Ellen Crosby - The Bordeaux Betrayal

“Don’t you want it?”

Jordy looked embarrassed. “My dear, I’m sorry to speak ill of the dead, but it’s unreadable.”

I took the book and thanked him. He walked me to the front door.

“Did you see her leave this morning?” I asked.

He shook his head. “She didn’t even show up for breakfast. Surprising since Gracie put out one of her award-winning English spreads.” He patted his stomach. “One of those will keep you until dinner. Tomorrow’s dinner.”

I kissed him good-bye and he closed the door. But as I walked toward Cornwall Cottage I saw the lace curtain in his office flutter and drop back into place. Jack Greenfield would definitely hear about my visit.

In the waning afternoon light the crime scene tape around the cottage gleamed. I walked up and clamped my hands around my eyes like goggles and peered through the windows. Luckily the curtains hadn’t been drawn.

The living room was immaculate as though ready for new guests. The bedroom was a different story. Covers thrown back on the king-sized bed with the sheets tangled and twisted. An antique quilt lay in a heap on the floor. I moved around to the kitchenette window. A can of nuts and a couple of empty bottles of wine sat on the counter. There was half a pot of coffee in the coffeemaker.

That was it. Jordy had been right—there was nothing to find, especially after the sheriff’s department had cleaned the place out. I started back down the flagstone path toward the parking lot.

The rubber tip of my cane came down on something hard wedged in a crevice between two stones. I looked down. It was a piece of metal—something round and dull-looking. I bent down and almost picked it up.

Fortunately I didn’t, because on closer inspection it looked a lot like a lug nut from the wheel of a car.

If I was right and it came from Valerie’s car, then someone had tampered with her wheel while she was in the cottage. I reached for my cell phone to call the sheriff before remembering the phone was waterlogged and I’d left it at home. Jordy wouldn’t be happy about the sheriff showing up at the Fox and Hound twice in one day, especially if what I’d found was something that had fallen off a lawnmower. Whatever it was, I left it where I’d found it and headed back to the house.

A young redheaded woman with a scowl on her face came out onto the back porch, slamming the door hard behind her. She muttered something before she saw me and realized I’d been watching. Her face turned scarlet.

“Afternoon, miss.” She spoke with an Irish lilt. “May I help you?”

“No, thank you. I’m just on my way to talk to Mr. Jordan.”

“I believe he’s in his office,” she said. “Sorry about the door. Long day.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and fished around until she found a book of matches.

“I’m sure. You work here?”

“I do.”

“I guess you were here when the sheriff showed up?”

“Oh my, yes. Such goings on.” She moved closer and extracted a cigarette from the pack. “Everyone was in a state. Especially Miss Grace and Mr. Jordy.”

I didn’t have to prod much. She was full of the importance of what she knew.

“It must have been difficult.” I kept my voice friendly and noncommittal. “Did you talk to one of the deputies?”

She lit up and dropped the match on the ground, blowing out a stream of smoke. “No, they only spoke to the girls who take care of Cornwall Cottage.” Her smug smile lit up her pale green eyes. “No one asked me, so I didn’t say nothin’. Didn’t want to get him in trouble, he’s such a fine man and all. Tips me nice when I look after one of their guests.”

“Get who in trouble? One of what guests?”

She examined her cigarette and I knew I’d pushed too hard. “Oh. Well, nobody. I shouldn’t be talkin’ this way.”

I slid my purse off my shoulder and took a twenty out of my wallet. “I’d really like to know. Do you think you could tell me?”

She barely contemplated the money. No wrestling with her conscience before she took it and tucked it in her bra. I’d half-expected her to hold out for more.

“Dr. Dawson,” she said. “His school puts guests up here all the time and he comes round a lot.”

“He was here last night?”

She nodded. “With Miss Boo-vase. I’d finished up the dinner dishes and stepped out for a quick fag. Saw his car as he drove past me on the way to Cornwall Cottage.”

“What time?”

“About eleven. Just after she showed up.”

“He saw you?”

She colored again. “I didn’t have the porch light on, so I suspect he didn’t.”

“Did you see him leave?”

“No, but he stayed a while.” I waited and she added, “I overheard a couple of deputies who came into the dining room for coffee. They found…well, he’d been takin’ precautions, you see.”

Mick had been right. Still lovers. “A condom?”

She puffed on her cigarette. “Several.”

“Oh.” It was my turn to blush. “What’s your name?”

“Bridget. Why?”

“You need to tell the sheriff about seeing Dr. Dawson, Bridget.”

“Lord have mercy, no! I cannot!” She dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out under a heavy-soled shoe. “I’ll get in trouble. I’m not supposed to be smokin’ on the job. And Mr. Jordy will think I’ve been spyin’ on the guests.”

No point stating that Mr. Jordy would have been right.

“I’m sorry, but you have to. You won’t get in trouble. I’ll make it okay with Mr. Jordy. Come on.”

“No. Really, I can’t.”

I held out another twenty. “Please?”

She shrugged and took the money, then bent and picked up the cigarette butt and her match. I almost missed the sleight of hand as she tossed them behind a rhododendron next to the house. Probably not the first time.

I rang the doorbell as Bridget squirmed next to me, popping a breath mint in her mouth. Somehow she didn’t seem destined for a long period of employment at the Fox and Hound.

After I’d explained everything, Jordy handed me the phone and eyed Bridget. I called Bobby Noland, whom I’d known since we were kids. Now a detective with the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Department, he’d done a one-eighty since high school when he’d been a regular in the principal’s office. His decision to go into law enforcement surprised everyone except his mother, who claimed it was irrefutable proof that God answered prayers.

Bobby arrived in an unmarked cruiser a short while later, wearing jeans and a black polo shirt with the sheriff’s department logo embroidered on the pocket. He shook hands with Jordy and Bridget and nodded at me. We’d adjourned to the parlor where Grace had brought tea and scones, frowning at Bridget as she left the room.

Bobby took a scone but passed on tea. Then he got right down to it. “There’s crime scene tape all around that cottage, Lucie. What were you doing there? I could haul you in for messing around where you’re not supposed to be.”

If it had been anybody else but Bobby, I probably would have been intimidated. We had too much history together growing up. I knew his weaknesses and he knew mine.

“I didn’t go inside,” I said.

“You still shouldn’t have been there,” he said. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Valerie Beauvais was on her way to see me when her car went into the creek,” I said. “She wanted to talk to me about some of the wine that’s been donated for our auction.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I dropped by—in case she left anything behind. When I found her car this morning in the creek, I thought her accident was an accident. How was I supposed to know you put crime scene tape up?”