The Riesling Retribution Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Ellen Crosby
attention and being more careful.”
“That would include your boy Chance.”
“He’s not ‘my boy.’ Plus he knows better. It might have been Tyler. He can be sort of scatterbrained.”
“You mean the Tyler who caused a volcano this morning when Chance let him top off one of the barrels of Pinot?”
I closed my eyes and rubbed a spot on my forehead. A volcano was our term for filling something too full. If the wine was still fermenting and someone overfilled the barrel, it caused the kind of explosion that resulted from shaking a bottle of beer and opening it, or popping a champagne cork too quickly. Not something anyone wanted to happen to a five-thousand-dollar barrel of wine.
“Yes, okay, that Tyler. Maybe he shouldn’t be topping off barrels anymore.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t be working here.”
“I promised Jordy and Grace—”
“Yeah, yeah. That we’d babysit him until he finds a real job. Wherever he goes next, he shouldn’t be allowed to operate heavy equipment or be around sharp objects.” I heard him sigh. “You’rethe boss, so if you want him to stay, he stays. But wait ’til he forgets to take the valve off one of the tanks and it blows up. Or runs the forklift through it. I do plan to say ‘I told you so.’”
“You know, I was sort of dreading the meeting with those deputies,” I said. “But after all that cheery news, I think I’m kind of looking forward to it.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Because they can’t wait to talk to you.”
Though I knew a few of the deputies who worked for the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Office, I didn’t recognize either of the men who waited by their cruisers when I pulled up in the winery parking lot five minutes later. Their name tags said Mathis and Fontana. Mathis was a gray-haired African American built like a football linebacker, with eyes that looked like they could pin me to a wall, metaphorically speaking. Fontana was small and muscular, dark haired and dark eyed. His uniform stretched taut across his chest, showing off the physique of someone who hit the gym regularly.
After we got through the introductions, Mathis said, “How do we get to where you found the body?”
“It’s probably best if I take you there in one of our ATVs,” I said. “Some of the terrain is pretty rough on a car, especially if you don’t have four-wheel drive.”
Mathis sat next to me on the drive over to the grave site and flipped open a spiral notebook. He asked the usual questions.
“Has anyone else been to the site besides you and Mr. Miller?” His voice reminded me of melted butterscotch.
I knew the two of them were going to hate my answer.
“Chance’s dog, unfortunately. I’m sorry. It was an accident. She found a bone near the skull and started playing with it.”
“You let a dog dig around a grave site?” Fontana said.
“We stopped her as soon as we realized what she was doing. But she wasn’t the first animal to get hold of that bone. The ends had already been chewed.”
I pulled up a few feet from where I’d found the skull and they got out. Mathis must have had a sixth sense for locating dead bodies because he walked straight over to the place before I could tell him where it was. For a heavy man, he moved gracefully. He knelt andpulled on a pair of latex gloves he got from his back pocket. Fontana photographed the scene. I stayed out of the way and waited.
“Vic,” Mathis said, “you’d better call it in. Have them get hold of Noland. And bring a search warrant.”
I’d known Bobby Noland, one of my brother Eli’s close friends, since we were kids. By the time Bobby was in high school, he’d gone from the honor roll to the detention hall, hanging out with a tough crowd who spent nights getting wasted on booze and drugs at the fields near the old Goose Creek Bridge. At least, that’s what I heard. After he graduated I figured Bobby’d leave town, but he surprised everyone by saying he wanted to fight for his
“That would include your boy Chance.”
“He’s not ‘my boy.’ Plus he knows better. It might have been Tyler. He can be sort of scatterbrained.”
“You mean the Tyler who caused a volcano this morning when Chance let him top off one of the barrels of Pinot?”
I closed my eyes and rubbed a spot on my forehead. A volcano was our term for filling something too full. If the wine was still fermenting and someone overfilled the barrel, it caused the kind of explosion that resulted from shaking a bottle of beer and opening it, or popping a champagne cork too quickly. Not something anyone wanted to happen to a five-thousand-dollar barrel of wine.
“Yes, okay, that Tyler. Maybe he shouldn’t be topping off barrels anymore.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t be working here.”
“I promised Jordy and Grace—”
“Yeah, yeah. That we’d babysit him until he finds a real job. Wherever he goes next, he shouldn’t be allowed to operate heavy equipment or be around sharp objects.” I heard him sigh. “You’rethe boss, so if you want him to stay, he stays. But wait ’til he forgets to take the valve off one of the tanks and it blows up. Or runs the forklift through it. I do plan to say ‘I told you so.’”
“You know, I was sort of dreading the meeting with those deputies,” I said. “But after all that cheery news, I think I’m kind of looking forward to it.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Because they can’t wait to talk to you.”
Though I knew a few of the deputies who worked for the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Office, I didn’t recognize either of the men who waited by their cruisers when I pulled up in the winery parking lot five minutes later. Their name tags said Mathis and Fontana. Mathis was a gray-haired African American built like a football linebacker, with eyes that looked like they could pin me to a wall, metaphorically speaking. Fontana was small and muscular, dark haired and dark eyed. His uniform stretched taut across his chest, showing off the physique of someone who hit the gym regularly.
After we got through the introductions, Mathis said, “How do we get to where you found the body?”
“It’s probably best if I take you there in one of our ATVs,” I said. “Some of the terrain is pretty rough on a car, especially if you don’t have four-wheel drive.”
Mathis sat next to me on the drive over to the grave site and flipped open a spiral notebook. He asked the usual questions.
“Has anyone else been to the site besides you and Mr. Miller?” His voice reminded me of melted butterscotch.
I knew the two of them were going to hate my answer.
“Chance’s dog, unfortunately. I’m sorry. It was an accident. She found a bone near the skull and started playing with it.”
“You let a dog dig around a grave site?” Fontana said.
“We stopped her as soon as we realized what she was doing. But she wasn’t the first animal to get hold of that bone. The ends had already been chewed.”
I pulled up a few feet from where I’d found the skull and they got out. Mathis must have had a sixth sense for locating dead bodies because he walked straight over to the place before I could tell him where it was. For a heavy man, he moved gracefully. He knelt andpulled on a pair of latex gloves he got from his back pocket. Fontana photographed the scene. I stayed out of the way and waited.
“Vic,” Mathis said, “you’d better call it in. Have them get hold of Noland. And bring a search warrant.”
I’d known Bobby Noland, one of my brother Eli’s close friends, since we were kids. By the time Bobby was in high school, he’d gone from the honor roll to the detention hall, hanging out with a tough crowd who spent nights getting wasted on booze and drugs at the fields near the old Goose Creek Bridge. At least, that’s what I heard. After he graduated I figured Bobby’d leave town, but he surprised everyone by saying he wanted to fight for his