Saving Grapes

by J. T. Lundy

  Her gaze returned to me. “Promised?”

  I merely shrugged. A jumble of accusations and problems had descended on me at once, not an unusual occurrence for one skateboarding on the curvy side of life. My standard M.O. was to plead innocence and talk circles. But I had come to like Sister Claudette, which presented a dilemma. I had never come to know and respect such an authoritarian figure and I couldn’t muster up my usual B.S. tales. With Aunt Clara, it had been different. Aunt Clara was, well, not exactly mean, she was angry. She would be angry with me no matter what I did, and I found it easy to lie to her.

  “We don’t need minimum sales, but we would like our entrance fees refunded,” Monsieur Sausage said.

  Sister Claudette handed him the cash bag. “Take what you’re due and distribute the refund to the others if you don’t mind.”

  He took off his hat. “Thank you, Sister. We will make a donation of course.”

  I watched my profits waddle off with the sausage man. “So, the gendarmes didn’t want to see me and Stumpy?”

  “No.”

  “And Eustace. Was he looking for me?”

  Sister Claudette glared at me accusingly. “No. I believe he thinks you’re in the United States. He did mention, though, that you had some legal troubles.”

  If Eustace truly believed I was still moping off the main paths in the U.S., then I still had a squirrel’s chance of bringing home the big nut. “You must believe me, Sister. Eustace is the cause of all my legal troubles.”

  Sister Claudette’s face had no hint of softening. “You will have to explain these troubles to me.”

  “I will. The whole truth.”

  “If you remember, when I agreed to distribute to you the harvest profits you told me there was no good reason why you couldn’t inherit the estate.”

  “Well, I, er.”

  She looked at Stumpy. “And I suppose you’ve been privy to all this?”

  Stumpy reverted back to his idiot mode that had incensed Sister Claudette earlier. “I don’t mess with privies.”

  “I don’t—” Sister Claudette paused and decided not to pursue Stumpy’s comment. She pointed at me. “Eustace claims the vineyard will be his on Friday. I knew about the Good Character Clause in the will, but I didn’t ever think it germane.”

  “Probably because it’s in English, not German,” Stumpy said.

  Sister Claudette and I looked at Stumpy and then forgave him because he was serious and smiling.

  “Eustace owns the golf range I worked on. I stole a golf cart.”

  “Eustace fired him first,” Stumpy said.

  “I damaged some of his property.”

  “After Eustace shot him with a hose.” Stumpy said. “And he tried to kill Jason with a flag pole.”

  Sister Claudette held up her hands. “Slow down. Explain it to me.” She looked at Stumpy. “Without interruptions.”

  I told Sister Claudette and Sister Lucia the story, exactly how it happened. I told them about the agreement we had made with Aunt Clara the night before she died. The agreement Eustace had conveniently backed out of. We talked about the Good Character Clause, and they understood that if I were sentenced to jail in any country the vineyard would automatically pass to Eustace. “That’s why I’ve been trying to make some money. If I don’t pay the damages by Friday, I’ll be automatically convicted, and Eustace will inherit the vineyard.”

  King Sausage returned and handed Aunt Clara the cash bag. She took out a fistful of euros and handed them to Stumpy. “Pass out refunds to the townsfolk.”

  Sister Lucia looked concerned, like she wanted to help. “Can we not help him, Claudette? How much do you need, Jason?”

  “Eighteen thousand five hundred dollars. Thirteen thousand one hundred euros.” Good God, were the sisters going to save me?

  Sister Claudette huffed irritably at Sister Lucia. “How much money do you have, Sister?”

  “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant, and the convent’s mission does not include loaning money to pay the debts of a criminal. Imagine Rome’s reaction during the next audit?”

  My hopes bubbled out. “You could put it under Investments—other.”

  “No,” Sister Claudette said sharply. “No hocus-pocus. I never liked how Eustace’s father treated Clara. I don’t know why Clara created the possibility the vineyard could pass outside her own family, but she did. My guess is that your character flaws wore her down over the years, and this clause was an attempt to keep you focused or to teach you a big lesson.”

  “That’s Aunt Clara,” Stumpy said. “She loved spooning out the lessons to Jason and me.”

  “I don’t know if I like this Eustace either after meeting him. He’s awfully smug about checking out his future property. But who knows? He might be a good partner.”

  Sister Lucia touched Sister Claudette’s arm. “Oh, no, you don’t mean that, Sister.”

  Sister Claudette shook her sister’s hand free. She was irritated with us all. “Let God’s will be done.” She walked toward the abbey. Sister Lucia quick-stepped behind her. “Can we talk some more, Claudette?” Sister Claudette continued on in silence. Sister Lucia spoke softly, pleading with her as they walked.

  “Excuse me,” I called. “Can you and all the other nuns keep our presence here a secret?”

  “The nuns don’t talk,” Stumpy said.

  “We will not lie,” Sister Claudette said. “But we will not say more than we have to.”

  It was the best we could hope for. I looked at Stumpy. We shrugged our shoulders at the same time. “We need a plan,” he said.

  I laughed. “We do need a plan.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “What did Hammersmith say?” Stumpy asked.

  Stumpy and I sat on the patio Tuesday afternoon. The bees worked feverishly in the purple lilacs. We had three days left. We drank beer for the first time in France because it was hot out, and drinking beer is how we typically brainstormed during a crisis.

  “No one answered. They must have cut out early today. I’ll email him.”

  A small hummingbird floated by, unconcerned with our problems or us. Stumpy emptied his Kronenbourg in one gulp. He went into the kitchen and came back with two more. He set one down next to me even though I had only taken a sip of my first. He paced and started sucking on his second bottle.

  “Easy there, Blotto.”

  “Why are you so calm? We have to figure something out.”

  Usually I was the panicked one. “Why are you so not calm? I thought you didn’t care about the money, Mister Love Panda. You can see Melanie regardless.”

  Stumpy stopped pacing. He looked at me wild-eyed and then breathed. “Not if I’m arrested for aiding and abetting.”

  “I escaped on my own. Don’t worry; I won’t sell you out.”

  “I don’t care about that. And I don’t care about the money. It’s just that … I feel like I belong here. I love this place. My work is important. The nuns are so nice and they don’t yell at me—ever.”

  “They can’t talk most of the time.”

  “Yes, well.” He paused. “But they smile and don’t frown like everyone back home. The past weeks have been the best thing that has ever happened to me. I could live here and never have to take another pill.” Stumpy fell to his knees, clasped his hands prayer-like and shook them pleadingly. “I want to stay here. We gotta figure something out.”

  Stumpy’s heartfelt speech got to me. The past weeks had been pretty good. Maybe the best ever. I had met Jacqueline. Man, I wished she were here now—well, maybe not—I wasn’t expecting to see her until after the final due date, so better that I straighten this mess out and that she never learn of my potential status as a felon. I felt empowered. I stood up with determination. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do.”

  Stumpy nodded and smiled and looked hopeful.

  “You got any ideas?”

  His face fell. “Come on, Jason. You’re the idea man.”

  “
Okay, okay.” I grabbed my beer and drank and paced. “You got any money?”

  “No.”

  “Stocks, bonds, IRAs, or 401k?”

  Stumpy put his hands on his head and pulled at his hair. “Stop confusing me.”

  “Okay, okay.” I drank some more. “I’ll work on the money part. But our first problem is to make sure Eustace doesn’t figure out we’re here.”

  “Can’t we just stay hidden here? I know a couple of nuns who’ve got an Xbox hidden in their room. I’m sure they’d let us use it.”

  I grabbed two more beers out of the fridge. “There’s too much we have to do. And I’ve got to be out searching for some cash.”

  “I hope the townspeople don’t give us away.”

  “Eustace isn’t going to talk to any townspeople.” I slapped my forehead. “Oh, shit. He’ll probably try to see Aceau.”

  “What asshole?”

  “Not asshole. Aceau—the lawyer. If Eustace is going to claim the estate, he’s got to deal with Aceau.”

  “And that asshole knows you’re here.”

  I had an idea. “Let’s go.” I went to the side of the house and hopped on the tandem. I motioned for Stumpy to do the same.

  “Where are we going?”

  We pedaled and I steered us down the drive. “We have to get rid of Aceau,” I said.

  “Whoa. I think we should talk about it more,” Stumpy said. “We can’t just get rid of people.”

  I turned the bike and stopped at the abbey. “Not like that.”

  Stumpy relaxed, but I still think he was nervous.

  We walked through the cool, cavernous church. Candles flickered in the side vestibules. The warm smell of incense permeated the air. Our footsteps echoed and our whispers sounded like shouts. Rows of rigid wooden pews sat empty and looked serene in their own constant worship. Stumpy sat in a pew. “We should pray on the plan.” He bowed his head.

  I slapped him and pulled his shirt. “Come on. I’ve already received my inspiration. There’s no time for prayer.”

  Stumpy whispered something, did a bow to the altar, and followed me to the back of the church. I opened a door to a storage room and we walked inside. I flipped on a light to a dusty room with wooden cabinets and closets.

  “What’s this?” Stumpy asked.

  “The nuns put on a play last year with some local actors. Sister Claudette was telling me about it. Some drivel called The Modern Man in Jesus’s Time.”

  “You want us to put on a play?”

  “A reality play.” I walked to a large cabinet and opened the wood doors. An array of colorful but musty-smelling costumes filled the closet. “We’re going to disguise ourselves.”

  Stumpy fingered through the costume rack. “As what—shepherds?”

  I picked out a black three-piece suit that looked to be from the nineteenth century. I held it up to Stumpy. “This should work. You’re going to play Aceau.”

  “But what’s the play about?”

  “It’s about saving our vineyard. When was the last time you saw Eustace?”

  “Remember when I was a kid and got that job passing out coupons at the driving range for the cheaper driving range that had opened up?”

  “Yeah, I remember. Eustace’s dad banned you for life.”

  “That was after I had tried to save the gophers he was trying to kill.”

  I laughed.

  “I’ve only seen Eustace once since then. I said hello to him, but I don’t think he recognized me.”

  “Perfect.” I found a shepherd’s-size black beard. “Better wear this to make sure.”

  “What are you going to be?”

  “I plan on staying out of the way, but just to be safe …” I rummaged through the costumes. I pulled out a heavy brown wool robe. “I can be a monk. I’ll pretend I’m visiting the abbey on a pilgrimage.”

  “You have to shave your head.”

  I touched my head. I worked hard on sculpting my simple style. “No way.”

  “Shave your head, wear little round sunglasses, and paste a small goatee beard on your chin.” Stumpy laughed. “You do that, and then I’ll wear that beard.”

  “I don’t know. What would Jacqueline say?”

  “Good way to find out if she really likes you.”

  True, but did I want to take that risk?

  “Remember—Six Flags try,” Stumpy said.

  I looked around for another costume but they were all biblical. Being a monk was my best option.

  “That’s the only way you’ll look authentic. Eustace will never recognize you.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  Stumpy insisted on shaving my head. That night he hacked the rooftop down with scissors and smoothed it all out with a disposable Gillette. We went to our rooms and tried on our costumes. I pulled the prickly robe over my T-shirt and shorts. I put on the sunglasses, sandals, and goatee beard and looked into the mirror. I had to laugh. I looked like a beatnik monk.

  The doorbell chimes rang. I took a peek out my window and saw Melanie smoking a cigarette impatiently. I ran out of the room and collided with Stumpy. He had seen her, too. “It’s Melanie.”

  His shirt was unbuttoned and his beard was on sideways. “I’ll get the door. Put yourself together. We can test our disguises on her.”

  I walked to the door and slowly opened it. Melanie wore a red linen dress, her brown hair skimming her shoulders. It was the first time I had seen it down. She ground out her cigarette with her high heels.

  “Bonsoir.”

  She looked up surprised. “Bonsoir, Monsieur. Où est Stumpy et Jason?”

  “You are looking much happier, Melanie.”

  Her eyes opened wide and she stared at me. After a moment she put her hand to her mouth. “Jason?” She laughed. “Oh my god. What have you done?” She marched into the house past me. “What the fuck are you guys up to? Where’s my Stumpy?”

  I walked slowly and calmly like a monk into the room. “If you are referring to Monsieur Aceau, he will be down shortly.”

  “Have you guys been drinking?”

  The beer bottles sat lined up on the sink counter. “Yes, but our new personas, though possibly conceived under the influence of alcohol, have a much grander purpose.”

  Stumpy appeared at the top of the steps. He had a full beard, square reading glasses, and a black fedora. His rounded midsection beautifully filled out his three-piece suit.

  “Stumpy?”

  “Madame.”

  He walked down the stairs and embraced Melanie, kissing her long on the lips. His glasses steamed up.

  Melanie pulled away and laughed hysterically. She bent over and gasped for breath. “You guys should not be left alone.”

  “Heard that one before.”

  “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  I laughed at Stumpy, too. “You look like Mr. French.”

  Stumpy remained in character; dignified. “You date yourself, Grasshopper.”

  “Too many reruns. For you too, obviously, good sir.”

  Melanie threw her hands into the air. “What is going on?”

  Stumpy pulled off his beard and smiled his childlike smile. He and Melanie kissed again.

  She ran her hands over his suit jacket. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to see you.”

  “Thank you for the story you wrote,” Stumpy said. “It was a great article. You really saved us.”

  Melanie smiled, clearly pleased.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said. “It was awesome!”

  Melanie waved her hands. “Yeah, well, whatever. Now what the hell are you guys up to?”

  We gave Melanie the whole vineyard story: inheritance, Eustace, court, Aceau.

  Melanie looked sympathetic. I think she liked underdog challenges. “What can I do?”

  “Do you want a disguise, too?” Stumpy asked.

  “Did you save your nun outfit, Sister?” I said.

  Melanie shot me a look. “I’m never dressing up as a nun again.�
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  “But you could help us,” I said. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”

  Aceau’s office was closed on Tuesdays so Eustace would probably try to see Aceau first thing Wednesday morning.

  Stumpy and I sat in the front seat of our yellow Toyota rental in full costume. Aceau still lived with his mother in a two-story stone cottage off the main road into town. We parked our car across the street and sat low in our seats, waiting for him to emerge. Melanie sat in back as herself, ready to act. Stumpy and I drank strong coffee out of miniature paper cups. Its steam and smell filled the car. The sun peeked its head over the horizon and the early-morning dark left us. We were nervous and alert.

  “But I don’t speak French,” Stumpy said.

  “Neither does Eustace. Make up some words and speak with an accent.”

  “Can we go over the plan again? Won’t the insurance company be mad? It doesn’t feel honest. What if someone gets hurt?”

  “Shut up, Stumpy. There’s Aceau.”

  Aceau walked toward his car. I started our car, pulled back, and drove fast down the main road into town. Aceau would have to drive through the town square to reach his office. I dropped Melanie and Stumpy off and parked on a side street near the square and waited.

  Aceau’s car appeared. He drove down one side of the square and turned at the corner. I slowly accelerated. I saw Melanie walking quickly in my peripheral vision. Aceau’s car approached my street. I pulled into the intersection and turned into him, colliding head on. Both cars had been going slow, but still the airbags exploded. At the same instant Melanie flung herself on top of our Toyota. She had a rock in her hand and brought it down hard on the windshield, creating a head-like circle shatter. She rolled toward Aceau’s side and landed in the street, blood from a self-inflicted cut oozing over the side of her face.

  Aceau recovered from the airbag, jumped out, and ran to Melanie. A bit dazed, I pushed the airbag down and ran around the back of Aceau’s car. I reached inside his car and grabbed a thick set of keys out of the ignition.

  I leaned over Melanie. Stumpy appeared and leaned over too. I handed him Aceau’s keys as bystanders crowded around. Stumpy left the scene to unlock Aceau’s office. Melanie looked delirious, and she spoke slowly with Aceau. He talked excitedly in French and then looked at me.