The Villa

men always had sex on the brain. Just because he and Margaret got along, had gone out once or twice, didn't mean—
    He shifted his thoughts when a man answered on the third ring. "I'm trying to reach Margaret Bowers."
    "Who's calling?"
    "Tyler MacMillan."
    "Mr. MacMillan." There was the briefest pause. "This is Detective Claremont."
    "Claremont? Sorry, I must've dialed the wrong number."
    "No, you didn't. I'm in Ms. Bowers's apartment. She's dead."

 
    PART THREE
    The Blooming
    Flowers are lovely; love is flower-like;
    Friendship is a sheltering tree.
     
    —SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
    ~•~

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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    March roared across the valley on a raw and galloping wind. It hardened the ground and rattled the naked fingers of the vines. The dawn mists had a bite that chewed through the bones. There would be worries about damage and loss until the true warmth of spring arrived.
    There would be worries about many things.
    Sophia stopped at the vineyards first, and was disappointed that Tyler wasn't stalking down the rows examining the canes for early growth. She knew the disking phase was about to begin, weather permitting. Men with disk harrows would pulverize and aerate the soil, breaking up the crusted earth, turning the mustard plants and their nitrogen into the ground.
    For the vintner, the quiet of February blew into the busy and critical month of March.
    Winter, a fickle white witch, held the valley. And gave those who lived there too much time to think.
    He'd be brooding, of course. Sitting up in his office, she imagined as she changed directions for the house. Going over his charts and logs and records. Making some notes in his vintner's journal. But brooding all the same.
    Time to put a stop to it.
    She started to knock on the door. No, she decided, when you knocked it was too easy to be told to go away. Instead she opened the door, pulling off her jacket as she stepped inside.
    "Ty?" She tossed the jacket over the newel post and, following instinct, headed for his office.
    "I've got work to do here." He didn't bother to look up.
    Until moments before he'd been at the window. He'd seen her walking through the rows, changing her angle to aim for the house. He'd even thought about going down and locking the door. But it had seemed both petty and useless.
    He'd known her too long to believe a lock would keep her out.
    She sat across from his desk, leaned back and waited until the silence irked him enough to speak. "What?"
    "You look like hell."
    "Thanks."
    "No word from the police yet?"
    "You're just as likely to hear as I am."
    True enough, she mused. And the wait was making her edgy. It had been nearly a week since Margaret's body had been found. On the floor by a table set for two, with an untouched steak on the platter, candles guttered out and an empty bottle of Merlot.
    It was that, she knew, that continued to prey on Tyler's mind. The other place had been set for him.
    "I spoke with her parents today. They're going to take her back to Columbus for the funeral. It's hard for them. For you."
    "If I hadn't canceled—"
    "You don't know if it would have made any difference or not." She got up to go to him. Standing behind him, she began to rub his shoulders. "If she had a heart condition no one knew about, she could have become ill anytime."
    "If I'd been there—"
    "If. Maybe." Feeling for him, she brushed a kiss on the top of his head. "Take it from me, those two words will make you crazy."
    "She was too young for a goddamn heart attack. And don't give me the line of statistics. The cops are looking into it, and not passing on information. That means something."
    "All it means right now is that it was an unattended death, and that she was connected, through Giambelli, to my father. It's just routine, Ty. Until we know differently, it's just routine."
    "You said she had feelings for me."
    If she could go back, Sophia decided, she'd bite off her tongue before uttering that single, careless remark. "I was just razzing you."
    "No, you weren't." Giving up, he closed his vintner's log. "You know what they say about hindsight. I didn't see it. She didn't interest me that way, so I didn't want to see it."
    "That's not your fault, and picking at that isn't helping anything. I'm sorry this happened. I liked her." Without thinking, she hooked her arms around his shoulders, rested her cheek on his head.
    "So did I."
    "Come downstairs. I'll fix soup."
    "Why?"
    "Because it'll give us both something