He grinned, still a bit shamefaced, but at least it seemed we had gotten back on our old footing. “Well, I paid for it. The mother of all hangovers and a friendly visit from the sheriff’s office, asking where I was for the rest of the night since I apparently threatened her.”
“You said she needed a good spanking.”
“God.” He groaned. “I didn’t.”
“You really were on a roll.” I paused. “You had words with Randy, too.”
He turned red. “You saw that, did you?”
“What was that all about?”
He hesitated, then said, “No offense, Lucie, but it’s personal. I’d rather not say.”
“Harry, I’ve got the sheriff’s department tearing my vineyard apart. If you think you feel bad about this, think how I feel. Randy’s missing. Disappeared. Please tell me what happened. Please?”
He blew out a long breath and skimmed the top of his military brush cut with a hand. “I guess it’s a good thing Amy and I never had kids,” he said finally. “I said a few things to Randy about my goddaughter. Gabriella Manzur. She’s visiting us for a few days.”
“She knows Randy?”
“Oh, yeah. She knows Randy, all right. Gaby met him a few years ago during beach week in Cancún, God help her.” His voice was tight with disapproval. “Lots of drinking, lots of free love on the beach…so she gets home and after a few weeks finds out guess what?”
“Pregnant?”
“Yep. She didn’t even know his last name. No phone number, no nothing. He’d been pretty cagey about all that. Guess he just showed up looking for a good time. Probably sowed his seed all over the damn place. Anyway, I’m sure you can guess where this is going. Gaby had the baby—her parents are Catholic—and gave it up for adoption. It was a few years ago. Then she came here for a visit.”
“And ran into Randy.”
It was hard to say if Harry looked more disgusted or upset. “Last Friday at Seely’s Garden Center. She and Amy dropped by to pick up some plants to go around the koi pond. Gaby saw Randy talking to Jennifer Seely and started crying. Got all hysterical. She, uh, said a few things she shouldn’t have, but what just killed her was that Randy acted like he didn’t know who she was.”
“Did she tell him about the baby?”
He folded his lips together and shook his head. “She told him a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them. Just couldn’t bring herself to let him know they had a daughter out there somewhere when Randy didn’t even recognize her.”
“Where is Gaby now?”
Harry pulled his car keys out of his pocket and began rubbing the key chain like a talisman. “The sheriff asked her to stay in town for a few more days since neither she nor I have an alibi for the night Georgia was killed.”
Startled, I said, “I thought Austin and Seth brought you home.”
“Austin and Seth took me to my office to sleep it off,” he said. “I spent the rest of the night on my sofa in that old carriage house I use. I didn’t want Gaby seeing me like that. So I was alone.”
“Why doesn’t Gaby have an alibi? Wasn’t Amy with her?”
“Amy filled in at the hospital that night for a nurse who helped her out a few times. Kind of a last-minute thing. She left at eleven and didn’t get back until the next morning. So Gaby was by herself most of the night, too.” He shrugged. “Who knew?”
“Do you think she had anything to do with Georgia—”
He cut me off. “No. I do not. Or with Randy going missing, either.”
I looked down at his key ring. “Semper Fi.” The Marine Corps motto. Always faithful.
I had only asked about Georgia. Harry was the one who brought up Randy.
Up until now, I’d been thinking Randy killed Georgia, then took off. What Harry just said put things in a whole new light.
What if this wasn’t about Georgia?
What if it was really about Randy?
Chapter 8
Dominique stood at the maître d’s stand, her head bent over paperwork, as I opened the front door to the Inn. She looked up and smiled, then the smile faded.
“What’s wrong,
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied. “I just met Harry Dye in the parking lot. He apologized for what he said to Georgia the other night at the fund-raiser. It was awkward, that’s all.”
I skipped mentioning his altercation with Randy. So far, I didn’t think it was common knowledge.
“I heard about that scene with Georgia,” Dominique said. “I guess Harry bit off more of his foot than he could chew.”
“Something like that.”
“Are you hungry? I’ve made
The place was empty, since lunch was over and dinner wouldn’t be served for a few more hours. Though I couldn’t see the bar from where I sat, I heard voices coming from that direction.
“Who’s here?” I asked.
“The Romeos. Who else?” Dominique led me to a corner table in the main dining room. She placed a folder on the table as we sat down. “They’re meeting about some letter Ross Greenwood found. Something to do with the man who killed Abraham Lincoln. Aaron Burr.”
“You mean John Wilkes Booth.”
“That’s the one. Weren’t they friends?” A waitress brought our salads and two iced teas almost immediately. “No, wait. Now I remember. They fought a duel.”
“Booth and Burr? Not with each other they didn’t. You’re mixing up your American wars. What kind of meeting?”
“The kind involving pitchforks, tar, and feathers.” Joe Dawson, Dominique’s sometime-fiancé, said as he walked into the dining room. He hooked a thumb in the direction of the bar and said to my cousin, “You ought to think about removing the knives from the tables in that room. Those boys mean business.”
Tall, dark-haired, and rangy, Joe had the kind of wholesome good looks that made him the perennial heartthrob among the sixteen-year-old girls he taught. He smiled, flashing boyish dimples. One more asset that charmed the socks off his adoring fan club.
“They’re that upset over Ross’s letter?” I asked.
“Hell, yeah. As far as they’re concerned, he just committed treason. Of course they’re that upset.” He came over to our table and kissed Dominique’s hair. “Can I join you or am I interrupting something?”
“A discussion of the vineyard menus for Memorial Day weekend,” Dominique said. “Have a seat.”
He picked up a fork and stabbed an olive off her plate, then sat down. She looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“Shall I ask the waitress to bring you a salad, Joe?”
He set the fork down and grinned at her. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
Dominique opened her folder and passed me several sheets of paper. “I thought we should do simple, traditional summer menus. So a barbecue Sunday evening and on Monday, an old-fashioned picnic before the fireworks.”
I looked over the pages. “These are pretty elaborate.”
“A form of avoidance,” Joe said, reading over my shoulder. “Keeps her from worrying about her citizenship test.”
“Please,” she said gloomily, “I’m like a tiger at the end of my chair, studying for that test.”
“I shouldn’t tease you, sweetheart. You’re going to do just fine,” Joe told her. “If I can go back to school after ten years and get my doctorate, you can pass a civics test.”
