Hard Truth

22

“Lorna, how are you feeling?” Regan rushed up the front steps and dropped her bag on the porch. “Mitch told me what happened. I tried calling your cell and the house phone, but you didn’t pick up.”

“I’m fine, thanks. It took a few hours for the ringing in my ears to stop, but all’s well now.” Lorna got up from the chair where she’d been rocking, passing the time quietly while she waited for T.J. and Mitch to come back with the beer and Chesapeake crabs they’d set out for almost an hour ago.

“God, I turn my back on you for five days and you damn near get yourself killed.”

“But I didn’t get killed. T.J. arrived, like the posse, to save the day.” She smiled and added, “My hero.”

“Not bad, as heroes go.” Regan took the rocker next to Lorna’s.

“Ummm. Not bad at all. Thanks for the referral. Who’d have thought, the day I called you, that it would lead to all this?”

“All what?” Regan narrowed her eyes. “Lead to what? Are you holding back on me? Is something going on between you and the PI?”

Before Lorna could answer, the Crossfire pulled into the drive and stopped on a dime. Mitch and T.J. got out, laden with several bags.

“I hope you’re both very hungry,” T.J. called, “because we have enough crabs here to feed an army.”

“Did you catch them yourselves?” Lorna stood at the top of the steps. “You’ve been gone for an hour. The Crab Shack is just two miles down the road.”

“Well, we stopped for the beer first. Then we decided to have the crabs cooked for us, instead of cooking them here. Then we realized we didn’t have enough beer, so we had to go back to the state store.” T.J. grinned at Lorna. “You see how this could take some time.”

“I do.” Lorna laughed. “Bring it all into the kitchen and we’ll get some plates.”

“Plates?” Regan appeared horrified. “You don’t use plates to eat Maryland crabs. You cover the table with newspaper, then paper towels, then you put the crabs right on the table.”

“Don’t you get newsprint on the crabs?” Lorna asked.

“Not if you use paper towels. Then, when you’re finished, you wrap up the paper, crab debris and all, and toss everything into the trash can. Preferably one with a tight lid, so the raccoons don’t litter your yard with shells.”

“Hey, you live on the Bay, I have to think you know what you’re talking about. But I can go you one better.” Mitch took a roll of paper from one of the bags. “Unprinted paper. What do you think of that, eh?”

“Where’d you find that?” Regan went down the steps to inspect the roll.

“The guy at the crab place sells it.” Mitch looked pleased with himself.

“Definitely much better than newspaper,” Regan agreed. “That’s why you’re a special agent with the FBI, right? ’Cause you’re so smart?”

“You betcha.” Mitch took her by the arm. “Now, let’s go in and eat. The smell of those crabs had me gnawing on my hand all the way down Callen Road.”

The foursome crowded into the kitchen. Lorna spread the paper thickly on the top of the table, and T.J. dumped the crabs in the middle. Mitch opened four bottles of beer and set one in front of each of the chairs. Lorna grabbed a handful of paper napkins and passed them around.

“Looks like we’re all set,” Lorna said.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Regan said. “To friendship.”

“There’s something we can all drink to.”

They all did.

Mitch turned to T.J. “So, now that your last big case has been solved, what say we talk a little more about getting your name back on the government’s payroll?”

“Sorry, pal. I already have plans.”

“What plans?” Mitch grabbed a crab and broke it open.

“I’m thinking about going into business for myself.”

“I thought you’d decided you didn’t want to be a PI anymore.”

“Different business.” T.J. separated meat from cartilage and began to eat.

“What kind of business?” Mitch frowned.

“Well, I think I want to try my hand at a winery,” T.J. told him.

“You’re kidding, right?” Mitch laughed.

“Dead serious.” T.J. nodded and turned to Lorna. “The place is still for sale, right?”

He’d caught her completely off guard and she stammered. “Ah… well, yeah. I suppose so. Did you want the whole farm?”

“I was thinking just the vineyard.”

“We’d have to see if it could be subdivided.” She heard herself think out loud. “And the wine cellar… did you want the wine cellar?”

“What’s a winery without a wine cellar?” he replied.

“It’s under the barn.” Lorna frowned. “The barn should stay with the house.”

“We’ll see what we can work out.”

“What do you know about wine, except that you like to drink it?” Mitch asked.

“Actually, I know quite a bit,” T.J. told him.

“Since when?”

“Since I spent the weekend talking to several growers in the area. I spent hours before and after that reading up on the subject on the Internet.” He turned to Lorna. “This is a good site, and you’ve already got the trellises set up. There are at least seven really good vineyards in the area, and several wineries. I sampled the products and was pretty impressed with what they produce. You already have the cellar, you have some barrels. It’s a start.”

“How do you know what kind of grapes to grow? What kind of wine to make?” Mitch persisted.

“Actually, the classic white wine grapes do very well here. And for the first few years, I’ll grow and sell the grapes to some of the local wineries. Then, when I feel I’m ready, I’ll move on to the next phase of making my own wine.”

“You really are serious,” Lorna said.

T.J. nodded. “Very serious. So if you’re selling-look no further for your buyer. Of course, I’ll probably need to scout up a little capital.”

“I might have a few bucks to invest,” Regan told him. “I don’t have a lot of time to put into a new venture right now, but I will down the road. And I could design the labels for your bottles when the time comes.”

“All right. My first investor.” T.J. turned to Mitch. “How ’bout you? You in?”

“I might be. I’d like to look at your prospectus first.”

“Well, that’s where Lorna comes in.” He touched her arm. “You want to make it a four-way partnership?”

“I already have a business,” she reminded him.

“Exactly. We’ll need a good CPA. You can be our moneyman.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“It’ll be a good way for you to work off my bill for the past ten days.” T.J. grinned. “And it’s a big one. My time is not cheap.”

“We’ll see what we can work out,” she replied.

“This is great. We’re going to be business partners,” Regan noted. “So what do we call this vineyard?”

“Lavender Hill,” Lorna said without thinking.

“What?” T.J. asked. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh. Sorry. We can come up with something, I’m sure.”

“I like Lavender Hill,” Regan told her.

“It’s the original name of the farm. Over the years, everyone started referring to it as Palmer’s farm. I found the old sign in the barn when I was a kid, and my grandmother told me about how, when her grandparents moved here, the hill out back was all wild lavender.”

“Lavender Hill Wines.” T.J. nodded. “I like it. Mitch?”

Mitch nodded. “Absolutely.”

“So there we are. We have a business. We have a name for it.” T.J. tilted his bottle. “We’re in the wine business. At the very least, the grape business. Or will be, by this time next year.”

“That’s going to be some commute, Dawson, if you’re planning on staying in Baltimore,” Mitch pointed out.

“That house is sold, so I have to look for a new place, anyway. When I was driving into Callen earlier today, I saw a house for rent out on Conway Road. I wrote down the Realtor’s number, so I can give him a call in the morning.”

“I’m glad I didn’t stay an extra day in Chicago,” Regan noted. “Look what I would have missed.”

“Hey, what did you find out about Eddie Kroll while you were out there?” Mitch asked.

“Not much.” Regan frowned. “It’s really odd. I know he existed, I have his report cards. But it seems he just vanished when he was around thirteen or so.”

“Maybe he died,” Lorna suggested.

“I went back through the parish records, but I couldn’t find a notice of his death or that he’d transferred out of school. Midway through his freshman year in high school, he simply disappeared.”

“Well, so much for that.” Mitch grabbed another crab from the pile.

“No, I’m going to find out who he was. If for no other reason than to satisfy myself. Much like Lorna’s quest to find her old friend. I want to know where Eddie Kroll went, and why my father had his old report cards.”

“Did you hear a car?” Lorna frowned, and looked out the window.

“It’s Chief Walker.” Lorna excused herself. “I’ll be right back.”

She went through the dining room and out the front door and stood on the steps with her hands on her hips, watching the black-and-white turn around in her drive. When the car came to a stop, she walked to it.

The chief lowered the window on the passenger side and asked, “How are you doing, Lorna?”

“I’m doing fine. Thanks.”

“Just wanted to stop by, see how you are. And to tell you… well, I just want you to know how glad I am that nothing worse happened to you. And that I’m sorry for… well, sorry there was bad blood there for a while.”

Lorna nodded. “Apology accepted. Don’t give it another thought.”

“I ran into Fritz at the Quik Stop. His friend is in town, he said they’d be stopping out to see you. Seems like a nice guy, this friend of his.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Mike lawyered up real fast-he’s filing motions right and left. It’s going to be months before the DA can get that show on the road.”

“Isn’t that pretty much what you’d expected?” Lorna asked. “Did anyone expect him to confess?”

“Oh, one other thing. That name you asked me about…”

“Claude Raymond Fleming.”

“Right. I asked around, found out his sister, Joanne, lived over in Arnold. She died a few years back, cancer.”

“Fleming’s sister lived in Arnold?” Lorna felt a stab of recognition. Then she asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer, “What was her last name?”

“Porter. Her married name was Porter. Didn’t know if you still wanted the information, but thought I’d pass it on to you, all the same.”

“Thanks, Chief. I’m glad you did.” She stepped back from the car and waved, and he said good-bye as he drove past her. She stood in the driveway for a moment, then went back into the house.

“There’s something I have to do,” Lorna told her guests as she searched for her car keys. She found them on the counter, then looked for her handbag, which she found in the dining room, the strap looped over a chair. “You stay and finish your dinner, I’ll be back in a little while.”

T.J. had followed her into the dining room.

“Where are you going? What did Walker say that has you running out the door?”

“He told me that Claude Raymond Fleming’s sister lived in Arnold. Her name was Joanne Porter.” She searched her bag for her sunglasses. “As in Danielle Porter.”

“Danielle’s mother? So Claude Fleming is Danielle’s uncle?”

“Apparently. Now, why do you suppose she would have run to the phone to call him the minute she closed the door on us?”

“Good question,” he agreed. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, thanks. I think she’s more likely to talk to me if I’m alone.”

“What are you hoping to find?”

“She knows about Melinda, T.J. I’m sure she does. And I’m not going to let it go until I find out what really happened to Mellie.”

Lorna parked her car alongside Danielle’s double-wide and got out. She walked to the front door and knocked until it opened.

Danielle stood in the doorway. When she saw Lorna, she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

“What now?” Danielle asked.

“I give up. What’s the connection?” Lorna asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Danielle turned to open the door and Lorna stuck out an arm to stop her.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Melinda Eagan. Where is she?”

“What does it matter, after all these years? Just leave it, and get on with your life.”

“Melinda was my best friend. I need to know what happened to her. Her mother needs to know.”

“Her?” Danielle scoffed. “Her mother doesn’t give a shit about her and never did. Beat the crap out of Melinda and Jason every chance she got. She didn’t deserve them then, and she doesn’t deserve Mellie now.”

“Billie’s changed a lot over the years, she isn’t the woman she used to be.”

“That doesn’t make up for what she did to them. Sorry.” Danielle opened the door and stepped inside the double-wide.

“She’s really a different woman. Oh, please don’t close the door. Listen to me, Billie has spent the last twenty-five years regretting everything that happened between her and her kids.”

“Too little, too late,” Danielle said, glaring at her from the doorway. “Tell it to someone who gives a shit. A woman treats her kids that way, she deserves to lose them.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“It sure as hell isn’t yours.” The door was all but closed.

“If you talk to Mellie, tell her… tell her that I never forgot her. That I never stopped missing her and that she was the best friend I ever had.” The door made a little puff sound as it closed.

“And tell her she can find me easily enough, if she ever wants to,” Lorna added, loud enough to be heard from inside, before she walked away.

She got into her car and backed out of the drive, tears spilling down her face, saddened to know that, after all these years, her friend was still out of reach.

The good news was that now she knew for certain Melinda was still alive.