He grinned at her, as if calling her bluff. “You should be so lucky. If you give me your e-mail address, though, I’ll send you a jpeg.”
A mischievous idea popped into her head. She dug into her bag, pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen, and scrawled Eli’s e-mail address. “How ’bout sending it to my boyfriend? It’ll make him wonder.”
The B&B’s back porch overlooked a garden of old roses. Miranda was sitting on a wicker settee, enjoying their sweet aroma and drinking iced tea when her cell phone rang.
“How was your trip to the island?” Eli asked her.
“All in all, very satisfying. I saw some wild horses, collected shells, and went swimming in the ocean.” If that photographer e-mails him the nude picture of me, he’ll see for himself. “What have you been up to?”
“Working, mostly.”
“On Saturday?”
“Grapes don’t stop growing on weekends.” He paused so long, she thought the call had dropped, before asking, “Miranda, did you tell anyone we were going to New Orleans?”
“I don’t remember. I might have said something to one of my girlfriends. Why?
Was it supposed to be a secret?”
“I’m still trying to figure out how those Frenchmen knew where to find me.”
Miranda finished her tea and set the empty glass on the floor, swinging her bare feet up onto the settee. “Did they? You said yourself you couldn’t be sure the two guys who accosted us in Jackson Square were the same ones who attacked you in San Francisco.”
“True.”
“How can you even be sure they were French?”
“When we started running away I heard one of them say ‘Arretez les.’ It means
‘Stop them’ in French.”
“Half the population of Louisiana speaks French,” she pointed out. “It’s more likely they were local thieves bent on robbing a couple of tourists.” I never told him about the scene I saw in the crystal. He’d probably think I’m nuts.
After another long pause, he said, “You may be right.”
“Have you run into any more problems since you’ve been back at work?”
“No. Surprisingly, it’s been pretty quiet so far.”
“Good.” She checked her toenails and thought, I really need a pedicure. “Look, Eli, I’m not discounting your theory. But if a competitor wanted to get you out of the picture to keep you from revealing what you know, wouldn’t they have tried again by now?”
“You’ve got a point,” he admitted, letting the subject drop. “So where are you headed next?”
“Home. I can’t believe my vacation is almost over.” She switched the phone to her other ear. Okay, time to find out where things stand between us. I need some clarity.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She took a deep breath. “When I get back, I’d really like to have you come visit me. I’d like to show you around New England.”
“I’ve never been to New England.”
That’s not exactly a yes. “Eli, do you have a girlfriend in Napa?”
“No, there’s nobody special.”
“It’s just, well, it’s been fun hanging out together, when we weren’t running from bad guys, that is. I like you. I hope we can see each other again.”
“I like you, too. When I’ve straightened things out here, we’ll work something out. I hear Salem’s the place to be on Halloween.”
After he hung up, Eli kept hearing Miranda’s words ringing in his head: “Half the population of Louisiana speaks French.”
Giselle’s from Louisiana, he reminded himself, remembering the hint of an accent that lingered in her speech. He flashed back to last night when he’d caught her going through his desk drawers, and her response when he told her he’d given the Mort Jaune report to Troy: “Mon dieu.”
He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. For several minutes he channel-surfed, trying to find something worth watching, and eventually gave up. The only people I told about my trip to New Orleans were Coyote and Giselle. He switched off the TV, leaned back in his chair, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. For the umpteenth time he asked himself, Who had the opportunity to plant diseased vines in our fields between three and four years ago? And who bore a grudge against Meditrina?
Pieces of the puzzle slid together in his mind’s eye, forming a clear picture. He shook his head, wondering how he could’ve missed seeing what lay right in front of him.
Eli, you’ve been thinking with the little head instead of the big one.
Card 20: Judgment
For several long moments, Eli stood silently at the threshold to Troy Aransas’s office, staring at his boss’s back while Troy tapped away on his computer keyboard.
Finally he rapped on the open door and went in.
Troy spun around in his leather chair. “Hey, Eli. How’s it going?”
“I need to talk to you. Is this a good time?”
“Sure, sure.” Troy motioned for him to sit.
“Mind if I close the door?”
Troy smiled an uneasy smile. “Must be serious.”
“It is.” Eli shut the CEO’s door and pulled up a chair.
“Coffee?” Troy offered.
“No, thanks.” Eli crossed his right ankle over his left knee, trying to decide where to begin. I’ve rehearsed this speech a dozen times and still can’t think of an easy way to break it to him. Might as well just spit it out. “I know who destroyed Meditrina’s vines.”
“Oh? Which one of our French competitors did it?” Troy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the antique oak desk that had been his father’s when the old man ran the business. “I hope you have enough information to back up an accusation. If you’re right, the shit’s gonna hit the fan internationally.”
Eli shook his head. “It wasn’t one of our French competitors. Although that’s what I thought initially.”
“You’ve found out more since you sent me that report?” Troy shifted his position, as if he were having trouble getting comfortable in his expensive, ergonomically designed chair. “Good, that’s good.”
“Have you talked to Giselle Constant since she’s been back here?”
Troy frowned. “Well, yeah. Why?”
“Giselle planted vines infected with the Morte Jaune in Meditrina’s fields before she went to Texas to work for Coyote Fortuna. She acquired those diseased vines during the trip you took to France together three and a half years ago.”
“She told you that?”
“No, of course not.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“That’s a long story.”
Troy inhaled a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He picked up his coffee cup and held it between his hands for a while, as if drawing comfort from its warmth, before drinking. Eli studied his boss’s demeanor carefully, observing the subtle shifts in his expression. The lines between Troy’s eyebrows deepened, the corners of his mouth sagged. His head dipped slightly; his shoulders slumped.
“I suppose you know about our affair, too?”
Eli nodded. “It wasn’t a very well-kept secret, Troy.”
Troy shrugged.
“Poisoning the vineyard was Giselle’s way of taking revenge because you wouldn’t leave your wife for her, right?”
“So it seems.”
Watching Troy’s reaction to the news—sadness and resignation, instead of surprise or outrage—Eli suddenly realized it wasn’t news at all to his boss.