From the terrace Juliet and Raphael could see a few of the Blue Period employees enjoying their bagged breakfasts and coffee at the scattered picnic tables while the fog burned away from the few remaining rows and furrows of unharvested grapes. They had no help from the morning wind which was on vacation somewhere in Hawaii, perhaps conserving its strength for the early spring when it would appear out of nowhere to attack sunhats and loose skirts of those foolish enough to let their Easter clothes emerge prematurely from the closet.
She also had a good view of Carissa and Edward fighting on the porch of the old house. At least Carissa looked like she was fighting. Edward seemed to be attempting an explanation. Juliet would have put hard money on the argument being about Edward starting up a second, boutique winery and perhaps using cash Carissa was expecting instead of waiting for a settlement.
“The lady is agitated,” Raphael said.
“I wonder if the lady is going to go somewhere. She has her car keys with her.” She was brandishing them.
“To friend Talbert perhaps?”
Before Juliet could answer, Max Schneider came around the corner of the house. His presence seemed to be the final straw for the enraged female who stalked off in a leopard-clad huff in the direction of the garage, yelling over her shoulder and then turning fully.
“I won’t let you!” she screamed at them, her voice floating up to the terrace. Even at a distance they could hear the venom.
“I think that I might like to take a drive,” Juliet said, rising and reaching for her purse.
“Go with God. Take no risks. And call me.”
“I will,” she promised.
Not so amazingly, Carissa drove a red Jaguar. Juliet wasn’t in time to see which direction Carissa chose to go when she left the winery, but since a right would take her to Trefoil and nowhere else, and that seemed an unlikely destination, Juliet turned left and hoped for the best.
A mile on, road improvement was being perpetrated on the tarmac and a single lane was having to be used in turns by both north and southbound traffic. The delay allowed Juliet to catch up with Carissa. Out of habit she checked the rearview mirror and noted the blue pickup and a dark green compact with tinted windows. She could see the rental sticker in the window.
Once they made it through the detour, Juliet remained as far back from the Jag as she reasonably could. When they came across another road stoppage, Carissa turned off the main road and started down a small, ill-kept thoroughfare that was headed in the general direction of downtown, albeit in a more winding manner. Juliet and the dark green car which stayed far back followed.
Perhaps, she thought hopefully, this was some kind of shortcut.
The scenery was pretty with the first brush of color on the leaves, but felt a bit sinister. There were a few small bungalows among the grape fields, perhaps scattered off the straight line by the curving road so that there was no uniformity or sense of neighborhood. No people were out in the fields and no children played in the yards. No dogs, no cats. Just a few crows hiking on the side of the dusty road. She kept hearing Tom Waits singing about murder in the red barn and hoped they made it to town soon. The loneliness of the scenery was giving her the creeps.
They weren’t far from Blue Period as the crow would fly and Juliet calculated that a car, especially with traffic headed to and from a party at the winery, would not have been noticed. The shoulders were narrow, but there were long driveways along unfenced fields where one could leave a vehicle and face little chance of being discovered. And anyone local would know this.
As she had expected, the road led into town, coming out just beyond the Baptist church. The Jag pulled into a small lot that housed half a dozen cars of the opulent variety. She did not park with any care.
Juliet drove just beyond it and parked under a shady elm and awaited events.
She was not entirely shocked when Carissa stormed into the offices of an attorney who had a plaque so small and discreet and shrouded with ivy that she could only read the name by squinting: Oliver Flatley, attorney at law.
Feeling resigned, Juliet lowered her window. The car was dusty from the detour and she had to resist the impulse to start dusting it. That would only make things worse.
The appointment was not a short one and eventually hunger compelled Juliet into a patisserie adjoining a cheese market that was cleverly wafting the scent of their mingarde—but not their goat cheese—into the morning air.
The man behind the glass case of baked goodies was nearly moribund, but probably a fine testament to the excellence of the pastry. It was early so she had the shop to herself. By noon the tables would be hosting tourists and clerks and perhaps even discreet lawyers, but for the time being she had her choice of uncomfortable wrought-iron seats and miniscule tables. She took a table near the window and treated herself to two of the small oatcakes bursting with chocolate and raspberries and pretended an interest in the cement cupid who was playing the panpipes while perching on a fountain barely large enough to be a birdbath.
Juliet considered what to do next. The steady pursuit of information had to be done delicately when people were directly involved. It could be like coaxing bees for honey. Yet ways had to be found. Murder, the calculated kind, was like a disease. It tended to spread and to cause harm in unexpected places and in unexpected ways.
It was almost a half hour later that a distinguished man with slightly graying hair and a very expensive linen suit walked Carissa to the door of the office. The body language suggested intimacy though neither did anything overt. The man kept talking and Carissa seemed soothed. Had he assured her that fabulous wealth could still be hers? And if so, what did that mean for Edward? Or Schneider? He had been there that morning too. Were Edward and Schneider forming an alliance? Had they already? And how did it affect Carissa?
Juliet rose as Carissa climbed into her Jag. A dark green car with tinted windows pulled out behind her only a moment later. Was it the same car that had followed them to town? If it was, she was betting that Talbert was at the wheel. And that was very interesting. Did he worry what his beloved was up to?
Juliet had barely reached the sidewalk when the sun retreated into a patch of unfriendly clouds. They were big ugly things that made thick shadows which were hurrying up the street with enough speed to cause alarm. The wind shoved the first of the fallen leaves to the side of the gutters and she could smell it—rain. Her first thought was one of relief but it was followed immediately by alarm.
“How the hell can it rain now?”
Juliet pulled out her phone and hit speed dial. She walked quickly toward her car.
“Raphael, has it started to rain out there?” she asked as soon as he picked up.
“Not yet, but Schneider and Edward are headed for Trefoil along with half the Blue Period crew. Esteban and I will be leaving soon as well. The storm has veered suddenly and the weather service says the conditions are right for hail.”
“Hail?” That was worse than rain. “Can they get the grapes picked in time?”
“I don’t know. They are going to try.”
“I’ll be there in.…” She calculated the roadwork delays. “About twenty minutes. Will you bring my coat with you—and my tennis shoes? These sandals are no good for the fields.”
“Certainly. Where did our friend go?”
“To see an attorney. And someone followed us. I’m thinking maybe Talbert.”
“Ah. Edward’s plans are not universally popular then.” He comprehended at once. “Drive safely.”
The phone went dead. Juliet pulled open the car door and slipped inside. The wind was not that cold, but she had started shivering. She was having a premonition that something terrible was about to happen.
Carissa and Talbert, a match made in hell. Nothing good could come of it.
Chapter 10
Her nerve endings were tingling and her smile was tight as a distracted Seamus Mulligan thanked her for coming. Though she had followed swiftly, she had misjudged
the route Carissa would take and she hadn’t caught up with her until they hit the main road. By then the green car was gone.
Juliet assured Seamus that it was nothing and slipped into the coat that Raphael held out to her. It was a lightweight windbreaker and possibly not enough protection out in the wind, but who would have guessed that she would need skiwear?
Raphael had left her coat and shoes in Esteban’s car. Her tennis shoes were less than ideal being white canvas, but they were already covered in powdered earth from her previous walks around Blue Period. Of course, her sandals were a mess too. The small parking lot which Trefoil set aside for visitors was full and she had needed to park on the shoulder and walk the rest of the way.
Juliet had never picked grapes before but armed with heavy snips and a laundry-sized willow basket, she figured it out quickly enough. She used care to cut only the grapes and as little of the stem as possible.
Esteban or Seamus came by periodically to take away her full baskets and leave her with empties. Both men were perspiring in spite of the wind.
“Where is Raphael?” she asked once, rubbing her eyes which felt full of grit.
“In the kitchen making sandwiches and coffee. I will bring you one on my next trip,” Esteban answered. It was his turn to play beast of burden.
“Thanks. I’m hungry.” Juliet almost smiled at the idea of the elegant Raphael James in charge of a makeshift cafeteria. She wondered if the sandwiches would have truffles and hollandaise.
“We are about a quarter of the way there,” Esteban said encouragingly as she paused to massage the small of her back. The constant stooping was taking its toll.
Schneider and Edward were working fervently only a few rows over, so she was not entirely alone, but they were traveling in the opposite direction from her and she would lose sight of them as they passed the crest of the hill. Juliet would have been surprised at their passion for the job but she, who was even less involved, found herself also responding to the urgency of the situation. They had to beat the storm if Trefoil was to survive and she found that she very much wanted the small winery and its owner to endure.
She recognized some of the other workers from Blue Period and of course Seamus and the ladies she had met the day of the tour, but she saw Moira only once and that was early on. She had appeared white faced and frantic as she consulted with Edward who looked no less harassed. Probably she was also in the kitchen preparing some kind of makeshift meal for the volunteers.
Carissa did not come to help, but Juliet hadn’t suspected she would. She wondered if Talbert was with her and if he had asked her about her trip into town.
The wind came in fits and starts and the few fallen leaves fled from it when the gusts roared. They couldn’t see the sun travel its course behind the clouds, but the precious dry hours were slipping away. The air was laden with ozone. Juliet forced her numbed fingers to carry on though she could tell they were bruising. The snips were getting sticky with plant sap which refused to be wiped away. What she needed was a sanitary wipe with alcohol. Rose had taught her that this was the quickest way to remove plant grunge.
Juliet reached the end of her row and found herself near the road. It was lined with thimbleberry trees where a strange collection of birds huddled, silent but restless as they awaited the storm. None ventured into the fields and Juliet wondered if it was because of the madly flapping strips of Mylar that were hung on the vines. The road was deserted except for an old white pickup which was carrying wine barrels. It was dark enough that the driver had turned on his lights.
Not wanting to be blinded even temporarily, Juliet turned her back on the truck and looked back toward the house. The rows of naked vines were turning into shadows and being lost to the coming night. Would they make it? Were they even close?
Someone came toward her out of the gloom. It was Seamus Mulligan carrying a loaded basket. His energetic body was finally slowing and his steps were almost stumbling. Juliet didn’t know how he had kept on as long as he had. She hadn’t been carrying laden baskets and she was also exhausted.
“We’ve managed two thirds of it,” he said wearily. “And I’ve two more men coming.”
“And we’ll get the rest,” she said positively as he shuffled away. The acres were too tight and the rows too narrow for any kind of vehicle except perhaps a motorcycle so all the crates and baskets had to be carried out by hand.
“Seamus,” she called and he paused, the crate hanging heavily from his arms. “I know the gondolas are too wide to bring into the fields, but could we not bring a car or truck down to the road and pass baskets out through the fence instead of carrying them uphill?”
“Aye, you are not wrong.” he said, a smile creasing his tired face as he turned back toward the road, leaving his burden by the fence post. “Now that would be a help, so it would. Leave your basket by the fence. I shall be down directly to collect it. I’ll tell the others to do the same when they come this direction.”
“Okay.”
Juliet turned back to the grapes, determined to have her basket filled by the time Seamus got back.
In the distance there was a flash and then about ten seconds later the grumble of distant thunder. She looked up and the sky spat at her. The first drop of rain felt like it had an ice crystal at its heart and wind straight from the north hissed by in a short, warning breath.
“Damn it.” Juliet pulled up the zipper of her windbreaker the last two inches and leaned into her work. Two thirds done? Another hour and the light would be gone and they would have to work by flashlights. Assuming the rain didn’t begin in earnest and the lightning stayed away.
They were running out of time.
Chapter 11
They gathered inside the farmhouse, wrapped in towels as they wolfed down their soup and cornbread while the dreaded rain thrummed on the roof overhead. The battle in the heavens was truly joined and the gods were throwing lightning willy-nilly.
While chaos reigned outdoors, the bedlam of the kitchen had ended once everyone had a towel and some soup. The parlor where they gathered smelled like a cross of gymnasium and barn, but no one minded. They were jubilant, or at least as joyous as exhaustion would allow.
A fire had been kindled, and it was bright against the blackened bricks of the firebox. Juliet was grateful for its warmth. Once her brain had thawed a bit she was able to look around and take in more of her surroundings. The house was full of antiques and old photos of people in the family business which was itself an heirloom. It was a house full of emotional attachments which probably owned the Mulligans as much as they owned those possessions and responsibilities.
“Right, let’s have a taste of this. I think your heart shall be beguiled.”
Juliet found herself smiling.
“It’s a lucky man I am and no mistaking,” Seamus said as he handed out the glasses of wine. It was the good stuff, a strange kind of almost sweet wine unlike anything Juliet had tasted. Her heart might not be beguiled but her taste buds were intrigued.
She understood his happiness. Blue Period and Trefoil were breaking bread together probably for the first time since Edward’s mother had died, and the grapes had been saved from the storm and were resting in large vats in the wine cave awaiting their turn at crushing. And not a moment too soon. The weatherman had been right. There was hail mixed with the rain and lightning all around them. The storm was swift moving but violent.
A white-faced Moira nodded mechanically at her brother’s words as she helped pass out the small gold-trimmed glasses. Her graying red hair looked almost black in the dim light. She was as wet and weary as everyone else though she also seemed distracted, as if listening for something. Twice Seamus urged her to sit down and rest and twice she shook her head.
As relieved as Juliet was that they had harvested the crop without injury and ahead of the storm, she had not been able to shake the feeling that disaster was still loitering in the area. Maybe Moira was feeling something like this too, though probably not
for the same reasons. Juliet wasn’t happy about Carissa and the attorney, or the green car that had followed them.
As if summoned by thought, disaster appeared. Her heart sunk when there was a knock at the door and a very wet police officer stepped inside. He wasn’t in uniform but Juliet recognized him. She touched Raphael’s arm and then nudged Esteban’s leg.
The officer spoke softly to Seamus first and then, at his host’s nod, he came into the parlor where everyone was sitting, either on the worn furniture or on the floor. Everyone had stopped eating by then and was looking uneasy. It wasn’t the time or place for social calls and the man was recognized from his visit to Blue Period the day that Carl Owens died.
“This is Detective Robbins. He needs to speak with us. And so.…” Seamus trailed off, unable to think what to say next. In the silence they could hear the patter of the drops of water as they fell from Robbins’ coat onto the wood floor. Juliet had the urge to hand him her towel to mop up but squashed it. This wasn’t the moment to worry about the floors.
“I’m sorry, folks, but I have some bad news.” Robbins did look sorry. His nasal voice and red nose and swollen eyes suggested that he had a cold.
Juliet glanced at Raphael and then Esteban. They were watching Edward Owens and she decided that she had better do the same though she dreaded what she might discover.
“Carissa Owens was shot sometime this afternoon. She died immediately,” the officer said baldly. “I’m going to need to get some information from all of you. Since you were all here together picking the grapes, this is really just a formality, but it has to be done.”
But it wasn’t just a formality. At least it hadn’t better be, Juliet thought to herself.
“Of course, of course,” Seamus said.
“If I might borrow a room for taking statements,” Robbins said to Seamus. “It won’t take long and you all can get on with your supper in the meanwhile.”
“Will the dining room do?” he asked, his manners faultless though he was now as pale as his sister and looking more than his sixty-odd years of age. The police could never complain of their host’s fatigued hospitality. “And we can bring you something warm to drink. Or perhaps some soup.…”
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