by Lane Stone
Even though it was off-season all the parking spots in front of the Gate House restaurant were taken. “Do you mind walking a little?” I asked Lady Anthea. We both wore heels but in the safety-first heel height. I wore brown velvet pants with a brown silk blouse with a bow, and three strands of my mother’s pearls hanging in different lengths.
“Not at all,” she said. She had changed from wool slacks to a wool skirt, but kept the cashmere sweater set she’d worn earlier.
We turned left onto Front Street and drove into the public parking lot at 1812 Memorial Park.
“The classes seem to be going great,” I said as we got out of the car and starting walking to the restaurant.
She hmm’d in agreement. “That was nice of you to let Rick tell Chief Turner about finding the legal papers. If we’d learned his father was to inherit his partner’s share, his innocence would be harder to prove, right?”
I nodded. I did want Rick to stay on Chief Turner’s good side.
“I’m still on UK time, so I hope this won’t be a late evening. You’ll just do your snooping about the wine bottle glass chip and then we can go?”
“It’s more than a piece of a broken wine bottle to us. It connects us to our past,” I said. “I know I’m not explaining my feelings very well.”
“Today when you and Rick were talking about people not wanting to have only what they need, I felt like you were referring to Frithsden. With sixteen bedrooms, it’s more than we need—”
“How many bedrooms?” I stopped walking and my mouth hung open. That we hadn’t seen on Google Earth.
“It connects us to our past, also,” she said.
I nodded, managing to start moving again. “But, it seems like there’s more to it than that,” I said. “You feel responsible for it, right?”
“Yes! It may be lost, but not in my generation.” She swished her hands together, like that topic was over and done. “Will there be anyone here that I know? Other than the Fouries?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “We haven’t heard back from Julie so I don’t know whether or not she’ll be up to coming. I hope so.”
“As do I! I’m concerned about the coincidence of her showing up at just this time. Is that what you meant?”
“No, actually I hope she comes because she and David Fourie made such a cute couple,” I said.
Lady Anthea laughed. “Sue, you’re getting sentimental. You do surprise me!”
A sign outside the Gate House said for everyone to enter through the screened-in porch. A line of three couples had formed, waiting to go in. I saw Chief Turner walking down the hill from the opposite direction, and I waved. He was dressed in black pants and a black sweater. I was surprised when he came up to us, nodding hello to the others in line.
Chief Turner fell in behind us. “Want some good news?” he asked.
“Always,” I said.
“You can have your dog food back,” he said.
“Just toss it. It’s not sanitary so I can’t use it. The good news I was hoping for was that you’d arrested someone for Billy B.’s murder.”
He didn’t answer, but then I didn’t expect him to.
“What about Rick’s raw dog food? Was it everything I promised?” I asked.
“And more,” he said.
Once we were inside the porch, I saw the reason for the bottleneck of waiting guests. The Fouries made up a receiving line of two. Lewes is more of a when can we start drinking place. We progressed forward in baby steps, making eye contact with one another, sharing tolerant grins. Howard and David both wore dark suits and white shirts. Two servers waited with free booze on the other side of our hosts. One held a tray with glasses of Negroni. The other grissini, an elegant though hardly substantial appetizer. The stiff host handshake, times two, was followed by dismissal. An easily jumped turnstile at an Elvis concert was the most apt image of the way my fellow citizens acted when they realized they had regained their freedom and that expensive-to-someone-else alcohol awaited. I would be right there with them when my time came.
When I was close enough to smell the cocktails, I began eavesdropping in earnest. David Fourie’s speech again sounded like the instructions to a board game, say Monopoly or Operation, peppered with pseudo-professional-sounding phrases. “We’re one hundred percent now,” he said to a boutique owner.
“Lady Anthea!” Howard said, with unnecessary volume. She submitted to his two-hand grasp and smiled graciously.
“Ariadne is doing splendidly in both classes,” she said, as she moved forward to his son. To him she said, “She’s a beautiful dog.”
“Just delighted your visit to Lewes coincided with this evening,” the young man said.
“Thanks for inviting us,” was my pithy comment to the father, followed up with something clever about the relationship between our nice weather and their decision to use the porch to the son.
Lady Anthea snatched a glass and we went in to the Gate House dining room. I smiled as I remembered the last time she drank while jet lagged.
White linen tablecloths, black napkins, lit candles, and shining silver adorned the tables that lined the walls of the small room.
I spied the mayor and we went over to talk to her. “Very nice, isn’t it?”
Betsy Rivard was our new mayor, but we’d been friends and her Miniature Poodle, Paris, and Scottie mix, Riley, had been regulars at Buckingham’s since our opening. Lady Anthea had met her during her last visit.
“Oh, hi, Sue. Welcome back, Lady Anthea.” She leaned in to air-kiss my cheek and then Anthea’s. “Yes, they went all out.”
“Did the city choose the Fouries for the commemoration event because they’re from South Africa?” I asked.
Confusion showed on her face. “No, we had an open bidding process. Why do you ask?”
“Since the wine bottle from the shipwreck came from a South African winery I thought that might have had something to do with the decision to…” I let my voice trail off, hoping she would pick up. I’d already said more than I knew or even thought.
“Their bid came in like the others. Just a coincidence, I guess.” She was looking around the room, in true politician style.
“Does the Groot Constantia Winery have any claim to our artifact?” I asked.
“They’ve never asked for it back. Just the opposite. This will be the second celebration since it was found in 2004. Back then we brought someone from the Groot Constantia Estate here to celebrate the discovery.” She paused and looked around again. I stole a glance at Lady Anthea, wondering if she was also picking up on Mayor Rivard’s discomfort. The room had filled with people. Betsy leaned forward and whispered. “David Fourie asked to have it loaned to a museum in South Africa. He wants a decision before they leave on Friday. The Mayor–City Council hearing is tomorrow morning.” Her eyes bored into mine. “Sue, be there for the public comment part.” She straightened and walked off.
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” John asked over my shoulder.
I looked around to see what else was on offer. “One of their specialty drinks is a lemon ginger martini.” He made a face at my choice, but turned to go to the bar anyway.
“That’s nice of him,” Lady Anthea said.
“You champion him when it comes to me, but when it comes to his case work, not so much,” I observed.
She smiled and took a sip of her drink, but he was back too soon for her to say any more. He handed me the cocktail and I smiled in thanks. “It’s been a long day.”
The room was small and we three stood close to talk. “I’m starting to wonder if David has as hard a time with his father’s dog’s name as everyone else does,” I said.
“It’s not a difficult name,” Lady Anthea said. “It’s from Ariadne auf Naxos, which is a serious opera within a comic opera.” She drained her wineglass.
“I know less
than nothing about opera,” John said, laughing.
“I know that when Elvis was in the army in Germany he heard a song written to the melody of ‘O Sole Mio,’ and liked it so much he recorded ‘It’s Now or Never’ to the same tune. That’s pretty much the beginning and end of my knowledge of opera,” I said.
“What’s in this?” Lady Anthea asked, holding the empty glass in an accusing way.
“It’s a Negroni cocktail. It’s gin, vermouth, and Campari,” I answered.
“Oh, but there’s something as interesting as opera you do know, Sue.” She may have said Shoo. “You know that Billy B.’s heirs will inherit half ownership of Mozart’s.”
“Okaaay,” I said. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
John’s eyebrows shot up when she said this. “When were you going to tell me?”
I ignored him and kept Lady Anthea motoring toward the door. She had forgotten Rick was going to tell Chief Turner what we’d learned.
“It’s bad enough you told me you had to work when I asked you to go with me to dinner, but you’re withholding information from me. Again!”
“Julie!” David Fourie called out. Those of us in the vicinity felt the temperature in the room rise with all the warmth in his voice. At least that’s the way it happened in my head.
As I turned to the doorway where David stood, someone standing by the bar caught my eye. Howard Fourie was scowling, his nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a tight line.
Julie Berger took David’s hand and came in from the porch. She wore a simple, perfectly fitting black dress and heels.
Howard Fourie clinked his glass with a knife and we all looked his way. By then he had relaxed his face to neutral. He welcomed the crowd of twenty and asked us to be seated. Dinner was served.
Chapter 22
Only the real dinner would have to wait. The Gate House signature appetizers of truffle fries and fried brussels sprouts were on the tables, and waiters came around with napkin-wrapped bottles of white and red wine. Lady Anthea had recovered well enough without the help of bracing fresh air and we sat down. At the last moment she made a sprightly little shift to the chair opposite mine and voila, there was room for John to sit next to me. The choreographed move told me she was just fine. Mayor Rivard and Valerie Westlake sat at the next table.
Lady Anthea complimented Valerie on how well Smoochie was doing in the class. This was either because the dog was indeed mastering tricks after just one lesson, which was unlikely, or because she wanted to turn away and leave me no choice but to talk to John. My money was on the latter, and I obliged and turned to talk to him. It was the least I could do after the awesome job she did keeping her feelings about the name Smoochie out of her voice. From my vantage point I had seen her nose wrinkle, but only a little.
“Did you get Billy B.’s safe open?” I asked him.
“Yeah, the contents that seemed relevant to the investigation are in our evidence locker. I’ll go back and look through it later tonight.”
“Can I look at it with you?”
“Why? You already found out what we needed to know. Martin doesn’t automatically inherit Billy B.’s share of the business.”
I had my reasons for not wanting to answer him about what I would be looking for, so when Valerie spoke, I turned my head to join that conversation. “I don’t know when I’ll have an elegant meal out like this again. I’d better enjoy it now!” She spooned a few fries and brussels sprouts onto her plate.
“The divorce settlement talks aren’t going well?” Mayor Rivard asked, helping herself to the hors d’oeuvres. “I thought everything was working out.”
“I did, too. Sandy gave me this bull story about how he was going to be coming into a ton of money. Now he says that’s not going to happen.” Fair or not, it was hard to see her and not think of Wags’s reaction to her husband. Then her angry tone reminded me of her message for Rick.
“Valerie, what did you mean today about Martin and Sandy’s scheme?” I asked.
“They wanted to use Smoochie for breeding.”
“Backyard breeding?” I asked. Lady Anthea’s head jerked up and I looked across to her. “You must think the same as I do on that topic.”
“I’m extremely opposed to it. It’s highly irresponsible,” Lady Anthea said.
Valerie was nodding furiously. “Sue, I read your newsletter article about it so I knew how you felt.”
“Was that his plan?” Betsy asked. “Doesn’t sound like much money in that.”
“No, it was something else, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
“Did he tell you about our Monday morning trip to the Harbor of Refuuuu? Ow.” John had stepped on my toes under the table, but when I looked at him his face was sweet as a puppy’s. “You’re off duty. I’m not,” I whispered. I turned back to get Valerie’s answer. “Ow!” That toe-trodding had come from in front of me. If there had been the slightest doubt who the trodder was, the look on Lady Anthea’s face told me she was the guilty party.
“Betsy, I’m anxious to see some of the artifacts recovered from the Severn,” Lady Anthea said.
I had taken a sip of wine and spit it across the table. Later, when we were doing our serious sitting and talking, we’d definitely be discussing this sudden uptick of interest. John was leaning over with a napkin blotting at the tablecloth. Then he dabbed my chin. I took the opportunity to whisper to him, “You and she refer to the main piece of our collection as just the bottom of a broken wine bottle. Both of you laughed at us. Now she’s anxious to see our artifacts?” I drew out the last word the way they did.
My phone rang and I reached for it and stood. “I’m going outside to answer this—if I can still walk.” I could see from the screen that this was a call I wanted to take.
I had made time during the afternoon to learn what I could about Wags. Martin Ziegler wanted him and I was curious to find out why. Now a friend who worked at the American Kennel Club and was also a freelance writer was calling me back. Hopefully he’d had more success than I had. I sat at a table on the porch. The temperature had turned chilly but the winter ocean air was delicious.
Kyle O’Malley was his usual New Yorker hipster self trying to conceal enthusiasm for anything. “Sue.” It was a statement.
“Kyle.” Then I laughed.
“Promise I can write a story about this. Only me.”
“There’s something to write about?” I couldn’t even try the droll, no-enthusiasm thing after the hope I felt starting. I heard the tinkle of cutlery on a wine stem from inside the restaurant. Then Howard Fourie made a lame joke about his South African accent.
“He won at Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show,” Kyle said.
Now Fourie was introducing Mayor Rivard.
“You mean Best of Breed?” I asked.
“I mean Best in Show. He was America’s Dog.”
I heard laughter, the polite kind meant for dinner parties, not the real something was funny kind, and could make out the mayor’s feminine laugh contrasting with Howard Fourie’s full-throated guffaw.
“Sure, you can write about him.”
“Not so much about the dog,” Kyle said. “I’m interested in his previous owner.”
Valerie’s voice drifted out, but not loud enough for me to make out any words. Then I thought about what she’d said. I imagined model train cars clicking together. Captain Sandy Westlake and Martin Ziegler had planned to use Wags for breeding. After all, if Westlake wanted to breed Smoochie, why not try to breed Wags also? Then another click. I thought about Wags’s fearful reaction to the man. Captain Sandy had taken Wags to the lighthouse and left him there. Did this mean the timing of the trip out to the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse to get him was a coincidence? It had been all about the dog? Chief Turner and I hadn’t been lured away from Lewes. The dog abandoned on the lighthouse had nothing to do with Billy B.�
�s murder. But I hadn’t been the only one speculating that the dog abandoned on the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse had something to do with the murder. Hadn’t Chief Turner said, over and over, something about law enforcement professionals not believing in coincidences? The boat pilot had seen the dog and alerted the authorities and that was all I knew for sure.
“Sue?” This time it was a question.
“Sorry. She was an opera singer, right?”
“She was one of the most famous German opera singers of the last century,” Kyle said.
Something was in front of me and I couldn’t see. I almost screamed but I caught myself when I realized it was John wrapping his sweater around my shoulders.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I nodded. Then I thanked Kyle and told him goodnight. I looked up at John. “Let’s talk.”
He pulled the chair next to mine closer and sat. In the background, Howard Fourie was introducing his son with humble bragging. It had something to do with UNESCO and I figured Lady Anthea could fill me in later.
I told John what I’d learned about Wags’s illustrious backstory. He leaned back and stretched his long legs. Then he just looked at me.
“Well? Aren’t you surprised?” I asked.
“At what? I don’t get why anyone would want a dog, much less steal to get one.”
I rolled my eyes and blew out a puff of air in exasperation. “Wags is famous. And he’s living in Lewes under an assumed name.”
John moaned and ran his hand over his short hair. “What?”
“How many people, other than Lady Anthea, would think of Wagner, when they heard Wags?” I asked.
“You realize you’re saying that Billy B. gave his dog an alias that hid his identity as America’s Dog.”
“Who else? It’s not like the Pug went around town saying, ‘Call me Wags.’” I started laughing.
“Maybe he had business cards printed up,” John said. Then we were both laughing. “This only interests me because it might be a motive for Martin Ziegler to kill his business partner. And that’s highly unlikely. What is likely is that Martin killed Billy B. either in anger over the theft of the car or to get his share of the business.”
