Pinot Noir and Poison

by Sandra Woffington

  The waitress swooshed in and set their food in front of them. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Max checked. Ketchup was on the table. He was too angry to speak.

  Joy shook her head, and the waitress drifted away.

  “You don’t have to go, Max.”

  “I’m going. She can’t hurt me. She can hurt you. But I won’t let her. This time, I’m there to protect you.” Max squirted ketchup on his fries, then slammed the bottle on the table. “I’m sorry I’m angry. It’s just a shock, and I’ve had a few too many recently. But I get it. I’ve had trouble dealing with this, so I know why you held back.” He bore his blue eyes into her brown-black ones. “You gotta talk to me. Even if you think I won’t understand. What’s one more shock at this point, right?”

  Joy let out a sigh of relief. “I agree, Max. I’ll share what I know. I hoped you’d come, but I didn’t expect it. You’re reading me right. I am vulnerable in this space. I worried about going alone, but I have to see her.”

  “I know, Joy, but you’ve got to be objective. Do it right or don’t do it. Think like a cop. We can cancel. You have a choice.” Max dove into his BBQed pork sandwich. Belle’s secret sauce exploded in his mouth with just enough spice, just enough kick, and just enough sweet. It erased any image of Belladonna and brought him home to Wine Valley.

  They sat in silence, each prepping in his or her own way. By the time Max polished off his last French fry, his phone rang. “King.”

  “Hi, Max. Angelo here. We won’t see the tox screen for weeks, but Todd Baxter has all of the signs of hemlock poisoning, which was most likely in the wine. His last meal was chocolate. Fancy chocolate topped with gold foil. I don’t know why people want to consume gold—it’s indigestible, so I guess the point is to crap gold.”

  “Sally’s attorney gave chocolate to the key players of Kinsey. Probably left one for Todd too. Gold poop for fancy people,” remarked Max. “Sounds right.”

  “Sounds dumb.”

  “Thanks, Angelo.” Max hung up.

  Joy added, “You know, the FDA hasn’t really studied the consumption of gold, despite using it in fillings for ages. It is a metal, so only near pure gold is edible. Fourteen-carat gold has too many toxic impurities.”

  “Luckily, Joy, my taste buds prefer Belle’s BBQ sauce.”

  “A good choice, since gold has no flavor either. Kinda dumb when you think about eating it. Thomas Gray wrote:

  Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,

  And be with caution bold.

  Not all that tempts your wandering eyes

  And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;

  Nor all that glisters, gold.”

  “Glisters? That’s not a word. He made that up.”

  “If it’s okay, Max. I’d like to spend the afternoon at the station doing some research for our interview tomorrow.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t have a file a few feet thick.”

  “I do. I started digging while I was studying at Yale. I dug deeper while I was at the FBI. But I didn’t find much. It’s like we never existed before the raid on the house, and after, Sam created our identities—who knows what’s real. After Sam died, I found file boxes in storage. They contained information on Belladonna.”

  “What made you leave the FBI?”

  Joy paused. “I was a hot mess, Max. I needed to go home. Home to Sam. I honestly think if he hadn’t adopted me, I’d be dead by now.”

  “We might both be. I’ll keep digging into our suspect list.” Joy seemed off in space. “Joy?”

  “Yeah, Max.”

  “Tomorrow is tomorrow. Tonight, just be here and now with Steele. Related or not, I mean that like your brother.”

  Joy smiled. “Thanks, Max. That’s sound advice.”

  20

  Reed Steele rang Joy’s doorbell.

  The moment Joy opened the door, Steele leaned in, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her into his chest. He laid his lips over hers and enveloped her in a long, deep kiss, which she returned while running her hands over his muscular shoulders and back and neck.

  When he broke away, he said, “I figured I’d get in the goodbye kiss early, in case you ditch me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I’m taking a chance here. I hope you like what I’ve planned.”

  “So far, so good, Steele.” Joy felt herself blush. She wore a tight black skirt, a black tank top that dipped low enough to expose subtle cleavage, and the black cowboy boots Sam had bought her for her. Sam had surprised her with them, as she’d never expressed an interest in anything western, despite the fact that her father had a pair of dark brown western boots he wore on his days off. She figured Sam had either been influenced by his many trips to Wine Valley or he wanted her to move away from her more Gothic attire and into something more wholesome—even if the boots were black. They sat on her closet shelf in San Diego until after she quit the FBI and returned home. By then, she was ready for a change. She and Sam made quite the spectacle stomping around San Diego on weekends in their boots. After Sam’s death, she put them back on the shelf next to his, until now. Every time she put them on, she felt like a modern-day gunslinger.

  She put a wave in her hair so that it fell in an arc, like soft black hands cupping her face. She wore extra mascara, which made her dark eyes even darker, but she only wore clear gloss on her lips, which Steele had already taken off.

  Steele had dressed up. He wore a black dress shirt, jeans, and a thick black belt with a silver buckle. His boots weren’t handmade like hers, but he seemed comfortable in them. He’d pulled his dark brown hair back in a ponytail, which she already wanted to let loose.

  “Yeah, it was a good start. Let’s saddle up,” said Steele.

  Steele pulled his Jeep into the parking structure next to the civic building, and he and Joy walked hand-in-hand down the hill to Stagecoach Street, where they crossed the intersection and entered a brick-faced building. A sign read, “Zeke’s Watering Hole.” They entered the lobby of the building and rode an elevator to the third floor. They stepped out into the reception area of a roof-top casual restaurant and bar, where a dummy sat in a galvanized tub wearing a cowboy hat and waving a hand to welcome them. The mannequin, wearing only boxer shorts and cowboy boots, had a large nose, even bigger eyes, and a large-toothed grin. His horse, painted on a mural on the wall behind him, whinnied. A real creek ran along the wall, and behind it, another mural depicted cowboys panning for gold, a rowdy saloon, and other images of the Old West.

  Steele whispered, “We’re only grabbing a drink here and watching the sunset. This place has a great view of the town and city lights.” Steele grabbed Joy’s hand and pulled her past the reception desk and around the bar, not even half full on a Wednesday night. They passed by patrons who sat on black-and-white cowhide stools and stepped out onto an open deck surrounded by railings. They grabbed corner seats that overlooked the main street of Grape Gulch.

  A waitress came by. They both ordered whiskey, neat.

  “How’s my pal Monty?”

  Joy smirked. “She’s happily digesting. She likes to be left alone for a couple of days.”

  “If I ate a meal the size she ate, I’d want to be left alone to digest too.”

  “Did you ever have any pets?”

  Steele shook his head. “Where I grew up, people couldn’t afford people food, let alone pet food. The only dogs I saw were the type that could tear your throat out—bad-ass guard dogs.”

  “Siblings?”

  Steele flinched.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. I want to get to know you, which is not the norm for me.”

  “Hmmm. Player?” Joy sipped her whiskey. She felt a warm glow as it slid down her throat.

  “No. It’s just that when you grow up watching people sink into drugs or gangs or death, you stop making connections.”

  Joy put her hand over Steele’s arm and caressed it, feeling the hairs on
his arm bristle.

  Steele sipped his whiskey. “Dante—he was the best brother ever. I wish I remembered more about him. We’d sit together in the living room of our apartment, and he’d help me with homework. He was ten, and I was six. I’d make silly faces, trying to get him to crack a smile. I swear, I can’t remember a time when he smiled. I’m sure he did, like with friends, but I can’t remember it. Can’t blame him. Dad died when I was three. I barely remember it, but Dante—he was crushed. Dad was from Peru.”

  Steele sipped his whiskey, gathering strength to finish the story. “Dante and I met up after school and walked home together. Mom worked two jobs after dad died, so Dante took care of me until Mom got home around ten. Even when she got home, she worked. She cooked so we had supper the next day, which we microwaved. Sometimes, she’d bring food home from the restaurant where she worked. She didn’t want us using the stove. And some days, she’d give us money and tell us to stop by the local bodega when she needed a few groceries.”

  Steele finished his whiskey. “A few days in a row, these gang dudes started to hang out near the bodega. We’d never seen them before. Dante seemed nervous. He told me, ‘Don’t look at them. Just walk by.’ But one day, I peeked. The guy I had looked at jumped in front of Dante and hassled him to hand over our money. Dante gave it up, and we walked away. The next thing I remember is an explosion. We knew what it was.”

  “Gunshot.”

  “Crossfire. We knew what to do—that’s crazy too—that fact that we knew to dive for cover at six and ten. Dante pushed me down to the sidewalk so fast, I hit my forehead on the concrete. All hell broke loose. I heard more pops. People screamed and scattered. Sirens erupted. But I opened my eyes, and I stared into the face of the guy in the car who had fired the gun from the backseat. I kept my eyes glued to his until that car pulled out of sight. One of the bodega gang got off a shot, which shattered the back window. I turned to Dante. His head was sideways, facing me, like he wanted to make sure I was okay. His eyes looked right at me. I started to say something, but then red liquid oozed along his cheek and pooled toward me. He caught a bullet in the head. The guys in the car wanted the guys at the bodega. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mom said dad and Dante were so good, God took them early. Oddly, that made me think I wasn’t as good, so I was spared to keep trying. Mom’s Catholic.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Joy squeezed his arm.

  “Me too, Joy. Like I said, Dante was a great brother. I miss him.”

  “That’s what led you to working the gang unit. He was Mixteca 8, wasn’t he? The shooter.”

  “He was.”

  “You never forgot that face.”

  “Nope. I didn’t.”

  “The bracelet you wore at the Stinky Mule bar. It was his.”

  Steele nodded. “He didn’t need it anymore.”

  “But you needed Abel to get you inside the gang?”

  Steele nodded again. His face contorted in pain. “I tried to right the wrong done to my brother, but it got Abel killed.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced there aren’t times and places for vigilante justice. You made sure that guy would never hurt anyone else. Who knows how many lives you saved?”

  “The problem is now I live with Dante’s death and Abel’s.”

  “And yet, we’re drawn to this crazy line of work, attempting to right the wrongs and fight for those who look at us in death like they’re begging us to help them. They deserve justice.”

  The sun sank down until it seemed it would collide with the land. A golden glow at the horizon melded to pink then purple then deep blue. Twilight. Streetlights and the signs of neighboring businesses illuminated Stagecoach Street, one after the other. The people of town trickled to Grape Gulch. Their voices rose in comradery and began to multiply.

  “Siblings?” asked Steele, before tossing back his whiskey.

  “Nope.” Joy drank up too. “Just foster care for a few years with Max before our fathers adopted us.”

  “I do believe that one look at you, and Dante would have smiled. Time for the next adventure.”

  Steele led Joy out of the bar and back down the elevator. They crossed the intersection, now busy with a line of cars, and walked north on Stagecoach Street past a long brick building large enough to be a warehouse. At the corner, they turned and approached the entrance to Sal’s Saloon. Steele nodded to the bouncer, perched on a small stool under an umbrella, and approached a glassed-in kiosk where he paid the admission fee and entered the establishment.

  Joy couldn’t believe her eyes. The warehouse was an enormous bar, pool parlor, and dance hall. Lights splashed down on pool tables to the right. Dead ahead, a mechanical bull in a pit awaited a rider. Neon signs and small bar lights added warm splashes of light and color. Country-western music filled the air.

  Steele and Joy strolled past the bull and meandered through an expanse of small round tables and chairs, mostly empty, but it was still early and the sun had just set.

  A bar stretched along the left wall, and a smaller bar sat on the right. The dance floor had railings on the outside and another set on the inside, which formed an outer track. The music provided a thumping beat. A DJ rose above the crowd on a stage at the far end of the dance floor. A handful of patrons moved in unison, performing a line-dance in the center section of the floor, while pairs danced counterclockwise around the track, sashaying and twirling and smiling.

  A small crowd of middle-aged and older couples occupied an area of tables and chairs that formed an L with the larger room and butted up to the dance floor.

  Steele explained, “The older folks come out early and get in their dancing. In a few hours, this place is packed with a younger crowd, all line-dancing or two-stepping. Blew me away after the club scene in L.A.”

  Steele approached a man in a tan cowboy hat who leaned against the outside rail chatting with a middle-aged couple, a pudgy gray-haired man in jeans and a plaid shirt, and a petite Asian woman wearing a white skirt, red sleeveless shirt, and tan boots.

  “Hey, Steele,” said the man in the hat, extending a hand and shaking Steele’s.

  “Dirk, this is Joy,” said Steele.

  Dirk reached out a hand, and Joy shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Joy. Welcome to Wine Valley. Steele tells me you’re new around here.”

  “Pleasure,” said Joy, a bit bewildered. “Very new.”

  Dirk asked Steele, “Have you met Bonnie and Fred?”

  “Now I have. Nice to meet you.” Steele put an arm around Joy’s waist. “Dirk is the best country-western dance teacher in this place, and he is giving us a private lesson—that is, if you’re game?”

  “Now I know why you plied me with whiskey first.” Joy was caught off guard. She didn’t dance, mostly because she had never attended her school dances, where most adults had first experienced dancing, but she did move and sway to music in the privacy of her home, usually in the kitchen as she prepped food. “Bring it on, Steele. I can’t promise your boots will survive the attack, though.”

  Dirk laughed. “Great! Have you danced much?”

  “When I’m wielding a knife in the kitchen,” said Joy.

  Steele added, “Until Max dragged me here, I hadn’t danced either. Not like this. So your boots are in danger too. Although I have had a few lessons from Dirk.”

  Fred laughed. “Hey, folks, we all got dragged in at some point. I swore I’d never get on this floor, and now I can’t get off of it. I’ll catch you guys later.” Fred kissed Bonnie, clearly his wife, on the cheek and walked off.

  “I’m just going to show you the simplest dance, then, the two-step,” said Dirk. “Steele has that one down. Come on.”

  Dirk took them to an area at the very back of the room, where they had privacy. They’d be dancing on carpet, which didn’t seem ideal, but Joy liked the embarrassment-free zone in the back corner. She would have been way too self-conscious on the dance floor and probably would have been a wrecking ball to the couples moving smoothly
around the track.

  Dirk gave them instructions. Clearly Bonnie was his volunteer partner for the lesson. “Face each other. Great.” Dirk took Steele’s right hand and placed it up high on Joy’s back.

  Already Joy lost her focus at Steele’s touch. His bare forearm brushed against her flank and armpit as his fingertips pressed against her scapula.

  “And, Joy, your hand goes here.” Dirk set her left hand on Steele’s right shoulder, but not right on top, more to the side. She could smell his masculine scent and feel his muscular bicep. The unintended signals sent a rush of warmth through her body.

  “And hold hands like this,” said Dirk.

  Steele swept his free hand over Joy’s so that his thumb pressed into the palm of her hand and his fingertips caressed her knuckles.

  Joy sensed that Steele breathed just a little harder and a little faster, as did she.

  Dirk instructed, “Looking good. Now, Joy, Steele will step forward with his left foot, and you’ll step back with your right, then the other foot for four counts. Two quick steps. Two slow steps. Quick. Quick. Slow. Slow. Like this.” Dirk took Bonnie in his arms and danced the two-step in a line beside them. “Quick. Quick. Slow. Slow.” He let Bonnie go. “Now you try.”

  Joy felt Steele’s command over her body. He stepped forward into her, and she stepped back. Quick. Quick. Slow. Slow. It was all Joy could do to move backward and away from Steele, when she much preferred stopping altogether and letting his chest crash into hers. But she enjoyed holding him at a distance and playing cat and mouse.

  Dirk had them try that step a few times before he introduced the next step. “You’re ready for the half turn. Same step. Same count, but you turn, like this.” Dirk swept Bonnie backwards, then gently turned her, swept her back and gently turned her. “Your turn.”

  Steele stepped forward, and Joy stepped back. Quick. Quick. Turn. Turn. Joy now stepped forward and drove Steele back. Quick. Quick. Turn. Turn. Joy wasn’t dizzy from the dancing, but dizzy from being overwhelmed at how her mind struggled to focus while her body fought against the restraints of keeping space between them.