Cold Wind - C. J. Box [69]
“It is good,” Missy said from the other end of the table. Her face beamed, and she seemed oddly relaxed. Marybeth obviously thought the same thing, and she had trouble hiding her agitation.
“Fresh grouse,” Hand said, “is like fine wine. You can taste the pine nuts and the sage they eat in the meat itself, as if master chefs infused it. Few culinary artists in the world can come close to replicating the savory flavor of freshly roasted grouse no matter how many fancy sauces they cover the fowl with, or what they stuff it with.”
“All these years,” Missy said, talking softly and directly to Hand as if Joe and Marybeth weren’t in the room, “I didn’t know how wonderful these birds could be. There they were, just flying around the place. I didn’t even know they were grouse. I thought they were just fat little birds.”
Hand laughed and shook his woolly head. He was charmed by her, or doing a very good impression of it.
“It’s like this dining room,” Missy said. “Earl never wanted to eat in here. He said it was too dark and he never liked to linger over fine food and wine. To Earl, food was just fuel. But it’s lovely, isn’t it? A lovely room to eat wonderful fresh grouse in.”
“Mom,” Marybeth said sharply, “are you okay?”
“I’m wonderful, honey,” Missy said, inflecting a slight Southern accent Joe had never heard before. He noted how the lilt made Hand smile in appreciation, as if she’d triggered something from his youth just the two of them understood.
Joe felt his scalp crawl. She was flirting with him.
“Marcus shot them,” Missy said. “He brought them to me this afternoon and said they would be as magnificent as they turned out to be.”
“I find upland shooting relaxing,” Hand said, still looking at Missy. “I take my Purdey side-by-side shotgun with me everywhere I go, just in case. Hunting and shooting helps me clear my mind and focus only on the things that matter.”
Missy turned her head slightly to hide her blush and her smile.
Joe said, “Grouse season doesn’t open for two weeks.”
“Excuse me?” Hand said.
“You’re poaching.”
It was suddenly very silent in the room. In his peripheral vision, Joe could see José Maria step backwards from Missy’s side into a dark corner.
“Those are my birds,” Missy said. “They’re on my ranch.”
“Nope,” Joe said. “They’re wild and managed by the state.”
“I didn’t realize we lived in Communist China,” Missy said.
Joe shrugged.
“Marybeth,” Missy said, an edge in her voice, “your husband is a kill-buzz.”
“That would be ‘buzzkill,’ ” Joe corrected. To Hand, he said, “I’ll drop off the citation later. Don’t worry. You can afford the fine.”
Marcus Hand grinned at Joe, but his eyes couldn’t completely hide his anger and resentment.
The rest of dinner proceeded awkwardly. Joe pretended not to notice. The grouse was delicious. Marybeth and Missy filled the vacuum with small talk about the girls, the library, the weather. Anything but the case.
Marcus Hand studied his wineglasses and filled them often. Joe could hear the rest of Hand’s Jackson Hole legal team in the small dining area beyond the door. He thought there must be six or seven people eating dinner in the other room, like the kids’ table at Thanksgiving. He doubted they were being treated to grouse.
As José Maria brought out small dishes of vanilla ice cream with bourbon sauce, Joe turned to Missy.
“How involved were you with The Earl’s wind project?”
Missy’s smile turned hard. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s one of the biggest in the state and it cost tens of millions to build,” Joe said. “It’s not like a new corral. I’m sure it was discussed.”
“What about it?” she asked, looking down the length of the table for her lawyer to step in. Since he was wrapped up with opening another bottle of rare red wine he’d found in the cellar, he didn’t respond. Neither did Marybeth.
“You asked me to help investigate