The Riesling Retribution

Chapter 12

The weekend celebration of the twentieth anniversary of Montgomery Estate Vineyard will be indelibly etched in my memory, but not for reasons I would have imagined. Though we started on a high note with an unexpected celebration, it didn’t take long for things to head south.

Ironically, the weather for the entire weekend couldn’t have been more perfect if we’d ordered it up ourselves. Sparkling sunshine, the vivid blue skies of a Van Gogh painting, scattered thin-ribbed clouds, a soft breeze, and none of the oppressive energy-sapping humidity that was our usual summer fare.

The first people to arrive showed up at the villa before we’d even opened the doors. Kit and Bobby, arms around each other, walked in looking like they’d just won the lottery.

“We wanted to tell you first. Well, second after my mother and Bobby’s folks.” Kit held out her left hand where a small diamond in a plain gold setting sparkled on her finger.

I had started to set a large tiered platter of grapes and assorted cheeses on the oak trestle table when she waved her ring under my nose. The tray tipped sideways as I bent to examine it. Bobby grabbed one of the handles before anything could spill and we set it down together. Everyone laughed.

“Told you Lucie’d be surprised,” Bobby said to Kit, who continued admiring her ring and grinning like a fool. “She thought I’d never do it.”

“Darling, I thought you’d never do it.” Kit arched an eyebrow as she ate a grape and looked seductively at him.

We laughed some more and I hugged Kit. “I’m so happy for you.”

I hugged Bobby, too, but his eyes, though smiling like hers, turned grave as he patted me on the back. Something was wrong.

“We have to make a toast,” I said. “To celebrate. The Middleburg Business Association sent a bottle of champagne for our anniversary. It’s chilling in the fridge. I’ll get it.”

“You should save it,” Kit said.

“Nonsense. Just a small glass.”

Kit glanced at Bobby. “I guess we could. Though my fiancé, here, would prefer a beer.”

“Those bubbles give me gas,” he said, “but I suppose I can make an exception.”

I got the bottle and Bobby opened it on the terrace. The cork flew out and the fizzy liquid erupted. We laughed again as I held a champagne flute underneath and he filled it with champagne.

“So wen did this happen?” I handed Kit her glass. “Tell me everything.”

“Last night,” Kit said. “We had dinner on that boat that goes down the Potomac to Mount Vernon.”

“You think you were surprised.” Bobby poured two more small glasses of champagne. “Kit nearly went over the railing when I got down on one knee. Got me all worried I might have to call the dive squad to find out if she accepted or not.”

“He lies.” Kit grinned at him and blew him a kiss. Their eyes met, exchanging a coded look.

Bobby set down his glass, from which he’d taken only a couple of sips. “Sorry we can’t stay for your party, Lucie.”

Kit looked like she was confessing a guilty secret. “We’ve both got to work. Things came up. But we wanted to make sure we told you about the engagement in person. That’s why we came by on our way.” She also set down her glass.

I wanted to ask if the murder investigation of Beau Kinkaid had anything to do with the reason they both got called into work on a weekend, but the look in Kit’s eyes asked me not to push it and spoil the moment. Still, a heaviness had settled over us like a shroud, so maybe I already had my answer.

“At least let me give you a bottle of wine for dinner,” I said.

Kit twisted her engagement ring on her finger, glancing at Bobby.

“We’ll take your wine, but I insist on paying,” Bobby said.

“No, please—”

“Let us pay, kiddo,” Kit said. To Bobby, she added, “I’ll take care of it, honey. Why don’t you talk to Lucie while I do that?” She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet.

“It’s not a bribe,” I said to Bobby. “You know me better.”

“I know. But under the circumstances, it’s just better if we pay.”

I nodded, numb. “Have you talked to Annabel Chastain yet?”

“Sorry, but I can’t say. Look, Lucie, I want to make sure you understand that this isn’t about you. You’re not being accused of anything.”

“It’s my family and our reputation that’s at stake.”

Kit came outside cradling a bag with a bottle of wine in it and holding a credit card receipt. “Chance tried to give me another bottle on the house once he found out the news. He says ‘Congratulations.’” She winked at Bobby. “And he gave me a little kiss. He’s sweet.”

“Yeah, but I’m sweeter. And I better not catch him flirting with my fiancée.” Bobby’s smile was tolerant. “We should be going.”

Kit kissed me good-bye and squeezed my arm. “Enjoy your big party and try not to worry about anything. It’ll all work out, I promise.”

Later I would wonder if that had been a Judas kiss or if she really didn’t expect what would come next.

I didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because after that, people began arriving in waves that never seemed to end. The villa and the terrace filled up and soon everyone spilled into the courtyard where we’d placed additional bistro tables and chairs. Frankie had hired a disc jockey to play songs that had been popular twenty years ago. We had him set up out there so folks could dance if they wanted to, along with eating and drinking. Besides our usual fare of crackers, cheese, and fruit, we served birthday cake and sold wine at a 20 percent discount.

By noon it was shaping up to be our best day in history with the girls so swamped pouring wine for the tastings that Eli, Quinn, Chance, and I pitched in, serving wine and ringing up sales instead of spending time with our guests. Quinn sent Tyler out to direct traffic and Benny and Javier ferried cases of wine from the barrel room to the tasting room when we ran out of supplies.

“I never expected anything like this,” I said to Quinn when he and I took a break to check on how things were going in the courtyard. “Wish we had more help.”

“I wish the songs of the eighties were better,” Quinn said, as a singer I didn’t recognize sang about being addicted to love with a thudding bass backing him up. “How come your parents couldn’t have founded this place in the sixties? Did you actually like this music?”

“I was in grade school,” I said. “I don’t remember.”

“Why don’t I call Savannah?” he said. “Maybe she can give us a hand. She had something to do this morning but she’s probably free now.”

“Sure.” My heart gave an unwelcome lurch, but I kept my voice neutral. “Give her a call.”

He pulled out his cell phone and turned away for some privacy. I leaned against a pillar in the shade of the arcade. Though the courtyard was overflowing with people, I felt a stab of loneliness that was becoming familiar. A light breeze blew, fluttering the red-and-white-striped umbrellas we’d placed to shade each of the tables. The music changed to a song by Madonna—“Holiday,” with its bouncy dance-tune beat.

“Hey, Lucie.” Seth Hannah, president of Blue Ridge Federal, held a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in one hand and two wineglasses between the fingers of the other. He was dressed for the occasion in a straw boater, seersucker jacket, pale blue shirt, and khakis. “I was hoping I’d run into you. Great party, sweetheart. Your momma’d be proud.”

“Thanks, Seth. Glad you could come.”

I wondered if he hadn’t mentioned Leland on purpose once again. In the beginning, my father had been involved in the vineyard along with my mother. Later, she took over running it by herself while he went off on one of his many business ventures.

Seth smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I remember the day this vineyard opened. One of the first in Virginia back then. Saw that slide show you’ve put together in the library in the villa. What a lot of memories.”

“I know. I wish my parents were here to see this.”

“I’m sure you do.” He paused. “I thought you should know. Bobby Noland stopped by the house yesterday wanting to know if I knew anything about that business associate of your father’s.”

“What did you say, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“That I had no recollection of the fellow. Never met him as near as I can remember.”

“That was it?”

“Well, we talked generally, of course. It’s no secret that your father made some bad business decisions, honey. Lost a lot of money. His friends had to bail him out more than once.”

“Is that a roundabout way of saying you think he might be guilty?”

“Now I never said that, Lucie.” Seth adopted the tone of an adult who didn’t expect to be second-guessed by a child. “Bobby’s making the rounds, talking to the Romeos. I had drinks with some of the boys over at the Inn last night. Thought I’d help you out here by giving you a head’s up.”

“Do all the Romeos feel the way you do?”

“I think we agree that Lee had some questionable business associates.” He’d hedged his answer, but his tone was still tough.

“He was your friend, Seth, and now that he’s dead he isn’t around to defend himself. If you’re going to throw him under a bus—”

Seth straightened up and I could see the hardness travel to his eyes. “I resent that, Lucie. No one’s turning against anyone and no one said a word about your father killing that man.”

He walked away abruptly, weaving his way between the tables as the gaily striped umbrellas fluttered in the wind. A pretty tableau on a pretty day. I watched him sit down at his table and knew that I’d angered him. But I also knew something else.

He’d ducked my question about whether or not he believed Leland was a murderer.

Frankie came to me at the end of the day when Quinn and I were cleaning up in the little kitchen off the tasting room. The rest of the staff had gone, including Savannah, who had shown up to help for a few hours and promised to return on Sunday.

“What gives, Lucie? We got calls all afternoon from the Romeos. All of them who were coming to that private barrel tasting tomorrow afternoon canceled. You know anything about that?”

I stopped taking clean wineglasses out of the dishwasher. Quinn put down an empty cardboard box we used to store the glasses and regarded me warily.

“I might.”

“What happened?” Quinn asked. “It’s about Leland, isn’t it?”

“I think I offended Seth Hannah.”

“You think or you know?” he said.

I twisted my dish towel into a knot and Quinn threw up his hands. Frankie looked like she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to wait around to hear what came next or drop through the floorboards.

“Why don’t I call the people on the waiting list and let them know we’ve got space all of a sudden?” Her smile didn’t make it all the way to her eyes.

“Thanks, Frankie,” I said.

“Good idea,” Quinn said. “You know how I hate doing tastings when there’s nobody there.”

“I’d better get right to it.”

The door swung shut as she left. Quinn folded his arms across his chest. “What exactly did you say to Seth to royally piss him off?”

“I didn’t royally piss him off.”

“There’s another expression for it?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

I ran a finger around and around the rim of a clean glass. “Bobby’s been questioning all the Romeos about Leland and Beau Kinkaid. Seth said he told Bobby that he didn’t know anything, but it didn’t stop him from insinuating that Leland probably did it because of the kind of person he was.”

“Bobby’s a big boy. I’m sure he can separate facts from insinuation.”

“You know what? If you repeat something often enough, regardless of whether or not it’s true, after a while people start believing it.”

Quinn set down my glass on the counter and put both hands on my shoulders. “People,” he said, “are going to talk and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Yes, there is.”

He looked at me like I’d already lost not only the battle but the whole damn war.

“No. Not this time.”

“I can prove Leland’s innocent. That’ll stop the talk.”

He let go of my shoulders. “There’s no way you can do that. No evidence, nothing. You can’t go up against Bobby.”

“I can’t let the Romeos imply that because Leland and Beau had a business deal that went bad, he’s the obvious candidate to be the murderer. If that were true, I know a lot of people who’d qualify as potential killers. That includes me and a bunch of the Romeos themselves.”

Quinn finished filling the wine box with clean glasses and closed it up.

“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?” he asked.

I folded the dish towel and slapped it on the counter.

“They shouldn’t throw boomerangs.”

Just like Saturday, Sunday’s first crisis erupted right before we opened. Eli’s wife, Brandi, walked through the front door of the villa and the room went quiet.

There are those who spread joy and sunshine because they’ve got such positive, upbeat personalities that people feel good just by being around them. My sister-in-law was not one of these people.

Beautiful, absolutely. Stunning, even a knockout. Unfortunately, although Brandi possessed the kind of classic dark-haired looks that made people think of kohl-eyed women who graced Grecian urns or inspired men to launch a thousand ships, it was paired with a personality as two-dimensional as a wine label.

My brother had fallen hard for her and every time she wanted him to hang the moon someplace different—which she often did—he never thought twice about dropping everything to fetch the ladder. I do believe he’d commit murder for her without hesitating.

At first I wondered if the two of them had set up this meeting and Eli had forgotten to mention she’d be dropping by. But the moment I saw the look of expectant hope in his eyes, replaced quickly by a mask of cool resignation, I knew it was unplanned and likely to be combustible.

“Hey, princess.” Eli sounded wary. “You look pretty. New outfit? Where’s Hope?”

Brandi wore an expensive-looking red sheath dress with a plunging neckline and a racy slit that exposed a tanned thigh. Black patent leather belt, black sling-back sandals. A ruby and diamond necklace and matching drop earrings. Eli could be in hock until the next millennium just from her jewelry purchases.

Her heels clacked on the quarry tile floor as she crossed the room, tossing her head like a runway model, well aware that all eyes were fixed on her. Frankie disappeared into the kitchen, dragging Gina. Quinn, who had been taking wine bottles out of boxes along with Eli, stopped and folded his arms like a spectator watching a sports event. I quit filling goblets with the small oyster crackers we served during tastings. The air crackled like she’d just laid down a live high-voltage line.

“Hope is with my mother. We need to talk, Eli. I’m broke and I need money. I can’t go on like this.” Her words came out in a torrent as she flung her Coach purse down on a bar stool. She seemed oblivious to her audience.

My brother came from behind the bar like he was about to step into the lion’s cage without a chair or a whip.

“Look, sweetheart, let’s go on outside and talk about it. I told you. I can’t get you anything for a few days—”

“Don’t give me that crap. I’m tired of it. What do you expect me to do in the meantime? Get it out of thin air?” She snapped her fingers in his face. “I don’t even answer the phone anymore because it’s always a collection agency. I’m on goddamn tranquilizers now to deal with the stress. I don’t care if you have to rob a bank, but you’d better do something. Do you understand me?”

Her voice, like her nerves, seemed to fray as she spoke. Eli took her arm.

“Let’s go home, babe.” He sounded calm, despite the red rising on his cheeks. I wondered how often he’d placated her like this before. “We’ll talk about it there. Have dinner tonight, work it all out—”

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me! What are you, insane? It’s over, Eli. I told you already. The only reason you can come home is to get your stuff. What you haven’t moved out by the end of the day tomorrow will be on the street to be picked up with the trash.”

Her words landed like blows, except they were meant to humiliate as well as wound. I held my breath and waited to see what my brother would do. For a moment the only sound in the room was the rushing of the wind through the open French doors.

A muscle twitched in Quinn’s jaw. He was biting his tongue like I was as Brandi faced Eli, her beautiful features twisted into the uncontrolled fury of a harpy.

“It’s still my house.” Eli maintained that surreal deadpan calm but now there was a steeliness in his voice. “And we’re going to finish this conversation somewhere else.”

He grabbed her purse and thrust it at her. “Get going.”

“Don’t you talk to me—”

“I said, move it.”

Brandi looked as if he’d actually slapped her, but for once she didn’t have a sharp-edged retort. Eli’s eyes met mine as she tucked her bag under her arm and stalked across the room, head high in an attempt to salvage her dignity. Eli followed, hands in his pockets, eyes straight ahead.

I did not want to think about where the rest of that discussion would take them. Eli didn’t slam the door, but he did close it with some force.

Quinn broke the silence first. “I’d give her a good spanking.”

“I know you would. What do you bet Eli caves in and buys her something once he calms her down.”

“A straitjacket?”

“Only if Versace makes them.” I paused. “Look, I’m sorry about that scene—”

“Forget it. It wasn’t your fault and no apology’s necessary.” He shoved an empty wine box under the bar. “I smell coffee in the kitchen. Frankie probably made a fresh pot. Let’s get some.”

I nodded, grateful he was trying to get things back on track again.

“I think we lost Eli for the day,” I said. “We’re going to be short-handed again.”

“We’ll cope,” he said. “Just like we always do.”

The rest of the day was as busy as Saturday had been so it turned out not to be too difficult to banish Eli and his problems from my mind for a few hours and concentrate on taking care of customers and making sure things ran smoothly. The tasting room and terrace buzzed with the conversation of couples and groups of friends who laughed and talked and seemed happy to be with one another for an afternoon. Quinn caught me watching at one point and squeezed my shoulder.

“Don’t go there. You can’t solve Eli’s problems. He has to work them out for himself.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I know he does.”

He patted me on the back like he knew I was fibbing and turned his attention to a good-looking young couple who just stepped up to the bar.

At noon my sister, Mia, called from New York to say congratulations on twenty years and ask how everything was going. I said everything was going great, just great, and that Eli, with whom she also wanted to speak, couldn’t come to the phone right now but he’d call her later. I also said nothing about Beau Kinkaid or Leland being a possible suspect in his murder investigation.

I hung up the phone feeling guilty for keeping so much from her, but my sister’s obvious happiness at starting a new life in Manhattan after a rocky period following our mother’s death had resonated in her voice. If I’d given off any vibes that anything was wrong she’d been too caught up in her own world to realize, so why spoil it? There would be enough time to tell her later—especially after the sheriff’s department investigation finally wrapped up.

James Joyce was right. What the eye can’t see the heart can’t grieve for.

Besides, my heart was already grieving enough for both of us.

By five thirty the last guests had departed. Frankie, Gina, and I were in the courtyard clearing up wineglasses and dishes and wiping down tables when my cousin Dominique showed up. She hugged me and, without asking, pitched in with the cleanup.

When I was growing up my mother once remarked that it seemed apt that Dominique had been born on a Saturday since, like the old nursery rhyme, she truly was the child who worked hard for a living. Somewhere along the way, though, Dominique crossed over from hardworking to workaholic, becoming Saturday’s child without an off switch. Thin and sinewy as rope, she had hazel eyes and spiky auburn hair that looked like she cut it with gardening shears—which on her somehow seemed fashionable and chic. Though my cousin hadn’t lived in Paris for years, she still possessed that innate French sense of style that turned heads when she entered a room.

“Why didn’t you come earlier for the party?” I asked. “Instead of for the drudgery?”

She lit a cigarette. “Something came up at the Inn.”

Something always came up at the Inn and she was always the only one who could handle it.

“Looks like you had a good day.” She waved the hand with the cigarette to encompass the courtyard. “You must have made money hand over foot.”

I smiled. “We did well. How’d it go with you?”

She sucked on her cigarette and exhaled dragon smoke. “Eh, bien, the Romeos were in drinking at the bar,” she said. “They were talking about your father and that skeleton you found.”

“Seth Hannah told me Bobby’s been questioning all of them about whether they knew him.” I shrugged. “No one did.”

Dominique picked up two wineglasses, which still had remnants of red wine in them, and dumped one into the other. “Do they know who he is?”

“Didn’t you hear? A former business partner of Leland’s. Beauregard Kinkaid. He went by ‘Beau.’”

“Beauregard Kinkaid? Beau Kinkaid?”

She repeated the name as she flung the wine over the wall in a graceful arc of bloodlike drops.

She faced me, holding the empty glasses, a puzzled expression on her face. “I don’t want to open a Pandora’s box of worms here,” she said, “but I met Beau Kinkaid. He came to visit your father at the house the summer you were born.”