Last of the Vintage

by Kerry J Charles

  “I can imagine,” Nick said. “So who are we down to?”

  Johnson glanced at the list again. “To my thinking, it’s the wife or the ex-boyfriend, that Spratt guy. She was clearly pretty annoyed with him, and the ex clearly wanted her back. Heck, maybe they were in it together and that show the other night was just that: a show.”

  Nick thought back. It was a plausible idea. “Anyone else that could be a possibility?” he asked. “What about Spratt’s uncle?”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Don’t know his relationship with his nephew. Or the deceased,” Johnson said thoughtfully.

  “Then we need to find out,” Nick answered. “One last thing. What about Dulcie’s ex? Think he might have a reason to want Plunkett gone?” Nick suggested.

  “There is the wine connection, but nothing more than that. They’d never met, that I know of. Can’t imagine why Brendan MacArthur would have a beef with Jeremy Plunkett.”

  “Yeah, me neither. But that’s a good thing. The sooner we clear him, the sooner he’s out of here, and that would make both me and Dulcie very happy.”

  “Don’t let it cloud your judgment though,” Johnson reminded his partner. “Especially in your current state.”

  “Agreed. Good point,” Nick replied. “Let’s do this: you make the call when you believe we’ve cleared the Scotsman’s name and tell him he can leave. Deal?”

  “Deal. Although, I gotta admit, he annoys the crap outta me almost as bad as you,” said Johnson.

  Nick laughed. His headache was starting to fade. He thought he could actually inhale slightly through his right nostril. “Hey, I think that stuff is working,” he said.

  “Told ya,” Johnson crowed.

  “In fact, I just had a brilliant thought. Let’s talk to Dulcie’s brother and find out what he knows about Brendan MacArthur. Those two seemed to get along pretty well. Dan might even agree to ask Brendan a few questions for us that might get some different answers from what we’d hear.”

  “Good idea,” Johnson said. “Can’t think why Dan would like him, but then I don’t think Dan dislikes anybody. That kinda guy.”

  “Yeah. Hey, maybe he’s the one who did it. Isn’t it the happy-go-lucky type that always ends up being the axe murderer?” Nick mused.

  “May I remind you that that’s your future brother-in-law you’re talking about?” Johnson said with mock sincerity.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Nick answered. “One day at a time.”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Johnson added.

  Nick pointedly took his partner’s coffee cup away and put it in the sink. He put on his jacket, shoved the container of pills into the pocket, and headed for the door.

  Johnson followed him, grinning.

  #

  Dulcie arrived at work early that morning ready to test the new security system. After the painting had been removed on the previous afternoon, the installation crew had arrived from Boston and worked into the evening, long after the museum had closed. Dulcie had stayed, feeling that she was obligated to oversee the project. She knew that it wasn’t her fault that the painting had gone on display without the required security – after all the exhibit organizers had failed to notify her – but she still felt somewhat responsible for the mix-up.

  Cradling a large mug of coffee in her hands after only four hours of sleep, Dulcie watched as one of the workers on a ladder adjusted a nearly invisible sensor high on the wall, while another stood beside Dulcie with a laptop.

  “Your motion sensors attached to all of the artworks are great. They’ll tell you if a work is being moved and track it in real-time. But they only alert you once something is removed and by then, damage could easily be done. This system detects movement within about three feet of the painting, a range that’s outside of arm’s length.”

  Dulcie nodded. “Is it on right now?” she asked.

  “Yes. We’re trying to get the range right. See Annie adjusting it up there? Each time she does, I can see the range right here,” the technician said as he pointed to the screen. Dulcie saw the wall where the painting would hang and a block of transparent red in front of it. “It’s red because the sensor is picking up the motion, in this case from the sensor itself.” The technician eyed it intently as it inched along in front of the space on the wall. “Okay, good! That’s it!” he called up to the woman above them. She climbed down.

  “That’s fabulous!” Dulcie said. “Does it stay on all the time, or do we turn it on and off?” she asked.

  “You can turn it on and off, but we advise that you just leave it on. The sensor up there is connected to the building’s power supply. As long as you have power, it has power. Of course it also has a back-up battery.”

  Dulcie turned to her head of security standing on the other side of the technician. “Think it’ll work, Andy?” she asked jokingly. He nodded without smiling. Andrew was not known for his sense of humor.

  “Do we need to turn it off when the painting is hung?” Dulcie asked.

  “Not unless you want to. It’s a silent alarm. I’ll go through everything with Andy here so that his team knows the alerts and how to reset it if need be.”

  “Perfect,” Dulcie replied.

  Rachel had just clomped through the main door. She shook the snow from her coat over the rug at the entrance. Glancing up, her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Dulcie.

  “Wow! Did you stay here all night?” she asked.

  “Feels like it,” Dulcie said.

  “Are we ready?” Rachel asked, now stepping out of her boots. She walked in her stockings over to the front desk, reached behind, and pulled out a pair of stylish pumps that she slipped on without looking down.

  “I’ll have to remember those are back there,” Dulcie said, surprised. “Might have to steal them at some point.”

  Rachel sighed. Her boss was so well prepared with everything except her own wardrobe. “I’ve already stashed a pair in your size,” she said. “They’ve been there for a couple of months now,” she added.

  “If only I’d known!” Dulcie lamented.

  “I believe you did,” Rachel replied. “You just forgot. Okay, let me hang up this stuff, then we can get to work. Is our little magpie still downstairs?”

  Dulcie nodded. The Magpie. She wasn’t surprised that extra security was required. While most of the works were extremely important, irreplaceable really, The Magpie was probably the most valuable. Painted by Claude Monet in the winter of 1868-1869 it was an incredible study of snow and light. What made this work so remarkable was that it was one of the first to use colored shadows, something that would become a hallmark of the Impressionists. Monet’s bright sunshine cast blue shadows across the freshly fallen snow. A lone magpie was featured perched to one side. It was a painting that Dulcie had always loved.

  “Alrighty, then,” Rachel continued, emerging from the coatroom. “I’ll see if our brilliant preparators are in yet. Let’s go get that bird!”

  Within an hour they had eased The Magpie back to its previous location. Dulcie looked at her watch. The museum was about to open. Perfect timing. “Thanks everyone! You all did a great job!” She turned to go back to her office and caught sight of Nick outside the door. Johnson loomed behind him.

  Dulcie walked up to the other side of the glass and said, “Sorry! We’re not open yet!”

  Johnson pulled out his badge and flipped it open. Dulcie unlocked the door. “Fine! If you put it like that,” she laughed. “Come in where it’s warm. What can I do for you two today?”

  They followed her to her office and once again distributed snowy articles of outwear on the carpet around her desk.

  “We’ve been making a habit of this,” Nick acknowledged.

  Dulcie looked out the window. The snow was still coming down heavily. “Looks like none of this precipitation is ending anytime soon, either.”

  “Not helping us at all,” Johnson added. “We don’t seem to be getting any kind of tracti
on with this case.”

  “Do you think it’s murder?” Dulcie asked.

  Nick nodded. “Everything points to that. Maybe not first-degree. Doesn’t seem premeditated. But somebody hit the guy for sure, then dragged him to the end of the wharf. Dulcie, could we get a list of people at the opening? And can you let us know which of them went to the wine tasting in the boardroom, too?”

  Dulcie opened her laptop and hit a few keys. “Done,” she said. The printer beside her whirred into action. She handed the list to Nick.

  His eyes widened. “How did you do that?” he asked.

  “I had a feeling you guys would need it. I was here last night so I put it together for you. Here’s the catch, though. Don’t admit to anyone that you got it from me. They’ll realize it anyway, but still…. And please, if you could not contact any of them unless you really have to, I would appreciate it. Some of the highest level donors are on that list and I really don’t want to annoy anybody.”

  Nick scanned through the list, leaning over so that Johnson could see it, too. “Anything pop out at you?” Nick asked.

  “Other than the folks we’ve already talked about? Nope. Nobody new here,” Johnson said. “But here’s a thought. Why don’t I go down to that wine bar where the deceased worked and nose around.”

  “Yeah, that’s a great idea except, do you know anything about wine?” Nick asked. He already knew the answer.

  “Do I need to?” Johnson looked surprised.

  “You might. I have a better idea. Why don’t you go talk to Dan and I’ll go to the wine bar,” Nick suggested.

  “Dan?” Dulcie interjected. “Why are you talking to Dan?”

  Nick and Johnson exchanged glances.

  “Out with it, you two,” she said.

  “Fine,” Nick replied. “We wanted more information on Brendan MacArthur and weren’t sure if you’d be objective.”

  “You don’t trust me to be objective?” Dulcie asked.

  “Sometimes it’s hard to be when you’re in the middle of things,” Johnson said. “The forest for the trees and all that, you know?”

  Dulcie was annoyed but fought to hide it. “I see your point,” was all she could manage to say.

  Nick attempted to steer the subject away. “What’s the name of your friend who owns the wine bar?” he asked.

  “Veronica. Tell her I sent you,” Dulcie said more curtly than she had intended.

  Both men stood and collected their strewn jackets and hats. Nick hesitated. “Thanks Dulcie, I know this has really been a pain for you. You’ve been such a huge help.”

  She nodded.

  “You know we couldn’t do this without you,” Johnson chimed in.

  Now Dulcie laughed. “All right, stop trying to butter me up! Get out, both of you!”

  They clomped to the front door and as they were about to leave, Johnson turned to Dulcie. “Although I might add that none of this would have happened if you hadn’t had that wine tasting thing…”

  “Out! Now!” Dulcie ordered.

  She heard him say something about “…job security for the police force…” as the door closed behind them.

  #

  “Now this is interesting! Wait till you hear!” Johnson announced, sliding into the booth seat opposite Nick.

  Nick looked up from his notepad. He’d been going through his conversation with the wine bar owner. The cold medicine he’d taken earlier was starting to wear off and his headache had come back.

  “Hang on. Lemme get a coffee. You need a refill?” Johnson glanced into Nick’s cup. “Nope, you’re all set.” He left Nick in suspense and chatted with the barista at the counter. Johnson came back with coffee and a sugar-encrusted raspberry scone.

  Biting into the scone, he chewed delicately, making Nick wait even longer. He took a sip of coffee, swallowed, then began again. “So, the station just got a call from an insurance company about the case. They passed it on to me and I just had a nice little chat.” He paused for effect.

  “And?” Nick said. He was used to Johnson’s pauses. Nick reached into his pocket and took out the pills that Johnson had given him earlier. Reading the label carefully, Nick then popped off the lid and took out two more, downing them with his coffee.

  “Hey, told ya those meds were good, didn’t I!” Johnson said, changing the subject.

  “They actually are but I’m still hurting, so get on with it. What’s interesting?”

  You’re gonna love this one!” Johnson said, pausing again.

  “So…” Nick said impatiently.

  “So, our girl Samantha is in line to get a big, fat life insurance payout.”

  “How big?” Nick asked. He flipped over to a new page on his notepad.

  “Half a million.”

  Nick let out a long, low whistle.

  “But there’s a catch,” Johnson added.

  “Isn’t there always?” Nick mused.

  Johnson nodded. “This one’s a doozy. She has to either have children or at least be ‘with child’ as they said.”

  “What if she’s ‘with child’ but miscarries?”

  “No money. That’s part of the catch. She has to actually have the child. And she has to prove who the father is, or was, actually. AND she can’t give the child up for adoption.”

  Nick thought for a moment. His years in law school took over his mind. “If I remember correctly, there are only a couple of stipulations that you can’t put on something like that. You can’t make someone marry or divorce, and you can’t make them change their religion. In court, the child thing would probably hold up.”

  “So it’s valid?” Johnson asked.

  “I’m pretty sure it would be. Plus, insurance companies usually do their research well. They know exactly what works in court and what doesn’t. They don’t like paying out any more money than they have to.”

  “Hmmmm,” Johnson thought aloud, chewing a hefty bite of scone. “So now we need to see if she’s preggars.”

  “Uh, I don’t think that’s the correct…” Nick interrupted.

  “Yeah, yeah. Fine. ‘With child’ then,” Johnson acquiesced. “That’s going to be a tricky one,” he added.

  “That it is,” Nick agreed.

  “Can’t just say to a woman who’s husband was killed, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry about your loss but by the way, are you pregnant?’” Johnson observed.

  “And you sure can’t say, “Was your deceased husband the father?” said Nick. “The insurance company must have put a timeline on this. Something like, ‘No payout will be made until the baby is born and paternity is determined,’ and the mother signs an agreement not to enter the child into an adoption or something like that.”

  “That’d make sense,” Johnson agreed.

  “This is getting interesting,” Nick admitted. “So we need to find out now if she’s pregnant.”

  “’With child’,” Johnson corrected.

  “Whatever,” Nick said. “We’re probably not the right ones to ask that question, but I bet I know who could find out.”

  Johnson nodded in agreement as Nick pulled out his cell phone and called Dulcie.

  Dulcie’s phone rang as she stood in the gallery admiring The Magpie once again. The museum had a strict No Cell Phone policy, so Dulcie quickly made her way back into her office and shut the door. She pulled out the phone. Nick.

  “Hi, Nick!” she answered.

  “Hi, Dulcie. Sorry to bother you again,” the word came out sounding like ‘bodder’.

  “You sound awful!” Dulcie exclaimed.

  “Yeah. Just took more meds. They were wearing off,” he replied.

  “You should go home and go to bed! Or maybe you are already?” she asked.

  “No such luck,” he said.

  “No rest for the weary,” Dulcie added. “What’s up?”

  “We have a little bit of a situation here and we might need some help, but only if you’re comfortable with it,” he began.

  “I’ll do what I can,”
Dulcie replied. The line went silent for a moment. “Nick?” Dulcie questioned.

  “Yeah, sorry. I was listening to Johnson. Here’s what we need. Can you find out of Samantha is pregnant?”

  “What?” Dulcie squeaked.

  “I know, it seems weird but we need to know. And if Johnson and I barge in and ask her, well, let’s just say that’s a scene I don’t want to have to be part of if I can help it,” he admitted.

  Dulcie was uncertain of her role in the whole escapade. “Why do you need to know that?” she asked simply.

  Nick sighed. His sore throat was getting worse by the second. “Can I explain later?” he croaked. “It hurts to talk.”

  “Can you put Johnson on?” Dulcie asked. She heard the two men mumbling. Nick spoke again. “He’ll call you in a second. He said he isn’t going to touch my phone or he’ll get the plague, too.”

  “Sad to say, I think I agree with him,” Dulcie confessed. “Okay, promise me you’ll go home and rest?” she asked.

  “Talk to you later. Thanks Dulcie!” he concluded without promising anything.

  Dulcie ended the call. Within seconds her phone rang again. “He isn’t going home to rest, is he,” she said before Johnson could speak.

  He chuckled. “What do you think?” Johnson heard an exasperated sigh from the other end of the line. “Okay, here’s the scoop, Dulcie. It seems there was a life insurance policy on Jeremy Plunkett. Samantha gets a very large payout, but only if she has children or is at least with child,” he pronounced the last words carefully and looked at Nick. He simply sighed in response, which was difficult as he was breathing entirely through his mouth now.

  “Wow, that’s a doozy!” Dulcie exclaimed. “I assume it’s a lot of money?”

  “Half a mil,” Johnson blurted out.

  “Yup, that’s a lot. So if she’s pregnant, you need to find out if she’d kill her husband to get the money,” Dulcie summed up astutely.