“Or maybe Quinn did.”
She chuckled. “You’re joking, right? No offense, but the guy dresses like he buys his clothes at a flea market. Where would he get money to buy the vineyard?”
I had the copy of the
When she finished she looked thoughtful. “It’s definitely Quinn in that photo, even with the different first name. So where’d he get the money from? You think Cantor paid him off to buy his silence? There really is money somewhere and maybe Cantor’s not as broke as he seems?”
“The other day Quinn told me he’d like to buy land here and have his own vineyard some day. I didn’t give it another thought until I saw this.” I took the newspaper from her and stared at Quinn grinning broadly like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Maybe he meant our vineyard. Maybe he’s the one who talked to Leland.”
“Have you thought about tracking down his ex-employer?”
“I called. The place must have closed down. And there’s no forwarding number.”
“A friend of mine works for the
“His name could be Dom Perignon, for all I care. I’m getting rid of him as soon as harvest is over. I don’t know why Leland ever hired him. It was a mistake.”
“Well, it probably makes sense to wait until harvest is finished. No point shooting yourself in the foot.” She froze. “Oh God. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know what you meant. Forget it.” I finished my wine. “We ought to get going. You’re being eaten alive by mosquitoes.”
“And you’re not?”
“One of us wore bug spray,” I said. “And one of us wore perfume.”
She stood up and waved her empty glass back and forth like a semaphore. “That was fabulous wine. As for the perfume, I’ve got a date with Bobby. Wonder if he likes his women lumpy. I’m a mass of welts.”
“I guess you’ll find out. Where’s he taking you?” I leaned on my cane and pulled myself up.
“A romantic evening at the American Legion Hall in Philomont. Darts and a few beers with the guys. It’s a cop hangout.” She picked up the glasses and the empty bottle and put them in the basket. “You know Bobby. He never was a roses and poetry kind of guy.”
I held her arm again as we walked back to our cars.
“Be careful,” she said as I opened the door to the Volvo and got in. “Just, you know, keep an eye out. I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.” I started the Volvo, which sounded more anemic than usual, and backed it out of the gravel road. Kit turned in the opposite direction when we got to Mosby’s Highway. She tooted her horn and I watched the Jeep’s taillights disappear in my rearview mirror, which is how I saw the black SUV come out of nowhere and move up right behind me.
Whoever it was, he was practically crawling up my bumper. I sped up and so did he. The turn for Atoka Road was coming up and I signaled. He’d probably blow past me as I turned, maybe stick his middle finger out the window. My bad luck to be sharing the road with some jerk with a road rage problem. Suddenly he moved up so he was right beside me. He wasn’t going to let me make my turn. If I slowed down, so did he. No way could I outrace him in the Volvo. We roared past Atoka Road side by side. I glanced over to see if I recognized him but the windows were tinted and it was nighttime. I couldn’t see anything.
I floored the gas pedal, which must have caught him off-guard because, astonishingly, I pulled ahead of him. Seconds later I heard the angry revving of his engine. He moved in tight behind me again, rather than beside me. The SUV’s enormous grille filled my entire rearview mirror. The first jolt when he rammed me nearly caused me to lose control of the car. The second time he hit me I managed to cling to the steering wheel as he kept up his relentless pounding. The Volvo shuddered but held together and I thanked God for small favors—that I was in this car rather than the Mini I drove in France.
In the distance, a pair of headlights raked the road and another vehicle swung slowly onto the highway. At this speed, I would rear-end the slower-moving car in seconds. I swerved and one of the tires hit the soft shoulder. Though I knew better, I pumped the brakes. The car rolled and kept rolling. My head hit the steering wheel.
When the cartwheels stopped I was upside down, strapped in by my seat belt. Another set of brakes squealed, then headlights flashed outside my window. Two car doors slammed, then a man yelled, “Hey! Hey there!”
I was alone in a field late at night with whoever had tried to run me off the road. If he meant to kill me, there would be no one to stop him and no witnesses.
A flashlight beam skipped across the field. “Hey,” the voice said again, “you all right in there?” He shone the flashlight directly in my face, blinding me.
“My head hurts.” My voice sounded weak and far away. I closed my eyes. The light hurt.
“Why, it’s a woman, Hollis,” said a female voice. “I thought it was kids. She sounds kinda woozy.”
“Well, she damn near killed us,” Hollis said. “So she’s lucky if a bad headache is the only thing she’s got.” He said, presumably to me, “Don’t you know drag racing’s against the law around here? You and your friend musta been doing close to a hunnerd. We all coulda been killed. You’re mighty lucky to be alive, sweetheart.”
It was the driver of the car I nearly hit. My pursuer, whoever he was, was gone. Unless he was somewhere nearby in the darkness.
“Not me. Someone else. Someone was chasing me,” I mumbled.
“Hollis,” said the female voice, “she’s still got her seat belt on. Help her out of there. She ought to see a doctor. She sounds delirious.”
“I am serious,” I said. Or maybe I said “delirious.” My head felt like someone was jackhammering from the inside, trying to get out.
“I can’t get to you,” Hollis said. “Can you undo that seat belt yourself?”
“I think so.”
Luckily the car was so old everything worked manually. He reached in and rolled down my window. “Good thing you’re small,” he said. “Door’s jammed. You’ll have to come out through the window.” He put his arms around me. “I’ll pull you. On three.”
He counted and pulled. My bad leg got caught on the steering wheel and I cried out.
“Take it easy, Hollis.” The woman sounded anxious. “You’re hurting her.”
“Are you doing this or am I doing this?” Hollis said to the woman. To me he said, “Come on, we just about got you free.”
I got my foot loose and he pulled me out. Then he sat me on the ground and played the flashlight over me. The backwash of light made shimmering halos around his face and the face of the woman standing next to him. Both were white-haired. I knew them.
They knew me, too.
“Well, I’ll be,” the woman said. “You’re the Montgomery girl, aren’t you? The older one. Linda.”
“Lucie.” The jackhammers wouldn’t quit.
“That’s right,” she said. “Lucie. Thelma was just telling me about you. I’m Ellie Maddox. Maybe you remember me? I used to work the checkout at Red’s Hardware in The Plains. I knew your folks real good, they were in all the time. And this here’s my husband, Hollis. Are you all right, honey? Maybe we ought to take you to Loudoun General.”
I shook my head and was immediately sorry I did. My brain felt like it had come loose from its moorings. I put both hands on the ground to stop the dizziness. “No hospital. I want to go home.”
“Well, you ain’t going anywhere in that car.” Hollis shone the flashlight on the Volvo. “That’s Lee’s car, isn’t it? Hell, those Volvos are built like tanks. You’re lucky, young lady, that you weren’t in one of them convertibles the kids are driving nowadays. You do somersaults in a car with no roof over your head and we wouldn’t be here havin’ this conversation.”
“Hollis,” Ellie admonished. “Look at her. She doesn’t care about that stuff right now. The child looks like she’s about to keel over. Let’s get her home.”
“Fine,” he said, “but she’s gonna care tomorrow when she doesn’t have any vehicle.” To me he added, “If you
