“I’ll be there,” I said.
I left the vineyard shortly before noon. If Amanda or Shane were out riding somewhere on our land, I hadn’t seen a sign of either of them as I left the vineyard.
Out of habit I glanced in my rearview mirror as I got ready to pull onto Atoka Road. Red paint covered both stone pillars marking the entrance to the vineyard.
More blood.
Chapter 19
I shut off the engine and reached for my cane. The fox had frightened me. This made me mad. When I found out who did it, they would pay.
The paint continued for about twenty feet along the left wall. It ended abruptly as though someone had come to the bottom of the can—or fled before getting caught in the act. It looked like the same red used for Freddie’s blood. I went over to the pillar and touched it. Dry. If it was the same paint, at least it was water-based and would wash off.
The pillars had been here for more than a century. The garish smears meant to look like a wound on the weathered stone were as repulsive as a bully beating up a grandmother for the lousy couple of bucks in her purse. I leaned my cheek against one of the pillars and wondered who was that sick. Less and less it seemed like the Orlandos.
I called Quinn. “Someone found a use for the paint left over from Freddie. Meet me at the front gate.”
He showed up almost immediately. “I’m calling the sheriff,” he said when he saw the mess. “Good thing you kept that stuffed animal.”
He pulled out his phone.
“Wait,” I said. “Don’t call yet.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe I ought to drop by and talk to the Orlandos first.”
Quinn looked disgusted. “And do what? Check their garage for empty paint cans?” But at least he snapped his phone shut.
“Whoever did this knows Claudia and Stuart are trying to stop the Goose Creek Hunt from riding through my farm. That’s not a large circle of people.”
“And?”
“I think the Orlandos are law-abiding citizens. If someone is trying to capitalize on their efforts to shut down foxhunting by making threats and defacing my property—and like you said, possibly even booby-trapping some of the jumps and fences—they’ll be as upset as we are.”
He opened the phone again. “And they’ll say just what I’m saying. We should call the sheriff.”
“As long as my family has lived here we’ve always been on good terms with our neighbors,” I said. “I don’t much care for Claudia and Stuart Orlando but we live next door to each other. Right now we’re not even speaking. At least this will give me a chance to try to remedy that.”
“We still need to report this.”
“We will. But you know as well as I do they’ll be the number-one suspects. I’d rather be the one to tell them to expect a visit from a deputy sheriff than have a cruiser show up in their driveway and blindside them. Then it really will be all-out war between us. Because they didn’t do this.”
Quinn traced the outline of red on one of the pillars with his finger. “You have a point.”
“There’s something else,” I said. “Whoever is responsible is going to clean it up. I don’t care if they have to use a toothbrush and dental floss. When they’re done, it’s going to look like nothing ever happened.”
He went back to the winery and I called Dominique on my cell, letting her know I was running late. I put the top down on the Mini, hoping the cool breeze would clear my head. The sky was Williamsburg blue and the sunlight, flickering through the branches of the trees, made stripes on my windshield like gentle lightning. Here and there a few leaves were brilliant yellow like Christmas ornaments on a tree. One morning I knew I’d wake up and suddenly everything would be flame-colored and I’d wonder how I missed the transition.
I got to the Goose Creek Inn just after twelve-thirty. The maître d’ spotted me through the lunchtime crowd, waving me over to his stand and kissing me on both cheeks. “She’s in the kitchen. Told me to let you know she won’t be long.”
“Some crisis only she can handle?”
He rolled his eyes. “Chérie, they’re all crises only she can handle.”
“Doesn’t it drive you nuts?”
“I am used to her. Maybe you forget I have been here since your godfather was cooking in the kitchen. Now I have the pains in my legs and varicose veins from so many years of standing. I am used to those, also.”
I smiled. “I assume we’re at her table?”
“She thought you might enjoy eating outside. Is that all right?”
“Yes. Lovely.”
“Your waiter will take you there. If you can wait un petit instant?”
Dominique showed up just after I was seated. She kissed me absently and set an ashtray next to her place, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her black trousers.
It seemed to be my day for being with people who looked like they’d spent the weekend being run over by a tractor-trailer rig.
“I’m glad you came.” She lit up and took a deep drag, closing her eyes.
My cousin hadn’t chosen to eat outdoors because of the glorious weather. She needed to smoke and it was off-limits in the restaurant.
“My pleasure. What’s going on? No offense but you look rotten.”
“I feel rotten. How about a glass of champagne?” She raised her hand and our waiter appeared at our table. “Deux coupes de champagne, s’il vous plaît.”
After he left she said, “Joe and I have split up for good. He’s leaving.”
Napoleon once said that in victory you deserve champagne but in defeat, you need it. My cousin needed it.
“Leaving what?” I said.
“Everything. The academy. Atoka.” Her eyes were anguished. “Me.”
I reached for her hand as our champagne arrived. “I’m sorry.”
She sucked on her cigarette like it was life-sustaining. “A couple of parents got wind that one of their daughters’ teachers was involved in a murder investigation. They didn’t think someone like that ought to be on the staff at the academy.”
“He got sacked?”
Dominique nodded. “Two weeks’ notice. By the way, I ordered our lunch before you got here.”
Her world could be falling apart but she still had to be Super-woman, taking care of everything and everyone. “Great,” I said. “And Joe’s not guilty of killing anybody.”
“Doesn’t matter. He buttered his bread when he slept with that woman and now they’re making him lie in it.”
“I guess so,” I said. “Though it seems pretty harsh.”
She shrugged as the waiter set two plates of salmon tartare in front of us. I hoped she was going to put her cigarette down while she ate. Even outside, the smoke was annoying.
“What’s he going to do?” I asked.
“Move to D.C. You know how desperate they are for teachers in that school system. He’ll find a job right away, even in the middle of the school year.”
“Why does he have to move there? Why can’t he stay here and commute?”
She lit a cigarette off the end of the previous one. “He feels like he has crow all over his face if he stays in Atoka.”
“You’re going to give yourself lung cancer.”
She eyed me. “We come from good genes. Look at Pépé. He’s been smoking since the dinosaurs roamed the earth and he’s fine.”
She had a point. “How are you doing?” I asked.
“I’d like to strangle Joe for what he did. Otherwise, I’m fine.”
“At least you’re not keeping your emotions pent up. That’s a good sign.”
Our empty salmon plates vanished and a salad of bitter greens with herbed chèvre croutons arrived. Dominique asked for more bread.
“I made some calls,” she said. “I found out about her.”
“Valerie?” I looked up from my salad. “Why did you do that?”
Another drag on the cigarette. “I wanted to know.” She glanced at me. “Don’t look at me that way. In my place you’d do the same thing.”
I thought about my questions to Mick yesterday and, this morning, prodding Quinn for information in the barrel room. We also came from inquisitive genes.