Ghosts in the Gulch: An Evergreen Cemetery Mystery (Evergreen Cemetery Mysteries Book 1)

by S. L. Hawke

  A short, thin man with hair that stuck out in all directions greeted me upon arrival and introduced himself as Walter Singleton, formally of Kentucky, now hoping to permanently settle in the Santa Cruz Mountains and produce, as he announced in his grand Kentucky manner: “The FINEST WINES this side of the nation! Hallelujah!” Despite his drawl, he was a Union man and had, he admitted with a whisper, run one of the underground railways.

  “Ava, my darlin’, do meet a Mister Ay Jay Sloan, born in Ohio by way of Hawai’i,” Walter said, pronouncing the native name perfectly, “to grace our humble abode. He is also a friend of Chef Pierre LaCroix, who helped guide our hands when we first set up our vineyards.”

  Ava Singleton was only a few inches shorter than I, much like my sister Beth, but with merry forget-me-not blue eyes. She had a small scar on her cheek that had me ponder what put it there. I took my hat off and bowed slightly to which Ava shook my hand and said: “Your sister Cynthia is one of my best friends, besides Emma, uh I mean, Her Royal Highness. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Princess Emma, I learned from Ava, was a legend, known locally as the shut away, grieving widow, and heir to the Leonov Consulate Estate. She was rich, yet no one knew much more about the circumstances of her situation. She never allowed many people to visit with her, except for Ava Singleton and my sisters. The whole story had a false air about it, the shut away widow aspect that is. My mind kept seeing little Juan, unable to imagine her in jewels or a crown, or a dress for that matter.

  Walter, using his large hands for so small a man, talked about the soil and the grapes, in particular, a type of grape that was so delicate, the slightest change in temperature or shift in climate could change its very character. It had to be coaxed like a shy colt to give out a good wine, not unlike some of the more delicate wines of France.

  It was hot up here on the side of the ridge. Walter and Ava were no strangers to farming and had cleared land for grapes and persimmons, apples, pears, and other trees I could not identify.

  The house was made of redwood and adobe, but, as Walter reminded me, the rains destroyed adobe, so he simply used real brick, good sound redwood board and a layer of plaster. The result was more of an Italian style villa with servants and glass windows any monarch would envy.

  “I struck it rich in ’52, but like most miners I was lonely and had no home. So I invested in the Quicksilver Mine. I also put some money in shipping and am proud to say I’ve done well. Of course, none of this means anything without the right wohman as your wife.” Walter’s Kentucky accent lulled a smile from me, reminding me of days at my father’s farm.

  “Now, Walt, don’t talk the man’s ear off. I’m sure he’d like some refreshment before meeting the Duchess’ men?” Mrs. Singleton, herself more Southern in her accent and gentlewoman’s manners, made me see why the two belonged to each other. I wondered why there were no children, but the answer came soon enough. Two redheaded children, with a Spanish matron, traipsed through the gardens, ran into their parents’ loving arms for a quick hug and then disappeared like pixies in a magical forest.

  I was about to decline refreshment as we entered the magnificent interior of the Singleton Wine Barn.

  “How do you know the Duchess?” I inquired.

  Mrs. Singleton was about to answer when something moved in the darkness. I strode forward towards the shadow, on habit.

  “That is far enough.” A voice heavy with a Germanic accent rather than a Slavic one came out of the shadows of the storage way. “You must be checked before greeting the Duchess.”

  Two more men came out of the shadows. They were attired in grey, wore brilliantly colored sashes, and sported large amounts of head and facial hair beneath black tall caps. I stepped off to the side to avoid having my back to any of them.

  The man who spoke to us came forward into the light.

  He wore a plain grey three piece suit with a thick gold watch chain and the gold crest of the royal household on his cravat. His goatee was not pointed but meticulously trimmed, offsetting the ridiculous size of his bulging eyes and his lack of top hair. I got the distinct impression of a vicious, small dog.

  “And who might you be?” I answered quietly, aware that the Singletons looked somewhat uncomfortable by this sudden change in social climate. They also moved off to the side, near a large polished bar.

  “I am the Duchess’ head of security.” Here the man stomped slightly as was the way of the Czar’s court. I’d seen them once, long ago, in Japan. “If I do not find you worthy, then you must seek employment elsewhere. Am I clear?”

  “Go on,” I challenged. Curious I was to see what constituted worthiness. I had a few questions myself. Virofsky nodded to the four Cossacks, armed with sabers, behind him.

  Time slowed down when careful maneuvers must be made.

  The first Cossack charged me head on, a blatant distraction from the other who tried to grab me from the side. I simply grabbed the charger’s wrist, bent it downward, drawing a cry and a clatter of a dropped sabre and, using his forward momentum, threw him into the other man. They careened into a stack of empty barrels causing the whole stack to collapse on top of them.

  One long breath followed the third Cossack who had pulled a short knife, while his companion raised a spiked mallet. The knife wielder sliced wide, or tried to, but I closed the distance on the elbow side, wrapping the knife carrying hand to his own throat, just in time to see the very large mallet bearer come straight at us. The knifer cried out, and I ducked us both down as the mallet hit home on the dirt floor with a tremoring thud, at which point I threw the knifer into the side of the mallet warrior and kicked both over.

  I wish I could say that was the end. But the knifer was small and light and hopped up to come at me again. So I jumped up and caught onto a ceiling cross beam and kicked the weapon out of his hand, then dropped and kicked his feet out from under him. The mallet bearer, like a troll, lumbered towards me again with the mallet, twirling it over his head to wind it up for a fatal blow. A swift fist to his groin sent him backwards, the weight of the mallet finishing the job.

  “Enough!” Virofsky commanded. He strode over to me, now sweaty, my jacket seams torn by grabs, my trousers ripped by slides and falls on the ground, my hat nowhere to be seen. Virofsky’s cane quickly lost its sheath and he held the stiletto-like blade out at me. From the corner of my eye I saw one of the Cossacks throw me his saber, which I caught with my left hand. The knife artist threw me his which I caught with my right.

  Virofsky lunged.

  My left sabre slid up the length of his blade to his neck and the small knife pressed against his knee. A single cut could end his life. He knew it, and as we looked each other in the eye, he smiled, slowly, then yielded.

  All five men bowed to me. Virofsky took out a large handkerchief and wiped his sweating pate. I found myself breathing deeply suddenly, and exhausted.

  “Well now! I haven’t enjoyed a rumble like that since my time in San Francisco. Please, gentlemen, take your ease!” Walter Singleton announced, appearing behind the large, dark, polished burl table and several bottles of wine. The Missus had disappeared, no doubt horrified at our brawling.

  The four Cossacks snuggled with beer mugs. They were replaced by sober, fresh warriors while Virofsky poured out the four bottles into different crystal glasses.

  “Drink,” Virofsky commanded.

  “And?” I prompted.

  “LaCroix said you could taste the very plot of the grape’s birth. Prove it.”

  Walter held himself tight, looking like someone was about to tear his balls off. “You Ruskies really know how to make a man shit his pants!”

  I picked up the first glass, sipped, and waited. Then I drank some water, tasted the second glass, drank water again, and then took a generous sip of the third one. I pulled up a barrel and sat down. Virofsky also sat down directly across from me. Then I took a final sip of the fourth glass.

  We regarded one another carefully.
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  “The third glass.” That was all I said. It was Walter who gave it all away.

  “Well, I’ll be a Confederate hussy! Pete sure was right about you!!!! God Almighty!!!!” He did a jig causing Virofsky to roll his eyes. But that was not the end. Instead, Virofsky narrowed his bulbous eyes and pointed to the other three glasses. “What of those?” he asked, quietly, but I felt this was the final test.

  “The first glass, local, and probably from the Rancho over there,” I pointed towards the tops of the mountain range behind us. “The second, French — too much time on the ship, near the German border, but the same grape might do well here. This glass—” here I waited and saw Virofsky lean back, trying not to look impressed, “grape juice vinegar-ed by heat.”

  “Shit and balls together!” Walter Singleton said with a whistle. Virofsky looked satisfied and rubbed his goatee.

  “Virofsky!” An imperial female voice startled both of us out of our state of wariness.

  “Yes, Your Grace?” he answered the Duchess, but did not take his eyes off me. He stood up and straightened his vest. Quickly he put on his jacket. I looked around for my hat, to find it crumpled by the mallet. I sadly picked it up and shook it out. One of the spikes put a hole in its top.

  “Oh, do hire him. I do not expect an assassin in the form of a consort of his Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Japan’s royal court, do you?” The Duchess, no more than five feet with a topknot of grey hair, had the most startling jewel blue eyes I had ever seen in a person. She appeared from the very walls, it seemed, and walked slowly towards me, leaning on the same eagle head cane I had seen her use to salute McKenna and myself as she drove by us in her barouche yesterday. I immediately bowed. She gave me her black gloved hand, replete with a large sapphire on one finger. I completed the kiss to the ring and straightened.

  “Your Serene Highness,” I said.

  She scoffed and took her hand away. “I dare say, my sister-in-law would not likely be party to me being anything other than Nicholai’s sister, hence I am exiled to this wild place. But you may call me Duchess. I have heard a great deal about you from your dear mother.”

  For a moment I was simply speechless. How did such an illustrious personage call upon my own mother?

  “Your Grace!” Walter intruded, sensing a moment of awkwardness, no doubt. “Might I suggest you proceed into our Garden Salon? Ava, my darlin’, could certainly rustle us up some of that wonderful Russian fish egg snack?”

  Here the Duchess held herself straight and as tall as her tiny form would allow and said with all manner of imperious dignity, “Mr. Singleton, I would very much like you to escort me to the Salon for this, how do you call it, Russian fish egg snack?”

  Mr. Singleton, his Kentucky charm winning over even the Dowager Duchess, came over and offered his arm to Her Grace. Virofsky nodded his approval but with a wave, a guard was at his elbow.

  “See to Mr. Sloan’s comfort.” Virofsky studied me with his protuberant vision. He stroked his goatee again as if contemplating another test or torture.

  “I take it I am employed, not to be presumptuous.”

  “Hmm. You and I still have an appointment with Woadka but perhaps when we can both be at ease.” Here Virofsky leaned in towards me and whispered, “I am somewhat aware of your true purpose here, Marshal Sloan, and as a representative of the Russian Consulate, if I can assist you in any way, I will.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but I would take my allies where I could find them.

  “All of Santa Cruz is about to swarm upon this place. It is most important we introduce you to your duties as quickly as we may.” Virofsky gestured behind me.

  Mrs. Singleton came up from behind me and took my arm. “Mr. Sloan, perhaps you’d like to change for this evening’s festivities?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that would be most agreeable.” I followed my hostess off to an ornate room that looked like a Roman bath. Hot water andsoap with a pine scent rather than lavender was a great relief, and fresh, clean towels. Lam was there, something that both comforted and made me feel self-conscious at the same time. I know my family questioned his presence at times, not respectfully, as if I had money and status they didn’t think I deserved. The fact that I had married into royalty, owed them a debt of life, didn’t seem as important to white folk as it should have been. Though my family fought for equality, sometimes prejudices still showed themselves, just in different ways. I was glad to have packed all of my things together except for Jonathan’s tuxedo, which was not an exact fit. I was two inches taller and the hem of my trousers reflected their borrowed state. The memory of my parting words from Sophia and Henry’s hospitality rung in my ears.

  “Well, Jack, you were always a picky eater as a child. Put those talents to work while you stay there.” Sophia folded my white tuxedo tie with a deftness that suggested she had done this often. I didn’t mind so much until she would look at me, as she had in the last few days, with sadness, a sigh, and the rejoinder: “You will have to tell me about Japan, one day, when we can stop thinking of war.” Sophia’s face was deeply lined with worry and hard work, but the joy in her eyes was unchanged and my love for her rebuilt itself in my heart. She clucked at the state of my tuxedo’s trousers as I held them to me.

  I was joined by Jonathan who offered up the tuxedo’s jacket on a hanger, freshly pressed.

  “Sit down a lot and no one will notice,” Jonathan advised as he handed me the hanger. “And have a care up there in that big Estate.”

  “Can you tell me anything about this Singleton?” I placed my last few gifts into a carpet bag Henry brought up.

  “Be careful he doesn’t sell you the boots off your own feet, if you get my meaning.” Henry nodded. “He’s got a slickness to him that rivals the best olive oil.”

  I smiled, feeling a bit homesick for the first time.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake!” Cynthia joined us. “He’s not leaving us again! Margaret made these for you.” Cynthia placed two white dress shirts inside the carpet bag, along with several collars. “She made me promise to make sure you come out to the beach with us Sunday next.”

  I nodded and felt a large lump in my throat. Truly, I had missed these sisters, more than I realized.

  “What can you tell me about the Singletons in general? Have you known them long?”

  “They were the first truly scandalous affair in this tiny town,” Jonathan whispered to me. “Singleton’s wife is an ex resident of the house of ill repute. My wife’s first convert, I might add.” Jonathan hugged my sister proudly. Cynthia smiled and made a shooing gesture.

  “Well, not my first, but close enough. Dorcas’ sister Melinda will always be the shining star in that particular crown. Seems so long ago, those days.” Cynthia smiled at me, watching my face closely. The heat that crawled up my cheeks was visible to all. But the heartache from leaving Miles was no longer there. Lam was right; I was smiling, half way.

  “You are just the person to help me with the rest of the suitors who no doubt will try to molest my niece. If you could be so kind as to keep her on your arm, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  The Duchess’ voice broke me from my deeper thoughts. Then, with the grace of goose down in the wind, the Duchess removed herself from my side. Virofsky escorted her to a large wooden chair, carved with mythical creatures and painted gold. Velvet cushions arrayed its overly large seat. Her Grace rolled her eyes, expressed some annoyance at being treated too well but then seated herself with delight. I caught her expression, which she then straightened, and she nodded with regality, causing me to suppress a small laugh.

  4

  The winery was carved into the side of the mountain. It was a genuine reproduction, designed by Pierre, and the only one built in this county. It took an hour to organize the various buggies, traps, and in some cases, heavy carts, that made their way up to the Winery justly called Volant. We were at the ‘summit’ of the ridge and truly felt uplifted as the French name suggested.

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nbsp; My family took a single trap. Henry had outfitted his own with a special wheel well I had never seen before with reinforced axels in the Egyptian Chariot method. The smooth ride and agility of the wheel well impressed me a great deal. I came to the guard house at the gate and directed them to a place for his ‘chariot’. Servants, Chinese ones, waited for guests, attended the horses by unhitching the pulls, watering and feeding, and locking the wheels. The horses were tied to a post with ample straw to catch any discharge while guests waited to be escorted to the main house.

  The drive was one long field for those who came in their own buggies. Many came together, not wanting to risk breaking a wheel or an axle. Half the town appeared to arrive, and the owner of this winery seemed to spare no expense at the guests and their servants’ comfort.

  A true French design, the actual aging cave was decorated like the interior of a medieval castle. Tapestries displaying hunting dogs, one of elephants, and several with the Crest of the Czar, hung over the hand-tooled walls. Henry proudly showed off the Masons’ signatures and explained his lodge’s part in the support and construction of so vast and important a structure for the commerce and production of wine.

  Candles in colored glass gathered in alcoves like acolytes, and the array of flowers, fruit, and greenery at this time of year created the sensation that one was making merry in a Greek fable. Chinese servants stood every few feet, attired in western apparel.

  The Duchess was seated upon a dais, while those invited first greeted the Singletons and then made their way up to Virofsky who stood at the Duchess’ right hand. My position was to be on the left side, below the dais, keeping an eye on those coming into the cave. Virofsky, also now in a dress version of his basic grey suit, sporting tails and a white cravat carefully pinned with a gold and diamond clasp, greeted me at the entryway to the Wine Cave.

  The Duchess made gestures with her hand for me to look in a certain direction. After a few times I finally understood what she was trying to tell me and looked towards the rear entrance to the Wine Cave, the source of the cool breeze.