“Uh-huh. With a patient in his office.”
“I thought you didn’t open until eleven.”
“This is sort of an exception.” Siri sounded flustered, then she shrugged. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter if you know. Marta’s here with the twins. She’s keeping a low profile because of her older boy, but Ross wanted to look at the babies and make sure they’re okay.”
“I only saw them for a few minutes the other night. In the dark,” I said. “Okay if I stick around to see them again?”
“I don’t think that would be such a good idea.” The request seemed to fluster her even more. “Anyway, Marta just got here, so I think they’ll be awhile.”
I took the hint. “Tell Ross I stopped by, then, will you?”
“Of course,” she said. “And thanks again.”
In retrospect it was a good thing I left when I did. Because otherwise I would have missed seeing the car that sped out of the rear parking lot, tires squealing as it took the corner a little too fast onto North King Street. A black substantial something-or-other—I’m hopeless at identifying make and model—but I’m keen-eyed enough to recognize a license plate.
U.S. Senate tags.
They disappeared in a blur.
Chapter 20
It was not a good omen that a white car with Washington, D.C., government vehicle license plates on it was already waiting in the winery parking lot when I showed up for work the next morning. Our appointment with the Environmental Protection Agency inspector wasn’t scheduled for another hour.
I got out of my car as he climbed out of his. He carried a clipboard. In his early fifties, a slight build, bad haircut, brown plaid polyester suit.
I smiled, though my heart sank, and held out my hand. “Good morning. You must be from the EPA. We weren’t expecting you until nine. I’m Lucie Montgomery. I own the vineyard.”
He shook my hand and pulled a card out of his vest pocket. “John Belcher, EPA.”
I took the card. He was all business. And he didn’t smile back.
I indicated the villa. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee or tea before we go out into the fields, Mr. Belcher?”
Calling him John didn’t seem like a good idea.
“No, thanks, Mrs. Montgomery. I’ve got a thermos and some bottled water in my car. And I’ve already been out in your fields, thanks.”
He caught me off guard and I could tell that had been his intention all along. Already I was on the defensive. There was probably no way we could justify to his satisfaction how the methyl bromide had been left out instead of being locked in the chemical shed. The corner we were painted into just got smaller.
“So you’re finished?” I kept my voice steady. “And it’s ‘Ms.’”
“Oh, no,” he said, “I haven’t begun. But I always like to get out and see what I’m dealing with before we get into the paperwork. You’ve got the records for me to look over?”
“Of course. Please come inside and I’ll get them for you.”
“That’ll be fine.” He gestured for me to lead the way.
John Belcher refused coffee a second time but, to my surprise, decided to sit at one of the tables on the terrace. I expected him to say that he wanted to review the documents together, but he shooed me off and told me he’d find me when he was done.
“I assume you’ll be around?” He smiled without showing any teeth.
My life depended on what he was going to find in those papers. We both knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’ll be in my office,” I said pleasantly. Calling Quinn the second I got there and telling him we got the inspector from hell on our case.
“That’ll be fine,” Belcher said again. Another pinched smile.
I bit my tongue and left. Dammit. He had all the body language of someone who’d already made up his mind. Showing up today was part of the process, so he did it because he had to. But his judgment had been formed strictly based on rules and regulations, not people and circumstances. Black and white.
I closed my office door, though there was no way he could hear me, and punched in Quinn’s mobile number on my phone.
“What’s up?” he said.
“He’s here.”
Silence. Then he said, “Aw, crap. The EPA guy? He came early?”
“He’s already been out in the fields. Now he’s sitting on the terrace, reviewing the paperwork.”
“What’s he like?”
“What little bit of bureaucratic power he has means life or death to us and he knows it. I think he’s trying to see how badly he can make me squirm.”
“Crap,” he said again. “I’ll be right there.”
It was at least another ninety minutes before John Belcher was ready to talk.
“Woodshed time,” Quinn muttered, as we both stepped out on the terrace.
I introduced Quinn to Belcher and we sat down across the table. Quinn patted his breast pocket where he usually kept a cigar and I nudged him surreptitiously. We were in enough trouble without adding secondhand smoke to our woes. So instead he began pulling on the gold chain he wore on his left wrist.
Belcher looked up from his clipboard and straightened out the sheaf of papers he’d been studying, aligning the edges perfectly.
“Well,” he said, “let’s talk.”
What he meant was that he would talk and we would listen. Like Quinn had warned, it was the whole megillah.
He began by stating somewhat unctuously that he was sure we were aware that methyl bromide had recently been phased out under the Clean Air Act because of its deleterious impact on the ozone. However, exemptions continued to be granted for certain quarantine and emergency uses. We were one of them.
I did not glance over at Quinn, but I did thank God for small favors.
Then Belcher rattled off with well-practiced fluency the names and numbers of the forms we and Lambert Chemical had been required to fill out. “I’ve concluded that your restricted materials, recommendation, and fieldwork order appear to be correct. I’ve also gone over your buffer zone calculations, which were more than adequate.”
I gave a silent prayer of thanks. So far, so good. Maybe I’d misjudged him.
“I know. We were careful about that,” Quinn said firmly.
I nudged him again with my good foot. Belcher didn’t seem like the kind of guy who tolerated interruptions when he was in the midst of handing down the stone tablets. I was right.
Belcher regarded Quinn with renewed annoyance and my heart sank. “Then why were you not careful about locking the canisters in a secure area? The UW regs are clear. Your negligence contributed to the commission of a homicide.” He enunciated each word, then sat back and folded his arms.
“We are very aware of that, Mr. Belcher,” I assured him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what ‘UW regs’ are.”
“Universal Waste regulations.”
“There were also extenuating circumstances that night.” Quinn was not prepared to be so conciliatory.
“If everyone broke the law when it was convenient, Mr. Santara, we’d have anarchy.”
This time I kicked him under the table. “Please go on,” I said to Belcher. “You were talking about our buffer zone calculations when we got sidetracked, I believe.”
“Only in that you are extremely fortunate the homicide occurred in an area that did not impact Goose Creek. Had any methyl bromide seeped into the creek water, I can assure you we would have already revoked your bonded
