He took the flashlight, then sprinted up the stairs in the direction of the loggia and the barrel room. He disappeared out of the swath of light made by the car headlights and I was alone. I switched on the radio and hit the button until I got to WLEE.
Greg’s voice. “…has been real hard on the local economy. One of the worst droughts on record.”
“Well, it’s too late for me,” a male voice said. “I sold my cattle last week. Nothing for them to eat. They were starving to death.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ron,” Greg said.
“You and me both.”
“Looks like we’re not going to get a break from the heat any time soon,” he said. “The National Weather Service is predicting more hot, dry weather for the next few days.”
What weather forecast was he listening to? It was big news that we were finally in for some rain. Unless, of course, he’d actually had this conversation with Ron some other time.
He was rebroadcasting an old show.
“I know,” Ron was agreeing. “A hunnert and thirty days with no rain. A record.”
“Look, how about I play something by Art Pepper for you? ‘Here’s That Rainy Day.’ We can always dream, right?”
“You dream, son. But, sure, I like old Art. Dedicate it to Mandy, would you? We’ll be married thirty-four years tomorrow.”
“That’s great, thirty-four years. Okay, Mandy, here’s Art Pepper with Gerry Mulligan playing ‘Here’s That Rainy Day.’ Happy Anniversary from Ron. This is WLEE in Leesburg, Virginia, and you’re listening to Knight Moves.”
I saw headlights in the rearview mirror of Quinn’s car just as the haunting sexy sound of a sax began to wail. The driver wasn’t coming to the winery. It sounded like the car was heading toward the house. There weren’t too many engines that purred like that.
Eli’s Jag.
I slid over to the driver’s seat of the Toyota, put it in gear and backed out of the parking lot. By the time I got to the house, the Jaguar was parked next to the front door. The power was out here, too. Inside the house was black as a coal mine. My flashlight was still in the picnic basket where I’d left it since my trip to the Goose Creek Bridge with Kit. Quinn had taken his with him. I waited until my night vision adjusted to the gloomy foyer. A beam of light played upstairs. He’d come prepared.
I climbed the stairs quietly, holding the railing with both hands since my cane was gone. I heard him in Mia’s room and the sound of opening and closing drawers. I stood in the doorway and watched as he pulled a small bundle of letters out of the drawer to her nightstand.
“Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?”
He let out a yelp as he shot up from where he’d been kneeling in front of the nightstand and whacked his knee on the corner of the open drawer.
“Jesus H. Christ, Lucie! What are you doing, sneaking up on me?”
I walked over to him, limping heavily without my cane. “What’s that?”
“None of your damn business.” He jerked his hand out of my reach and an envelope slithered out of the package he was holding and fell to the ground. He shone the flashlight around our feet. “Damnit.”
“It’s probably under the bed. We’ve got spiders, by the way. Want to get it?”
His fear of spiders was legendary, as bad as my fear of heights. “You made me drop it. You get it.”
“Give me the flashlight. I can’t see a thing.”
I held on to the bed and knelt on my good leg. The envelope was addressed to Greg Knight and the return address was from Brandi Simone. Eli helped me up and I gave it to him. “Are all of those envelopes full of letters she wrote him?”
“I have no idea.”
“How did you know they were here?”
“Mia got them.”
“From Greg?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“She stole them from him?”
“They belong to Brandi.”
“What’s in them?”
“I have no idea,” he repeated. “They’re private.”
“He was blackmailing her, wasn’t he?” I said. “What did he want from her?”
“Look,” he said, “she’s having false labor again. I’ve got to get back home right away.”
“What are you talking about? Haven’t you been here all night?”
“I came from home,” he said stiffly.
“You were at the jazz concert.”
“So what? It’s a free country last I checked. I stopped by, then I went home.”
“She sent you back to get these letters, didn’t she?”
“No, I’m psychic. I knew they’d be here.”
“They must be pretty important. Aren’t you going to look at them?”
His voice was harsh. “I don’t think that would do a damned bit of good. They’re ancient history.”
“You really love her, don’t you?”
“You have no idea, babe,” he said. “Not a clue.”
Then he brushed by me and I heard him clatter down the stairs. A minute later, the Jag’s motor leaped to life and roared away.
I groped down the stairs hand over hand, clinging to the walnut banister. Two thirds of the way down I knew someone else was in the foyer standing in the shadows.
Waiting for me.
Chapter 24
“What are you doing here?” Quinn’s disembodied voice came from somewhere near the front door. A flashlight swept the room like a semaphore until he spotlighted me. In the unexpected brightness I missed the next stair. My bad foot twisted and buckled.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He crossed the room and took the stairs two at a time. “You are going to break your stupid neck. What is it with you tonight?” he demanded. “And, no, I don’t mind one bit that you borrowed my car. I enjoyed the moonlight walk over here except for being nearly run over by your brother, who acted like he was driving the home stretch of the Indy 500.”
“I saw Eli drive past the winery while I was waiting for you. I followed him.”
“You are one weird family. What was Eli doing here at midnight with all the lights off?”
“Retrieving something that belonged to Brandi.”
“It couldn’t wait until morning?”
“No.”
“You know, to hell with you.” He sounded furious, all of a sudden. “You can stay here by yourself and wait until the power comes on for all I care. I’m leaving.”
He started down the steps again.
“Wait! Please! Where are you going?”
“The summerhouse. I need some sleep. You probably ought to get some, too. I’m sure your favorite hammock’s free. Here.” He tossed the flashlight to me. “Take this. I don’t need it. No one’s trying to kill me. I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.”
He strode over to the door to the veranda, flinging it open and disappearing outside. I limped after him but the darkness had already swallowed him up.
“Wait! I’m coming with you!”
No answer. By the time I reached the summerhouse he was standing outside, arms folded, staring stonily at the night sky. He didn’t turn his head or acknowledge my arrival.
At least now I knew why he was spending his nights here. A telescope sat on a tripod, aimed at the skies above the Blue Ridge. On one of our old wooden tables was a collection of magazines. Star Gazer. An astronomy magazine.
“Astronomy? You come here to look at stars?”
“Got a problem with it?” he snapped.
“Uh, no.”
“The leaf canopy’s pretty dense at the cottage. The view is much better here.”
“I guess it would be.”
He held the door for me and we both went inside the summerhouse. “You are one royal pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
I shone the flashlight around the room. When my mother was alive we’d used the place all the time for dinner parties and as a quiet retreat to get away and read. It had been filled with plants and more of her white wicker furniture, but now everything was heaped in a corner and it had become another storage depot for beach paraphernalia, a couple of garden hoses, Leland’s golf clubs, and two graying Adirondack chairs.