Josie Wilde had a Southern drawl that sounded as if it had been dragged through gravel. She was also no-nonsense and down-to-earth.

“Tell me about your Merlot,” she said, so I did.

When I was done she said, “What is it you want from me?”

“Honestly?” I said. “For you to take us on as clients. Not just because of the problem we’re having with the Merlot, but because we know you’ve helped a lot of other vineyards in the area and we’ve been impressed with your results.”

Quinn poked me in the ribs because I’d said that we had been impressed. He pointed at me and mouthed you. I flapped my hand to shush him and stuck my finger in my ear so I could concentrate on what Josie was saying about the kind of commitment she expected from her clients.

“You’re either all in or you’re not,” she said. “And y’all have got to agree to do what I tell you to do.”

“Absolutely. No problem.”

“And you’ve got to mean it,” she said with emphasis. “That’s the hard part. I usually don’t take on anyone before we’ve had a chance to sit down and meet face-to-face. That usually happens here in Charlottesville in my laboratory. I’m leaving for Jamestown and Williamsburg for a few days, so maybe we could get together after that.”

“Of course,” I said. “Whatever works for you. We’ll be there. Just say when.”

Quinn made another face at me so I stuck out my tongue at him and turned away.

“Can I ask you something else?” I said. “It’s not about our vineyard.”

She hesitated, but then she said, “What is it?”

“Do you remember being in Williamsburg twenty-five years ago at an excavation in the Bruton Parish Church cemetery? You were attempting to determine whether a certain vault existed or not.”

“Whoa.” She sounded stunned. “Where in the world did you find out about that? It’s ancient history.”

“I came across a newspaper photograph taken at the site that day. You were there along with some people from the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation and Bruton Parish Church. Also a man named Prescott Avery.”

“Prescott Avery,” she said in a wondering voice. “He was found murdered in his home the other day.”

“That’s right.”

“I read that his family are all suspects.”

“I’ve read that as well.”

“Did you know Prescott?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Obviously well enough to know he was interested in whether the Bruton Vault existed,” she said. “Just like his father.”

“The Averys are neighbors. I also know about Jock being present at the other excavation.”

“Is that so?” She still sounded amazed. “I’m curious how you came across that photograph and how you know about the Averys’ interest in it.”

“It’s kind of a complicated story.”