Read Online The Riesling Retribution by Ellen Crosby - Free Book Online Page B

bottle of wine.”
    Plato said that wine fills the heart with courage. Frankie refilled my glass and poured a glass for herself.
    My heart was not filled with courage as I drank. Instead it was filled with foreboding and a sickening feeling of apprehension. Until yesterday I thought all my family’s sins and secrets lay buried in our graveyard.
    What if I was wrong?
     
    B. J. Hunt called at the end of the day. I’d been expecting to hear from him once word got out about the discovery of the body on land he planned to use for the reenactment.
    “Wondering if I could drop by and check things out,” he said. “Sounds like we might have to change our plans now that you got crime scene tape strung up in that field. I understand you had some tornado damage as well.”
    “Bad news travels fast,” I said. “I suppose Thelma had her megaphone out this morning?”
    “Word does get around, doesn’t it?” He chuckled. “Well, it’s not just me that’s interested in coming by. Ray Vitale is in town. He wants to see the site, too, especially since he hasn’t been here before.”
    “Who is Ray Vitale?”
    “The Union commander. The guy’s so hard-core he lives like it’s still the 1860s. All my communication with him has been by mail. That’s U.S. Postal Service mail, not e-mail. He’s such a stitch Nazi that he won’t do it any other way. Damn annoying at times.”
    “What’s a ‘stitch Nazi’?”
    “A guy who says everything has to be absolutely authentic right down to the number of stitches it takes to sew a buttonhole,” he said. “Me, I don’t care what a person’s wearing for Skivvies and I don’t think you need to piss on your uniform buttons to make them look old. Stinks like hell when you do. As long as no one shows up wearing Nikes and a wristwatch, and carrying a cell phone, it’s good enough for me.”
    “Your friend sounds like a zealot,” I said, laughing.
    “Nope. A zealot is someone altogether different. “The South shall rise again.” That’s a zealot. They haven’t forgiven the Union for winning. Some of them never stopped fighting the war. And a Yankee zealot still wants to punish us.”
    “How’d you get involved with someone like Ray?”
    “Oh, the usual. Business. He owns several assisted-living centers in Virginia and North Carolina. We’ve handled funerals for a number of his residents.”
    “How about if you come by first thing tomorrow morning?” I asked. “I’ll take you over there myself.”
    “How about right now? Say, half an hour? Ray’s heading back to Richmond this evening.”
    B.J.’s event had been attracting considerable media attention and that meant publicity for the winery. We had no idea how many people would show up, but it was possible that as many as a thousand visitors could pass through the vineyard that weekend, including both reenactors and spectators. For us, it was a big crowd.
    I’d been hoping to close up the villa and head home, but if B.J. wanted to come by tonight, we’d do this tonight.
    “Of course,” I said. “Meet me in the parking lot at five thirty.”
    “I appreciate this, Lucie,” he said. “Ray’s awful anxious about your goings-on over there so it’ll be good to calm him down.”
    My goings-on. Bad news really did travel fast.
    I locked up and called Quinn on my cell phone, which finally had service restored. He sounded tired.
    “We made some progress cleaning up, but it’s slow,” he said. “I’ll probably rent a Bobcat in the next day or two once we finish pruning and tying up vines that can still be saved. And, uh, Benny took the chain saw over to where the sycamore came down. The road should be passable now if you’re heading home.”
    He caught me off guard about the tree.
    “Thanks, but I’m not going home yet,” I said. “B.J. and some guy who’s the Union commander want to see the site. They’re worried about the reenactment. The Union guy heard about the body and he’s really anxious. B.J. needs