The Chardonnay Charade

Chapter 26

I had to stay overnight at Catoctin General. The bullet had grazed my ribs, a minor miracle. I think Ross had been aiming for my heart.

Bobby Noland came to the hospital while they were fixing me up. I told him everything, including what Ross had said about knowing what really happened the night of Mia’s accident. Turned out she’d been right. She hadn’t even been driving. Abby had been behind the wheel, on her way to see the promiscuous Brad, who had decided he wanted to kiss and make up. With her car in the shop for a previous fender-bender, Abby took Mia’s keys and managed to pour Mia into the backseat, where she passed out. When Abby hit the Jeep, she panicked and called Brad. Their lucky night, to have no witnesses—especially among the passengers in the other car—so they moved Mia to make it look like she’d been driving, wiped Abby’s fingerprints off the steering wheel, then took off.

When they got back to Abby’s place, Brad called Ross, who made another late-night house call, putting two and two together the next day when he read the morning papers.

Bobby told me later the CSI team lifted a nice set of Abby’s prints off the back of the rearview mirror of Mia’s car.

“Happens almost every time,” he said. “As many cop shows as there are on TV, you’d think enough people would remember to wipe the mirrors for prints. Every day I get on my knees and thank God for stupid criminals.”

I did not see Ross again. There would be no reason for me to testify at his trial. Like he’d told me, he knew about the affair and knew Randy and Georgia were meeting that night. He faked the call from Emilio and Marta and got Georgia to agree to switch cars—he’d already delivered the children the night before. Then he waited until he saw the Explorer head over to the barn. He slipped inside and heard them and that’s when he found the flashlight. Furious, he hid Georgia’s Roadster in the bushes off Atoka Road and jogged back to the vineyard, collecting a canister of methyl bromide. And waited. After he knocked her out, he made sure that his beautiful wife would be so disfigured no man would ever want to look at her again.

After that he needed to set up Randy, making it look like he killed Georgia, then himself. He returned to the barn, pretending to be an intruder. When Randy investigated, Ross’s judo skills trumped Randy’s size. The rest was improvised, but easier than he’d expected. Randy’s car keys were on the lanyard on his belt. Ross put him in his own car and drove to White’s Ferry, where he shot Randy and dumped him in the Potomac.

The trek back to Middleburg was a terrific trial run for someone training for a marathon, though Ross barely managed to get home, shower, and change when my call came in. It wasn’t in the plans for Georgia to be found so quickly. Randy, on the other hand, took far too long floating down the Potomac until he washed up on T. R. Island. And Emilio and Marta screwed things up by disappearing, too.

Now they were going to disappear for good. In return for Emilio testifying against Ross, he would not do jail time, but he and his family were being deported back to El Salvador.

“You know, if Jen had shown up at the wrong time, or even waited around for Randy, she would have seen Ross,” I said to Quinn. “He might not have killed Georgia that night, or Randy, either.”

We were sitting on the terrace at the villa at the end of the day. I’d just returned from the hospital, where my bullet wound had been cleaned and dressed again. Quinn had brought out a bottle of Chilean Chardonnay. “Thought we’d try this. Jen would have been in the way. No telling what Ross might have done.”

“More Chardonnay?” I asked. “Ross managed to get away with two murders. He never could have talked his way out of three.”

“Nearly managed, you mean,” Quinn said. “Bobby never bought that murder-suicide story. Then you figured out about the forgery. And yes, more Chardonnay. Tasting for next year’s vintage. Never too early to start.”

“So you’re staying here, then?”

He uncorked the wine. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you need me more than Mick does.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Take it any way you like.” He smiled. “There’s something else.”

“Yes?”

“Bonita’s moving in with me. I hope you’re going to let Hector and Sera stay at their place for a while, even if he’s retired. Bonita loves her folks, but they drive her nuts, and vice versa. So this seems like a good solution.” He handed me a glass of wine. “Okay?”

I stared into my wine. “Okay,” I said. “How did Mick take it when you turned down his job offer?”

Quinn seemed surprised. “Haven’t you spoken to him?”

“Once, after Ross was arrested,” I said. “He was pretty devastated by the whole thing. Said he had no clue what was coming.”

“I thought you two were…” Quinn didn’t finish.

“Were what?”

“Together.”

“Not really.” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He clinked his glass against mine. “There’s a Spanish proverb that goes, ‘With wine and hope, anything is possible.’”

“One out of two isn’t bad.”

“No hope?”

I wrinkled my nose. “No wine. This stuff’s corked. How about another bottle?”

“All right,” he said. “Let’s start over.”