“What is going on? And where were you today?”
“Dealing with David and his brother.”
“What happened?”
“David and I went to do a radio interview at K-BAY, in Southold, this morning. Good publicity, reaching the local market, you know?”
“Yes, right, so that’s where you were. I stopped by but no one was there.”
“Yeah, Gerald called in sick, too, not that I believe it. He’s just sticking it to us.”
We watched as a policeman I didn’t recognize pushed Kurt into the backseat of a cruiser and slammed the door.
“Simon, focus. How did Kurt get into the picture?”
“He was waiting for David when we got back to Pure.”
“Why, what happened?”
“His father got a call that the bank had decided to foreclose on the house, and Kurt blamed it on his brother. He thinks if David had worked with them, the vineyard would have been profitable and it wouldn’t have happened.”
“You can see why he might think that,” I said.
“Except he’s nuts. They got into a fight, and David thought he’d broken his wrist. Ivy was at Salt, helping me with the wine pairings for the party tonight, so I brought him to the emergency room. We were there all afternoon because they were all backed up—some boating accident, I think. Good news—his wrist is just sprained.”
“So how did Kurt end up back here tonight?” We watched as the cop car took off in the direction of the police station and the jail. David reacted by lighting up a cigarette, and Ivy threw him a nasty look and went back inside.
Obviously, they still weren’t getting along. Given this, it wasn’t difficult to believe what David had told Lily, namely that he and Ivy no longer shared a bed. It couldn’t be any fun working together either.
“I guess he wasn’t finished with David,” Simon said. “He showed up about fifteen minutes ago, and we thought he just came to pay his respects, but then he and David went out back and started up again. Ivy is furious with both of them, but especially David, because he couldn’t control his brother at her sister’s wake. It was a bad scene.” Simon checked his watch, where a message bubble said, Crazy busy—need you—Kate. “I’ve got to get to Salt now. You two are coming, right?”
“I’m meeting Jackson there at seven. And I have something important to tell you.”
He and Jackson both needed to know about the poison hemlock at the edge of the forest.
chapter nine
It was always a good thing to know the owner of a new and popular seafood restaurant, especially during a busy week such as this. Simon had reserved a table for the two for us, outside on the deck, and under a heat lamp, with a view of sailboats, motorboats, and yachts moored to the dock, and of Peconic Bay and Shelter Island. He’d placed just ten tables on the deck, so while the inside seating accommodated up to two hundred, outside felt almost like a private oasis. The dinner at Salt would benefit the North Fork Animal Welfare League, which ran exemplary shelters in Southold and Riverhead.
The event featured an oyster-themed menu—instead of the scallops, which was probably a good thing—paired with various vintages from Pure, including the contender for the big win, Falling Leaves. We started out with raw oysters and hot sauce that Ivy had paired with sauvignon blanc, then moved on to oyster stew and pinot noir, oysters Rockefeller and chardonnay, and finally to fried oysters, with skinny sweet-potato fries, creamy coleslaw, and a secret tartar sauce blend that had a kick, and Falling Leaves.
Jackson, though, was quite content with iced Perrier, with a slice of lemon. As he said, it was dry, refreshing, and didn’t detract from the flavor of the oysters being served. While we enjoyed our meal—seafood was the one thing I had a hard time giving up as a vegetarian/vegan, having grown up on it on the East End—I filled Jackson in on what I’d learned during the day, starting with finding the poison hemlock.
“So the plant that you found was right next to the empty hole? I’ve never seen that plant out there, anywhere, and I’ve walked all over with the dogs.”
“I almost missed it, too, but it’s there. The question is, who dug it up and how do we find out?”
“Good question.” Jackson slurped down a raw oyster. “That is so good. It tastes like it just came out of the water.”
“Glad you like it,” Simon said as he pulled a chair up to our table but remained standing. “Everything good?”
“Excellent,” Jackson said. “I’ll say.”
“Good, well, I had a few minutes so I thought I’d find out what you wanted to tell me.” Simon put down his glass of wine and pulled a crisp blue check out of his inside blazer pocket. “And I also wanted to give you this. For your animal sanctuary, and for taking Zeke in.” He handed it to Jackson, who took it and shook his hand.
“This is great, Simon. Thank you, man, really.”
“You’re doing a very good thing, Simon,” I said. “Thank you.”
He put an arm around each of us. “What is the point of being rich, if you can’t help your friends, and the causes they believe in?” He grabbed his glass and raised it. “Cheers to you, Jackson. Keep up the good work.”
We raised our glasses and toasted. “To you, Simon,” Jackson said. “For being a good friend to both of us.”
Simon sat down and leaned toward me. “Now, what’s the latest?”
So I explained how I had found the hole where a poison-hemlock plant had been and an actual living plant right near it, along with the idea that it might mean that Ivy or Gerald or someone else had used it to try to poison David.
“But Lily had access, too,” Simon said. “That’s not a point in her favor.”
Jackson shook his head. “No, it’s definitely a good-news, bad-news kind of thing.”
“But now that we know it’s there, we need to figure out who used it,” I said.
“How do we do that?” Simon said.
“We can search their offices at Pure first,” I said. “And you can get us into David and Ivy’s house, right?”
“Sure thing.” Simon plucked two keys out of his wallet and laid them on the table. “I have an extra for the house in case they get locked out. The code is 44501.” He pointed to the second key. “And this is the master to all the offices at Pure. You could go after dinner and search Ivy’s and Gerald’s offices and then go to Orient and search the house. It’s just off Village Lane on the water.”
“Good idea,” Jackson said. “Everyone is here now.”
“Exactly, and I’ll keep an eye on them,” Simon said. “But what about looking into David’s brother and maybe even his father, and the other vineyard owners?”
“I want to talk to Camille Crocker, too. Can you go tomorrow?”
“Yes, definitely,” Simon said. “But we’ll have to do it in the afternoon. Amy’s funeral is in the morning, followed by a gathering here.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks.”
“I won’t be able to go,” Jackson said. “Late this afternoon I found out that we’re expecting a pig, a cow, and a goat, and maybe two greyhounds. All out of pretty terrible situations, so you’ll have to report back to me.”
“No problem,” I said. “We also need to find out about Ramsey Black.” I told Jackson and Simon about what my friends Allie and Hector and Zola the maid had said about Ramsey’s meeting Ivy at the B and B at Pure.
“That’s pretty close for comfort,” Jackson said. “Right under David’s nose. Wasn’t she afraid of being found out?”
“Obviously not, and neither was David, Allie said. She and Hector have seen David in Harry’s Half Shell more than once with women other than his wife.”
“Including Lily?” Jackson said.
“No, they didn’t mention Lily and neither did Zola. They must have met elsewhere.”
• • •
At Pure, we started with Ivy and Amy’s office on the first floor off the tasting room. The space featured high cei
lings with rustic beams, and a large picture window with views of the vineyard. The room was decorated with more of Rich Fiedler’s paintings—one of the crab shack perched on the edge of the wetlands, and two close-up studies of stones and shells on the beach.
The art complemented the plush rose-colored couch, driftwood coffee table, and sleek desk with a glass top. They’d opted for a large wall-to-wall industrial-looking steel bookcase behind the desk, which held a variety of wine-themed works from A Good Year to The Billionaire’s Vinegar to Nose.
“Where do we start?” I said.
“Definitely not the desk.” Jackson circled it. “No drawers.”
I laughed. “And not a scrap of paper in sight.” The top of the desk was clear, and there were no file cabinets or other places to store anything they wanted or needed to hide.
“But here’s something interesting.” Jackson pushed a few books out of the way and reached back to grab a laptop. He opened it and booted it up.
“Good find.” I went over to him.
“This is Ivy’s computer.” Jackson placed the laptop on the desk, put the cursor on the entry icon with a butterfly and her name below it, and pressed it. “We’re in. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
The laptop only had five folders: “New Wines,” “Orders,” “Press Clippings,” “Party,” and “Employees.”
“Try opening the one that says ‘Employees,’ ” I said. “Maybe it mentions Gerald.”
Jackson clicked on the folder, and we examined the contents. “There’s a document labeled ‘Gerald,’ ” he said, and clicked it open.
“What is it?”
Jackson blew out a breath. “An employment contract.”
“Click on that e-mail.” I pointed to one with the subject line that read, Need your help—Gerald, and was dated this morning. The e-mail opened, and an employment contract and a confidentiality agreement were attached.
Ivy Lord To: Ramsey Black
Re: Need Your Help—Gerald
I still don’t like it. Let’s discuss tonight. Ivy
On Wed, Oct 28, 2015 at 8:19 AM, Ramsey Black
Ivy—I’ve examined the documents and they seem in order. Between the contract and the confidentiality agreement I believe if he were to share any of his knowledge of any of your vintages, you would have legal grounds to sue him for damages. But you would also have to provide proof that he has done so. I’m not sure how easy this would be to do. The best course, especially during this sensitive time, is to keep him at Pure and keep him happy. If you win the competition, you’ll be on higher ground. Ramsey
From: Ivy Lord Sent: Wednesday, October 28, 2015 8:05 AM To: Ramsey Black
Attachment: Contract; Confidentiality agreement
Subject: Need Your Help—Gerald
Ramsey—I’m worried about Gerald. He seems determined to let people know that he created Falling Leaves, not David. I attached his contract and our confidentiality agreement. Can you review? Ivy
“It seems very businesslike,” I said. “You’d never know that they were involved.”
“I’d guess that’s the point. If anyone looked at this, they’d think she was just asking him for his opinion, nothing more.”
“I’ll bet they get a lot more personal when they sext.”
“I’m sure.”
“So this is why Ivy wanted to talk to him tonight and they ended up arguing. That’s what we saw in the park.”
“Exactly.” Jackson scanned the contents of the folder. “I don’t see anything else there that can help us.” He closed the folder.
“What about her e-mail?”
“I’ll try.” He clicked on the mail icon. The mailbox opened and filled up with new messages. “It looks like it’s mostly business stuff.”
“I see what you mean.” There were e-mails from Wine Lovers magazine about the time for the tasting, a bill from vendors for the tables and chairs, the e-mail from Ramsey Black, and a reminder about her AmEx bill. “Can you go further back?”
Jackson scrolled down farther and found e-mails from Lily to Ivy about the menu for the party, Amy to Ivy about the tasting for Wine Lovers magazine, and from Ivy to Simon and David about the need for more publicity for Pure. The junk mail and deleted folders were both empty.
“She’s either deleted anything sensitive, or she has nothing to hide, besides Ramsey,” I said.
“Wait a minute. Look at this folder in the in-box. IL for ‘Ivy Lord.’ ” He clicked on it. Only one e-mail came up—from David. “It’s from Sunday, the day of the party.”
Ivy Lord To: David Farmer
Re: Our conversation
You’re threatening me? Don’t make me laugh. IL
On Sunday, Oct 25, 2015 at 12:05 PM, David Farmer
Your behavior is reckless and has put everything we’ve worked for at risk! Find a way to fix it or I will tell Simon. David
“Tell Simon what?”
“Maybe David found out about Ivy and Ramsey Black. Black is one of the judges for the Wine Lovers magazine contest,” Jackson said. “Say Pure wins and someone finds out. They’d be disqualified. David and Simon would lose everything.”
“So to keep David from telling Simon, or anyone else, Ivy and Black plot to kill David and kill Amy by mistake?”
“Could be. But this e-mail was sent at twelve oh five and the party started at one o’clock. That’s a pretty tight time frame to plan and execute a murder. Not to mention that they would have had to procure the poison hemlock.”
“It’s right out back,” I said. “I found it.”
“But we don’t know if they knew that. Still, I’m going to print this out.”
“But why leave this e-mail on the computer where anyone could find it, including Amy?”
“She did make some effort to hide it.” Jackson put the laptop back in the bookcase and plucked the page with the e-mail messages out of the printer on a lower shelf. “Besides, Sunday was busy, maybe she just forgot. It doesn’t look like she uses the laptop that much at all. She probably relies on the watch. She also doesn’t know that she’s under suspicion.”
“Should we show this to the cops?”
“It’s not enough. We have no way of proving that Ivy did anything at all.” He folded up the page and stuffed it into his back pocket. “It could be important but we have to keep looking.”
• • •
Gerald’s office was out back in the barn, which made sense considering that’s where he spent most of his time. Tucked in the northwest corner and half the size of Ivy’s, the office still had a terrific view of the vineyard from the oversize window. He’d shoved a desk and chair in and added a computer that had seen better days. Every square inch of the desk was covered with paper. Bookshelves on either side of the desk were full of books about growing grapes and making, collecting, and selling wine. Above each shelf were whiteboards, which had been wiped clean. A battered couch was to the left of the doorway, and next to it an overstuffed file cabinet. In every way, this was the exact opposite of Ivy and Amy’s office.
“You want to start with the desk drawers and the computer and I’ll start with the filing cabinet?”
“Sounds good.” I pulled the desk drawers open, one by one, but soon realized they only contained reams of copy paper and office supplies, including pens, highlighters, a glue stick, a stapler, staples, and Post-it pads. When I opened the bottom drawer, at first it looked empty, but then I noticed a sealed plastic baggie that contained several dried-up white flowers and leaves in the back right corner. Grabbing a pen, I used it to pull the baggie out. “I think I may have something.”
“What is it?” Jackson came around the desk. Carefully, I opened the baggie and looked inside.
“I think this is poison hemlock.”
“Really?”
I found a clean piece of paper, put it on the desk, and slowly emptied the baggie onto it. “Can you look up poison hemlock on his computer?”
“Sure.” Jackson pulled the keyboard toward him and did a search. “Got it.” He turned the screen so I could see a photo of a poison-hemlock plant that featured bunches of delicate white flowers. “Looks like it to me.”
“Me, too. So this means Gerald did it,” I said. “He tried to kill David and killed Amy instead.”
“Not so fast. First, we’re not absolutely sure it’s poison hemlock, and second, it would have been really easy for anyone to put it in his desk to incriminate him. Ivy is already angry that he’s talking about leaving, so why not pin a murder on him?”
“But that would mean she did have access to the poison.”
“Or maybe Ramsey did and helped her by planting the evidence. Remember what he said to Ivy after the wine auction: ‘I took care of it.’ ” Jackson minimized the poison-hemlock website window and clicked on the folder labeled “Research” on the desktop and scanned it. “Okay, but take a step back. What if none of that happened and the stuff in the baggie does belong to Gerald. What would be his motive for killing David?”
“That David wouldn’t give him credit for Falling Leaves,” I said. “They were already fighting before Amy’s murder.”
“Still, is it enough to kill for? I don’t think so.”
“There is Amy to consider as well. When Simon and I talked to Gerald, he seemed upset by the randomness of her death—that someone had tried to kill David and killed her instead.”
“Maybe he was in love with her. It doesn’t mean he killed her by mistake.”
I examined the flowers and leaves more closely. “Can I see that photo again?”
Jackson minimized the folder and switched back to the website. “What are you thinking?”
I compared the flowers and the leaves to the plant in the photo again. “I don’t think this is poison hemlock after all. I think it’s yarrow.” I poured the flowers and leaves back into the baggie. “Maybe whoever put it in the drawer thought it was a good enough match for poison hemlock—you know, just to stir things up with the police.”
“So it doesn’t help us.” Jackson exited the site and scanned the desktop. “There’s a ton of stuff here, but nothing jumps out at me, except for his résumé, which probably means he was looking for a new job.” Jackson clicked it open. “What’s his background anyway? Is he local?”
Dandelion Dead Page 9
