Bitter Roots, page 18
‘How’d you get over here?’ I asked Antonio.
‘Got one of the Gators out of the equipment barn.’
‘How much gas does it have?’
‘Yesterday I made sure the Gators, the tractor, and all our equipment – like the chain saws – had full tanks,’ he said, with a smug grin. ‘I filled up the gas cans, too. We’re good.’
‘Antonio, you are a prince.’
‘I know,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Valeria tells me that all the time.’
‘We’re going to take a look at the damage in the vineyard,’ Quinn said. ‘So we’ll borrow the Gator for a bit unless you need help here?’
‘We don’t have another chain saw and the GSV guys will be here soon with theirs,’ he said. ‘It won’t take long for three of us to get this taken care of. They’ll drive me back to the winery, so keep the Gator as long as you need it.’
Quinn nodded and turned to me. ‘Before we go, I want to see something.’
The summerhouse. He wanted to find out about his telescope.
The little building had collapsed on itself – pancaked would be the most apt description. The telescope was somewhere under the rubble.
‘Damn,’ he said when we saw it. ‘Damn.’
He’d tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but I knew how upset he was. I slipped my arm around his waist. The summerhouse had been my playhouse when I was a child – a sanctuary, a castle, a library, a clubhouse where Kit and I made up rules that we’d change the next day and the day after that. His loss was real; my loss was intangible – my childhood memories. And some others that were more recent: the nights Quinn and I spent out there looking at the stars, which was when I began falling in love with him.
‘You’ll get a new telescope and we’ll rebuild the summerhouse,’ I said, and my voice caught. ‘Eli will design it. Good as new.’
This evening once we got back to the house, I was absolutely giving him his wedding gift.
‘Yup,’ he said. ‘If this is the worst casualty of the storm, we got off easy.’
‘We did.’
He sighed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go look at the vineyard.’
‘OK,’ I said.
And wondered what we’d find there.
FIFTEEN
‘I want to stop by Mia’s cottage,’ I said to Quinn as we climbed into the Gator. ‘Antonio said her car hasn’t been there in two days. I hope she’s OK.’
‘She’s pretty resourceful.’
‘She can also be pretty flaky.’
‘That’s true, too.’
Benny and Jesús had cut up enough of the downed tree and moved it so we could get into the cul-de-sac where Antonio’s and Mia’s cottages were located. We stopped and chatted with them and that’s when I saw my sister’s car parked in front of her place.
She was home. She must have just gotten there.
‘Give me a minute,’ I said to Quinn as we pulled up next to her car. ‘Unless you want to come with me?’
‘I’ll let you handle this. Sister to sister.’
Meaning he didn’t want to get near our conversation with a barge pole. ‘Right. Thanks.’
When Mia answered the door, she was barefoot in jeans with holes in them and a midriff-baring T-shirt with a guerrilla mask on it, the logo of the Guerrilla Girls, a group of female artists protesting the dearth of art by women in museums.
To my surprise she threw her arms around me and said, ‘I was so worried about you. And Eli. And Quinn and Sasha and Hope and Zach.’
Mia wasn’t usually the worrying kind.
‘We’re fine. Everyone’s fine. Antonio says your car hasn’t been here for two days. We were so worried about you.’
She stepped back. Indignant. ‘Is Antonio spying on me? And reporting to you?’
‘Oh, come on. Of course not. But he does drive by your place every day. You’re his only neighbor. Why would you think he wouldn’t notice if your car wasn’t there? When we saw him this morning, we asked him if you were all right since we couldn’t get to you or reach you once the power went out. He was worried about you, too.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well … OK.’
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘You weren’t here.’
‘No.’
This could go on forever. ‘Mia,’ I said, ‘can I ask where you were for the last two days?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘You can’t.’
‘Were you OK during the storm?’
‘I was fine,’ she said. ‘It was scary, but we were fine.’
We.
‘Sweetie,’ I said. ‘We?’
Mia’s most recent boyfriend had been on the run from the law in New York, the last in a long line of bad boys going all the way back to middle school. My sister’s theory was that even though she knew they’d eventually break her heart, the ones who were trouble were more fun while the party lasted.
She gave me an exasperated look. ‘Oh, what the hell. It will be all over town soon anyway since there are no secrets around here. I was with Fabrice. At his place at La Vigne.’
Fabrice. I’d thought he was involved with Eve. Mia saw the look on my face and said, ‘Lucie. Don’t judge.’
‘I’m not judging. But the rumor going around is that Fabrice was … seeing Eve. Who is dead. And she was pregnant. I hope he’s not …’
‘Not what? Using me as an alibi?’
‘For starters. Come on, Mia, he’s almost a member of our family. He’s Jacques’ grandson. I’m the one who recommended that Toby hire him. I don’t like what this looks like any better than you do. I’m fond of him but you’re my sister. I care about you.’
Mia wrapped her arms around her thin waist. ‘I care about you, too. It was over between Eve and Fabrice when we started … seeing each other.’
Which sounded like a euphemism for sleeping together. How they had managed to keep it under the radar was beyond me.
‘When?’ I asked.
‘About three weeks ago. He was helping Eve with her dissertation. That’s it.’
‘I thought there was something between the two of them.’
Mia blew a lock of hair off her face, like: Oh, please. ‘Eve wished there was. Then, well, she found out she was pregnant. So obviously there’s someone else in the picture, right? Fabrice wasn’t getting in the middle of that.’
So Eve did know she was pregnant.
‘Did she say who the baby’s father was?’
She gave me the dumb question look. ‘Duh. No. Why would she tell Fabrice who got her pregnant when she’s interested in him?’
Which begged the question what happened to Eve’s relationship with her child’s father to go downhill so fast that a few weeks later she was interested in another man? A quarrel? An accidental pregnancy? The end of an affair?
‘Why did she tell Fabrice she was pregnant?’ I asked. When, that early in her pregnancy, she could have kept it a secret because what better way to put off a new love interest than to tell him you’re having another man’s baby? And that it obviously wasn’t that long ago you were, uh, having sex with the other guy.
‘She was sick as a dog one day. Morning sickness. He guessed. She had to tell him. It all fell apart after that.’
‘Do you know where he was last Saturday afternoon?’
She looked at me like I’d just asked the stupidest question in the world and expected a smart answer.
‘Was he at Goose Creek Bridge with Eve? Did he kill her? Is that what you’re asking?’
It was, but I wasn’t going to say so.
‘I just asked if you knew where he was.’
‘No, I don’t.’
She didn’t seem happy to divulge that piece of information.
‘Mia …’
‘He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Besides, Bobby already questioned him.’
‘Oh?’
‘Before the storm. The derecho. Fabrice told Bobby that he saw Eve the day she was killed at the bridge, but she was alive and well when he left her. He also said she was upset about something, but she wouldn’t tell him what it was.’
That would have been the same day Eve wanted to see Quinn. She didn’t want to tell Fabrice what was bothering her, but it seemed as if she wanted to tell Quinn about it.
Except now we’d never know what it was.
Mia didn’t know about Eve and Quinn, and I wasn’t going to tell her, either. ‘Did Fabrice have any idea what was upsetting her?’
‘Nope. He’s a good person, Lucie.’ Her voice was soft. ‘I really like him.’
‘Me, too.’
She gestured to a table behind her in the living room covered with a paint-spattered oil cloth. It was littered with tubes of paint, glass jars and containers with brushes poking out of them, sketch books, a tub of gesso, a hair dryer, and assorted items I either couldn’t identify or figure out why they were there – a coat hanger, a bag of flour, a small hacksaw, a roll of duct tape. In short, it was the colorful, messy place where my sister was happiest as she created beautiful things.
‘I’d better get back to work,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to finish a papier-mâché hat for Monty and without power I can only work during the day.’
‘Monty? You mean Monty the Fox?’ He had supposedly gone home with Carly and Richard Brightman.
She nodded.
‘Why are you making him a hat – now?’
‘Carly paid a ton of money for him,’ she said. ‘More than I ever expected. I told Grace I’d make him a hat as well. She said it was really sweet of me to offer, but you know, they give money to artists who need help. I figured doing this would be a way to help pay back people who helped me when I was starting out.’
‘That’s really thoughtful.’
‘It’s no big deal. I’m glad to do it. Do you want to see the hat? It’s not finished yet, though.’
‘Of course.’
I followed her over to her work table. She picked up a papier-mâché flat cap that she had painted a jazzy red and blue plaid. She was in the middle of applying fake jewels so it would be as blingy as the rest of Monty’s attire.
‘I’m almost tempted to add a visor,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think it looks terrific as it is now.’
She studied the hat from different angles. ‘Maybe I’ll leave it then. Either way, I need Carly or Richard to bring Monty back here to the studio so I can attach it properly.’
‘Do they know about the cap?’
‘They do. Carly says she’s thrilled and can’t wait to see it.’
‘I should let you go back to working on it,’ I said. Then, to get it over with because I knew it was going to hurt when I told her, I said, ‘By the way, the wedding garden is completely ruined. And the summerhouse is destroyed. The storm …’
I stopped and our eyes met. Hers filled with tears.
‘Oh, Lucie. I’m so, so sorry.’ She set Monty’s hat on the table and swiped at her eyes. ‘I know how hard you worked on that garden, getting Parker Lord to design it and all. It was such a labor of love. You must be devastated.’
‘We can replant, restore it. Everything will grow back. It’s OK. I’m OK.’
My sister knew it wasn’t and I wasn’t. ‘Not by Saturday it won’t.’
‘There is that minor detail.’
‘What about the wedding?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. Maybe we’ll move it to the courtyard or the Ruins. I’ll talk to Frankie and we’ll figure out Plan B.’
‘Can I do anything?’
‘Thanks, but I don’t think so. Quinn and I are about to go to check out the vineyard,’ I said. ‘See how much damage we’ve got out there. Hopefully not as bad as Highland House.’
‘Let me know?’
‘Sure. Stop by the house sometime. Pépé would like to see you, too. Bring Fabrice. Like I said, he’s almost family.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I think he’d like that.’
She waved at Quinn from the front door as I stepped outside. He waved back and when I climbed into the Gator he said, ‘What took you so long?’
‘I told you to come with me.’
He gave me a martyred look.
‘She’s sleeping with Fabrice,’ I said. ‘She was at his place during the storm.’
‘Sleeping with him? What happened to Eve? I thought he was sleeping with her. In fact, my money was on Fabrice to be the baby daddy.’
‘Apparently when he found out she was pregnant, and her getting pregnant being rather … recent … that ended any romantic interest on his part. Although Mia said he was still helping Eve with her dissertation.’
Quinn put the Gator in gear and we drove out to the Merlot block behind Mia’s cottage. ‘So he’s not the father. I wonder who is.’
‘The other candidates who come immediately to mind are all married. We’ve been over this.’
‘Richard, Jackson, Sloane.’
‘Right. Of course, there’s also Vance as a long shot,’ I said. ‘Who happens to be unmarried.’
Quinn shook his head. ‘Doubtful it’s Vance.’
‘Something’s going on between Vance and Landau’s,’ I said. ‘We should stop by GSV later today and see how their cleanup is coming along since our guys are going to be there helping them out.’
‘And do what? Ask Vance if he’s the baby’s father? Or if he killed Eve?’ I knew he was going to stick up for his friend. ‘He’s not and he didn’t. Come on, you like Vance, too. You don’t believe he’s guilty.’
‘Of course I like him, but there’s something funny going on,’ I said. ‘I guarantee you.’
‘We can stop by if you want,’ he said, ‘but I guarantee you Vance is a straight shooter.’
The vineyard had fared better in the storm than we’d feared. A lot of the flowers were blown off – as expected – but we got off easy, considering. The courtyard was a mess, the wine barrels filled with plants overturned on their sides and flower petals from the hanging baskets scattered everywhere. The Villa didn’t look too bad; fortunately we had moved all the chairs and tables on the terrace out of the way so nothing got knocked around by the wind. All in all, the derecho appeared to have been kinder here than it was at Highland House.
The Ruins were another story: they were hit hard. I caught my breath as the old house came into view. The chimney had toppled over and the stage was gone; it was supposed to be our dance floor on Saturday.
Quinn pulled up next to it and stopped the Gator. He reached for my hand, stroking it over and over with his thumb. He said nothing but that little gesture told me he knew how devastated I was. Ever since the Yankees burned the place during the Civil War, what was left of the house had stubbornly survived for another century and a half through everything until the derecho roared through last night and destroyed what remained with a scorched-earth ferocity.
After a few moments I took an unsteady breath and said, ‘We’re kind of running out of options for places to have our wedding. First the garden, now the Ruins. Maybe the courtyard after we clean it up …?’
Quinn turned to me, his eyes filled with tenderness and compassion and love. He pulled me into his arms. ‘I’d marry you on the dark side of the moon, Lucie. I don’t care where we get married. I just care that we get married.’
The floodgates opened and I choked back a sob. ‘Me, too.’
‘We’ll make it work. I know you wanted the whole package, the wedding in that beautiful garden you just created, with our family and friends there, dinner at sunset in the vineyard and dancing here at the Ruins by moonlight. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. You know?’
I nodded, still trying to regain my composure. ‘Yes. I know.’
He was right. It didn’t matter, really.
It didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.
I pulled back from him. ‘I’ll talk to Frankie. Like I told Mia, we’ll figure out Plan B.’
‘We will. It’ll be OK.’ He ran a finger down my cheek, brushing away a tear. ‘I promise.’
‘I know,’ I said and swiped at my damp eyes, ‘which reminds me you’re getting your wedding gift from me tonight.’
His eyes lit up like a kid who just got told Christmas was coming early. ‘Oh, yeah? Why tonight?’
‘You’ll just have to wait and find out.’
‘If I guess will you tell me?’
‘Nope. No way. It’s a surprise.’
He smiled and put the Gator in gear again. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll wait. But it’s going to be tough.’
We agreed we’d split up the last of our derecho damage inspections: he took the winery, which, it seemed, had been an impregnable fortress during the storm, thank God. Plus we had a generator to keep most of the equipment and the cooling system running. So we were lucky. I wanted to see how the Villa had fared. That might be another story.
I wasn’t expecting to see Frankie’s black SUV in the parking lot. Like everyone else, she probably had no power and her home had taken a battering, but here she was anyway.
She was standing behind the bar when I walked in. The large room seemed eerily quiet, as though all the air had been sucked out of it.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘I wanted to see how bad the damage was. I’ve already been to the courtyard. We can get that put to rights pretty quick.’
I nodded and she saw the expression on my face.
She gave me a steady look and said, ‘The garden at Highland House?’
She might as well have asked how bad it was, because she knew something had happened.
‘Destroyed. The Ruins, too.’
‘Oh my God.’ She was stunned. ‘I figured there was some damage, but I wasn’t expecting destroyed. I’m so sorry, Lucie. You must be heartbroken.’
Or numb. Which was probably more accurate.
‘Everyone’s OK and everything that was damaged can be replaced, just like the courtyard.’ I shrugged. ‘We got off lucky, all things considered.’
‘Except for the wedding.’
I thought of the notebook she’d carried around these last few months, the detailed planning and attention that had gone into every single moment of our wedding. Her labor of love for Quinn and me, a perfect celebration.
