I showered and dressed, stopping by the villa to check in with Frankie on my way to the Goose Creek Bridge. She was outside on the terrace, straightening chair cushions and wiping down picnic tables.
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day,” she said. “Maybe we’ll have a good crowd. You off somewhere?”
“Meeting Kit for breakfast.” I left out where and that there would be three of us.
“In town?”
“One of our old haunts.” I pulled a chair into place around one of the tables. “Did you know Quinn invested his inheritance money with Thomas Asher Investments?”
Her eyes grew big and she nodded. “He told me yesterday. Said if this goes down the way it looks like it’s going, he’ll lose everything. The poor man.”
That hurt. He trusted Frankie but not me.
“I found out from Thelma.”
She set down her spray bottle of glass cleaner. “It’s different with you, Lucie. Believe me, he’s kicking himself from here to California for being so gullible. He’s probably too ashamed to tell you what happened.”
“He won’t be the only one to lose his shirt.”
“Tell him that.”
“Any idea where he is now?”
“No, but last night I think he planned to meet up with some friends and get drunk. He might be home sleeping it off.”
I’d never known Quinn to go out with the deliberate intention of getting drunk. He was careful; he knew his limits and what could happen to winemakers who liked their own tipple too much and too often.
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. Down the slippery slope…
Frankie held up her hand. “Give him some space, Lucie. He’s got to deal with this, and you know how much pride he has. It’s tearing him up.”
If I gave him any more space, we’d inhabit different planets.
“I offered him a partnership the other day,” I said. “I wonder if he’ll reconsider now.”
“Well, it’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow somebody some good, I guess.” Frankie put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. That came out horribly wrong.”
“Or maybe it didn’t.” I shoved another chair into place. “You know as well as I do that if I bring it up again he’ll just think I’m doing it out of pity.”
She picked up the spray bottle. “He’s proud and you’re stubborn. You two are a pair, you know that? How much longer are you going to go on like this? It’s wearing me out.”
“Like what? You just cleaned that table, you know.”
“Oh, go on and meet Kit for breakfast already.”
“Thanks. See you.” I started to leave.
“Lucie?”
“What?”
“If you’re free tonight, a group of us are going to the Hidden Horse for drinks and dinner. Why don’t you come along and maybe afterward you could spend the night at my place? Tom’s away on business. I’d love some company.”
When Tom was away Frankie busied herself with imaginary chores like vacuuming the basement of her immaculate house or straightening the garage. She didn’t need company, but if I spent the night with her, my security guards wouldn’t have to babysit me.
“Thanks for the invite, but I’ve already got plans for the evening. Anyway, I think we can call off the nightly patrols, don’t you? Antonio and the guys need their beauty sleep and, for all I know, what happened on Mosby’s Highway was just a random case of road rage. It’s been like a tomb around here ever since.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“What are you doing tonight, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Going to the opening of the Asher Collection at the Library of Congress.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t you think you ought to steer clear of the Ashers?”
“On the contrary. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“Lucie …”
“Relax, Frankie. I’ll be fine. Mick’s taking me. Nothing’s going to happen. There’ll be a million cameras and reporters, and everyone will be on their best behavior.”
She wasn’t mollified.
“Sometimes,” she said, “I just don’t understand you.”
Kit’s Jeep and a silver Toyota Camry were parked at the end of the dirt road next to the gate by the old Goose Creek Bridge when I got there just after ten o’clock. In summer the heady scent of wild honeysuckle would be everywhere, but now the heavily wooded landscape was only beginning to show hints of green. Kit and someone I assumed was David Wildman sat on the parapet overlooking Goose Creek, their legs dangling over the water. Behind them through the screen of bare trees and brush, I could make out rolling hills and the dark parallel lines of a post-and-board fence that ran along the perimeter of a field where armies once had fought.
Kit, in a scarlet jacket, gold scarf, and lime green pants, stood out like a traffic light in the otherwise subdued landscape. As I walked down the gravel path she waved.
“Come and get it! Your coffee’s getting cold!”
She and David stood, hands around their coffee cups like they were praying. Another cup sat on the wall next to a rectangular white box. David Wildman picked it up and walked over to me.
“The woman I’ve been chasing for a week.” He handed me the coffee. “Nice to finally meet you, Lucie. David Wildman.”
He was younger than I’d expected, short, fit, and bullishly built. I guessed him to be a few years older than I was, probably in his midthirties in spite of the bald head, which I figured he shaved. His skin was the color of burnished mahogany and he wore horn-rimmed glasses and a tiny gold hoop in one ear. He carried himself with an easy confidence that showed in the tilt of his head as he studied me. His smile could have lit up a dark cathedral.
“Nice to meet you, too.” I smiled back. He was charming. No wonder Summer had talked to him. “Kit told me a lot about you.”
He grinned some more. “Make you a deal. You believe half of what she told you about me and I’ll believe half of what she told me about you.”
I glanced at Kit, who rolled her eyes.
“Make it seventy-five percent and you’re on.”
He laughed. “Sounds like we should just start over.”
“How nice you two already bonded, thanks to me.” Kit gave us a baleful look as she held out the box. “Doughnut, anyone? I bought a dozen.”
I took an old-fashioned, David picked a jelly-filled, and Kit helped herself to a Boston cream.
“Shall we sit down and do this?” David said. “I’ve got a lot of questions.”
We moved back to the parapet where he’d left his rucksack. Kit and I faced the creek while David straddled the low wall so he could see the gate and the dead-end road. I wondered if it was deliberate. We ate our doughnuts and drank our coffee.
“It’s pretty out here. I grew up in a city, so places like this seem like a foreign country. Does it get many visitors?” David licked jelly off his thumb.
His tone was conversational, but I could tell it wasn’t just idle banter. I wondered if he now thought he needed to watch his back after yesterday’s article in the
“Occasionally you find someone following the Civil War trail out here,” I said. “You probably saw the marker on Mosby’s Highway. There’s more of a crowd during the spring garden tour when local historians give lectures on the battle. Most of the time, though, it’s deserted.”
He nodded and pulled a reporter’s notebook and pen out of the rucksack.
“Anybody ready for another doughnut?” Kit opened the box.
