Ellen Crosby - The Riesling Retribution

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re out of line.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if Vitale were mentally challenged. Sumner poked a finger at his chest. “I run one of the best construction companies in the world, sir. We win awards every year for our projects. You make any further unsubstantiated accusations in public and you’ll hear from my lawyers.”

Vitale laughed. “Your lawyers can’t protect you from everything, Chastain. You can’t buy everyone off. If you don’t believe me, wait and see.”

Sumner balled his hands into fists, but before I could move, Annabel caught her husband’s arm.

“Don’t,” she said. “He’s just goading you. Probably some construction worker with an axe to grind who’s come here for that reenactment.”

Vitale looked her up and down, a curious light in his eyes. “The missus, right? I’ve been reading about you. Your ex-husband’s body was found here on this farm. Something shady about that, too. Figures why you’d be hooked up with this fellow.”

“Why you son of a—” Sumner began.

“Stop it!” I stepped between the two men as Annabel yanked harder on Sumner’s arm. “That’s enough.”

I always wondered what kind of guts and nerve it took for referees at sporting events to put themselves between two gladiator-sized men who had arms like tree trunks, legs thick as wine barrels, and testosterone-fueled egos. Ray Vitale and Sumner Chastain weren’t that big, but they were bigger and stronger than I was. Both of them stared down at me with incredulous expressions, but at least they stopped threatening each other.

“I don’t care what beef you have with Mr. Chastain,” I said to Vitale. “Take it somewhere else.”

“If you lived in one of his buildings, you’d be thanking me,” Vitale said. “Chastain Construction was supposed to build five assisted-living homes for my company. They hadn’t even finished the second one before the problems started. Once this goes to court, people are going to find out about the corners he cuts and the bribes he pays to get his jobs signed off by the building inspectors.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sumner said.

“Sumner,” Annabel said. “Let it go. He’s not worth it.”

I was grateful for the distraction of more tires on gravel, particularly when I saw B.J.’s sleek black Lincoln pull in and park next to Vitale’s Honda. B.J. climbed out and straightened up, stiff limbed but elegant in a Confederate officer’s uniform. I’d heard at reenactments he donned a plumed hat like Colonel Jeb Stuart. Today, though, he was hatless.

“Howdy, folks. What’s going on here?” His eyes darted from Vitale to the Chastains to me. He zeroed in on me. “Everything all right, Lucie?”

“Just fine. Let me introduce you to Annabel and Sumner Chastain.” I nodded at the Chastains. “B. J. Hunt. He’s in charge of the reenactment this weekend. B.J., I’m about to take Mr. and Mrs. Chastain over to visit the grave site. Would you and Mr. Vitale mind waiting at the villa so they can have some privacy? I wasn’t expecting you this early, but we’ll be back in a few minutes and the site is all yours.”

By now B.J. had figured out our little group wasn’t Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, but he smiled like we were all friends and nodded at me.

“Of course. You folks take your time. Ray and I’ve got some paperwork to go over, anyway. Don’t we, Ray?”

When Vitale didn’t answer, B.J. jostled his elbow. “We’ll just get a move on.”

They left and I shepherded the Chastains over to the red Mule, which was parked in the lot behind my car. Sumner helped Annabel into the front passenger seat and climbed in back.

“So this Vitale fellow.” Sumner’s breath was warm near my neck and his voice held quiet anger. “What does he have to do with your reenactment?”

“He’s the commander of the Union troops,” I said. “I apologize for what happened. I didn’t realize he would be here when you arrived.”

“It wasn’t your fault, but I appreciate that. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll steer clear of me. I can make his life miserable.”

I had no doubt.

I felt Sumner’s weight shift and saw in the rearview mirror that he was now sitting against his seat with his arms spread in a grand manner across the back. The Chastains were silent as I headed out of the parking lot and turned onto the south service road, passing one of our apple orchards. The dull, sallow day seemed to mute all colors and sounds, matching the increasingly gloomy mood of my passengers.

I wondered if Annabel regretted suggesting this expedition. She was fidgeting with the handles of her pretty fabric handbag, twisting them in a knot around her fingers. Sumner, from what I could see in the mirror, looked restless and impatient, and it seemed to feed on Annabel’s jangled nerves.

Now that the grave site had been scavenged by Bobby, his deputies, and Savannah Hayden, the place was nothing more than disturbed earth. The tornado’s destructive path, however, was still as vivid as a new scar. I parked and everyone got out.

“Where is it?” Annabel asked.

For a second, I hesitated. After all the digging and excavating, the place looked different from the day I’d found the grave. I couldn’t let them know I wasn’t quite sure.

“It’s right over there.” Our feet sank in as we squished through the mud.

“It’s so isolated.” Annabel sounded disappointed. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “No wonder he wasn’t found for so long.”

She shook out a cigarette and put it between her lips, turning to Sumner for a light.

“I thought you wanted to quit, darling,” he said.

“Not today.” Her voice wasn’t strong.

He lit her cigarette and she smoked with stiff, jerky motions, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes as though she were breathing in something heady and intoxicating like incense.

“The only people who come here are hunters,” I said. “The Goose Creek Hunt rides through here, and during deer season, I let a few men who used to hunt with my father use my land.”

“So how did you find—I mean, what was it that—” Annabel stumbled over the question.

“The, uh, his skull,” I said. Had anyone informed her the bones were scattered? That the mandible had been missing?

I didn’t want to tell her if she didn’t know, nor that what was left of his mouth had reminded me of a scream.

“They said he’d been shot through the temple,” she said in a faraway voice. “He probably died right away.”

“Come on, Annie.” Sumner slipped an arm around her waist. “This isn’t doing you any good. You’ve seen the place now. Let’s go back to the cottage so you can rest.”

I cleared my throat. “If you’d like to put a marker out here, a cross, maybe? Or something else—”

“No,” Sumner said at once. “We wouldn’t.”

“Thank you, but it won’t be necessary,” Annabel said. “He didn’t die here and he’s no longer buried here.”

“Do you know where he died?” I asked.

She dropped her cigarette and ground it out under the toe of her boot until it disappeared into the mud. Then she looked up and said in a calm voice, “I do not.”

No one spoke until I pulled into the parking lot.

“Thank you very much, Ms. Montgomery. We appreciate what you did.” Sumner’s smile was tight.

“Lucie.” It was the first time Annabel had called me by my first name. “This has been painful for me and I know it has also been difficult for you.”

She paused as though she expected me to agree, but I folded my arms and waited for her to continue. They say when you’re in a hole, it’s time to stop digging. Annabel, it seemed, didn’t plan to stop.