Dandelion Dead

by Chrystle Fiedler

  He took my arm and we stepped outside the room. “I’m afraid I can’t be of much help, honey. David is a bit of a charmer, though. He likes women and they seem to like him. As for Amy, she seemed sweet, exactly the opposite of Ivy, who was just awful to her, and all the employees here. She’s actually not very nice to me either.”

  “I don’t like to hear that. You’re so wonderful, Uncle Nick.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart, you’re incredibly biased, and I love it.” He smiled at me. “But I’d better get started. Be careful, okay? Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  He gave me a bear hug and went inside.

  I walked over to Simon, who had just ended his call. “What did Nick have to say?”

  “That David is charming and Amy was nice, and he loves me.”

  “That’s all true.”

  “I know.”

  Suddenly, we heard screaming from the kitchen. Moments later a red-faced Gerald Parker, the assistant winemaker, stormed out into the atrium, followed by David, who screamed, “Go ahead and quit, we’re not changing the label!” David spotted Simon. “Tell him, Simon. He wants credit on the label for Falling Leaves. I told him he’s nuts and we’re not doing it! It’s just not done! It’s a Pure vintage, not a Gerald Parker vintage!”

  Gerald didn’t reply, just headed for the tasting room.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Simon said. “Why don’t you have a drink, David, try to calm down, buddy.”

  Quickly, I checked my watch and said softly, “Simon, it’s not even one o’clock.”

  Under his breath Simon said, “Willow, he doesn’t have a problem.” Simon walked over to the bar, went around, grabbed a Corona, stuck a lime in the top, and handed it to David. “I’ll go talk to Gerald.”

  I tagged behind Simon, and we found Gerald out back in the barn, stocking more bottles of Falling Leaves, but at the opposite end of the building from the forklift and the police scene. “What do you two want?” He shoved another bottle in, the scowl back on his face.

  “You two need to cool it,” Simon said. “You work well together as a team, but when you pressure him for credit, things go sideways.”

  “That’s how you store wine, Simon.” Gerald shoved another bottle of wine into the wine rack. “It’s all Sideways, just like the movie.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, wondering if his life mirrored, even if only in his mind, the events of the film.

  “Nothing.”

  “How about if we give you a raise?” Simon said. “Let me see what we can do.”

  “I don’t know.” Clunk, another bottle went into the wine rack. Clunk, clunk, two more. “I have to think about it. I may need to make a change.”

  “What kind of change?” Simon said.

  “Don’t know.” Gerald pushed two more bottles into the rack.

  Simon stared at him for a few moments. “I know you’re upset about David taking credit, but you wouldn’t do something stupid, would you? Like trying to knock him off?”

  “What? No, that would be crazy.” Gerald shoved another bottle into the rack. “No, I wouldn’t hurt him, but it makes me nuts that someone tried to get at him and killed Amy instead.”

  chapter seven

  When I arrived back at Nature’s Way, a police car was in front. I parked in the back and took a few deep breaths to center myself before I went inside. When I did, I found a frantic Wallace Bryan, who told me that Detective Koren and Detective Coyle were in my office interviewing his niece, Lily.

  “What’s going on?” I said, looking at Lily, who sat slumped on the couch, crying. The coffee table was littered with used tissues. “What are you doing here, Lily?”

  “I came to get my check,” she said, sniffling. Wallace went over and put his arm around his niece.

  “Are you harassing her?” I pulled out my phone. “I’m calling a lawyer.”

  “It seems that your employee had a relationship with David Farmer.” Detective Koren tapped his pen on his notebook.

  “That can’t be true.” Wallace looked at Lily. “Lily?”

  But Lily just grabbed a few tissues from the box on the table and blotted her tears.

  “Who told you that?” I said.

  “Let’s just say it was someone close to the source.”

  Immediately, I thought about what Simon had told Jackson and me—namely that Detective Coyle had interviewed Ivy about the accident. I was sure they had discussed other topics as well, maybe even David’s wandering eye.

  “Ivy.”

  Detective Coyle blanched. “What? How did you know that?”

  “Shut up, Coyle,” Detective Koren said.

  “And you believe her?” I wasn’t going to confirm or deny the rumor.

  “We do.” Detective Coyle smirked. “It seems that it started when Lily was working on that event you had over the weekend. Yeah, she got real chummy with David.”

  “It’s over now.” Lily turned to Wallace. “I know it wasn’t the right thing to do, to get involved with a married man—I just got caught up in it.”

  “I’m sure it was David Farmer’s fault,” Wallace said, squeezing her hand. “He seems like a very charismatic man.”

  “Regardless,” Detective Koren said. “Someone tried to kill David Farmer, and your niece prepared the appetizer that he almost consumed but instead offered to Amy.”

  “And there’s more,” Detective Coyle said. “The tox screen is in. . . .”

  “Correct,” Detective Koren said, taking over. “Amy Lord died from poison hemlock. That’s the same poison that killed Socrates in 399 BC.”

  “Right, that ancient guy.”

  “Coyle, you’re not helping.” Detective Koren gave him a disdainful look. “Symptoms from the poison typically appear twenty minutes to three hours after ingestion. And from the time frame we’ve constructed, Amy Lord was dead about half an hour after she ate the scallop appetizer.”

  I thought about this for a minute. “Whoever did it must have topped the dandelion greens with chopped-up hemlock. In fact, hemlock is known as poison parsley. Anyone looking at the plate wouldn’t notice the difference.”

  “So anyone could have done it,” Lily said, drying her eyes.

  “Yes,” I said. “Anyone at all.”

  “That may be so, Ms. Bryan, but we’d still like you to come down to the station for further questioning,” Detective Koren said. “You were involved with David until he ended it, so you do have motive, and you can’t account for your movements this morning either, when the second attempt took place.”

  “I took a long walk on the beach this morning with my dogs. I wasn’t at Pure, and I didn’t try to kill David either time! I love him!”

  I blew past her outburst. “Simon Lewis said he didn’t see her at Pure today. You can check with him.”

  “Oh, we will,” Detective Coyle said.

  “Lily didn’t do this,” I said. “There are plenty of other reasonable suspects, like Gerald Parker, for one. Just this morning he and David had a big fight over who should get credit for their entry in the Wine Lovers magazine contest. Not to mention his father and brother or any of the rival vineyards. The list of suspects is long, Detectives.” I left out David’s lover Carla Olsen, since that would reinforce Lily’s motive.

  “That may be true, but right now, Lily here has a means, motive, and opportunity, the trifecta,” Detective Koren said. “She’s coming with us.”

  Lily wiped her eyes and stood, a resolute look on her face. “Let’s go.”

  “You’re not going to interview my niece without a lawyer,” Wallace said.

  I pulled out my phone and began to punch in numbers. “I know exactly who to call.”

  • • •

  Simon immediately got in touch with Shawn Thompson, a Harvard-educated, top-notch criminal attorney who practiced in New York and had helped us when Jackson had been falsely arrested a year and a half ago. Since Simon was such a good client of the firm’s, Thompson cleared his schedule
, hopped on a helicopter, and headed east to represent Lily Bryan. He’d arrived around three o’clock and had immediately gone to the Greenport jail, and Lily had been released a few hours later. But we weren’t sure what was going to happen next.

  A few hours later, Jackson and I met Simon in Mitchell Park for the first East End wine auction. Although wine auctions were common in, say, Napa and New York City, and wine was also often sold online to enthusiastic buyers, this was our first one and would benefit East End Community Veterinary Care, a new program to help the pets of low-income residents and the animals in shelters. The three of us agreed to go because Simon had his eye on an expensive bottle of wine, and to continue our investigation, since many of our suspects such as various vineyard owners would be there.

  The air was cool and crisp as Mitchell Park began to fill up with people who savored local wines, including collectors and sommeliers. The setting was the green crescent of land down stone steps and just beyond the merry-go-round, with a view of the marina and Peconic Bay.

  The organizers had placed folding chairs facing the podium, while next to it was a large table with bottles of fine wine on top of a crisp white tablecloth. A sound system pumped in classical music.

  Derek Mortimer of St. Ives Estate Vineyards, Harrison Jones of the Wave Crest Vineyard, and Camille and Carter Crocker of Crocker Cellars sat down in front and opened their programs. The Crockers were relatively new members of the East End wine community, but had already won several regional awards and were widely considered a close second to Pure in quality.

  Before the bidding began, we grabbed three seats down in front on the right, and I filled Jackson and Simon in on the police’s visit to Nature’s Way to see Lily. “She was really upset. I felt bad for her, especially because her uncle was there and the police brought up her affair with David.”

  “That’s rough,” Jackson said. “How did that even happen?”

  “She spent a lot of time down there because I was busy with other things. I almost feel responsible.”

  “No way,” Simon said. “You can’t control what goes on between two people.”

  “But it’s over now?” Jackson said.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “She said she loved him, in front of Koren and Coyle, no less.”

  “That’s not good,” Jackson said.

  “I know, and it’s obvious that she’s still upset about the breakup. But David denies he was even involved with anyone.”

  “That’s just not true. Case in point.” Simon gestured to Carla Olsen of Sisterhood Wines, who had just taken a seat across the aisle from us.

  “So he’s got a roving eye, and then some,” Jackson said.

  “You got that right,” Simon said.

  “The good news is that Shawn got her out of jail,” Jackson said. “But will they bring her in again? That’s the big question. If I know Detective Koren, he’s not done with her.”

  “I think you’re right,” I said. “Which makes it even more important for us to solve the case.” Gerald Parker took a seat next to Carla, and they started talking.

  “Exactly,” Simon said, glancing over at Gerald. “Hey, we need to tell Jackson about Gerald’s blowup with David about the label, too.”

  Jackson gave me an inquisitive look. “What happened?”

  “Gerald wanted credit on the label of Falling Leaves, and of course David said no, but afterward we followed him out to the barn. He said he couldn’t get over the fact that someone tried to kill David and killed Amy instead.”

  “Maybe he tried to kill David and killed her by mistake and feels guilty,” Jackson said.

  “That’s a very good point,” I said. “Plus, Gerald told us he’s now considering a change.”

  “If that gets around, the other vineyard owners will want to hire him so he’ll share Pure’s secrets with them, and they can dominate the market,” Simon said. “But I won’t let that happen. Gerald signed a nondisclosure clause, and if I get a whiff that he’s doing something shady, I’d go after him, hard.”

  “Still, there’s nothing to stop him from using his talents as a winemaker for another vineyard and creating the next big thing,” Jackson said.

  “Without David? Doubtful. Although it won’t stop others from trying.” Simon gestured with his program. “But let’s put it on hold for now. Here’s Ramsey Black, our host and auctioneer.”

  We watched as he walked up to the podium, dressed in a sharp-looking black suit and tie. “Actually,” I said, “we might learn something.”

  “You focus on that.” Simon glanced at his program. “I need to pick up a few cases tonight to add to my collection. Word around town is that several local and wealthy wine lovers have gone into their private cellars to donate to the cause.”

  “So this could get exciting,” I said.

  “Yes. In my experience you can’t get what you want unless you’re willing to outspend every other collector or sommelier in the crowd. So it could get very expensive.” Simon picked up his paddle, which had the number 57 in bold.

  “Fortunately, that’s not an issue for you,” Jackson said.

  “No, of course not. But I don’t want to go crazy either.”

  “Good evening, everyone,” Black said. “And thank you for coming out tonight to bid on celebrated wines and support a very good cause. All the proceeds will go to East End Community Veterinary Care, a new program that will help low-income residents by providing free medical treatment for their pets, and for animals in all the shelters on the North and South Forks who are in need of preventative, emergency, and long-term care.”

  The crowd clapped.

  “Tonight, I’ll be auctioning off a wide variety of wines, including those from local vineyards, from the United States and around the world, at a variety of price points. Given the important work of East End Community Veterinary Care, I encourage you to dig deep!”

  The crowd clapped again.

  Two volunteers joined Black at the podium, each holding a bottle of wine. “Let’s begin with a prestigious vintage that I’m sure will be of interest to those of you who are avid collectors.” He pointed to the bottle on his right. “From the collection of Fred Eaves, I put on offer a complete lot of Romanée-Conti 1990 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti.” He picked up the gavel from the podium.

  Several people in the crowd gasped, including Simon. “Oh my God. I have to have this.”

  “Don’t go crazy,” I said.

  “I’m gone. I did not expect this lot.”

  “We’ll start the bidding at sixty thousand dollars,” Black said.

  “Sixty thousand dollars for a case of wine?” Jackson shook his head. “That is obscene. But at least it’s for charity.”

  “That’s right, Jackson.” Simon grasped his bidding paddle tightly.

  Carla raised her paddle.

  “I have a bid for sixty. Do I have sixty-two?”

  “Carla has that kind of money?” Simon said.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Simon thrust his paddle in the air. “Sixty-five.”

  Carla countered, “Sixty-eight.”

  “Seventy,” Simon said.

  Black nodded. “I have seventy. Do I hear seventy-two?” He looked at Carla.

  She shook her head.

  Simon grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Jackson rolled his eyes.

  “Anyone else? I’m selling this very prestigious lot at seventy thousand dollars. Anyone else? No?” Black waited a moment. “Going once, twice . . . sold!” He slammed the gavel down onto the podium, where it made a satisfying thwack. Simon released my hand and gave me a hug. “I got it! Wow!”

  “Good for you,” I said.

  “Good for pets and people,” Jackson said. “This new program will make a big difference for a lot of animals.”

  “Just like you do,” I said.

  “She’s right.” Simon was absolutely giddy with excitement. “And I’ve got a great idea. How about if I match my bid and gift your rescue?”

/>   “Simon, you don’t have to do that,” Jackson said.

  “I want to. And I can afford it.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, Simon,” I said. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. You’ll have a check tomorrow night when you come to Salt for the dinner. Okay?” He put his hand out to Jackson.

  Jackson smiled and shook it. “Thanks, this will do a lot of good. Really, thanks, Simon.”

  “You are very welcome. I can’t wait to see what’s for sale next!”

  • • •

  Ramsey Black was true to his word—the auction featured a wide array of wines, from the prestigious to the more moderately priced. By the end of the night, Simon had picked up two more prestigious lots, and Black announced that the auction had raised almost $500,000. It was a good night for animals and the people who loved them.

  A reception followed with various local vintages, including those from Pure, St. Ives Estate Vineyards, Sisterhood Wines, Wave Crest, Crocker Cellars, Farmer’s Vineyard, and others.

  Unfortunately, when we went up to sample the various vintages, David’s father, Walter Farmer, and David’s brother, Kurt, were nearby talking to Carla Olsen and Ramsey Black, along with Harrison Jones of Wave Crest and Derek Mortimer of St. Ives.

  Kurt seemed to be taking a special interest in Carla. I had to admit, now that he had shaved and showered and changed into a suit, he was a lot more appealing. Carla laughed at something he said.

  David scowled. “What is Kurt up to with Carla?”

  “Just ignore them. Let’s take a taste of the competition.” Simon asked for a glass of Crocker’s wine, while I tried Farmer’s, and David got Carla’s. We tasted each one, then switched glasses.

  “What do you think? Besides ours, I like the Crocker vintage,” Simon said.

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “Agreed, but I’d have to say that my father’s is the best of the lot,” David said. “Still no competition for us, though.”

  “That’s because you should be working with us, your family, and not this out-of-towner,” Walter said as he moved over to our group, while Kurt and Carla continued talking.

  “Dad, I’m not coming back.”