Ellen Crosby - The Chardonnay Charade

“No,” I said. “We’re not.”

“You bring them up all the time, you know?”

“I do not!” I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a box that once held a roll of wine labels, now filled with packets of sugar. He took his coffee black, so I didn’t bother to offer him any. I ripped open two sugars and dumped them in the coffee, then stirred it with the eraser end of a pencil.

“Yeah, you do. You ought to listen to yourself sometimes.” He shoved a pile of Virginia Wine Gazettes on my desk out of the way and sat on the edge, so he was staring down at me.

I said, flustered, “Well, I don’t mean to.”

“Talk to Mick recently?” he asked abruptly.

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“Just wondered.” He drank his coffee in noisy gulps. “I’m going out with the crew. They’re doing more leaf-pulling in the north vineyard and I need to spray the Cab.”

I wanted to ask him the same question he’d just asked me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead I said, “The Mosby dinner is tonight, so I’ll take care of setting up. You know after the dinner Joe’s giving the talk about Mosby founding the Partisan Rangers, since today’s the anniversary.”

“How could I forget?” he asked. “Atoka’s patron saint.”

I ignored that. “You think we ought to risk having it at the Ruins with this weather? If it rains, we’re sunk.”

“Why not move it here?” he asked. “Then we don’t have to worry.”

“Because it’s better to have it right there. Everyone will be at the exact spot Union soldiers burned while they were looking for Mosby,” I said. “Besides, his ghost still shows up on cloudy nights looking for men in blue coats.”

“You believe that crap?” He picked up my coffee-stained pencil and examined it.

“When we were kids we used to scare each other with stories that we saw him,” I said. “I never did, but I know people who swear his ghost is still around.”

He stood up. “I better take off. Bonita’s waiting for me in the barrel room.”

I dunked the pencil in my coffee so I didn’t have to look at him. “I forgot to ask her how Hector’s visit with the cardiologist went.”

“He might need a pacemaker.”

“Oh, God.”

“Better than the alternative. I’ll call you.” He motioned to my mobile. “Turn that thing on, okay?”

After he left I picked up the phone and opened it.

“Hey!” He was back in the doorway with one hand behind his back. “Got something for you.”

I closed the phone, grinning like a giddy schoolgirl. Flowers, maybe? “What is it?”

He whipped his hand around and held it up. Just like a bouquet of flowers. “A spoon,” he said. “That pencil’s really unsanitary.”

I started to laugh and so did he. For once it was completely heedless and lighthearted. Then our eyes met and the old cautiousness returned.

“Turn on your phone,” he said. “I gotta go.”

“Sure.”

I punched the button and the display came up. A second later the message icon blinked. Three messages and two missed calls. Both missed calls were from Mick. Last night. The first message, at 9:47 p.m., also from Mick, asked me to call him.

The second message was from Eli. 10:13 p.m. “Luce. Me. I can’t get hold of Mia and I need to talk to her about dinner at our place tomorrow night. Have her call me, will you?”

Mick left the final message twenty minutes ago. “Lucie,” he said. “I’m just about to board my flight. I rang you last night at home and on this number several times. I wish we’d been able to talk before I left for Florida. Quinn and I spoke yesterday afternoon about the…” The commotion in the background drowned out the rest of whatever he’d been trying to say. Finally I heard him shout, “No use! I can’t…ring you from Miami…” The line went dead.

So that’s why Quinn asked if I’d spoken to Mick. They did have the job talk, after all. If Quinn was leaving, why didn’t he tell me himself? Had he decided to stay? Or did Mick want to prepare the terrain with me first because he’d just hired my winemaker?

The two of them were turning my life upside down. I didn’t know what to think anymore.

I phoned the house and left a message for Mia to call Eli. She’d slept at home last night and was probably still in bed. Then I called Quinn.

“Yeah, what?” He sounded harassed and irritated.

I lost my nerve. “My phone works.”

Silence. Then, “I’m very happy for you. Now can I get back to business? The damn sprayer’s acting up again.”

“Sure. Sorry.”

He disconnected and I closed my phone, feeling foolish.

We held the Mosby dinner at the Ruins after all, and by some miracle it didn’t start raining until we’d finished cleaning up.

“This’ll be good for the grapes,” Quinn said. “At least it held off long enough for the spray to take on the Cab.” We were back in the parking lot. He leaned against his car. “Guess I’ll see you at Dominique’s shindig on Sunday. Bonita and I are heading down to Virginia Beach, but we’ll be back in time for her citizenship party.”

I bit my lip, glad for the darkness so he couldn’t see my eyes. “I didn’t know you liked the beach.”

“I’m a California boy, remember? Bonita said they’ve got a store there that sells tie-dyed Hawaiian shirts. Gotta check that place out.”

“Right. Something new for the collection, huh?” I said. “Well, enjoy it. When are you leaving?”

He glanced at his watch. “’Bout half an hour. She wants to watch the sunrise on the beach. If there is one. Maybe they’re not getting rain down there.”

My legs felt suddenly unsteady and I leaned on my cane. “I hope not, for your sake. Have a wonderful time. See you on Sunday.”

I did not sleep well at all that night, though the last time I remember looking at my alarm clock it read just after four a.m. When the phone rang, it was already light outside. Six-thirty. Not Quinn—he was gone. And it was Saturday.

I picked up the phone. Mia. She sounded like she was drunk or crying or both. “Lucie, it’s me,” she said through hiccupy sobs. “I’m at the hospital. Catoctin General. The police are here. They say I killed someone.”

She made no sense except that I gathered she’d been driving and hit another car.

“Oh, God,” I said. “When? After you left Eli’s?”

“I never went there,” she sobbed. “He canceled. Look, can we talk about that when you get here? You gotta get me out of here.” She sounded panicked. “I didn’t do it, Luce. I don’t even remember getting in my car. I don’t care what they say.”

I closed my eyes. On top of everything she had blacked out, too. How much worse could it be?

I reached for my cane next to the bed. “I’m getting dressed right now, Mimi. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m going to call Eli and Sam Constantine. I’ll see you in less than an hour.”

“Please hurry,” she begged. “I’m so scared.”

I hung up and called Eli. Not surprisingly, I woke him up. “Aw, Jesus H. Christ,” he said. “What did she do ? I don’t need this right now.”

“Next time I’ll get her to plan her hit-and-run or whatever it is around your schedule,” I said coldly. “And for the record, she should have been with you last night. Getting the sober-up-or-else talk. What happened, Eli?”

“Don’t you blame me for something she did,” he yelled back. “I had to postpone dinner because a client wanted to meet last night. So I told her we’d do it another time.”

“When did you tell her that?” I said. “She told me she was going to your place last time I talked to her.”