Ellen Crosby - The Riesling Retribution

“Where’s Quinn?” I asked.

The three men all wore baseball caps under which they’d draped towels to protect the back of their necks against sunburn. The effect always reminded me of something out of Lawrence of Arabia. Benny took off his cap and wiped his perspiring face with his towel. He had a thick black mustache and luxuriant black hair. Of the three, his English was the strongest.

“Queen went to see the señorita,” he said. “Left a little while ago.”

“Which señorita?” I asked. But I knew which one.

“La rubia.” He gestured in the general direction of the creek and the reenactment site. “The blonde.”

“I see.” I fiddled with the Gator key, nearly dropping it. “Thanks.”

Benny’s lively eyes rested on me. His expression was respectful, but his face softened with understanding. “Can I tell him something for you, Lucie?” His voice was kind.

“No, that’s okay. You don’t even need to mention that I stopped by. I was heading back to the house so I just thought I’d see how it’s going.”

Benny glanced over his shoulder at the growing pile of debris. “Going good. We’re getting there. Maybe we can start replanting soon.”

He pulled a flattened pack of Marlboros out of the pocket of his mud-stained jeans and lit up.

“I hope so,” I said. “One more thing.”

He exhaled smoke. “What?”

“Is Quinn…is everything okay with you and Quinn? I mean, with all the men and Quinn?”

Benny’s eyebrows came together and he seemed surprised by the question.

“Okay?” he asked. “How do you mean, ‘okay’?”

“Are you getting along?”

“Sure. We get along real good.”

“Has he been…well, impatient lately?”

“¿Cómo?”

“Mad?”

“Sure, mad. When things break or we can’t find something.” He shook his head and made a clicking sound with his teeth. “And we got some new guys coming to work. They don’t know nothing. He gets mad at that.”

“Is he too hard on those men, do you think? Does he get very mad?”

Benny took a drag on his cigarette and blew out a long stream of smoke. He stared at the horizon while he seemed to consider my question.

“I think he’s more mad at himself, sometimes. You know how Queen can be.”

“Look, Benny, if there are any problems, you come tell me. You hear?”

“Sí, sí. I’ll tell you.”

“How about Chance? Everything okay with him?”

“Chance?” He expelled smoke. “Sure. Everybody likes Chance. He laughs. Jokes a lot. Doesn’t yell at anyone.” He shrugged. “Queen doesn’t like him much.”

“I know.”

He finished his cigarette and dropped it to the ground. I watched him pulverize it under the toe of his heavy work boot. “Can I ask something, Lucie?”

“Sure.”

“Something going on between you and Queen?” His eyes searched my face. “You two okay?”

We both knew what he was asking and that it had to do with a blond señorita. I didn’t want to talk about it, so I put on my best poker face.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, “but everything’s fine.”

When I called Quinn’s cell phone after I finished talking with Benny, it went straight to voice mail. I left a succinct message about the power being restored. On my way home, I took a different route so I didn’t have to pass the grave site.

After showering and doing a load of laundry, I drove over to the villa. Frankie was on the phone at the tasting room bar, so I waved and headed to my office without stopping to talk. Quinn and I had adjoining offices off a corridor that could be reached through the small wine library that was just off the tasting room. Besides our offices, there was a back entrance to the galley kitchen we used when we had parties and dinners in the villa.

He was at his desk, staring at his computer monitor when I stopped in the doorway. His office, like his house, was half monastic cell, half locker room.

“I got five hundred and fourteen e-mails in the past four days.”

He propped a foot on his trash can and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. Like me, he looked like he’d also gone home, since he’d changed his clothes and shaved.

“Are you serious?”

He sat forward and frowned at his monitor. “I bet I could delete about four hundred of ’em. You know how many people want me to buy prescription drugs in Canada? And, uh, take advantage of other life-enhancing opportunities?”

“Try setting your spam filter on something more restrictive and you won’t get so much garbage.”

He glanced up. “You all right? You seem kind of touchy.”

“I’m fine.”

He picked up a corkscrew on his desk and began spinning it around with his index finger. “We ought to be done cleaning up the tornado damage by next week. I think we’re at the point where we can split up the crew so some are back on canopy management. And I’m considering picking the Riesling early.”

“How come?” I folded my arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

“After what we lost in the tornado, I don’t want to take any chances. Hurricane season’s gearing up. Did you see that new one over the Atlantic? ‘Bill.’” He grinned. “Who picks these names?”

I didn’t feel like grinning back and I was annoyed with myself—and him—for being irked because he’d gone off to see Savannah Hayden this morning.

“The National Weather Service. They use a six-year rotating list from the World Meteorological Organization and retire the devastating ones.” It came out sharp.

“Oh.” He rubbed his chin. “You are touchy.”

“Look, they have no idea whether that storm is going to turn into a hurricane, stall out at sea, or what it’s going to do. We’ve never picked the Riesling this early before. The more hang time those grapes have, the better,” I said. “Why don’t we see what Bill has in mind before we jump the gun? No offense, but our weather’s a little different in Virginia. When’s the last time California had a hurricane? I grew up here.”

“California has fires and earthquakes.”

“Then you get to call the shots first time we’re dealing with either of those. Okay?”

He made a face. “I’m willing to wait twenty-four hours, but I don’t want to be out on a limb with a saw because it’s too late to get a crew in.” He set the corkscrew down and leaned back in the desk chair again. “By the way, I stopped by the grave site. I think Savannah might come by tonight for a beer after she’s done out there.”

I kept my expression bland. “You invited her?”

He cocked his head and squinted at me. “Sure. Why not? Don’t you want to know if she found anything new?”

“Of course I do. But she’s as likely to talk as those bones are. You heard her this morning.”

“A beer or two might loosen her up.”

“Her? I doubt it.”

“Okay, sorry. I’ll call her and tell her it’s off.” He unclipped his cell phone from his belt.

So he had her phone number already. Probably even on speed dial. Maybe the real reason for getting Savannah to lose a few inhibitions had nothing to do with seeing if she’d talk about what she’d uncovered at the grave site today. Quinn sure hadn’t wasted any time, but he’d also turned the tables so I looked churlish asking him to uninvite her.

“Don’t call. It’s fine you asked her. I just don’t think anything’s going to come of it, that’s all.”

“We’ll see.” He put his phone away and I thought I saw a glint of something in his eyes.

Maybe anticipating the possibility of a new romance? I went next door to my own office and closed the door. Quinn’s personal life was his business and I’d been a damned fool for believing there’d been a change in our relationship and our feelings for each other.