The Merlot Murders wcm-1

by Ellen Crosby

  Quinn shifted my weight in his arms. “I need to set you down. My arm is going to sleep. Let’s get you into the bedroom.”

  “I can walk.”

  “You couldn’t even sit a while ago without getting dizzy.”

  He carried me into the bedroom, a real monastic cell, and set me down on the bed.

  “You want a drink?”

  “What have you got?”

  “Whiskey.”

  “No wine?”

  “I’ve got wine. You look like you could do with something stronger.”

  “Carbon dioxide does that to me. Okay, then. Whiskey’s fine.”

  The whiskey was somewhere in the living room. I could hear him rummaging around and then the sound of glasses clinking together. He showed up with two glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He poured two shots and handed me one of them.

  “I figured you take it straight,” he said.

  “Do I look as bad as that?”

  “That foot must really bother you at the end of the day. It looks pretty twisted. I’m sure it hurts.”

  I must have shrunk back against the headboard as though he’d just seen me naked. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

  Outside the bedroom window a flash of silver light illuminated the silhouettes of trees and bushes. I jumped.

  “Calm down. Storm’s a long way off. We won’t get any rain tonight.” As if to validate his statement, distant thunder rumbled like muffled drums. “Not until tomorrow or the day after. Give me your foot, Lucie. I’ve had some training in this.”

  I shifted on the bed so that my left foot was tucked underneath my right leg. “If you mean you’ve been practicing back rubs on Angela, thanks, but I’ll pass.” There was no way I was going to let him touch my foot. He’d have to look at it. I managed fine by keeping it hidden under a dress or long pants. To display it, in all its misshapen deformity, made me feel like Superman without the cape and special suit.

  “I was talking about medical training. Therapeutic massage.” He reached over and slid my dress up my leg. “Come here. Give me your foot. I won’t hurt you.”

  I had to look away while he did it, but he was right. He knew what he was doing.

  “Why did you change your name?” I asked abruptly.

  On cue, the thunder crashed around us. He looked at me in the washed-out light, his face all angular planes and dark shadows. “What are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t your real name Paolo Santori?”

  “Legally. But I’m not real big on Paolo. It was my old man’s name.”

  There was another crack of thunder, but this one was so close it sounded like a cannon going off in the front yard. I sloshed whiskey down the side of my glass and caught the drip with my finger, licking it.

  “What happened in California?” I asked.

  He reached for the bottle and poured us both refills. “How’d you hear about that?”

  “Leland had a copy of the San Jose Mercury News among his papers. Surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t find out. Why didn’t you say something?”

  He walked over to his dresser and opened the top drawer. For some reason, my heart started doing the war drum thing again. Then I saw the box of Swisher Sweets and resumed breathing. He removed a cigar and came back over to the bed. “Hand me that ashtray, will you?” he said.

  It was on the bedside table, next to me. I gave it to him. He fished a lighter out of the pocket of his camouflage trousers. He lit up, walked over to the window, and stared outside. Lightning flashed and the lights went out briefly and came on again.

  “I never kept it a secret.”

  “Did Leland know?”

  “Of course. I told him up front.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he appreciated my honesty. Most people would have tried to cover up something like that.”

  It was also true that when Leland checked his references, he would have found out anyway. Maybe Quinn was just trying to get in front of a bad situation. Besides, the “honesty” remark didn’t sound quite like Leland, a man who had his own reputation for playing fast and loose with the truth. “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Fire away. You seem to be on a roll tonight.”

  I ignored that. “Did you know about Leland before you applied for a job here?”

  “What about him?”

  “His past was a bit…shaky. He had some questionable business partners. And you seem to know a lot about our financial problems.”

  He swung around. “Meaning what?”

  The lights went out again but this time they didn’t come back on. Quinn was silent.

  “I think we just lost power.” My voice sounded small.

  There was a metallic click and then a flash of fire. He held his lighter aloft. “Yeah, this time for real. I’ve got candles.” He sounded mad.

  He left the room holding his lighter like a torch. I heard the front door open and close. Where did he keep his candles? In the bushes? I sat in the dark as a bead of perspiration ran down my cheek.

  The front door opened and closed again. The living room glowed faintly orange and he walked back into the bedroom, shielding a candle against air currents with one hand. “I just tried to call Hector on my mobile. He must have turned his off and the phones are out. I think I’d better go back over there and see if the generator came on. You’re coming, too. I don’t want you here by yourself.”

  “I can walk to the car.”

  “You can hopscotch for all I care. Come on, let’s go. I’ve got a flashlight by the front door.”

  I walked unsteadily to the car. Neither of us spoke on the drive back to the vineyard. The thunder rumbled more quietly now than before and the lightning zigzagged in the distance, toward the west and the mountains. He pulled into the parking lot. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back. You’ll be all right for a few minutes. Lean on the horn, if you need me.”

  He took the flashlight, then sprinted up the stairs in the direction of the loggia and the barrel room. He disappeared out of the swath of light made by the car headlights and I was alone. I switched on the radio and hit the button until I got to WLEE.

  Greg’s voice. “…has been real hard on the local economy. One of the worst droughts on record.”

  “Well, it’s too late for me,” a male voice said. “I sold my cattle last week. Nothing for them to eat. They were starving to death.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Ron,” Greg said.

  “You and me both.”

  “Looks like we’re not going to get a break from the heat any time soon,” he said. “The National Weather Service is predicting more hot, dry weather for the next few days.”

  What weather forecast was he listening to? It was big news that we were finally in for some rain. Unless, of course, he’d actually had this conversation with Ron some other time.

  He was rebroadcasting an old show.

  “I know,” Ron was agreeing. “A hunnert and thirty days with no rain. A record.”

  “Look, how about I play something by Art Pepper for you? ‘Here’s That Rainy Day.’ We can always dream, right?”

  “You dream, son. But, sure, I like old Art. Dedicate it to Mandy, would you? We’ll be married thirty-four years tomorrow.”

  “That’s great, thirty-four years. Okay, Mandy, here’s Art Pepper with Gerry Mulligan playing ‘Here’s That Rainy Day.’ Happy Anniversary from Ron. This is WLEE in Leesburg, Virginia, and you’re listening to Knight Moves.”

  I saw headlights in the rearview mirror of Quinn’s car just as the haunting sexy sound of a sax began to wail. The driver wasn’t coming to the winery. It sounded like the car was heading toward the house. There weren’t too many engines that purred like that.

  Eli’s Jag.

  I slid over to the driver’s seat of the Toyota, put it in gear and backed out of the parking lot. By the time I got to the house, the Jaguar was parked next to the front door. The power was out her
e, too. Inside the house was black as a coal mine. My flashlight was still in the picnic basket where I’d left it since my trip to the Goose Creek Bridge with Kit. Quinn had taken his with him. I waited until my night vision adjusted to the gloomy foyer. A beam of light played upstairs. He’d come prepared.

  I climbed the stairs quietly, holding the railing with both hands since my cane was gone. I heard him in Mia’s room and the sound of opening and closing drawers. I stood in the doorway and watched as he pulled a small bundle of letters out of the drawer to her nightstand.

  “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?”

  He let out a yelp as he shot up from where he’d been kneeling in front of the nightstand and whacked his knee on the corner of the open drawer.

  “Jesus H. Christ, Lucie! What are you doing, sneaking up on me?”

  I walked over to him, limping heavily without my cane. “What’s that?”

  “None of your damn business.” He jerked his hand out of my reach and an envelope slithered out of the package he was holding and fell to the ground. He shone the flashlight around our feet. “Damnit.”

  “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.

  Chapter 24

  “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.

  “Come here.” There was a small flash of fire as he lit up. I went out and joined him. “They’re not as spectacular as the aurora borealis, but they’re really something. First, I want you to look up in the sky.”

  I obeyed as he sketched with his cigar the outline of the three stars that made up the Summer Triangle above us, then made me look through the telescope at the swath of light, like an explosion, that passed through the band of stars.

  “What is it?”

  “The Milky Way. Actually all the stars you see in the sky belong to the Milky Way. It’s just that when you look along the edge of the galaxy, you see thousands more stars than by looking above or below it. Now here…look…the Perseids.”

  It was, as he said, like watching fireworks. “It’s beautiful. Does it happen often?”

  “Every August.”

  “Too bad I never saw it in France. There wasn’t much light pollution where I lived. The sky was always full of stars and they seemed so close it was like I could grab a fistful and pull them down.”