Gustolfâs very finest wine in honor of JeskyaâJess-i-caâhah! I say it! Jess-i-ca Star-buck and her friend. Sonia! The good wine, and make sure the glasses are all clean!â
Ki decided Gustolf was a lusty old man indeed. The deep lines in his face said he couldnât be a day under seventy, yet the girl he introduced as his daughter was a slender, dark-eyed beauty no more than nineteen or twenty. Her skin was pale olive and honey, so fresh and smooth that it seemed to glow. She greeted her fatherâs guests shyly, then ducked her face under a riot of thick black hair and hurried about her business.
âSo.â Gustolf raised his glass to Ki and Jessie. âI drink to the Star-buck name, lady.â He downed the drink quickly and wet his lips. I . . . read about your father.â He looked at the table and shook his head. âIt is bad. I am sorry. He was a good man, and we owe him much here.â
âThank you,â said Jessie. âI appreciate your thoughts.â The wine was sharp but slightly sweet. It left a delicate, fruity taste on her lips. The wine, the dusty amber bottle, and old Gustolf himself blended easily into the somber, Old World mood of the cottage. The few pieces of furniture present were dark and massive, heavily carved with thick leaves and twisted vines. Faded icons of painted and gold-leafed wood with candles mounted beneath them hung about the walls, along with a pair of crossed, crescent-shaped blades that Jessie sensed were far older than anything else in the house. In spite of the sultry summer evening, a fire was crackling in the big stone fireplace. And, to add to the unwanted heat, Sonia was cooking over an enormous black and silver stove that filled one whole side of the room. It was clearly a family treasure, one that had been shined and polished through several generations.
âGustolf...â Jessie leaned toward the old man over the table. âWe came out here because we heard you were having some problems. If thereâs anything we can do to help . . .â
âWhat?â Gustolf came suddenly alert. âWhat problems, lady? I do not understand this. What have you heard about my village that I have not?â
âI donât really know,â said Jessie. âI was hoping you could tell us that.â The look in Gustolfâs eye told her this was definitely not the time to bring up Tom Bridger, and what had happened to him. Gustolf would have known Tom if he knew anybody in Roster, and if he hadnât yet heard about the murder, she figured it could wait. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Sonia had stopped work to listen over her fatherâs shoulder.
âWhat weâve heard,â Jessie went on, âis that youâve got things going real well here and have a good crop coming inâbut that you and your people were thinking about selling out now and moving on somewhere else. I donât understand that.â
Gustolf looked down at his stubby hands. âI . . . have shame, Miss Jessica. You think we are not grateful for what you have done, yes? I do not blame you for this.â
âOh, please . . .â The old man looked so pained that Jessie reached out instinctively and took his hands. âLook, I donât set myself up to judge what you or anyone else wants to do with what they have. I donât figure thatâs any of my business. If somethingâs wrong here, though, maybe it does concern me. I guess what Iâm asking is why the sudden interest in selling something that looks like itâs working out so well? Iââ
âAh, business!â Gustolf made a face, pulled himself up quickly, and held out his palms. âIt is bad luck to talk business on an empty stomach.â He forced a broad grin and filled the glasses again. âYou stay and have supper. Then we talk. All right?â
âFather . . .â Sonia turned on him, her dark eyes curiously