Chapter 9
Frankie showed up in the tasting room as Alison finished paying me for the Viognier for Harlan’s party. Her eyes flitted between the two of us as I handed Ali her credit card.
“How are the boys, Ali? I don’t see you so often anymore now that our kids aren’t together at school.” She smiled her serene smile, ignoring the gloomy fug that hung in the air.
Frankie was the person you wanted on your side in a hostage crisis or a nuclear standoff because she could defuse tension in a room faster than anyone else I knew. It was an inside joke among the tasting room staff that she heard more confessions than the priests at St. Stephen’s in Middleburg—from both customers and employees. Everyone talked to her, trusting the compassion in those clear blue eyes.
Alison seemed to brighten. “They’re doing great. Boarding school agrees with them. How about yours?”
“Looking at colleges. Can’t believe we’ll be paying double tuition soon.”
“I know what you mean. We’re so blessed my father-in-law invested in blue chips way back when and that Harlan inherited his dad’s good head about money,” she said. “Speaking of money and investing, did I hear that Quinn is looking to buy some farmland?”
Ali was looking directly at me. I saw Frankie’s imperceptible nod out of the corner of my eye.
“Why, yes, he is,” I said. “What makes you ask?”
“Harlan and I have some acreage we’d like to sell,” she said. “To the right buyer. It’s adjacent to our property, so we’d like the new owner to continue to use it for agriculture—cattle, horses, farming. If Quinn’s planning to put in a vineyard, that would be even better.”
Frankie closed her eyes slowly and opened them. Another yes.
“That’s his plan,” I said.
“Terrific. I’ll talk to Harlan and make sure he gets in touch with Quinn.”
The moment the door closed behind Alison, I said to Frankie, “How long have you known about Quinn looking for land?”
“Lucie, calm down.”
“I am calm.”
She pulled out a bar stool for me.
“Sure you are,” she said. “I can tell. Look, I found out over the weekend. A couple of the Romeos dropped by for a drink just as we were closing yesterday. I’m not sure how they heard about it, but it’s obviously no secret if Ali knows.”
“Quinn probably dropped a hint someone overheard and brought up over morning coffee at the General Store,” I said. “Meaning Thelma found out and told her partners in crime, the Romeos. Which is why everyone knows about it from here to Richmond—except me.”
The Romeos, whose name stood for Retired Old Men Eating Out, were the second worst source of gossip in Atoka after Thelma Johnson, who owned the General Store. Between them they vacuumed up every scrap of news—real or imagined—and then spread it to the four corners of the county and beyond.
“You were out of town,” Frankie said.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Maybe he was trying to find the right time.”
“I knew he inherited some money from his mother after she passed away, but it wasn’t a lot,” I said. “How’s he going to finance something like this?”
There’s a sad-but-true saying among vineyard owners that the fastest way to make a small fortune growing grapes and selling wine is to start with a large one. Quinn, as near as I knew, didn’t even have a small fortune.
“Maybe he’s got a couple of partners who are willing to invest with him.”
I nodded, stunned. “He always said he wanted his own place. I guess I thought we’d combine forces. It would be something we’d do together.”
“Oh, Lucie.” Frankie’s eyes were full of sympathy. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. You know Quinn and how ambitious he is. It’s sort of a natural progression, don’t you think?”
Maybe she was right. Maybe it was, but I hadn’t wanted to see it.
“Sure. Of course it is. Hey, thanks for telling me. At least I found out from you and not the Romeos or Thelma. That would be gossip fodder for a month of Sundays.”
“He’ll tell you himself, you wait and see.” She picked up her gardening gloves and patted me on the shoulder. “Guess I’d better get back to those beds. Are you going to be all right? When I came into the room, Ali looked like hell and you didn’t look much better.”
I stood up and went behind the bar. “You know something about that, too?”
“Not directly, but I can add two and two. Mac Macdonald was one of the Romeos who came in for a drink,” she said. “You know how close he is to his money. Made sure I wouldn’t charge him for a glass of water before he drank it.”
Mac was a teetotaler and a querulous old dear who owned an upscale antiques store in Middleburg. One of my parents’ oldest friends, his penny-pinching went beyond zealousness. If anyone were going to figure out a way to take it all to the eternal reward that awaited in the afterlife, it would be Mac.
“He’ll never change,” I said.
“Did you know Harlan Jennings manages his portfolio?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t. I thought Mac kept his money in his mattress.”
“Apparently he goes to D.C. regular as clockwork to check up on how his investments are doing.” Frankie gave me a significant look. “He bumped into your friend Rebecca a couple of times. Thought she worked as a secretary for Harlan, who never disabused him of the idea. Then he saw her picture on the news and found out she was Sir Thomas Asher’s golden girl. So he wondered why Harlan didn’t explain who she really was.”
“Is there something you’re trying to say?” I asked. “Or not say?”
“Okay,” she said. “You asked. Ali’s got a lot of friends who think she got a raw deal when Harlan abdicated his responsibilities out here and moved to town. All that nonsense about needing to be in Washington because that’s where his clients are. Please!” She waved a hand like she was shooing a pesky fly. “As if she doesn’t make that same drive every day. She loves Harlan so much she’s blind to … well, let’s just leave it at blind.”
“She’s not blind. But she does love him more than anything else in the world.” I thought of the surprise party she was planning, even after the tawdry situation Harlan had dragged her into over Rebecca.
Frankie traced a finger around a cabbage rose on one of her gloves. “Ali would go to the ends of the earth for him or the boys. You’re right about that.”
She went outside, leaving me to mull over what she’d said. Just how far would Alison Jennings go to protect Harlan? What would she do to preserve her marriage and his upstanding reputation in the community?
She’d been in Washington on Saturday, arriving late to the gala—plus she would have realized Rebecca would be in town for such an important event honoring her boss. An athlete and a good shot, Ali was probably strong enough to take on Rebecca if she needed to do so. How hard would it have been to find out from her historian colleague that Rebecca planned to drop by earlier in the day to pick up the Madison wine cooler?
And of course, Alison already knew about the affair.
The police had questioned Harlan about Rebecca’s disappearance. But so far, it seemed no one suspected his wife. Was she setting things up to protect herself?
Had Ali just played me to cover up a murder—that she’d committed?
On Tuesday morning, my cell phone rang as I was pouring a cup of coffee in the galley kitchen in the villa. Another D.C. number, but I didn’t recognize this one.
“Who is this?” a male voice asked when I answered.
“You called me. Why don’t you go first?”
“Don’t I know you?” he said. “I’m sure I do.”
I disconnected and dropped the phone on the counter as though he could detect my location if I held on to it. He called back twice. Each time I let the call go to voice mail, but he never left a message. Was it a prank caller? Persistent wrong number?
Shortly before noon, Frankie showed up in my office with the mail. “You might want to take a look at this. I
