Quinn saw me trying to stop the blood gushing out of the wound and came over with the first aid kit.
“What are you doing? You almost took your finger off. That cut might need stitches.”
“It’ll be all right. It’s superficial.”
“Give me your hand.” He tore off a strip of gauze and tied it around my finger. “Hold that for a minute. Look, why don’t you go do something else? We’ve got it covered here.”
“There’s so much to clean up—”
“Your head’s not in it right now. Give yourself a break.”
He took my hand and untied the tourniquet, putting antiseptic on the cut.
“I can put the bandage on myself,” I said. “You don’t have to fuss.”
“If you get gangrene and die, you did leave the place to me, didn’t you?”
“You sound so hopeful.”
Did I imagine it or did he hold my hand longer than he needed to?
Early in our relationship we’d agreed to keep our personal and professional lives separate—a promise that hadn’t been too hard to keep since we disagreed on just about everything. Add to that the fact we had nothing in common and didn’t fit the other’s profile of someone we’d like to go out with—he preferred good-looking sexy women young enough to be his daughter while I went for older men who broke my heart—and I knew if we ever got together it would be like the
But lately, like now, there had been moments when our eyes held each other’s and an electrical current that was new and a little dangerous seemed to pass between us.
I removed my hand from his. “Rumors of my possible demise are premature.”
He grinned. “Go on. Get lost and clear your head.”
“Maybe I’ll go over to the cemetery and see what damage the storm did there.”
He gave me a searching glance. “I hope you don’t find anything.”
I nodded. We both knew he wasn’t talking about storm damage.
The cemetery looked as wind tossed and littered with debris as everywhere else on the farm. The pewter vase that held my mother’s Renaissance roses had tipped over and was wedged between her headstone and Leland’s. The flowers, which I’d picked only yesterday, were wilted and the petals had gone brown on the edges. Most of the miniature American flags I’d placed at each gravestone for the Fourth of July had either fallen over or were tilted at crazy angles like rows of bad teeth. Branches and leaves covered many of the graves and stuck to markers.
I was on my knees tidying the area around Hamish Montgomery’s weathered stone marker when a car drove up the road and cut its engine. I looked over the wall in time to see my brother climb out of his dark blue Jaguar. Eli worked for a small architectural firm in Leesburg, about fifteen miles away. For him to show up at the vineyard in the middle of the day meant he either needed something or he was in trouble—or both.
“Hey, babe.” He closed the wrought iron gate with a clank and threaded his way between the rows of headstones. “Took me awhile to find you. What are you doing here?”
I still hadn’t gotten used to Eli calling me “babe.” Or calling his wife “princess,” though that was a little more fitting.
“Cleaning up.” I moved to the grave of Thomas Montgomery, who had been one of Mosby’s Rangers, and started picking up leaves and small branches.
Eli squatted next to me and clasped his hands together. I knew he was taking care not to get dirty. Today he had on beige trousers and a polo shirt. Probably linen and definitely some designer like Hugo Boss or Armani, since that’s all he wore anymore. My sister-in-law, Brandi, saw to that since she chose his clothes. His shoes were soft- as-butter leather that looked Italian. Oakley sunglasses hung around his neck. It looked, also, like he’d had a manicure.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“You think I stop by only when something’s wrong?” He smoothed his gelled hair like a preening rooster and looked offended. “I was in the neighborhood so I figured I’d see how my little sister was doing after that tornado went through her vineyard.”
“Oh.” I carried the leaves and branches over to the wall and dumped them on the other side. “That was thoughtful. We lost some grapes in the new fields. It could have been worse if it had damaged the winery or the house. Still it’s a huge financial loss.”
“Uh-huh.” He sneezed and pulled a packet of tissues out of his pocket. “This is killing my allergies being out here. Tree pollen.”
Checking on his little sister. Sure he was. “Did you hear what I said?”
He blew his nose. “You lost grapes in the new field. The winery and the ancestral pile are still standing.”
I put my hands on my hips. “What’s going on?”
He wadded up the tissue. “I learned a little something today. Apparently you found an old grave on our land after the tornado came through. Not in this cemetery.”
“Well, yes—”
He folded his arms. “Thelma attached herself to me like she was superglued on when I stopped by the General Store just now. If Homeland Security ever hired that woman she’d be their top interrogator. She could wear anybody down in nothing flat.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“What do you think I told her? Nada. For the simple reason that I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about,” he said. “You should have seen the look on her face when she figured that out.” He did an uncanny imitation of Thelma’s high-pitched voice. “Well, now Elliot, do tell. How odd your sister didn’t tell you about that dead body. A person has to wonder if there’s something conspirational going on, don’t you think?’”
“Conspirational, huh? You sound just like Thelma.”
An accomplished mangler of the English language, in addition to being a world-class gossip.
He tapped his fingers on his arms and glared at me. “I’m so flattered. How come you didn’t call?”
“I’m sorry, Eli. Between the tornado damage and finding that grave, things were insane around here. Bobby came over this morning with a search warrant. They’re out there right now excavating the remains.”
“Jesus.” He stopped tapping. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know. The medical examiner said he reckoned the body had been there thirty or forty years. A Caucasian male.” I righted a flag in front of a marker of another ancestor who had fought in the Civil War. “Can you help me fix a couple of these?”
Eli raised an eyebrow and indicated Leland’s grave. “Wonder if Leland knew him?”
“Just because someone’s buried on our land doesn’t mean anyone in the family knew anything about it. We both know Leland didn’t have the best judgment when it came to business deals, but he would never kill another person and you know it.” I stood up and faced my brother.
He threw up his hands like he was putting on brakes. “I just asked if he could have known him and you bite my head off. How can you be so sure he didn’t do it?”
“Because of Mom. She would have known and she couldn’t have lived with it, that’s how.”
“Leland kept secrets.” He walked over to our parents’ graves and fixed Leland’s flag.
I joined him. “Not that secret. Not murder. Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Yours,” he said. “Ours.”
“I hope so.”
He cleared his throat. “Hey, Luce?”
“What?”
“Got a little favor to ask you.”
I knew it. “What favor?”
I also knew the favor. Money.
“I’m a little tight this month and I was wondering if you could—”
I cut him off. “I can loan you three hundred, maybe four, but I want to know when you’re going to pay me back.”
“Three or four hundred?” He looked startled. “You can’t do more than that?”
“I can’t really do three or four hundred since I just took a hit that’s going to set us back well over a hundred
