Forty-oneThe senator’s face was grave as the captain of police read a prepared statement to the small crowd gathered in the Symposium meeting room—the members of the organizing committee, some of the local judges, law enforcement, Sir John Russell and himself and a few other local winemakers including the Meadows father and daughter.
Aristide’s chest pinched for his old boss despite the fury that raged within.
They always seem to have a finger in the pie.
Both Ramsden and Candy had the vacant eyes of civilians caught under cannon fire, and Aristide knew what that was like. Ramsden seemed to have aged ten years, from the dapper, energetic organizer with a ready smile to an old man with hollow eyes and haggard cheeks.
Word had spread like wildfire that the wine had been brought into the
