The Viognier Vendetta

wasn’t snooping, but I couldn’t help noticing it when I was sorting through everything.”

She set a postcard in front of me. The Lincoln Memorial at night.

“It’s from Rebecca,” I said. “Postmarked yesterday. I don’t believe this. She’s alive.”

There was no mistaking Rebecca’s sprawling handwriting: “To err is human, to forgive divine.” And a phone number.

“She bought this postcard when we were together on Saturday,” I said. “In fact, she bought several. All the same. She made a point of showing them to me.”

“Is that her phone number?” Frankie asked.

“No.” I picked up my phone and scrolled through the calls. “It belongs to this guy, whoever he is. He called me three times. I bet he got a postcard with my number on it.”

Frankie sat down in a red-and-white flame-stitched wing chair across from me and folded her arms across her chest.

“Do you know who he is? What’s going on? And what’s up with the Shakespeare quote?”

“I don’t think it’s Shakespeare. I bet it’s Alexander Pope.” I ran my thumb over the postmark. “It was mailed yesterday in Georgetown. What do you bet Rebecca’s alive and hiding somewhere?”

“It was postmarked yesterday. She could have dropped it in a mailbox on Saturday knowing it wouldn’t get picked up until Monday. Maybe it was sort of insurance in case anything happened to her —which it did.” Frankie’s forehead creased with worry. “What are you going to do? Whatever’s going on, it’s getting dangerous.”

“I’m going to call the guy who has been calling me and find out what he wants. He didn’t know who I was— and I didn’t know who he was until I got this.” I tapped the postcard and picked up my phone. “Rebecca sent these for a reason. I need to meet him and find out why and what happened to her.”

He answered in the middle of the second ring. “You finally decided to return my call, did you?”

“I got a postcard, too,” I said. “What does yours say, besides my telephone number?”

I heard a long expelled breath on his end. “‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’ That’s Alexander —”

“Pope. Mine says, ‘To err is human, to forgive divine,’” I said. “You’re Ian Philips, aren’t you?”

“And you’re Rebecca’s college friend. Lucie Martin.”

“Close enough. Montgomery.”

“I think we should talk,” he said.

“Where’s Rebecca?”

“Somewhere in the Potomac River. Haven’t you been watching the news?”

“What if she’s not?” I said. “I was with her when she bought these postcards on Saturday just before she disappeared. She planned to send them to us. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not following you.”

“She’s setting up something—actually, she’s setting us up for something. What if she faked her death and vanished?”

Frankie’s eyebrows went up and I shrugged. Wasn’t it possible, as the woman at Fletcher’s had suggested? An image of Rebecca, laughing her head off drinking a latte in some exotic café, popped into my head. Right now, it seemed as plausible as any other explanation.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I think she sent these as backup, in case anything happened to her.”

“You mean as insurance?” I said as Frankie nodded her head and mouthed “yes.”

“Exactly. Look, I don’t think we ought to continue to discuss this over the phone. How’d you like to take a walk around the Tidal Basin and enjoy the cherry blossoms? They’re nearly at their peak today.”

I looked at Frankie, whose normally untroubled face was lined with concern. Whatever was going on, I wanted to keep it as far away from the vineyard as possible.

“I can be in Washington by two. Where should we meet?”

“You know the FDR Memorial?”

“It’s huge. Spans Roosevelt’s life and the entire three-term presidency.”

“Since you obviously know it, how about meeting me at the blocks? I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

A set of what looked like life-sized child’s building blocks hewn out of granite. I knew what was carved on them. Roosevelt had initially tried to remain neutral during World War II, but the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor provoked America into finally entering the war.

“I hate war,” I said. “Those blocks?”

“See you there,” he said and hung up.

Chapter 10

I recognized Ian Philips leaning against the “I Hate” block when I showed up at the FDR Memorial. Unshaven, wearing faded jeans, an untucked shirt, a leather jacket, and the same knotted Burberry scarf he had on the other night, he had an impressive-looking Nikon digital SLR slung over his shoulder. A cigarette hung out of a corner of his mouth.

He straightened up when he saw me and blew a smoke ring. “We meet again.”

“Yes, we do.”

He pointed to my cane. “I didn’t know about that. You weren’t using it the other night.”

“Don’t worry, I have it on a leash. It won’t bite.”

He was right about not seeing it on Saturday. I’d forgotten it in the hotel suite in my rush to leave when Olivia Tarrant offered me a lift. In fact, I’d needed it less than I’d expected that evening at the gala—which had been a pleasant surprise.

He looked startled before his face broke into a smile. “Good, because I don’t have all my shots.”

I leaned against the block with “War” carved into it. “You ought to do something about that.”

He took another long drag on his cigarette. “Kidding aside, would you rather just stay here instead of walking around the Tidal Basin?”

“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t. Would you?”

He drew his head back as though he were reassessing me.

“I can see why you’re a friend of Rebecca’s.” It sounded like a compliment. “Okay, then let’s go. How’d you end up needing a cane, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A boyfriend drove into a stone wall one night in the rain. I was in the passenger seat.”

“That’s rough.” He dropped his cigarette and squashed the butt under the toe of a highly polished brown oxford. “You bring your postcard?”

I took it out of my purse. “Where’s yours?”

He picked up the butt and flung it in a trash can. His postcard was in the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out so we could compare. Same bold scrawl, same bright green gel pen.

“Anybody follow you here?” he asked.

For a moment I thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

“I don’t think so. Is somebody following you?”

“I haven’t spotted anyone. But I have gotten a few warnings, so I figure it’s possible someone’s watching me.”

I caught my breath. “What kind of warnings?”

He took my arm. “Try not to look like you’ve come to drop off the ransom money for the kidnapper.” He gave my hand a light squeeze. “We’re here to enjoy the cherry blossoms, okay?”

“Sure.”

We walked down a couple of stairs. As sobering and surreal as this meeting was, it was hard not to be enchanted by the lovely tableau of thousands of pink-blooming trees framing the Washington Monument and the Jefferson Memorial as we joined the slow-moving crowd navigating around the Tidal Basin. The afternoon sun