"I guess. Pretty dismal."
"The history of humankind is dismal, with a few bright exceptions."
"I see it just the opposite. We've progressed in every field. There are periods of backsliding and regression, but no one can suppress progress for long."
"A long discussion." She paused. "Back to Professor Forland. The news reported his car was found in Queen Charlotte Square parking lot. There are businesses there. McGuire Woods law firm has their offices there. There are apartments. He could have had good reason to be there."
"If Rick and Coop can find it."
"Or Harry." She smiled.
"Don't even say it!" He shook his forefinger. "Don't give her any ideas."
"Me? She's as curious as a cat. She won't be able to resist trying to find out what's happened to Professor Forland."
Sighing, he leaned on the fence with both elbows. "You're right. I guess the leopard can't change her spots."
Strangely enough, Arch Saunders was using that same phrase in talking to Harry, whom he ran into picking up mail.
They hadn't seen each other alone since Arch's return. Given that he hadn't been in Crozet a full month, that didn't seem odd, as he had a great deal to do in a short time. Harry, too, was extremely busy.
At first their conversation was polite, not too personal, then Arch asked her why she remarried Fair.
She replied that she loved him and he'd grown up a lot.
"The leopard doesn't change his spots," Arch said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice.
She compressed her lips, then changed the subject. "How do you like it at Spring Hill?"
"I'm going to make it one of the best vineyards in the state." He added, "Lot to do, though. Like this morning I found downy mildew on some vines Rollie bought last fall. I didn't like the way the rootstock looked. Rollie didn't know enough to screen for it."
"Can you fix it?"
"I can control it. I can spray with Ridomil. I have to spray every vine every twenty-one days, and it's expensive. But it's the only way."
"Good luck." She opened the door to the old F-150, the cats and dog on the bench seat.
"Hi there, Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter."
"Hello,"they replied.
After good-byes, Arch watched Harry drive off. He thought she looked even better than she did when they dated.
That same afternoon, Hy Maudant called Toby Pittman.
"Toby, one of my men, a new man, Concho, did drive on your premises. He didn't see anyone so he left."
"Why'd you send him?" Toby angrily replied.
"I didn't. He's new, like I said. He's Mexican; his English is a little rocky. Anyway, he'd been visiting vineyards to schedule the use of my mobile bottling unit."
"That's half a year away," Toby said.
"Which is why I'm scheduling now. By the fall it will be too late."
"Thought you said his English was bad. Why would you send him out to make arrangements?"
Beginning to fume, Hy snapped, "Because I had a form drawn up. All Concho has to do is hand it to a prospective client. And furthermore, I said his English was rocky, not so bad he can't understand. He improves every day."
"Why would you send him here?"
"He's new! He doesn't know we don't get along. He was just going from vineyard to vineyard like he was told to do."
"You sent him to spy on me."
"You're crazy." Hy was losing patience rapidly.
"And you're a murderer," Toby accused loudly.
"What?"
"I bet you killed Professor Forland."
"You really are insane. Furthermore, he's missing. That doesn't mean he's dead."
"He's dead, all right. I know him. He would never disappear for a few days. You killed him because you're a jealous, scheming son of a bitch and you knew he was working with me. You can't stand that I'm better than you. That—"
"He visited everyone. There's no point in continuing this conversation." Hy slammed down the phone.
Fiona walked into the library from the next room. "Whatever is it?"
"He's mad. Totally insane." Hy's arms flailed in the air. "Toby Pittman accused me of murdering Professor Forland. They need to put him away."
The phone rang. Fiona picked it up.
Before she could say "Hello," Toby shouted, "If you or any of your men come on my farm I'll kill you."
"This is Fiona."
He paused. "I won't kill you, Fiona, but you must be dumber than snot to stay married to that low-rent bastard."
Now she slammed down the phone. "He called me 'dumber than snot.'"
Red flushed Hy's cheeks. He started for the door. "No one is going to insult you. I'll kill him before he kills me."
She grabbed him. "Hy, calm down. I believe he really will try to kill you."
"I'll kill him first."
"He's not worth the fuss."
Hy hit his palm with his fist. "Well, I am not putting up with him insulting my wife."
"He's off his rocker. Crazy people are more dangerous than sane ones."
And the sane ones are bad enough.
16
"Goddamned snotty Virginians. They want to see me fail. Well, I won't give the sons of bitches the satisfaction!" Rollie kicked his expensive wire-mesh designer wastebasket, sending white, pink, blue, and green pieces of paper all over the navy-blue old Chinese rug.
Arch breathed deep relief because Rollie wasn't mad at him. "Spring Hill won't fail. First, I caught it in time. Second, as we buy up land or rent it, we'll grow different varieties of grapes. That will be an insurance policy. If one type has a bad year, the others should make up for it. Kind of like the balance between stocks and bonds." He tried to use terms Rollie would understand.
He was surprised at how sensible the prickly fellow was, considering the news.
Rollie wasn't assigning blame. He appeared to grasp, tenuously, that nature had her own agenda.
"Order the stuff?"
"Should be here tomorrow morning."
"Anyone else know?" Rollie raised one eyebrow.
"I called Hy Maudant."
"Why him?"
"He's very knowledgeable. He grew up in the vineyards in France and attended their agriculture school. Also, he's established and he can tell me how best to contact other vineyards: should I make personal calls, use the phone, use e-mail. He's very helpful." His inflection rose slightly at the end of the sentence, the traditional method in English for asking a question or appearing less than certain.
"And?"
"He doesn't have any downy mildew, but he said he's found the beginnings of black rot in one lower-lying section of his vineyards. Not much, he said, but he's already uprooted those vines and begun the spraying. 'Course, he'd spray anyway."
"Why is he tearing them out?"
"Hy isn't going to take any chances, andonce the plant is infected, it's always infected."
"But if you control it, can't the vines bear decent fruit?"
"They can. Depending on when you catch the fungus, but, boss, why take the chance? Those vines aren't going to produce over the years like the clean ones. Kill them."
"Hell of a lot of money."
"Growing the perfect grape is not for the fainthearted." Arch laid it on the line.
Rollie leaned over his desk, his weight on his knuckles. "For your information, I've got a set of balls. Do you think I'm going to fold my hands because of some stupid spores?"
"No." Arch measured his words. "Nature is a brutal business partner sometimes. That's why I think spreading the risk is the way to go. The more land you have under the umbrella, the better off you are."
"Mmm, I'll buy land if it's necessary, but I'd rather buy up someone else's yield. Let them do the work."
"Kind of like a portfolio, gotta balance it out." Arch nodded. "The Ridomil should do it, but I've got to apply it about every twenty-one days depending on rainfall."
Rollie dropped back into his seat, the leather squeaking. He was about to dismiss Arch and get back to his work when a nasty idea popped into his overheated brain. "Could someone do this to us?"