Sour Grapes

hours ago, the estate had been bustling with activity. Now it seemed almost ghostly in its tranquillity. Apparently, everyone was asleep, except her.
    The realization made Savannah bitter. Damned job, anyway. She should have pursued her childhood dream— becoming a caged go-go dancer in white boots and a leopard minidress.
    But another look out the window told Savannah that she was not the only one awake after all. Right ahead, at the edge of the vineyard, she saw someone walking among the rows, a person whose white hair glimmered in the moonshine.
    Why was Anthony Villa wandering in his own vineyard so late at night? she wondered. So far, she had dealt solely with Catherine, as the lady had requested. But her curiosity was piqued by this man who wanted to be a state senator, yet hated speaking to a crowd. A man who wandered his land, alone in the moonlight.
    Quietly, so that she wouldn’t wake Atlanta, she slipped off her pajama bottoms and donned a pair of jeans. After pulling a sweater on over her top, she stood, looking down at her Beretta in its holster. Her system rebelled against the thought of strapping it on again... but...
    She took the pistol out of the leather, tucked it in the rear waistband of her jeans, and tiptoed out of the room.

    Anthony Villa didn’t see Savannah until she was only a few yards from him. But he didn’t seem surprised that she, too, was walking the grounds.
    “Good evening, Ms. Reid,” he said as she approached. “Fancy meeting you out here. Are you making your rounds or something official like that?”
    “No, actually, I’m suffering from insomnia,” she replied. “And you?”
    He grinned sheepishly, like a kid caught running around the house at night when he was supposed to be in bed. In his jeans and UCLA sweatshirt, he looked quite different from the formal host she had observed at the luncheon or the judge in a tuxedo, who had been evaluating the pageant beauties in their gowns that evening.
    “Would you believe,” he said, “I’m conversing with the vines?”
    She smiled. “And are they good listeners?”
    “The best. They hear every word I say, but they never give me unwanted advice.” He laughed. “I used to sing opera to them, but it made the wine sour, so I’ve settled for moonlight heart-to-hearts.”
    Savannah nodded thoughtfully as she studied the vines with their clusters of plump berries. “They don’t listen so good in the daytime?”
    “Sure, they’re here for me anytime. The problem is: I’m so busy these days that I don’t have time to come out and commune like I used to.”
    “That’s a shame.”
    “You’ve no idea.” He reached down, picked up a wayward vine, and gently coaxed it upward, twining it around the trellis. “These vines are dear old friends. My grandfather planted them himself, long before I was born. These particular ones are nearly seventy years old.”
    “I had no idea they would produce so long.”
    They will if you take very good care of them. I’m afraid that if I win the senate seat, I won’t have the time I need to nurture... Well, you don’t want to hear my problems, Ms. Reid, when you have troubles of your own right now.”
    Savannah ran her fingers along a vine and could almost feel the vitality flowing through it. She placed her hand under one of the clusters and was surprised how heavy it was. The dew-damp grapes felt cool and smooth against her fingers.
    They’re starting to get ripe,” he said. “Pretty soon we’ll have to spread the nets over them to keep the birds away.”
    He knelt in the dirt and fingered a dark tube that lay half-buried in the soil. Those damned coyotes,” he said. They’re chewing through my irrigation lines again. They’ve discovered it’s a great place to get a fresh drink of water. They eat the grapes, too. So do the deer and the raccoons. Half of this business is keeping the varmints in check. But then, you know all about varmint control.” “ Yes, I’m afraid I do. But my varmints have two legs, and they aren’t nearly so cute.” She cleared her throat and changed the subject. ‘Your wife is very concerned,” she said, “that my... problem... will become your problem, with the bad publicity and all.”
    He nodded and smiled, a tender expression on his face. “Ah, my Catie. She’s always worrying about something. She’s good at a lot of things, but worrying is what she’s best at.”
    “She’s very supportive of your campaign.”
    “Catherine is my