Ellen Crosby: The Merlot Murders

“It’s probably under the bed. We’ve got spiders, by the way. Want to get it?”

His fear of spiders was legendary, as bad as my fear of heights. “You made me drop it. You get it.”

“Give me the flashlight. I can’t see a thing.”

I held on to the bed and knelt on my good leg. The envelope was addressed to Greg Knight and the return address was from Brandi Simone. Eli helped me up and I gave it to him. “Are all of those envelopes full of letters she wrote him?”

“I have no idea.”

“How did you know they were here?”

“Mia got them.”

“From Greg?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“She stole them from him?”

“They belong to Brandi.”

“What’s in them?”

“I have no idea,” he repeated. “They’re private.”

“He was blackmailing her, wasn’t he?” I said. “What did he want from her?”

“Look,” he said, “she’s having false labor again. I’ve got to get back home right away.”

“What are you talking about? Haven’t you been here all night?”

“I came from home,” he said stiffly.

“You were at the jazz concert.”

“So what? It’s a free country last I checked. I stopped by, then I went home.”

“She sent you back to get these letters, didn’t she?”

“No, I’m psychic. I knew they’d be here.”

“They must be pretty important. Aren’t you going to look at them?”

His voice was harsh. “I don’t think that would do a damned bit of good. They’re ancient history.”

“You really love her, don’t you?”

“You have no idea, babe,” he said. “Not a clue.”

Then he brushed by me and I heard him clatter down the stairs. A minute later, the Jag’s motor leaped to life and roared away.

I groped down the stairs hand over hand, clinging to the walnut banister. Two thirds of the way down I knew someone else was in the foyer standing in the shadows.

Waiting for me.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn’s disembodied voice came from somewhere near the front door. A flashlight swept the room like a semaphore until he spotlighted me. In the unexpected brightness I missed the next stair. My bad foot twisted and buckled.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He crossed the room and took the stairs two at a time. “You are going to break your stupid neck. What is it with you tonight?” he demanded. “And, no, I don’t mind one bit that you borrowed my car. I enjoyed the moonlight walk over here except for being nearly run over by your brother, who acted like he was driving the home stretch of the Indy 500.”

“I saw Eli drive past the winery while I was waiting for you. I followed him.”

“You are one weird family. What was Eli doing here at midnight with all the lights off?”

“Retrieving something that belonged to Brandi.”

“It couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No.”

“You know, to hell with you.” He sounded furious, all of a sudden. “You can stay here by yourself and wait until the power comes on for all I care. I’m leaving.”

He started down the steps again.

“Wait! Please! Where are you going?”

“The summerhouse. I need some sleep. You probably ought to get some, too. I’m sure your favorite hammock’s free. Here.” He tossed the flashlight to me. “Take this. I don’t need it. No one’s trying to kill me. I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.”

He strode over to the door to the veranda, flinging it open and disappearing outside. I limped after him but the darkness had already swallowed him up.

“Wait! I’m coming with you!”

No answer. By the time I reached the summerhouse he was standing outside, arms folded, staring stonily at the night sky. He didn’t turn his head or acknowledge my arrival.

At least now I knew why he was spending his nights here. A telescope sat on a tripod, aimed at the skies above the Blue Ridge. On one of our old wooden tables was a collection of magazines. Star Gazer . An astronomy magazine.

“Astronomy? You come here to look at stars?”

“Got a problem with it?” he snapped.

“Uh, no.”

“The leaf canopy’s pretty dense at the cottage. The view is much better here.”

“I guess it would be.”

He held the door for me and we both went inside the summerhouse. “You are one royal pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

I shone the flashlight around the room. When my mother was alive we’d used the place all the time for dinner parties and as a quiet retreat to get away and read. It had been filled with plants and more of her white wicker furniture, but now everything was heaped in a corner and it had become another storage depot for beach paraphernalia, a couple of garden hoses, Leland’s golf clubs, and two graying Adirondack chairs.

Quinn went over to the golf bag and pulled out one of the clubs. “I think something’s probably living at the bottom of that bag, but why don’t you use this temporarily as a cane?” He handed me the golf club.

“Thank you.”

“And now,” he said, removing his shirt, “I’m going to sleep. Good night, Lucie.” I would have expected a tattoo of a hissing serpent or something with thorns woven through it like I’d seen on the beach in France, but he’d stripped off most of the usual jewelry so all he wore was a plain gold cross on a heavy chain. He was no Greg, and of course he was about twenty years older, but he looked good, considering.

He saw me staring. “Now what’s wrong?”

“I hope that’s as far as you’re going to go.”

“Nope.” He unzipped his pants and pulled them off. He was wearing a pair of plaid boxer shorts. He sat down on an air mattress. “This is as far as I’m going to go. See you in the morning.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep? I’m not sleeping in one of those Adirondack chairs. It’s like sleeping on a wooden airline seat.”

“You can have half the mattress if you like. There’s room.” He turned over and closed his eyes. I waited, debating an uncomfortable night of sitting in the chair or part of a musty air mattress with a half-naked man I had practically just accused of trying to kill me. “Aw, for God’s sake, lie down, will you? I don’t bite.”

“All right, but I’m sleeping in my clothes.”

“Honey, I don’t care if you sleep in a suit of armor. Lie down and let’s get some sleep. We’re getting up in less than three hours.”

I settled next to him on the far edge of the mattress, my back to his back. I heard his breathing lengthen and grow more measured.

“Are you still awake?”

“Aw, jeez.” He rolled over on his back. I turned around and faced him, leaning on my elbow. He looked sideways at me. “What?”

“That newspaper article said they’d never recovered any money from the winemaker.”

In one swift movement he stood up and went outside to the telescope. I could see his silhouette through the screen door as he bent over and squinted through the eyepiece. “Ever look at the stars, Lucie?”

“Um…sure. Not through a telescope.”

“I thought I was going to miss ’em tonight, but now the moon has set.” He paused, to adjust one of the eyepieces. “We can see the Perseids.”

“Oh?”

“You know what they are, don’t you?”

“One of the summer constellations?”

He shook his head and rummaged for something on the table near the stack of magazines. “They’re a meteor shower. Yesterday and today are the only days they’re visible this year. They were beautiful last night.” I heard the crackling of cellophane as he unwrapped a cigar.

So he’d been here last night.