Not sleeping at night, wondering and worrying how we were going to pay the crew. No money to fix the air-conditioning system in the house when it conked out during the hottest August on record. Selling family heirlooms one by one, a slow painful trickle. Buying more time at Blue Ridge Federal not to foreclose on the farm. Trying to keep up a cool, calm, unworried façade when we were just about at rock bottom.

“It won’t happen again.” He kissed me. “I won’t be long. I want to take another look at those vines while there’s still no snow on the ground. We really ought to rip them out and start over. Replant in the spring.”

I wished he hadn’t said that.

“Come on, you know I don’t want to do that. My parents planted those vines almost thirty years ago. They’re the oldest vines we own. They may not have been producing much, but the wine was amazing. Maybe we can regraft them. Or save them somehow.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Can we talk about this another time?”

I had one more idea, but I hadn’t brought it up with him yet. He probably wouldn’t go for it.

“Sure.” He gave in and I was glad we were ending the discussion before it turned into another argument. “I’m going to stop by the barrel room to check on the tanks Antonio was supposed to clean after I’m done in the field. I’ll meet you in the Villa after that.”

I nodded and he dropped another kiss on my hair. “I love you,” he said and then he was gone.

FRANKIE MERCHANT LOOKED UP from behind the long S-shaped bar where she was untangling a string of Christmas lights when I walked into the Villa a moment later. A green plastic storage box with its red lid leaning against it was full of more lights. They, too, looked like a nest of snakes.

“I saw you and Quinn in the parking lot, so I put the kettle on. I could use a cup of tea to warm up and I thought you’d like one, too.”

It was hard to heat the enormous vaulted-ceiling room in winter to a comfortable temperature. A fire in the fireplace took some of the edge off. Behind the bar, the staff used space heaters. But it still got chilly, especially if you spent the afternoon here pouring wine for guests.

“I’d love some tea. Thanks.”

Frankie took off her glasses and used them as a headband to sweep a strand of strawberry-blond hair off her face. “I called the Averys this morning. Got the maid and asked if I could talk to Kellie even though I knew she wasn’t coming in to work,” she said. “She told me what happened yesterday. I didn’t know you and Quinn were the ones who found Prescott.”

I nodded. “How did she sound?”