand like she was mixing something in the air—“
Annabel
Chastain. All high and mighty. A real legend in her own minefield.”

“You
know
her?”

“I never actually met her,” she said. “But I know all about her. Chasing after your father when your poor mother was expecting you. It about broke your mother’s heart.”

I wrapped my half-eaten muffin back in the paper and set it down. “How do you know all this?”

“Your mother and I shared confidences in those days, Lucille. Especially because both of us were…”

She stopped and laid two fingers lightly on her lips. “Well, we talked a lot.”

“So my mother told you that Annabel—Annie—was the one who was pursuing the affair with Leland?”

She nodded. “I told Bobby this the other day, but of course he didn’t believe me. Aside from it being secondhand information and no way to transubstantiate it. That’s legal talk for proving it.”

“Annabel passed a polygraph test and she had letters from Leland.”

Thelma’s eyebrows knitted together. “Isn’t that interesting she kept hers all these years? Wonder what happened to the ones she wrote your father?”

“He had letters from her?”

“Oh, my yes. Your mother got hold of a couple of ’em.” Thelma folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sure one of your parents burned them years ago if you haven’t turned up anything by now.”

I shook my head. “Unfortunately not. I’ve been through my mother’s papers and you know Leland. He wrote down as little as possible. The fire destroyed what few things remained.”

“Now you listen to me, Lucille.” Thelma sounded stern. “Your father had his faults. We all knew that. He was a rogue and a rascal and he put your sainted mother through ten kinds of hell with some of the things he’d get up to. He may have had his secrets, but he was no murderer. Your mother…well, she would have known. And she couldn’t have lived with it.”

I wanted to kiss her. It was the vindication I’d been seeking somewhere…anywhere. If Thelma believed it, then I knew I was right that Leland hadn’t killed Beau.

“I’m glad to hear you say that. Thank you.”

“It’s the truth.” She regarded me and frowned. “Are you going to eat that muffin? I swear, child. You look like you’re about to blow away in the next strong wind. Probably don’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Tiny just like your mother was. You look just like her, too, Lucille. Such a beauty she was.”

I opened the paper again, blushing. “You’re very kind. I miss her so much sometimes.”

“I know you do. So do I. My Lord, so do I.”

“What was it that you started to say about the two of you…that you were both something. What was it?”

Thelma took off her heavy glasses and looked away. The silence that fell between us seemed to weigh her down. Her sharp shoulders rose and fell as she brushed a fingertip under one eye.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to pry—”

“Pregnant,” she said. “We were both pregnant.”

I had been reaching for my coffee and almost spilled it. Coffee sloshed from the mug onto the little table.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”

I sopped up the liquid with a napkin, embarrassed for both of us.

“No one does. The only person I trusted was Charlotte.”

My mother’s name was Chantal but Thelma always called her “Charlotte,” just as I’d become “Lucille” and Eli was “Elliot.” Thelma knew the history of almost everyone in Atoka, but who knew anything about her?

“Do you have a child…I mean, did you…”

Had she given the baby up for adoption? How had she hidden her secret all these years?

Her smile was full of sadness and remembrance. “I lost my baby before anyone ever realized I was in a family way. Your mother guessed, though. Came in one day and found me sick as a dog, throwin’ up in the bathroom. She recognized right away that it was morning sickness. Knew I didn’t want to see a local doctor because I was too scared that folks around here would find out. So she drove me all the way to Washington to see someone from out of town.”

“Why didn’t the baby’s father help you?”

“Pfft!” She waved her hand. “Gone with the wind, darlin’. Back to his wife.”

“Oh, Thelma.”

“We’ve all chosen the wrong man at one time or another, haven’t we?” Thelma put her glasses back on and fixed her gaze on me with the haunted eyes of a woman who has never known what it was like to wake up each morning with a man who loved her.

She knew my track record with men as well as I did. Maybe better. I wondered if, when I was her age, whether I, too, would have a string of broken relationships, and that would be it.

“It’s the first time I’ve spoken about this since the miscarriage,” she said. “But I thought you should know. You’re exactly the same age my daughter would have been.”

Her smile wavered. “Every time I see you I think of that. Wondering what color hair and eyes she would have had. If she would have been smart or musical or an athlete. Course I couldn’t have kept her, so I wouldn’t have known either way, now would I?”

My throat closed. I couldn’t answer.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, child.”

“I’m afraid I’m the one who made you sad.”

She stood up and began cleaning imaginary fingerprints on the glass cabinet. “It’s all right. I’ve learned to live with it.”

I wanted to hug her but I was afraid she’d lose whatever shred of dignity she was hanging on to if I did.

“I hope you know I’ll respect your confidence just like my mother did,” I said.

“Of course I do,” she said. “I trust you like I trusted Charlotte. And Lucille, what you told me today, that stays here, too. You have my word.”

I nodded.

She finished cleaning the cabinet. “Well, now. At least you finished your coffee. How about another cup?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine. But could I get coffee and a donut to go for Quinn?”

“Course you can. I know he likes those chocolate-filled donuts with chocolate icing. I got one left. Lordy, I wonder what that man’s cholesterol is. How he manages to stay so fit and good-lookin’ considering some of the stuff he eats.”

I reddened. “I don’t know. How about Jamaican Me Crazy for him? It kind of fits the way things are going between us at the moment.”

She smiled. “I’ve been having a lot of those days lately myself.”

The routine of fixing the coffee seemed to restore a kind of normalcy between us. But our relationship had nevertheless changed as though we’d shaken a kaleidoscope, rearranging familiar pieces of colored glass to make an entirely different picture.

“About your father.” She waved away the money I tried to give
her for the coffee and bakery goods. “If I think of anything else that might help, I’ll let you know.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And don’t you fret over what folks are saying, either. You know the truth about your daddy and that’s what counts. Like I always tell myself, it’s just a case of mindlessness over matter. You just can’t mind because that kind of talk doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

She winked. “Just call me the Orifice.”

This time I did give her a small hug and she patted my shoulder.

“You’re a good girl, Lucille.”

I drove home with a lump in my throat.

Now I knew for sure that Annabel Chastain—or Annie Kinkaid—was lying about her relationship with my father. Maybe that meant she was also lying about Beau’s murder. Who killed him and how it happened. Too bad I didn’t have any way to prove any of this.

At least not yet.

Savannah Hayden’s muddy Jeep was in the winery parking lot when I got back from the General Store fifteen minutes later. Quinn hadn’t mentioned that she’d be dropping by. The last time I’d seen her was when she helped out at the anniversary celebration a few days ago. I wondered if he asked her to come over or whether it had been her own impulse.

I had hoped to talk over what Thelma had said about Annabel Chastain and her relationship with my father when I dropped off the coffee and donut. Now I regretted buying them. Maybe I could just quickly leave them and say I had business to take care of in my office.

It looked like Quinn had put Savannah to work cleaning the stainless-steel tanks we planned to use for the Riesling. I heard her laughter echoing inside one of the tanks, followed by Quinn’s deep voice.

“It has to be completely clean before the wine goes in so there’s no contamination,” he was saying. “I’m using the smaller tanks because we’re going to be working against the clock and the wine needs to cool down fast. But we gotta get all the schmutz out before any wine goes in.”

More laughter from Savannah and muffled words.

He turned around as I stood there, feeling foolish clutching the Styrofoam coffee cup and the little white bag from Thelma’s. One of his hands, I noticed, rested on Savannah’s shoulder. Her head was still inside the enormous tank.

Something flickered in his eyes when he saw me, but he kept his hand where it was.

“I brought you breakfast. Payback for the other day. I’ll just leave it on the table. Didn’t realize you were busy. If I’d known, I would have bought two of everything.”

“Thank you. So you went to Thelma’s?”

I nodded.

“Did you get answers to your questions?”

“My questions?”

“When you left here you said you were going to talk to someone who could answer your questions.”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Why don’t we save it for another time?”

Savannah’s head popped out of the tank like a jack-in-the-box when the music stopped.

“Morning, Lucie.” She rubbed the palms of her hands on the seat of her jean shorts like she was trying to clean them. Today she looked about Tyler’s age in a faded University of Montana T-shirt with ripped shorts and no socks showing above her red high-tops.

“I had a few hours off so I thought I’d stop by. Quinn says you’re pretty short-handed.”

“I appreciate that. We could use the help.”

“I can probably come back on Thursday when you pick the Riesling.”

“Don’t let us down, sweetheart,” Quinn said. “We need you.”

Savannah blushed. “I won’t.”

“I heard your investigation is all wrapped up,” I said. “So I guess that’s off your plate now that the sheriff’s department is closing the case.”

Her smile faded. “Once the final report’s written. Look, I’m sorry about how it turned out.”

“Why did you come back after Bobby finished recovering everything?”

“Why do you think? Because he
didn’t
recover everything.”

“He still moved from A to Z awfully fast the day after you were out here,” I said. “Either you didn’t find anything else or you found something really significant.”

“Look,” she said, “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this
must be for you. I’m not supposed to talk about the case, but there is one thing I’ll tell you. Off the record.”

It sounded ominous, whatever it was. “What?”

“Beau Kinkaid was killed somewhere else.”

“Where? How do you know?”

She laced her fingers together and turned her arms inside out, splaying her feet so she was resting on the sides of the high-tops. With her white-blond hair and jet-black eyebrows she reminded me again of a pixielike Peter Pan.

“I don’t know where.” She paused. “But I found evidence the body had been wrapped in something, meaning odds are good it was transported from another place.”

“So you’ll be able to figure out where he was killed?” I asked.

“I doubt it. Anyway, it’s a moot point since the case is closed.”

“Meaning we’ll never know.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Sometimes ‘good enough’ has to be ‘enough’ when you’re trying to allocate resources and you’re cash-strapped. Maybe not for the family who wants absolute certainty, but in this case the evidence is so lopsided…”

“It’s okay.”

I’d been through all that with Bobby. It was clear she was in lockstep with him. I knew a door slamming when I heard one. I set the coffee and the white bag on the winemaker’s table.

“You don’t have to explain,” I added. “I know it wasn’t your decision. I’ll be in my office taking care of paperwork if you need me, Quinn. See you later.”

“Sure.” Quinn nodded. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

If he didn’t believe me, he didn’t let on. “Look, after we’re done here, I’m taking Savannah out to the field to teach her how to measure Brix. I’ll call you with the numbers.”

“Terrific.”

They started talking again before I even got to the barrel room door. Outside in the courtyard, it seemed cooler than it had earlier in the day.

But maybe I was only imagining a chill in the air.

When I got to the villa a few moments later, Frankie was talking on the phone by the bar.

“I’m so sorry,” I heard her say. “No problem. No, no, that’s okay. It must have been awful when you found out…come on by and we’ll take care of it. See you soon.”

“What was that all about?” I asked after she hung up.

“One of our customers. Poor thing. She was in here this weekend with her boyfriend. They bought a case of Cab and a case of Chardonnay for an engagement party they’re throwing for some friends. Over five hundred bucks. Charged it on her Visa, then the next day found out someone had gotten hold of her information and made purchases on that card so she canceled it. Our transaction was still pending. Apparently there was some kind of mix-up and it got canceled, too. She promised to come in and pay us for the wine,” she said. “She’s bringing cash.”

“When’s she coming?”

“Uh…soon.”

“You think she’s legit?”

Frankie looked unhappy. “It never occurred to me she wasn’t. I trust everybody. Maybe I should have gotten her to secure those cases on another credit card until she showed up with the cash.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” I said. “We’ve had our share of bad checks and people who try to charge things on credit cards that have hit their limit. It comes with the territory.”

“She’ll show up,” Frankie said, pulling on her lip. “Or else I’ll cover it.”

“You will not. Forget it.”

“Speaking of questionable credit, you had a couple of visitors awhile ago. Eli.” She gave me a significant look. “And Brandi.”

“Both of them?”

“He came first, then she showed up. They, uh, adjourned to your office. I didn’t say anything since he’s your brother and it’s none of my business.”

“What were they doing in my office?”

“Talking.” She raised her eyebrows. “Fortunately we didn’t have any customers at the time.”

“You mean they were fighting?”

“Yup. Money again. I heard that part. I finally went out on the terrace so I don’t know the rest of it.” She shrugged. “When the front door slammed, I figured they might have left together, but then I saw her walking to her car by herself. The Jag was still in the parking lot.”

“When did he leave?”

“About ten minutes later.”

“He say anything?”

“Yup. ‘Good-bye.’”

“I think I’ll give him a call.”

But Eli had either turned off his cell or he was ducking calls because he never answered mine. After leaving three messages, I gave up.

I had no better luck at his office. The receptionist at his architectural firm in Leesburg said he hadn’t been in to work since last Friday. When I called his house as a last resort, I got the default message on his answering machine. Random words stitched together meant to imply that a genuine human being was asking me to leave my name and number and someone would get back to me. I hung up without saying anything.

Quinn called at the end of the day with the Brix numbers on the Riesling. A lot of people believe we pick our grapes when we think they’re ready and that it’s a somewhat subjective call based on upcoming weather along with a few other seat-of-the-pants assessments. It’s true there’s a certain crapshoot element in the decision-making process but there is also science, math—and the law.

Brix is the primary indicator in determining ripeness and when to pick because it measures the amount of sugar in the grapes. That measurement allows us to calculate the percentage of alcohol in the wine, which, by law, must range between 7 and 14 percent, depending on the wine varietal. Because Quinn and I liked our Riesling dry rather than sweet, we favored a low-alcohol wine that showcased the fruit—or as he said, a wine that wouldn’t blow the top of your head off because of too much alcohol—so we picked at a lower Brix.

“We should be ready on Thursday,” he said. “It’ll be about twenty-one and a half or twenty-two Brix by then. We’ll beat the rain, but just barely.”

“All right,” I said. “You’d better tell Chance to make sure we have enough pickers so we can wrap it up in a day.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll talk to him,” Quinn said. “One more thing. When we drove back from the field I saw Eli’s Jaguar parked over by the Ruins. Didn’t see him, just the car. Everything all right?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ve been trying to reach him all afternoon.”

“Lucie?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay? You seemed kind of distant this morning.”

How could I answer him? My father had been accused of murder, my brother’s life was falling apart as I watched, and Kit and I weren’t speaking to each other. Despite what was going on between Quinn and Savannah, fundamentally I knew he was my friend, and that had to be good enough.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind right now, but I’m okay,” I said. “By the way, Savannah’s nice. I can see why you like her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Just, she’s nice.”

“Sure. Yeah. Nice kid. Smart, too.”

After he hung up I wondered why he sounded puzzled that I’d figured out he was interested in Savannah. He’d been anything but subtle about it.

It was dusk when I stopped at the Ruins on my way home. My brother’s Jaguar was still there. I parked next to it and got out, calling his name.

The color had faded from the sky and the Blue Ridge was in silhouette against a bright white sky. The fields and stands of trees in the middle distance between the Ruins and the mountains already looked less substantial in the murky light. In a short while, it would be dark. The languid days of summer were already waning. On my way back from the General Store this morning I passed a Loudoun County school bus, the driver no doubt trying out a new fall route a few weeks early.

I found Eli on the far side of the Ruins, sitting where Quinn would not have been able to see him when he drove by. Eli had
supervised the conversion of the burned-out tenant house into a stage for plays and concerts. He’d also added a dressing room and an equipment storage area. He knew the Ruins and its hideouts better than anyone else, including the places that weren’t entirely safe to climb on like the old brick hearth where he was now sitting, along with a bottle of Leland’s favorite single-malt Scotch.

There had been one last full bottle of Macallan twenty-five-year-old Scotch in the armoire of the dining room. If that was the bottle he now cradled, he’d put a nice dent in it, though I would have guessed that anyway the moment I laid eyes on him.

“You’re drunk,” I said.

“And I plan to get drunker still.” He smiled the stupid smile of the woefully inebriated and patted a place next to him. “Join me.”

The brick floor was uneven and what was left of the chimney didn’t look like it could support much weight if I needed to hold on to it while I navigated my way to where he sat. Eli reached out his hand.

“Here. I’ll help you. Be careful.”

“Why don’t we move someplace safer? The mortar between these bricks is practically dust. It could collapse right under us.”

“Just like my life.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“How about letting me drive you back to the house?”

“Thanks, but I’m staying here until this bottle is empty.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very smart idea.”

“Does to me.”

“Why?” I gave in and eased myself down next to him.

“Because this is where I took Brandi when I proposed to her.”

In the aching silence that followed, I knew my brother had hit rock bottom if he had come back to the place where it all started with Brandi. I closed my eyes and listened, certain I would hear the sound of his heart breaking into pieces.

“Frankie said the two of you spent some time in my office today.”