The Chardonnay Charade

“Hugo Lang is the Mr. Clean of the U.S. Senate. Hell, of the entire Congress,” Kit said. “I can’t think of a single reason he’d have for killing Georgia, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Do you think they might have been romantically involved? Not that I do, but it would explain things. Like why he endorsed her.”

“No, I don’t.” She was definite. “Come on, Luce. He still wears his wedding ring. There’s something kind of heartbreaking about a man who does that when his wife’s been dead that long. He could have gotten married again loads of times.”

“I know.” I watched her slab butter on a roll. “Okay, next subject. What did you want to say about Randy? Bobby tell you something?”

“Just that they’re looking for him,” she said. “I was hoping you might have some news.”

“Only that Jennifer Seely’s been leaving messages on his mobile phone voice mail. She said his mailbox is full,” I said. “Randy can’t go five minutes, never mind five days, without talking on that phone.”

“Meaning what?” Kit asked.

I set my fork on my plate. “Either he’s dead or on the run.”

She considered the options. “My money’s on him being on the lam. Otherwise someone would have found him…his body…by now.”

“Not necessarily. We have five hundred acres. A lot of it’s woods and underbrush. Say he was leaving the barn and someone confronted him. It wouldn’t be hard to ditch a body someplace where it might not get found for a long time.”

She shuddered. “So if Randy’s dead, are you thinking his killer is the same person who killed Georgia? Someone had a busy night.”

“I don’t know. But what if that person was really after Randy—and Georgia was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“I need a scorecard. Who wants Randy dead?”

“Harry Dye’s goddaughter,” I said. “Gaby Manzur. She’s one possibility. I heard about her yesterday. Randy got her pregnant at beach week in Cancún awhile back. She ran into him at Seely’s when she was visiting Harry and Amy. Jen said she went nuts. Told him he’d pay for what he did to her. Jen said Randy didn’t recognize her and that really sent her over the edge.”

“Jeez. You think she was mad enough to kill Randy?”

“Mad enough, yes. Capable, I don’t know. But she was alone at the Dyes’ place the night Georgia was killed. And then Randy disappeared.”

Kit looked puzzled. “So who killed Georgia? You think she did that, too?”

“Maybe Gaby knew Georgia was with Randy in the barn, then waited until she left. Or it could be that Randy killed Georgia like we’ve been thinking all along. The note said he wanted to make up for something, but maybe she wasn’t buying it.”

“I don’t know. Sounds pretty sketchy to me.”

“Fair enough. But I still wonder if we’ve got this the wrong way around. Instead of looking for who killed Georgia, maybe we need to figure out who was after Randy. And that goes down a completely different road with a completely different pool of suspects.”

Kit finished her meatloaf and sopped her roll in gravy. “You know, kiddo, you’re overlooking the one obvious person who would have wanted them both dead. I heard Ross still can’t produce the parents of the babies he supposedly delivered that night.”

“Ross didn’t supposedly deliver twins,” I said. “If he says he did, then he did.”

“Why are you so defensive? He’s got a motive and no alibi. Why does that make him any different than Randy’s Cancún girlfriend?”

“He’s a doctor. He saves lives. He saved me.”

Kit shook her head slowly. “Aw, Luce.”

Our waitress showed up and offered us dessert menus.

“No, thanks. Just coffee for me.” I glanced at Kit. “You having dessert?”

“I shouldn’t.” She scanned the menu. “Oh, God. Strawberry shortcake with fresh strawberries in season. I’ll take one of those, please, with extra whipped cream. And we’ll have two forks.”

I rolled my eyes. “No way.”

“You eat like a bird. You’re pushing yourself awfully hard,” she said. “When’s the last time you had a physical?”

“What are you, my keeper? I’m fine.”

“It seems like that foot of yours is bothering you more and more. You ought to have it looked at.”

“I talked to Ross about it,” I said. “I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

After lunch, she walked me to my car.

“Are you coming to any of our Memorial Day events this weekend?” I asked.

“I’m on duty Sunday, but Bobby and I are coming to the concert Saturday night.” She fished in her purse and pulled out lipstick and a mirror.

“Everything back on track with you two?”

“It’s a date to a concert. We’re trying to figure things out. So stop looking at me like that.”

“Why don’t you both come to the barbecue on Monday, too? I’ll put your names on the list.”

“Thanks, but I’m working all day Monday.” She opened the mirror and applied a bright red mouth.

“You really did pull the short straw on a holiday weekend, didn’t you? At least come to the fireworks Monday night.”

“I’ll ask Bobby. We’ll try. Though it seems to me,” she said as I got into the Mini, “for the past week you’ve had nothing but fireworks at your place.”

“Don’t I know it,” I told her.

Unlike Middleburg, which was a main-street town, Leesburg, the county seat, was more spread out. It had once served as the temporary capital of the United States when the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were moved there for safekeeping during the War of 1812. During the Civil War, the town changed sides between the Union and the Confederacy so many times—depending on whose army was there—that folks lost count.

The Patowmack Free Clinic was only a few blocks from Tuskie’s, still within the boundaries of what was known as “historic Leesburg.” A pretty one-story wooden structure, it looked more like someone’s home than a business. Half a dozen rocking chairs where patients could sit and wait were lined up on the veranda, overlooking flower-filled border gardens maintained by the local garden club. A plastic box with patient forms in English and Spanish hung next to the door below a plaque with the schedule and a notice that there were no drugs on the premises.

Ross and Siri had recently begun locking the front door between clinic sessions, even when they were in their offices. The reason, Ross told me, was that they’d had to deal with patients who showed up at all hours—mostly from the large immigrant community of Central Americans that now comprised a significant percentage of Loudoun’s population—hoping the doctor could make an exception and see them for just a momentito. The trickle had turned into a flood and the situation had gotten out of hand.

I went to the staff entrance around the side of the building and knocked on the door. Though I knew many of the volunteers, Siri worked tirelessly to recruit new people. The woman who opened was not a familiar face.

“I’m sorry, dearie,” she said, “but you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“I’m not a patient,” I said. “Is Dr. Greenwood around? I’m Lucie Montgomery. A friend of his.”

She opened the door wider. “Montgomery? You’re the one who hosted our party the other night. Come right inside. Dr. Greenwood is at the church, poor man, but Mrs. Randstad is in. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

I could hear Siri’s musical voice coming from her office at the end of the hall. Fund-raising. Ross told me it never stopped.

“Would you care to wait in the volunteer room?” the woman asked. “Help yourself to a soda or bottled water in the mini-fridge.”

“Thanks, but I just had lunch,” I said. “If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to look around. Looks like you’ve