“You knew all along that she introduced the Morte Jaune into our vineyard, didn’t you?” he asked.
Troy looked up from his coffee cup and met Eli’s searching stare. He nodded.
Anger surged in Eli’s gut. His fists clenched involuntarily. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, glaring at his boss. “Who hired the goons to take me out? You or her?”
“They’re Giselle’s brothers.” Troy sighed. “They weren’t supposed to harm you, just scare you off. So you’d stop investigating the whole thing.”
Eli slammed his fist on the oak desk. “One of her brothers pulled a fucking knife on me. Did you know that?”
“Hey, you’re okay. Nobody got hurt.”
“No thanks to you.” Eli stood up and paced back and forth, the length of Troy’s office. Betrayal burned like hot coals in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? We’ve worked together for ten years, Troy. I thought we were friends.”
Troy held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness. “I love her.”
“Even now, after she tried to ruin you?”
“What can I say?” His pained eyes searched Eli’s for understanding.
Eli flashed back to the nights he’d spent with Giselle, the lust she’d roused in him, and the great sex they’d had together. If Troy’s wife really was an “ice princess,” as Giselle claimed, he could easily imagine how his boss had fallen under the spell of a sultry Cajun temptress.
“What are you going to do now?” Troy asked.
The question had so many implications Eli couldn’t comprehend them all. “I honestly don’t know,” he said, and left Troy’s office.
Miranda stopped for lunch at a barbecue joint north of Raleigh, North Carolina.
She carried her pulled pork sandwich outside and ate at a picnic table in the shade of a huge live oak. It reminded her of the tree where Freeman, the hanging man, lived. When she’d finished, she dug into her oversized purse for her lipstick. Her fingers brushed the crystal from Uncle Bright’s field. Withdrawing the sparkling stone, she balanced it on the palm of her hand. Do you have a vision for me today?
As she gazed into the crystal, its wisps began to swirl like smoke rising from a candle’s flame. Slowly, they formed into shapes. A wide street with brick sidewalks. On both sides of the street rose elegant, eighteenth- and nineteenth-century mansions. Red, yellow, and copper leaves crunched under her feet as she and Eli walked hand in hand under a clear blue sky. Miranda recognized the scene: Salem’s Chestnut Street. October, her favorite time of the year.
For several moments she stared into the crystal, until the images faded. Am I really seeing the future? she wondered, closing her fingers around the stone. The crystal had accurately foretold the attack in New Orleans. What about the other visions it’s shown me? Angrily, she recalled the one of a dark-haired woman sucking Eli’s fingers in a vineyard.
Miranda slipped the crystal back into her purse. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
After his conversation with Troy, Eli sought solace in the fields where he’d spent most of his adult life. Strolling through Meditrina’s vineyards had always brought him a sense of peace. Now, however, he felt himself withering and dying inside, undermined by those closest to him.
Like these vines.
He trailed his fingers along the green-gold leaves and touched the ripe, purple grapes, knowing he was saying goodbye.
Holding his hand open, Eli gazed at the tattoo on his palm. His talisman, his link to Mother Earth and her abundance. I started working in this vineyard right after I finished college. It’s the only real job I’ve ever had. But knowing what I do, I can’t stay on here. What am I going to do now?
As if responding to his question, a voice in his head said, What do you want to do? He paused and gazed down the long row of vines. Good question. He plucked a grape and squeezed it between his fingers. Letting the juice run down his hand, he recalled his youthful aspirations, things he’d always imagined doing but had yet to achieve.
Travel to Europe. Write for Wine Spectator. Become a sommelier.
He considered getting a job with one of the other Napa vineyards. Perhaps he could try Sonoma. It wouldn’t be hard to do. He had plenty of experience and connections in the industry. Somehow, though, his heart wasn’t in it. It’s time for a change.
Eli turned around and walked back toward Meditrina’s offices. If I had Coyote’s money, I’d buy my own vineyard.
Thinking of his former co-worker, he remembered what Giselle had said when he caught her rifling his desk. “I’m worried that Fortuna Vineyards might be infected.” He’d assumed she’d simply used that excuse to keep him from guessing the real reason she wanted to learn what was in his Morte Jaune report. Should I tell Coyote about Giselle’s treachery? Perhaps she’s poisoned Fortuna’s vines as well.
In his small office overlooking the vineyard, Eli switched on his computer and picked up his e-mail. The first thing I have to do is get a new e-mail address, separate from Meditrina’s. He recognized most of the names in his inbox—colleagues and friends—but an unfamiliar one caught his attention. The subject line read: Lady Godiva.
He clicked on it and opened the attachment. A picture of a nude woman with purple-streaked hair popped up on his monitor. She stood on a sunny beach, holding out her hand to a bay colt. Eli smiled. Miranda. Even without the purple hair I’d recognize that body anywhere. His next thought was, Who took that photo? A twinge of jealousy accompanied the thought.
Gazing at the image, he recalled their conversation yesterday. Miranda had said,
“I’d like to show you around New England.” The idea brightened his gloomy mood, like the sun emerging from behind dark clouds. He picked up the phone and punched in Miranda’s number.
Card 21: The World
The scent of salt water tickled Miranda’s nostrils as she strolled along Salem’s Derby Street, near what was once the busiest harbor in America. Even though the sun shone brightly, autumn’s nip chilled the air. Here and there, smoke rose from chimneys.
After three months on the road, it seemed a bit strange to be home.
Home, however, would never be the same again. Shortly after she’d returned to Salem, a Realtor had contacted her about selling her father’s house. At first, she’d resisted. She’d lived in this house most of her life. But she had to admit the house felt empty without Danny Malone’s presence.
“Don’t you think it’s kinda creepy living there now that Dad’s dead?” her sister asked, wrinkling her nose. “It’s time to let go and move on, Miranda.”
“You just want the money,” Miranda insisted.
“Look who’s talking. You already got a bunch more than me,” Kelly shot back.
Their father had made Miranda the beneficiary of his life insurance policy, but he’d left the house to both daughters. Understandably, Kelly wanted her share. She was never close to Dad, Miranda thought angrily. Still, holding on to the house won’t bring him back.
In the end, it was Eli who tipped the scale. Next month, when he moved to Salem, a new chapter in her life would begin. It made sense to put the past behind her.
Miranda walked by a new age bookstore and noticed a display of crystals in its window. I wonder if those came from Uncle Bright’s fields. Near the store’s entrance she saw a sign that read Pyramid Books. Smiling, she remembered the secret pyramid in the mountains of Washington and the sex magician Lancelot Lucas who’d studied with a master drummer in Salem. I’ll have to look up his teacher, she promised herself, wondering if she’d ever run into Lancelot again.