The Viognier Vendetta

“I’ve got plenty of guns, thanks.”

“I will go with you to make sure you’re all right, check around the house and make sure everything is good. But if anything happens—you hear something or you get worried—I want you to call me right away. ¿Entiendes?”

“Sí, entiendo. I understand.”

“I can be there like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And if you change your mind, you come back here, okay?”

“Thanks, Antonio.”

“Give me a minute.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched a button. She was on speed dial. He left the kitchen as she answered. I heard his staccato Spanish, probably telling her to make herself at home if he wasn’t here. When he returned, he had pulled on a hooded fleece with the vineyard logo on it. I saw the bulge underneath on his right hip.

His revolver.

“You don’t have to go home if you don’t want to, you know?” he said. “Nothing wrong with being scared of the bad guys.”

“For how long? I can’t let someone stop me living my life. Besides, I’ll have one of my father’s guns for protection. I’ll be okay.”

“You know what you’re doing with such a gun?” Antonio looked skeptical.

“It won’t be target practice. I’ll shoot until I hit something. Or someone.”

“Guess I won’t pay you a surprise visit, then.” He flashed a brilliant smile and I grinned back at him.

“Come on, hija,” he said. “Let’s saddle up.”

He took Hector’s old Superman blue pickup truck and I followed him in the Mini through the velvety black night. Antonio was a crack shot. I’d seen him take down deer and crows. I hoped he wouldn’t need to use his gun once we got to my house.

I hoped no one was already there, waiting for me.

Chapter 17

The house was dark and silent as we pulled up in the driveway. Maybe it was time to start locking the doors when I left in the morning. Most days I didn’t bother in case a neighbor wanted to drop off a bag of homegrown tomatoes or return a borrowed book or garden tool. Atoka was that kind of town—but maybe not anymore.

Antonio stopped the pickup and I pulled up beside him.

“Stay right there,” he said. “I’m going to take a look around. If I don’t come back in a few minutes, get out of here and call the sheriff.”

I nodded, afraid if I spoke it would betray my nerves.

Within two minutes he was back. “All clear. Let’s go inside. Me first.”

He turned on lights and checked every room, but I could have told him we wouldn’t find anyone. Somehow the house, which had been in my family for more than two hundred years, would have given me a clue that an intruder waited for us. The Montgomery clan motto— Garde bien, “watch well”—was carved into the lintel above the front door. For two centuries, the house had taken care of my ancestors and me. It wasn’t going to let me down now.

“Where are those guns?” Antonio asked.

“The library.”

It had once been my father’s office. I’d had the floor-to-ceiling cherry bookcases on either side of the fireplace rebuilt after a fire a few years ago, though we’d lost most of Leland’s vast collection of rare books on Jefferson and early American history. Gradually I’d filled the shelves with my own selection, adding a few small watercolors and bronzes I’d bought at Macdonald’s Fine Antiques to fill some of the empty spaces. Besides the bookshelves, the room contained my father’s antique desk, two wing chairs, a coffee table, and a sofa and love seat upholstered in the Montgomery clan’s heathery blue, green, and red tartan—and my father’s gun cabinet.

Antonio had never been in this room and I didn’t think he had any idea how many weapons Leland had owned. He let out an appreciative whistle as I unlocked the etched-glass doors, revealing what was inside.

“Madre de Díos.” He ran a hand down the barrel of an antique shotgun. “That’s a Baker Rifle. The Mexicans used it at the Alamo. Look at all these. The only thing you don’t have is a cannon.”

“Leland wanted one. My mother said over her dead body.”

He smiled at the feeble humor. “Let’s get you set up, Lucita. Do you really know what you’re doing?”

“I watched Leland shoot enough times.”

He gave me a skeptical look. I hadn’t answered the question.

“Pistols and revolvers in there?” He pointed to a drawer.

I pulled it open. “Yes.”

Another low whistle and something under his breath in Spanish.

“How about you take the Colt forty-five?” Antonio lifted his fleece so I could see the gun on his hip. “Like mine.”

“Why not the Glock?”

“I got a friend in the marines. He says never trust a gun if you can’t divide the caliber by five. If the guy’s wearing body armor and all you’ve got is that nine-millimeter Glock, he might not even go down. Then he gets off a couple rounds and you do.”

“Oh.”

“So you gonna use the Colt, okay? It’s got good stopping power.”

I nodded.

“Where’s your ammunition?”

I showed him the drawer.

“Want me to load a clip for you?” He eyed Leland’s ample stock of magazines and loose rounds.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Before I do that, I wanna be sure you know how to slide the safety off. Use your thumb like this. See?” He showed me. “But keep it on until you need it. We don’t want no accidents.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

He showed me the gun. “Okay, this is a semiautomatic, so when you pull the trigger, it shoots once. But it gets easier after you get off the first round, entiendes?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry, Lucie. You hit someone with this and it’s gonna stop him good. Better, it’s gonna go through him and hit whatever’s behind him. So aim for the center mass, okay? He probably won’t be expecting you to have a gun, but you don’t want to give him a chance to fire his. Even if he’s hurt.”

“Right.”

Antonio looked doubtful. “You sure you want to do this? I can stay here with you for a while, or you can come back to my place. The offer’s still good.”

The offer was still tempting. But how long could I go on hiding and living in fear? It was also possible the tailgater out on Mosby’s Highway was in no way involved in Rebecca’s disappearance and Ian’s death—and that I had an overactive imagination.

I patted his arm gratefully. “Thanks, Antonio, but I’ll be okay. Besides, I’ll bet that guy has other things on his mind right now, like the damage he did to his car after plowing into that deer.”

“Where were you when it happened?” He finished loading the Colt and handed it to me. “Here. Be careful.”

“Thanks. On the other side of Middleburg. Just after Mickie Gordon Park.”

His cell phone vibrated and his eyes darted to the number. He turned off the phone. “I’ll check it out tomorrow.”