The Riesling Retribution

“Yes?” 

She held out her hand. “Savannah Hayden. I work for the medical examiner. I need access to the site where those remains were recovered. Thought I’d stop by and let you know I’ll be out there for a while.” 

I froze, with my hand half outstretched toward hers. “Is something wrong? Detective Noland told me last night they were finished.” 

Her voice was cool. “Maybe Detective Noland was finished, but I’m not. I need to take another look around and resurvey the area.” She clasped my hand and shook it. “I trust there’ll be no problem with that.” 

“Are you a doctor, Savannah…Miss Hayden?” 

“Not an MD,” she said. “But it is Dr. Hayden. I have a PhD in forensic anthropology.” She looked over at Quinn, who had not taken his eyes off her since she’d introduced herself. 

“What did they miss?” he asked. “It must be important or the medical examiner would be doing this. They wouldn’t have sent a forensic anthropologist.” 

Savannah’s smile was tolerant, but it looked like she appreciated the shrewdness of Quinn’s remark. “I’m sorry, Mr….?” 

“Quinn Santori.” 

“Mr. Santori. I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. But I need to see the site so I can put things in context.” 

“I’m not sure how much context you’re going to get,” I said. “The bones were already scattered when I discovered the grave the other day. That was before Bobby Noland and his deputies spent all day yesterday digging the place up.” 

She folded her thin arms across her chest. “I understand. Still, it’s possible to learn a lot from visiting the site.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m looking for different things than they were.” 

“Like what?” I asked. “Generally speaking, that is.” 

“Generally speaking, you’d be surprised what can be determined by knowing the orientation of a body in the surroundings where it’s found. Was it on a hill or in the woods? Facing which way? How deep was the grave? You look for clues that help you determine whether he or she had been killed somewhere else.” 

“So why didn’t you come out here with the others to begin with?” Quinn asked. “Since you’re asking all the good questions.” 

Another smile, this one revealing dimples in both cheeks. She was cute in a tomboyish way. 

“Money. I’m a luxury. I get brought in only when they can’t find everything they need and they hope I’ll uncover something new.” 

“Need a ride out there?” Quinn asked. “I can take you in one of our ATVs.” 

“Thanks. I’ve got a map and a Jeep.” She rocked back and forth on the outsides of her red high-tops, a sweet, self-conscious trait that reminded me of my younger sister, Mia. “I’d better get going.” 

On her way out the door, she looked over her shoulder. “See you around.” 

She was talking to Quinn. He cleared his throat as the door closed behind her. “Interesting kid,” he said. 

“She may look like a teenager, but she’s no kid.” 

“You all right?” 

“Fine.” 

He patted me on the back. A brotherly gesture. “Don’t worry about her, Lucie. They’re just covering their asses sending her back to check the place out. Nothing’s going to happen.” 

The prototype for every girlfriend he’d had since I knew him had just walked through the door and she was here to find something at that grave site that Bobby had missed. Savannah Hayden seemed to have her eye on Quinn and she also seemed sure she wasn’t going out to the grave site on a wild-goose chase. 

Plenty was going to happen.

Chapter 9

Frankie reached me on my cell phone, which I’d charged in the barrel room, while I was pulling leaves in the Seyval block just before noon. 

“Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,” she said. “Power’s back on.” 

“Hooray,” I said. “When?” 

I stripped off my gardening gloves and sat down in the shade of a large, leafy vine. A yellow jacket buzzed near a grape cluster that oozed sugary juice. I swiped at the wasp with my gloves and it flew off. 

“Fifteen minutes ago.” 

“Great. Now we won’t have to change our plans for the weekend.” 

“I called your cousin and told her. Thanked her for offering to bail us out with generators and anything else we needed.” 

“Thanks. What’d she say?” 

“Her exact words?” Frankie said. “That it’s been her experience in catering that ninety-eight percent of the time you never need to go through with your backup plans. But it’s always good to be prepared for the other ten percent when things fall through.” 

I smiled. “Sounds like Dominique. She did save our bacon, though.” 

“She mentioned that. Told me that when it came to family she was always ready to stick her neck out on a limb.” 

Though she’d been in the country for more than a decade, Dominique still found American idioms challenging. Her interpretations could be baffling, but we always understood her perfectly. 

“She means it,” I said. 

Frankie chuckled. “I know.” 

I stood up. “I am going home to enjoy a long, hot shower. I’ll be by the office later to check e-mail and catch up on what went on in the world during the past few days now that my computer’s back online.” 

“Do you want to tell Quinn we’ve got power since he’s out there with you?” 

““Sure. He’s working in the Malbec block. I’ll stop by and let him know.” 

But when I pulled up in the Gator to where Benny, Javier, and Jesús were making a bonfire-sized pile out of what had once been thriving Malbec vines, Quinn wasn’t around. We hadn’t planted much of that grape, but it had been a particular favorite of his because of its deep plummy color, rich tannins, and the complexity it would add to our Cabernet Sauvignon blend. We’d taken the biggest hit here and I knew he was upset about losing nearly almost all of those vines. 

“Where’s Quinn?” I asked. 

The three men all wore baseball caps under which they’d draped towels to protect the back of their necks against sunburn. The effect always reminded me of something out of Lawrence of Arabia. Benny took off his cap and wiped his perspiring face with his towel. He had a thick black mustache and luxuriant black hair. Of the three, his English was the strongest. 

“Queen went to see the señorita,” he said. “Left a little while ago.” 

“Which señorita?” I asked. But I knew which one. 

“La rubia.” He gestured in the general direction of the creek and the reenactment site. “The blonde.” 

“I see.” I fiddled with the Gator key, nearly dropping it. “Thanks.” 

Benny’s lively eyes rested on me. His expression was respectful, but his face softened with understanding. “Can I tell him something for you, Lucie?” His voice was kind. 

“No, that’s okay. You don’t even need to mention that I stopped by. I was heading back to the house so I just thought I’d see how it’s going.” 

Benny glanced over his shoulder at the growing pile of debris. “Going good. We’re getting there. Maybe we can start replanting soon.” 

He pulled a flattened pack of Marlboros out of the pocket of his mud-stained jeans and lit up. 

“I hope so,” I said. “One more thing.”