Ellen Crosby - The Riesling Retribution

“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.”