Ellen Crosby - The Chardonnay Charade

He laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lucie, but I don’t know where Randy went. That’s what I told the sheriff. Trout are biting, though. Bass, too. He might have just picked up and gone fishing.”

“Sure,” I said. “Maybe that’s just what he did.”

“That’s all you wanted? Sure I can’t interest you in making a little purchase today?”

“If I win the lottery, I’ll be back.”

He laughed. “Hang on a sec. I got something that might be right up your alley. Just came in, too. Let me show you before you leave.” I followed him over to a trestle table where antique prints were arranged by subject in a row of toile-covered boxes. He went directly to the box labeled “Nature” and picked up two prints from the front of the stack.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? Fellow just brought them in last week. Native Virginia wildflowers. Just what we were talking about. These two are probably mid-nineteenth century. Look at the colors, though. Still so vivid.”

“Virginia bluebells! How pretty,” I said softly. “And a columbine! They are beautiful.”

“Thought you’d like them,” he said. “There was a book, too, but I sold it almost as soon as I bought it.”

“A book of prints like these? I wish I could have seen it.”

“I can keep an eye out for something like it, if you want.”

“I’d appreciate it,” I said. “How much for these?”

“One-fifty for the pair. I can have them framed if you like,” he offered, adding gently, “I know you lost a lot of your mother’s paintings in the fire.”

I bit my lip. “We tried to save what we could, but we did lose so much of her work. I think I’ll take them like they are, though. Quinn and I are looking for ideas for new wine labels. These prints would be great, as long as I can find a few others from the same era.”

Mac looked mournful. “Shame about that book, then. Sounds like just what you needed. I’ll see what I can do for you, sugar.”

I paid him and as he walked me to the front door, I brought the conversation back to Georgia. “I bet there’s a lot of speculation among the Romeos about who killed her.”

It was all the opening he needed.

“She riled a lot of people, Lucie. Including you vineyard folks. It sure would take the shine off your shoes if she’d gotten that dang-fool bill passed about vineyards going through wholesalers to sell their wine. I know she’s trying to keep kids from getting hold of alcohol so easily but I got one word for that. P-A-R-E-N-T-S.” He sounded like a church preacher getting ready to deliver a stem-winder. “Why should she rain on everyone else’s parade? You know that would be the death of the little vineyards. They bring in a lot of revenue from tourism and from selling wine. I rely on that kind of traffic. But then you got the other folks who still think it’s demon alcohol, or whatever, like Prohibition days. She’s talking their language. Or was.”

“You think her death could have been politically motivated?”

He folded his arms across his chest once again and drummed his fingers on his forearms. “Honey-child, when this all comes out in the wash, I bet we’re going to find that there was a lot more to who killed Georgia Greenwood than meets the eye.”

When I got back to the Mini, I checked my phone. One missed call, Dominique’s number. I hit the send button and she answered on the first ring.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Middleburg.”

“If you haven’t had lunch, come by. I have your menus for Memorial Day.”

“I’ll come, but I thought your assistant was handling the vineyard catering.”

A long moment of silence, then she said, “Well, she would be, but she’s busy with other things. I’m taking care of it this time.”

“Right. See you in a few minutes.” I disconnected.

Dominique couldn’t let go of the reins to any of her projects. I wondered how much longer assistant number four would stick around.

The lunch crowd had thinned out by the time I got to the Inn, so today I got a parking place close to the entrance. I drove by the four designated handicapped spots near the front door, all empty. Ross had been after me to get handicapped license plates, but I told him that they belonged to disabled people who really needed them. Not me. I could walk on my own just fine.

Harry Dye came out of the Inn as I crossed the flagstone terrace. He looked up and our eyes met. Just as quickly he looked away.

“Aw, gee, Harry,” I muttered. “Let’s get this over with. You saw me. I saw you.”

On cue, he changed direction and came toward me. Normally he and I were on the phone, or he talked to Quinn, on a regular basis. We shared information, workers, equipment, and advice, since our vineyards were located within a couple miles of each other. He had not called since the party. It would be good to get this awkwardness behind us.

“Lucie! How are you?” Harry leaned over for a kiss, sounding hearty enough, but his eyes slid away from mine. A decorated Marine who’d put in his time on the battlefield, he’d spent the last years of his career at the Pentagon. Quinn liked him, especially because he was so level-headed and matter-of-fact. Something really pushed Harry over the edge, for him to take on Georgia at the fund-raiser. An officer and a gentleman didn’t bawl out a lady—as a rule.

“I’m all right. How about you?”

He shook his head regretfully. “Still in the doghouse with Amy. I may never get out. And then Georgia…God, Lucie, I can’t tell you how bad I feel about that. It must have been awful, finding her the way you did.”

“It was. What happened with you and her? I don’t get it.”

“Too much booze,” he said simply. “I can’t abide dishonorable people, so I told her what I thought of her. There’s no excuse for what I did, but she was just so goddam conceited and cocky about how she was going to bury Noah in the election. Laugh her damned head off all the way to Richmond.”

“So this was about Noah?”

“That and the way she was trying to destroy us. Vineyards. Restaurants. This crusade of hers that we’re evil because we sell alcohol and we poison kids. People are buying that crap, too. I really let her have it, didn’t I?”

“It was quite a performance.”

He grinned, still a bit shamefaced, but at least it seemed we had gotten back on our old footing. “Well, I paid for it. The mother of all hangovers and a friendly visit from the sheriff’s office, asking where I was for the rest of the night since I apparently threatened her.”

“You said she needed a good spanking.”

“God.” He groaned. “I didn’t.”

“You really were on a roll.” I paused. “You had words with Randy, too.”

He turned red. “You saw that, did you?”

“What was that all about?”

He hesitated, then said, “No offense, Lucie, but it’s personal. I’d rather not say.”

“Harry, I’ve got the sheriff’s department tearing my vineyard apart. If you think you feel bad about this, think how I feel. Randy’s missing. Disappeared. Please tell me what happened. Please?”

He blew out a long breath and skimmed the top of his military brush cut with a hand. “I guess it’s a good thing Amy and I never had kids,” he said finally. “I said a few things to Randy about my goddaughter. Gabriella Manzur. She’s visiting us for a few days.”

“She knows Randy?”

“Oh, yeah. She knows Randy, all right. Gaby met him a few years ago during beach week in Cancún, God help her.” His voice was tight with disapproval. “Lots of drinking, lots of free love on the beach…so she gets home and after a few weeks finds out guess what?”

“Pregnant?”

“Yep. She didn’t even know his last name. No phone number, no nothing. He’d been pretty cagey about all that. Guess he just showed up looking for a good time. Probably sowed his seed all over the damn place. Anyway, I’m sure you can guess where this is going. Gaby had the baby—her parents are Catholic—and gave it up for adoption. It was a few years ago. Then she came here for a visit.”