"You'll like this coffee. It's Javatra from Shenandoah Joe's."
"What are you having?"
"Co-Cola. Want some corn bread?"
"Well..." Susan wavered.
"Miranda's corn bread."
"Yes," came the decisive reply.
As the two stayed there happily slapping on butter and jam, drinking their beverages, the cats leapt up to sit in the window by the sink. Tucker repaired to her bed.
"I've been riding All's Fair." Harry mentioned the four-year-old gelding by Fred Astaire that Fair had given her as a yearling. "He did very well last year just walking along. I like to bring them along slowly, but he's got such a good mind."
"That was a wonderful present from your husband. I forget how old Tomahawk and Gin Fizz are getting."
"I forget how old I'm getting."
"Don't push it. We aren't forty yet."
"We aren't far, honeypie."
"Say, I came by to tell you that wine people are lunatics. Are you sure you want to grow those Peti-whatever out there?"
"What happened now?"
"Tanking up at the Amoco—"
Harry interrupted, something she rarely did. "Did you refinance your house?"
"Ha." Susan laughed drily. "Prices are so high that Ned and I talked the other night to see if we could get by with one vehicle and we just can't. Those trips to Richmond he takes devour the budget. He sold the BMW by the way, in Richmond, of course." She paused. "Filling the wagon. I hear these voices. Hy and Arch. Not angry but increasing in volume. Hy was worked up because Toby, I don't know when, sounded very recent, had been ugly to Fiona on the phone."
"Toby's really losing it," Harry interjected.
"Arch was telling Hy that Toby's gone to pieces over this Forland thing and to let him be. Hy said that Toby's rude and irresponsible, and everybody lets him get away with it. He's not going to put up with him. When Hy called to explain why Concho was on Toby's property, Toby blew up. Then he called back and blew up at Fiona. Hy's version, anyway, and Hy said we all needed to slap Toby down hard."
"What did Arch say?"
"He kept trying to soften Hy. I mean, it wasn't an argument. More that they didn't see eye to eye. Arch said he didn't much cotton to Toby, either, but there was no point in making a bad situation worse."
The phone rang. "Drat." Harry rose to pick up the old wall phone. "Hello. Hi, honey, where are you?"
"I'm on my way to Toby Pittman's," Fair replied. "I hope it won't be too long and then I'll be right home."
"What's going on over there?"
"His donkey, Jed, cut his hind leg. Toby sounds hysterical. Probably stitch him right up and be on my way."
"Susan says hello. Hurry home."
"I will."
She hung up the phone and relayed the information to Susan.
"Sure hope Fair isn't treated to one of Toby's lectures."
"I heard the one about Andrew Estave the other day."
"Andrew who?"
"Andrew Estave was hired by the Virginia Assembly in 1769 as winemaker and viticulturist for the colony. Virginians grew our first grapes in 1609, but we had a mess of problems. Anyway, over comes the Frenchman and he couldn't get the European grapes to do diddly, but he came to an important conclusion, which was that Virginians needed to use native grapes."
"Then what?"
"With Toby or with grapes?"
"Grapes," Susan laughed.
"Jefferson, the man of a million interests, brought over Philip Mazzei, an Italian wine merchant, and he was doing okay but the Revolution wrecked everything. Tell youwhat, when Toby gets wound up on this stuff, you can't tone him down. You should have heard him today at Alicia's. He accused Hy of trying to destroy everyone's crop. He accused him of killing Professor Forland!"
"What is he doing making these accusations to Alicia?"
"He wanted her to speak to Rick. He said the sheriff wouldn't listen to him. Arch was there, too. Alicia was cool as a cuke, as you'd expect."
"She probably witnessed major tanties in Hollywood." Susan used tanty for tantrum.
"She rarely talks about her film career. I'd like to know what Ava Gardner was like and Glenn Ford and..."
"Wrong generation. She was huge in the seventies and eighties."
"But those actors were still around. They interest me a lot more."
"Why?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't rightly know."
"I do. Better material. The studio system was still strong; they developed the actors, and the stars had better material. Also, stars didn't have their own production companies like they do today. I mean, I realize why they do it, but usually the stuff they select is just a star turn. Boring. I don't care how handsome or beautiful or even talented those people are; if they're in every frame of the picture, if the supporting roles aren't strong, I'm bored out of my head."
"Guess that's why we don't go to the movies." Harry failed to mention she had no time. "You were interested in film when we were kids. I sometimes wonder why you didn't go into it."
"Movie-star looks, that's me," Susan joked.
"You're pretty. But I wonder why you didn't go into some facet of the business?"
"Pregnant with Danny."
Harry crossed one leg over the other. "Hey, we are the generation that was told we could have it alclass="underline" motherhood, career, deep personal satisfaction."
"They lied."
The phone rang.
Harry rose. "Bet it's more of a problem than he thought. Either that or it's Mim or Miranda." She looked at the clock, which read five after five. "Hello." A long silence followed this as her shoulders stiffened and her eyes widened.
Tucker, smelling the change, the worry, crawled out of her bed to sit next to Harry.
The cats turned from the window.
Susan put down her coffee cup.
Harry then replied, "Is there anything I can do?" Another silence followed. "Honey, I can't believe this." More silence as she listened intently. "I promise. You come home the minute you can. I love you. Bye." Ashen-faced, she hung up the phone.
"What?"
"Fair couldn't find Toby at the barn. He walked out into the vineyard. He heard a truck engine start up and caught sight of Hy driving away—fast."
Susan's eyebrows shot upward. "And?"
"Toby's dead. Shot a couple of times."
20
A soft wind swept over Rockland Vineyards; the new leaves swayed slightly, as did the hair on Toby's head. With his eyes wide open and his mouth slightly ajar, he appeared alive until one noticed the ever-widening circle of blood soaking his chest, another one at his stomach. He had slumped against the base of one of his vines in the row.
Fair studied the situation. Toby appeared to have taken a few steps backward after he was shot, because a few drops of blood speckled the grass. He was as freshly dead as he could be, unless Fair had shot him— then Toby would be dead for seconds instead of minutes.
Rick and Coop showed up within ten minutes, which gave Fair ten minutes to further observe Toby and to wonder at the abruptness of death.
When he called the sheriff with his cell phone, Fair mentioned that Hy had flown out of there, but he didn't know whether he'd turned left or right once out on the state road at the Rockland entrance.
In the far distance he could hear sirens; he expected officers were running down Hy.
Both Rick and Coop checked the ground as they approached the body.
"Did you hear shots?" Rick asked Fair.
"No. I was walking up from the barn. Maybe I was two hundred yards away, if that. It's a rise, but I did see Hy drive out once I reached about one hundred fifty yards."
"Did you hear Hy drive in?"
"No," Fair replied. "But I was in the barn looking for Jed." They stared at this name; he added, "Toby's donkey. I could have missed sounds, truck engines, even shouting. Once out of the barn I could hear well enough."
Coop squatted down near the new Ruger pistol in Toby's hand. She didn't touch it but sniffed the barrel. "Fired."
"What brought you here?" Rick asked Fair.
"Toby called. He said Jed cut his hind leg and I needed to come immediately. He was bleeding profusely."