The Viognier Vendetta

“I think I’m beginning to have an idea. Did Rebecca ever mention someone named Ian Philips to you?”

“Yes, of course. They worked together before she left to join Asher Investments. They went out a few times, I believe. But when she moved on, their relationship ended. I think he was angry with her for leaving. Perhaps a little jealous of her advancement.”

“Rebecca got back in touch with Ian recently,” I said. “She called him the week before she disappeared, but they never managed to connect. Then she sent Ian and me identical postcards with each other’s phone numbers on them. They came yesterday. Did you know he was scheduled to testify on Capitol Hill tomorrow about possible improprieties at Asher Investments?”

We began walking again. “No, I did not. Why did you say ‘was’?”

“I’m so sorry, Linh. I didn’t want to tell you. Ian was found dead this morning at his row house on Capitol Hill. He’d been drinking last night. It seems he drowned in his hot tub.”

Linh made a brief sign of the cross and kept her hand over her heart.

“That poor boy! How did you find out?” She turned to me. “That’s why you were at police headquarters, isn’t it?”

We had nearly reached the top of the knoll. Set in the middle of the plaza where the columns rose to the sky was a dry fountain. In the summer, a channel flowed from the fountain down a small hill where it fed a shallow rectangular pool at the base of the columns. It reminded me of the Reflecting Pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial and I wondered, suddenly, if Rebecca had been here recently and this was the place she was referring to in the passage of Alexander Pope’s epistle.

Except this small fountain and the shallow pool had been drained for the winter and would be turned on again once there was no chance of freezing weather. The Pope verse described a fountain “never to be played” in a park that was well manicured, not untamed as it was here.

“Lucie.” Linh shook my arm. “What’s going on? Did the police question you about Ian’s death?”

I nodded. “I was with him last night. Probably only a few hours before he died.”

Linh leaned against one of the massive sandstone columns, her slight shadow crossing mine. In the distance, the couple that had been sitting on the bench made their way to their car and drove out of the parking lot. We were now completely alone, with only the noise of the wind and birdsong from the trees in the surrounding woods for company.

“You think Ian’s death and Rebecca’s disappearance are related?” she asked.

“I think,” I said, “that Rebecca may have been trying to pass Ian some documents or information about illegal business dealings at Thomas Asher Investments.”

The color drained from her face. “What are you talking about, illegal?”

I told her, but I stopped short of using the words “Ponzi scheme.”

“Ian told Rebecca what he suspected a few months ago. At first she didn’t believe him and even got angry with him. But it seems she might have discovered something recently that changed her mind,” I said. “It’s possible Rebecca planned to hand Ian the proof he needed for his testimony and then disappear. One scenario is that this is all an elaborate hoax and she’s alive and well somewhere.”

Linh’s voice was hoarse with disbelief and hope. “Scenario? You think she faked her death?”

“The story about a mysterious stranger—Robin Hood—giving the Madison wine cooler and Rebecca’s jewelry to a homeless man down by the river sounds a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded dubious and I could tell she’d wondered about it herself. “I’m not sure I believe you about these illegal dealings, as you call them, Lucie. Of course I would like to think my daughter is alive, but did you know Sir Thomas is paying for my trip to Washington? He flew me down here, first class. He has taken care of everything for me—a suite at the Willard hotel for as long as I need to be here, all my meals, expenses, everything. I even have a driver at my disposal when I wish. He is a good man. He and Lady Asher do so much for charity. So much good work.”

“But if Ian’s right—”

“Why would Rebecca run away?” she asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Because she was afraid of the repercussions of her actions,” I said. “And if Ian Philips’s death turns out not to be an accidental drowning—which I don’t believe it was—then maybe Rebecca had good reason to be scared.”

“Because someone from Asher Investments murdered Ian, or had him killed to keep him from testifying?” Linh sounded incredulous. “And my daughter set up some … some charade to convince everyone she was dead—even her own mother and father—because she, too, feared for her life?”

“It’s also possible,” I said, “that she didn’t succeed in getting away. Maybe the homicide is real—though the police haven’t found a … haven’t found Rebecca yet.”

Linh walked to the edge of the foundation and stared out at a meadow of untidy rows of tufts of dried fountain grass that stretched to a distant road. Beyond it were more woods. I went over and stood next to her.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s what you believe, Lucie?” There was both sorrow and anger in her voice. “Because they have not found my daughter?”

“It’s only a theory,” I said.

She turned to me. “She was involved with someone. You knew that, didn’t you? She seemed so happy this time.”

My heart constricted as I thought of Ali Jennings explaining to me that the affair between Harlan and Rebecca was over.

“Rebecca didn’t tell me herself,” I said, “but I know she was at Harlan Jennings’s home in Georgetown on Saturday afternoon. His, uh, his wife said the affair was over.”

Linh looked surprised. “The former senator? That Harlan Jennings?”

I’d let some cat out of God knew what bag. “Isn’t that who you were referring to?”

“I didn’t know his name,” she said, “but whoever it was—Senator Jennings or someone else—Rebecca had a very good reason not to disappear on Saturday.”

“What was that?”

Her voice wavered. “Because she was spotted on a surveillance camera at a pharmacy in Georgetown around five P.M. on Saturday. The police found the clerk who waited on her. She bought one of those pregnancy tests. And that’s why I’m sure my daughter didn’t run away somewhere. Because she thought she was pregnant. And knowing Rebecca, she would be deeply in love with the man who would have been her baby’s father.”

Chapter 15

I drove Linh back to the Willard after that. It was a mostly silent trip—forty-five minutes through Washington’s bottlenecked traffic—with each of us absorbed in her thoughts.

If Rebecca were pregnant, that put an entirely new spin on things. Who was the father? Presumably Harlan —which meant that the affair definitely was not over. I’d seen Rebecca’s birth control pills in the bathroom of our suite at the hotel. Had she been careless, taking them erratically? Or had the decision to get pregnant been deliberate, because she wanted the child of her current lover? Ian told me that he’d been thrown over for an old, rich guy. Harlan was older and he was rich.

Whether the pregnancy had been an accident or not, it gave both Harlan and Alison even stronger motives to want Rebecca out of the way. Especially Harlan, if the reason Rebecca wanted to see him on Saturday was to tell him what would surely be unwelcome news.

But how did this fit in with Ian’s death and the postcards? Were they related, or two entirely separate incidents whose timing was coincidental?

I pulled up in front of the hotel. Linh put her hand on the door handle, as though eager to flee. Then she glanced out the car window.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Not another reporter with a camera. Be a dear and drive around the corner, will you? I think I’ll take a walk before I go inside. Find another entrance.”