Page 70 of Que Será, Syrah

Mule? Once again, my gaze arrows in on Allegra. “Is he drunk?” I demand.

Her face pales. “N-no. That’s not possible. He can’t be.”

“Of course, he’s not drunk,” Elaine snaps. “Charlie hates wine. Never touches the stuff. That’s why I brought him.”

“But…” Legs frowns at Elaine. “He was served? I mean, everyone was. At each stop. The pourers collected the tickets. I made sure of it.”

“Yes, of course. That doesn’t mean he drank them, does it?” Elaine replies. “He got them for me.”

Leg’s eyes widen even more. “You had double the allotment? But that’s completely against the rules! You knew that.”

Elaine shrugs. “Well, there are rules, and there are rules, you know. And well-behaved women rarely make history.”

“I think you mean, ‘scofflaws who admit their crimes in front of an officer are unlikely to make bail,’” a heckler in the crowd calls back.

Elaine shrugs. “I’m not concerned. I know my rights.”

Annoyed with the by-play, I wave Allegra over. “Look,” I tell her. “I think you should go ahead with the tour. You don’t want to keep all these people standing around in the sun any longer than you have to.”

“I know. And I don’t. But I can’t just leave, can I?”

“Yes, you can. In fact, I’m telling you to.”

“But…”

I’ll wait here with the Rogerses until the ambulance arrives. You just concentrate on getting these people off the road and out of the sun. All right?”

“What’ll happen to their bikes,” Legs asks, looking worried. “I’m responsible for them, as well.”

“What’s gonna happen to my wine?” Elaine demands, looking angry. “That’s what I want to know.”

I’m getting close to the end of my rope. “You’re already looking at a possible misdemeanor,” I snap. “So, I suggest you not say anything to further incriminate yourself.” I turn to Legs and add. “I’ll take care of the bikes. I can load them in my truck and drop them off at the shop after I’m finished for the day.”

“Okay,” she sighs, looking sad and defeated; triggering the need to hug her, which I obviously can’t indulge. “I guess that’ll work. Thank you.”

“Hey, c’mon. None of that.” Rising to my feet. I give her shoulder a quick squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay, you know? You’re doing great.”

“You really think so?” she asks, eyes widening in surprise.

I nod firmly. “I do. You got this. Now get the heck out of here.”

“Okay,” she says again. She takes a breath and squares her shoulders. “You’re the boss.” A grateful smile stretches her lips, and I feel my own lips curve in response.

“That’s right,” I tell her, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. “See that you remember that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters softly—for my ears only. “In your dreams, Romeo.”

I’m still smiling when, a few minutes later, the tour group departs, with Legs in the lead again, calling out, “All right, everybody; here we go. It’s time for another song.”

I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me (although, to be honest, I am surprised—and not happily) but dealing with the Rogeres takes up most of the rest of my workday. Then, after finally getting them settled at the hospital, I have to stop at the station and write up my report. Which means that, by the time I finally get to the bike shop, at the end of a very long day, it’s already closed. So, I let my dispatcher know that I probably won’t be in, tomorrow, until sometime after noon. Then I drag my weary ass home.

It’s not that I planned on seeing Legs tonight, but I have been hoping. So, when the knock comes at my door, I think I know what to expect.

“Hey!” I say, smiling in anticipation as I pull the door open. But pleasure turns almost immediately to concern as I catch sight of her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her expression, already stormy, clouds up even more. “Everything. Can I come in?”

“Sure. Of course.” I hold the door open so that she can wheel her bike inside. It’s the same one she was riding earlier; I recognize the wine bottle balloons. “Where’d you ride from anyway? Downtown?”

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