She fumbled with the handle, then finally jerked the door open and lost her balance. I reached out and grabbed her arm. Her eyes had the glazed, dull look of someone who didn’t have a clue. No point berating her. She was well and truly pissed.
“All right, cowgirl,” I said, “you had yourself enough of a rodeo for one night. I’d give you a couple of aspirins for that killer hangover you’re going to have, but I’m afraid you’d choke trying to get them down. So let’s just get you straight to bed.”
I managed to get her from the bathroom to her bedroom, though she leaned against me so heavily it was like dragging an anchor. She stank of alcohol, cigarettes, and vomit. I eased her down on the bed and pulled off her clothes as if I were undressing a rag doll. She watched, glassy-eyed and silent. Then I laid her down and pulled up the bedsheet.
“Good night,” I said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
She muttered something unintelligible and turned over. Out cold.
I was alone in my office the next morning when one of the girls who helped out selling wine in the villa stuck her head through the doorway.
“Dr. Greenwood’s here to see you,” she said. “Shall I send him back or tell him you’ll be out?”
“He is? Please tell him I’ll be right out.”
She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Wait till you see what he’s brought you.”
Two dozen gorgeous pink roses in a cut-glass vase.
“How can I ever thank you?” He wore blue hospital scrubs and running shoes, smiling for the first time in a while, though he still looked drawn and tired. “You saved my life. Sam called in some favors and got me released yesterday. God, I’m glad to be out of that place.”
“Well, we’re even, then.” I set the vase on the bar. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. You look like you could use a cup.”
“I wish I had time, but I ought to be getting over to the hospital,” he said. “I just wanted to say thanks in person.”
“You’re welcome. And I’m glad you’re home again, too.”
He said grimly, “It’s not over. There might be a trial, though Sammy thinks there isn’t enough evidence anymore to convict me.”
“Oh, God, Ross. A trial would be horrible.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll survive that, too,” he said. “But I’ve learned a lot the past ten days. I never thought after all the years I’ve been part of this community, saving lives and helping people, that so many of my so-called friends would believe I’m capable of murder.”
I wasn’t used to seeing this side of Ross. Angry. Resentful. Bitter. Then again, he’d just spent a few days in jail.
“No one thinks you killed Georgia,” I soothed him. “Some of the Romeos are upset about that Jeff Davis letter, but that has nothing to do with Georgia.”
I walked him to the door. His hands were jammed in his pockets and his head was down. He was in no mood to be cajoled or comforted.
“Don’t get me started on that goddam letter,” he said irritably. “I got a letter myself. Signed by several of the boys. They’re ready to lynch me. A couple of them offered to buy it off me. Urged me to ‘do the right thing.’ Don’t stir up any trouble. They offered a pittance.”
“What did you say?”
“Pass.”
“This will blow over,” I told him, though I wondered if it would. “You’re an important part of the community, Ross. Look at all the good you’re doing at the clinic, the people you’re helping. None of that’s changed. The Romeos will come around and it will be all right again.”
He shook his head. “No, they won’t. Anyway, it’s too late. I’m moving on after this is over. Making a new start somewhere else.”
I said, startled, “You’d leave here? The clinic, too? Does Siri know?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m thinking about asking her to come with me. We’re both free now. I have no children, hers are scattered around the world. My wife is dead. That chapter of my life is over. If I stay here, I’ll never get away from Georgia. She’ll haunt me.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Maybe you should think—”
“After what happened to Georgia,” he interrupted, “I’ve learned you never know when your time is up. There are things I still want to do. I’m going to do them, but it won’t be here. When I die, I don’t want any regrets.” He looked at me and added, “If there’s anyone who understands what it’s like to get a second chance in life, it should be you. So I’m counting on your support, because this won’t be easy.”
Then he kissed my forehead and left.
The rest of the day did not go well. At noon when I went back to the house, Mia was finally awake, out on the veranda nursing her hangover with an espresso and a cigarette. I expected her to be remorseful or even penitent after last night’s performance, but she was hostile and belligerent. So we fought, except this one ended more spectacularly than usual with her telling me to go to hell, before slamming doors as she left for Abby Lang’s place.
Then Quinn and I had words when he saw the two floral prints I’d finally propped up on the credenza in my office.
“Where’d you get those?” he asked.
“From Mac Macdonald. They’re original prints of native Virginia wildflowers,” I said. “I thought we could use them for the labels for our new wines. He’s looking for more like these.”
“Flowers? You want to use old prints of
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, it’s kind of hard to be new and edgy when your label is a couple of hundred years old and it’s a picture of a flower. I thought we were moving ahead, not backward.”
“We’re a
“Yeah. Thomas Jefferson would love ’em.”
“You know, if you don’t like it here…” I stopped and pressed my lips together.
“What?” His eyes flashed anger.
“Nothing. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Well, you did.”
“Look, we were both up late last night, so we’re both tired,” I said wearily. “Let’s forget this conversation.”
“How do you know how late I was up last night?” His eyes were black and depthless.
“Because I went out on the veranda around midnight and I heard you and Bonita in the summerhouse, that’s how. I didn’t intend to, but you were kind of noisy. Next time, maybe you could find a more private place to conduct your affairs instead of my backyard, okay?”
That made two things I shouldn’t have said. “My affairs?” He looked bewildered, then his expression lightened. “Oh, so you’re talking about me and Bonita, is that it? Tell you what. How about if I take my telescope out of there so I won’t disturb your beauty sleep ever again? Would that suit you?”
“Wait—”
But he’d already left.
A moment later the front door to the villa slammed. I heard his car as it roared out of the parking lot. Probably going right over to the summerhouse.
I laid my head on my desk.
What had I done?
I had just gotten home for the day when my doorbell rang. Mick Dunne held a bottle of Dom Pérignon in one hand and a couple of shopping bags with the logo of an upscale grocery store in the other.
