The Merlot Murders

“They were arguing right there in the lobby?”

“More like in his office.”

“His office is nowhere near the ladies’ room.”

“So sue me. I took a little stroll to walk off a piece of cheesecake.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. You snooped!”

“I guess that means you don’t want me to tell you what she said.” She glanced sideways again when I was silent and grinned. “I knew you’d want to know. She wants to take over running the inn by herself and he told her no way.”

“I already heard that from Eli.”

“Yeah, but did Eli tell you that she said Fitz couldn’t stop her?”

“She threatened him?”

“It sounded like it to me. Too bad I never made it past French 1. She didn’t count to ten or say anything about colors or the days of the week. What does ‘John ate Mark’ mean?”

“John ate…oh, Lord. J’en ai marre. It means ‘I’m sick of it.’”

“Well, she said that a few dozen times.” She lowered her voice. “Then he said something about having her green card yanked for what she’d done.” She narrowed her eyes, which with all the mascara she was wearing made it look like her eyelids had temporarily fused together. “The next thing you know he’s dead.”

“Dominique did not kill Fitz,” I said. “Whatever it sounded like. Besides, you heard Bobby. We were robbed. Fitz surprised that guy Zeus, or whoever it was, in the middle of taking the payroll money out of the safe in Quinn’s lab.”

“The cases of wine Fitz was supposed to pick up that night were in the villa,” Kit said. “What was he doing in the barrel room?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he saw a light or the door propped open and went to check it out.”

“Maybe.” She stood and collected our sandwich wrappers and iced tea cups. “You want dessert? I saw a few pieces of Hazel’s homemade peach pie when I got our sandwiches. The peaches are from her orchard.”

“No, thanks.”

“A latte? With a shot of hazelnut or chocolate syrup in it?”

“Just coffee.” I reached for my cane and started to stand up. “Black.”

“Sit there. I got this.” She opened the screen door to the deli. “Well, it was just a theory. That robbery sounds too pat to me.”

The door banged shut. I leaned my head against the swing and pushed off the floor with my good foot. So maybe Fitz did know about the seventy-five thousand dollars. Dominique hadn’t actually told me what the argument had been about.

Kit returned holding a tray with some whipped cream concoction in a soup-bowl-sized mug, my coffee, and a large slice of peach pie. “I brought two forks,” she said.

“I couldn’t.”

“I can’t finish this myself.” She dug her fork into the pie. “What are you going to do after you sell the vineyard? Go back to France?”

“We’re not selling.”

She said through a mouthful of peaches and crust, “Eli change his mind?”

“Nope. But now that I own the house, I have two votes in the company and I vote not to sell.”

“What did Mr. Control-Freak say when you told him?”

“We didn’t exactly have that talk yet,” I said. “But what can he say?”

“Jesus, Luce. Plenty. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you tell him. Eli doesn’t lose an argument. You know that.” She picked up her mug and stirred the slurry mixture of chocolate, whipped cream, and coffee. “So who’s going to run the place?”

“I am. And Quinn. And Hector.”

“Quinn,” she said. “Somebody ought to send that man to charm school. He’s a bit tough to take. I never understood how Leland could have thought he would replace Jacques.”

“Eli said he was the low bidder for the job.”

“I believe it.” She paused. “Are you sure you’re capable of taking on something like that? I mean, it’s a hell of a job for a normal person and…” She broke off. “Oh God, I wish I hadn’t said that. I’m really sorry.”

“That last summer before the accident,” I said, “before I was supposed to go to law school, I spent every day helping Jacques in the fields and in the winery. Remember?”

“Yes, but…”

“I’m not a neophyte. I’ve helped with harvest since I was old enough to hold a pair of pruning shears. I know what I’m doing. Give me a little credit, Kit. Eli’s got a career and Mia’s not interested in the winery. I am. I love it here. Why shouldn’t I run my family’s vineyard?”

“What happened to law school? And saving the planet? You could probably get your old job back or work for some other environmental group. You were good at that.” She set the plate of peach pie in my lap and handed me the clean fork. “Finish this. You’ve gotten so skinny you’ll blow away in the next strong wind.”

“I want to continue what my mother started.” I picked up the fork. “After the time I spent in France, I understand even more why it was important to her.”

“Because the French drink a lot of wine?”

“Because the French know how to live.” I chewed on a fresh peach from Hazel’s orchard and closed my eyes. “I mean, in France everyone slows down to…enjoy life. It’s hard to explain. But taking time over a meal, shopping for the ingredients, preparing the food, choosing the wine…and then lingering to talk after it’s finished. Or even sitting in a café with a coffee or a glass of wine. People enjoy that. Here they think you’re loony. Or lazy. Everyone’s in such a rush to grab something at some fast food place and keep on going like life’s a big race and the first one to get to the finish line wins. In France you want to enjoy the journey.” I opened my eyes and glanced at Kit. “You think I’m strange, don’t you?”

She scraped the last of the whipped cream from her mug and licked the spoon. “I think you’ve changed.”

I drank my coffee as a monarch butterfly landed on the railing close by. “I like the fact that wine is somehow connected to so many pleasurable things in life. It’s got romance, history, mystery…what more could you ask?” The butterfly disappeared gracefully into the bushes below. “I like the fact that archaeologists found wine jugs in the tombs of the pharaohs and that Noah is supposed to have owned the first vineyard.”

“That sounds more like the old you. An impossible romantic.” She stood up and brushed crumbs off her dress. “Well, okay. Count on me for moral support. You’re gonna need it if you take on your brother. He’ll do anything to please the Queen Bee and I’m sure she’s the reason he’s so hot to sell the place. She wants him to build her Buckingham Palace.”

“I heard.”

She walked me to the Volvo and waited while I got in and rolled down the window. “Hey,” she said, “with all that talk about lingering over a glass of wine, how about meeting for a drink down at the Goose Creek Bridge like the old days? I’ll even bring the hooch.”

“I’ll come, but I’m bringing the wine. The stuff you used to bring either tasted like motor oil or grape soda pop.”

“Fine,” she said. “Be a wine snob. See you.”

Some of the haze had evaporated for the first time since I’d come home and I could see the faint outline of the Blue Ridge as I drove back to Atoka. There were no glacier white peaks that awed like the Alps did, just a lovely blue line of gently folding hills older than time.

George III had once declared them the easternmost boundary of colonial settlement, since they were a naturally prohibitive barrier. What lay beyond them seemed uncertain and possibly dangerous.

Just like my future.

Chapter 10