A Shadow on the Ground (10 page)

“I thought I heard something.”

He scanned the front of the house, the barn, the hydrangea hedge running along the fence. He looked behind him, then to the side. No movement. Nothing. His gaze flicked to the other side, then below the house. Neat rows of apple trees stretched across the valley in a wash of pale moonlight. The scent of freshly mulched flowerbeds pricked his nose. A slow, rolling chill traveled across his shoulders, down his arms.

Someone was watching them. He would bet his life on it.

He’d spent years sharpening the radar that had kept him alive, and whenever it started humming in his head like a mosquito looking for its next victim, he took it very seriously.

A noise near his car sent his reflexes into overdrive.

He shoved Morgan off the flagstone walk and dove into the yard. He pushed her to the ground, and into the shadows beneath the thick knobby limbs of a rhododendron bush. He clasped her to him. Then started counting backwards from five.

“What are you doing?” she said.

He held her closer, muffling her mouth against his chest. “
Shhhh
,” he whispered. “I’m counting.”

“You’re
what?
”

“It’s a game I play. Keeps me on my toes.”

He didn’t have long to wait. He had barely made it to two when the first gunshot cracked the air.

Chapter 5

Gage roared up the gravel driveway, spewing an arc of tiny pebbles into the air. He drove past the tasting room and parked his Mustang beside the winery van. Shattered windshield glass fanned out around the four bullet holes like crystal spider webs, a grim reminder of the night before. After some yahoo had pumped a round of ammo into the winery van, Gage had stayed at Morgan’s for over two hours, searching the yard, traipsing through the moonlit orchard like a ghost roaming a battlefield. Wishing like hell he still had a gun.

And every moment since, the fear he’d grappled with, worrying about Morgan, wrapped around his chest like a steel band.

He found Uncle Bert in the fermenting room, swirling dark red wine in a glass.

“Did he make it to school on time?” Bert asked.

“I got him there. When he gets out, he has an appointment with his therapist.”

Bert frowned. “I thought we’d decided that sending a child his age to a therapist is an obscene waste of time and money.”

“No, that’s what you decided.”

“Jeremy doesn't need a therapist. Getting over a death in the family takes time. In a few weeks, he'll be fine as frog’s hair. Did he find the books I left for him in the kitchen?”

“He found them.” Gage looked at his uncle and softened. “That is something nice you’ve done for him, Bert—giving him books. He loves to read. And now, he’s hooked on sci-fi.”

“It was always my favorite genre. Beats the crap out of those reference books he reads.” Bert lifted his glass to his nose and inhaled deeply. “I think this cab's gonna do it for us. My company could use a boost like this.”

“You're entering that contest again?”

“In October. The Wines of the South competition.” He grinned at Gage, stretching his large jowls, reducing his shiny brown eyes to slits. “And this year, I plan to win.”

Gage leaned against an oak barrel and stifled a laugh. Why had he not seen it before? Bert looked exactly like that big toad in the children’s book he used to read to Jeremy. What was it called?
Something in the Willows?

“I know you're angry about the van,” Gage said. “But I promise to get the windshield replaced as soon as I can.”

“Not your fault. I was a little ticked, but I'm over it now.” He chuckled. “Jeremy called me an old blowhard this morning. I told him he was the only person in the world who could get away with that.” He glanced at Gage and frowned again. “So, who was the target? You or the Maguire girl?”

“Not sure.”

Gage didn't mention that Bert might have been the target as easily as Morgan. It was his company’s car that had been vandalized. Blackstone Winery had begun as an expensive hobby Bert fashioned into a lucrative sideline. A savvy but ruthless real estate developer, he had made some serious money buying and selling prime commercial property to the rich and famous in Tennessee, Kentucky, and North Carolina. Even the stalled economy hadn’t seemed to slow him down. But it was no secret his abrasive personality had garnered as many enemies over the years as Gage had made while working as a private investigator. Gage could handle the faceless convicts who still wanted him dead for bringing them to justice. It came with the territory. But Bert’s enemies possessed the money and connections to take him down in style.

Bert took a sip of wine and rolled it around in his mouth, moving it from one plump cheek to the other. “
Ahhh,
” he said after swallowing. “A damn tasty finish.”

“I'm here to ask a favor,” Gage said, for the second time in two days. God, he hated feeling beholden to people. Especially Bert, who had spent years loaning Gage’s father money to keep their family afloat, and never let any of them forget it.

Bert glanced up. His bushy gray eyebrows knitted together in one continuous strip of fur. “All right, son. What can I do for you?”

“The Maguires. They own Maguire Orchard.”

“I know.”

“Something shady is going on. A man named Lawrence Finch knows they're in financial trouble, and he's paying their apple pickers not to work for them. Some of the fruit is ready to drop, and there's no one to harvest it.”

“What do you think I can do?”

“You still pick grapes by hand, don't you? You used to use the same pickers every year. Couldn't you get in touch with some of them and see if they’ll—”

“Listen to you, boy.” Bert snorted, then laughed. “When you came here, I knew it was only a matter of time before you started sniffing around that Maguire girl again. Why are you so all-fired anxious to help her family? Because you think it will gain you some Brownie points? Or are you looking for a one-way ticket back into her pants?”

“That wasn't very nice.”

“Getting on her good side, then.”

“Her name is Morgan. And getting on her good side has nothing to do with it,” he lied. “I'm working for her brother.” Another lie. After Morgan talked to Sean, the chances of Sean hiring him to save the orchard were about as likely as Jeremy forgiving him for not taking the car keys away from his mother. “I don’t know who this guy Finch is, but he’s sabotaging them.”

“So?”

“So, I thought you might like to help your neighbors.”

Bert set the wineglass on an upturned barrel and crossed his hulking arms. “The Maguires live in Riverbirch. We’re on the other side of the mountain in Cherokee Bluff. They’re hardly neighbors.”

“No, but they're nice people. Like you could be. If you'd give yourself a chance.”

“You're treading dangerous water, son. Don’t forget the only reason you’re here is because of Jeremy. That boy needs direction and a real home. You aren’t capable of giving him either.”

“Well, thanks for not sugarcoating it, Bert. I’m on a diet.”

“Suzanne was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you threw her away.”

“You know, your memory is getting more and more selective.”

“You spent nights and weekends hustling for that two-bit detective agency, doing a job that could have gotten you killed. I was fond of Suzanne. While you were driving that heap around Atlanta carrying out a death wish, she was at home raising your son. That poor girl was so lonely, it’s no wonder she dove into—”

“—a bottle of vodka?” The blood rushed to Gage’s face. Arguing about Suzanne with Bert was like getting trapped in the devil’s time warp, forced to relive the same painful memories over and over again. He wondered why Bert didn’t realize how much it hurt him. Or maybe Bert didn’t care. Gage shoved the anger down and kept going. “I’ll admit I wasn’t the most attentive husband in the world, but I’m sick of taking the blame for all of Suzanne’s problems. She had those problems before we met, and no one knew about them. She was a master at hiding her illness, and her drinking, until they both spun out of control. One rainy night. At home. Alone with our son.”

“You should have tried harder.”

“To what? To love her? I never loved her. You knew that when you and my father bullied me into marrying her. And I doubt she ever loved me.”

“Your father and I decided it was time you grew up and developed a backbone. Learned to do the right thing. You had a wonderful little family, and you destroyed it. If you’d had a real job, and stayed at home where you belonged, Suzanne wouldn’t have started drinking.”

“You...you don’t know that.” The sudden tremor in his voice betrayed his emotions. “When Jeremy was eight, Suzanne was re-diagnosed as bipolar, remember? When he turned nine, she threw away her medication. She said she missed the highs and lows. Said she felt dead inside.”

“She didn’t need those pills. She was fine. A little moody, maybe, but all women get like that. When your Aunt Vida’s time of the month came around, she used to throw a fit when things didn’t go her way. I used to mark it on my calendar in red ink so I would know when to lay low and keep my mouth shut.”

“Don’t you understand? Suzanne’s troubles weren’t hormonal. She had a chronic mental illness.”

“That damned psychiatrist was her problem,” Bert said. “What was he? Six months out of med school? If you’d only listened to me before you got the divorce, and—”

“And what? Waited for her little mood swings to stop swinging? Waited for her to look happy when I walked through the door? Waited for her to stop crying long enough to fix Jeremy a bowl of Hamburger Helper?” Gage took a slow, deep breath and let it out. “Suzanne needed more help than I could give her. That’s why I found her a new doctor. She said she liked him. She swore she’d started taking her meds again. But she hadn’t.”

“And who should we blame for that?”

Gage sighed. “You and I have been over this a hundred times. We’ll never agree on anything about Suzanne, so let’s just agree to leave it alone. Let the past stay in the past. Try to move on. Suzanne’s gone, and nothing will bring her back. Jeremy is the one we should be worrying about now.”

“I’ve always worried about Jeremy. I’ve always wanted the best for him.”

“And you never thought it was me, did you? You and Suzanne did everything you could to keep me away from him. But Jeremy is my son, and I will never,
ever
not be in his life.”

Bert picked up his wineglass and took a hefty swallow. “Jeremy said you took him to that woman’s house yesterday. Said he wanted to take guitar lessons from her. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I think anything’s a good idea if it helps Jeremy. He liked her. She made him smile. And before you start passing judgment on ‘that woman’, know that she agreed to give him lessons despite the fact she can barely look me in the eye. Despite the fact she dislikes me so much, she'd rather drown than accept a life preserver from me.”

Bert waited a long moment before glancing up. “Jeremy smiled?”

“Twice.”

Bert nodded. “All right. I'll see what I can do. But first, I need to talk to Finch.”

“Thanks.” Relief flooded through Gage. He hadn’t expected Bert to agree so readily, but accepting a favor from his uncle came at a cost. Bert never gave anything away for free. Down the line, Gage would be expected to pay the price. But he didn’t care. He was willing to do anything to help Morgan. “I'll track down Finch’s number for you.”

“I already have it.”

“Why would you have the number of a bastard like Lawrence Finch?”

“Because the bastard works for me.”

Gage stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. And I want you to promise to keep it to yourself.”

Gage’s head started pounding. He willed Bert’s words to sink in and make sense. “Are you saying you hired Lawrence Finch to ruin the Maguire’s harvest and force them into selling their land to you?”

“Why not? It's a unique piece of property. I’d do anything to get my hands on it. The Maguires own all the way down to Deer Creek. The stretch from Pip’s Hill to the water is a large, northern-facing slope, less prone to frost, and perfect for Chambourcin grapes. Hell, boy, you can grow apples anywhere, but Chambourcin grapes are particular where they decide to thrive. Blackstone isn’t doing as well as I’d hoped. If I don’t do something to revive it, and fast, this place is going to die on the vine.

“I’ve been in touch with six nationally known wineries, and I could strike a deal with any one of them tomorrow to lease land to grow Chambourcin grapes. This could save us, pull us out of debt. Hell, boy, I’m trying to keep our heads above water. Don't look at me like I’m a monster.”

“You haven't changed at all, have you?”

Bert blew out an exasperated sigh. “I only hired Finch as a go-between to work out a compromise. The Maguire girl hates me. Her family would never consider selling the land if they knew the offer came from me. Finch was a loose cannon. I should have kept him on a shorter leash.”

Gage clenched his jaw. His hands squeezed into fists. He stepped back to put some distance between him and the man whose face he suddenly wanted to smash against a wine barrel. How could he have been so gullible? So trusting? How could he have believed Bert would help mend his son's broken heart? Morgan had been right. Bert didn't have a heart.

“I guess the thing that bothers me most,” Gage said, trying to keep his fury under control, “is you don't think you did anything wrong.”

“This isn’t personal. It’s business. If Robert Maguire were still alive, he would understand. When he got sick, he made some bad decisions. He handed everything over to his grandson and Harlan Spannagel, who know as much about running an orchard as I know about cake decorating. Before the poor man took his last breath, the two of them had run a four-generation family business straight into the ground. It wasn't my fault their orchard took a dive. The only mistake I made was trusting Lawrence Finch to handle things without screwing up.”

Gage shook his head in disgust. “Listen to yourself. Do you even know what you're saying? You're playing with people's lives. Now that Spannagel is dead, and Maguire Orchard is vulnerable, you’ve decided to go for the kill? You said you’d do anything to get your hands on that property. Was getting rid of Spannagel and framing Sean Maguire for his murder part of the plan? It would be an easy way to make sure they're both out of the picture.”