Mariah Stewart - Hard Truth

“Not bad, as heroes go.” Regan took the rocker next to Lorna’s.

“Ummm. Not bad at all. Thanks for the referral. Who’d have thought, the day I called you, that it would lead to all this?”

“All what?” Regan narrowed her eyes. “Lead to what? Are you holding back on me? Is something going on between you and the PI?”

Before Lorna could answer, the Crossfire pulled into the drive and stopped on a dime. Mitch and T.J. got out, laden with several bags.

“I hope you’re both very hungry,” T.J. called, “because we have enough crabs here to feed an army.”

“Did you catch them yourselves?” Lorna stood at the top of the steps. “You’ve been gone for an hour. The Crab Shack is just two miles down the road.”

“Well, we stopped for the beer first. Then we decided to have the crabs cooked for us, instead of cooking them here. Then we realized we didn’t have enough beer, so we had to go back to the state store.” T.J. grinned at Lorna. “You see how this could take some time.”

“I do.” Lorna laughed. “Bring it all into the kitchen and we’ll get some plates.”

“Plates?” Regan appeared horrified. “You don’t use plates to eat Maryland crabs. You cover the table with newspaper, then paper towels, then you put the crabs right on the table.”

“Don’t you get newsprint on the crabs?” Lorna asked.

“Not if you use paper towels. Then, when you’re finished, you wrap up the paper, crab debris and all, and toss everything into the trash can. Preferably one with a tight lid, so the raccoons don’t litter your yard with shells.”

“Hey, you live on the Bay, I have to think you know what you’re talking about. But I can go you one better.” Mitch took a roll of paper from one of the bags. “Unprinted paper. What do you think of that, eh?”

“Where’d you find that?” Regan went down the steps to inspect the roll.

“The guy at the crab place sells it.” Mitch looked pleased with himself.

“Definitely much better than newspaper,” Regan agreed. “That’s why you’re a special agent with the FBI, right? ’Cause you’re so smart?”

“You betcha.” Mitch took her by the arm. “Now, let’s go in and eat. The smell of those crabs had me gnawing on my hand all the way down Callen Road.”

The foursome crowded into the kitchen. Lorna spread the paper thickly on the top of the table, and T.J. dumped the crabs in the middle. Mitch opened four bottles of beer and set one in front of each of the chairs. Lorna grabbed a handful of paper napkins and passed them around.

“Looks like we’re all set,” Lorna said.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Regan said. “To friendship.”

“There’s something we can all drink to.”

They all did.

Mitch turned to T.J. “So, now that your last big case has been solved, what say we talk a little more about getting your name back on the government’s payroll?”

“Sorry, pal. I already have plans.”

“What plans?” Mitch grabbed a crab and broke it open.

“I’m thinking about going into business for myself.”

“I thought you’d decided you didn’t want to be a PI anymore.”

“Different business.” T.J. separated meat from cartilage and began to eat.

“What kind of business?” Mitch frowned.

“Well, I think I want to try my hand at a winery,” T.J. told him.

“You’re kidding, right?” Mitch laughed.

“Dead serious.” T.J. nodded and turned to Lorna. “The place is still for sale, right?”

He’d caught her completely off guard and she stammered. “Ah… well, yeah. I suppose so. Did you want the whole farm?”

“I was thinking just the vineyard.”

“We’d have to see if it could be subdivided.” She heard herself think out loud. “And the wine cellar… did you want the wine cellar?”

“What’s a winery without a wine cellar?” he replied.

“It’s under the barn.” Lorna frowned. “The barn should stay with the house.”

“We’ll see what we can work out.”

“What do you know about wine, except that you like to drink it?” Mitch asked.

“Actually, I know quite a bit,” T.J. told him.

“Since when?”

“Since I spent the weekend talking to several growers in the area. I spent hours before and after that reading up on the subject on the Internet.” He turned to Lorna. “This is a good site, and you’ve already got the trellises set up. There are at least seven really good vineyards in the area, and several wineries. I sampled the products and was pretty impressed with what they produce. You already have the cellar, you have some barrels. It’s a start.”

“How do you know what kind of grapes to grow? What kind of wine to make?” Mitch persisted.

“Actually, the classic white wine grapes do very well here. And for the first few years, I’ll grow and sell the grapes to some of the local wineries. Then, when I feel I’m ready, I’ll move on to the next phase of making my own wine.”

“You really are serious,” Lorna said.

T.J. nodded. “Very serious. So if you’re selling-look no further for your buyer. Of course, I’ll probably need to scout up a little capital.”

“I might have a few bucks to invest,” Regan told him. “I don’t have a lot of time to put into a new venture right now, but I will down the road. And I could design the labels for your bottles when the time comes.”

“All right. My first investor.” T.J. turned to Mitch. “How ’bout you? You in?”

“I might be. I’d like to look at your prospectus first.”

“Well, that’s where Lorna comes in.” He touched her arm. “You want to make it a four-way partnership?”

“I already have a business,” she reminded him.

“Exactly. We’ll need a good CPA. You can be our moneyman.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“It’ll be a good way for you to work off my bill for the past ten days.” T.J. grinned. “And it’s a big one. My time is not cheap.”

“We’ll see what we can work out,” she replied.

“This is great. We’re going to be business partners,” Regan noted. “So what do we call this vineyard?”

“Lavender Hill,” Lorna said without thinking.

“What?” T.J. asked. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh. Sorry. We can come up with something, I’m sure.”

“I like Lavender Hill,” Regan told her.

“It’s the original name of the farm. Over the years, everyone started referring to it as Palmer’s farm. I found the old sign in the barn when I was a kid, and my grandmother told me about how, when her grandparents moved here, the hill out back was all wild lavender.”

“Lavender Hill Wines.” T.J. nodded. “I like it. Mitch?”

Mitch nodded. “Absolutely.”

“So there we are. We have a business. We have a name for it.” T.J. tilted his bottle. “We’re in the wine business. At the very least, the grape business. Or will be, by this time next year.”

“That’s going to be some commute, Dawson, if you’re planning on staying in Baltimore,” Mitch pointed out.

“That house is sold, so I have to look for a new place, anyway. When I was driving into Callen earlier today, I saw a house for rent out on Conway Road. I wrote down the Realtor’s number, so I can give him a call in the morning.”

“I’m glad I didn’t stay an extra day in Chicago,” Regan noted. “Look what I would have missed.”

“Hey, what did you find out about Eddie Kroll while you were out there?” Mitch asked.

“Not much.” Regan frowned. “It’s really odd. I know he existed, I have his report cards. But it seems he just vanished when he was around thirteen or so.”

“Maybe he died,” Lorna suggested.

“I went back through the parish records, but I couldn’t find a notice of his death or that he’d transferred out of school. Midway through his freshman year in high school, he simply disappeared.”