Roses, Wine & Murder: In the City of Steeples
Page 1
Praise for Rose Young and
Roses, Wine & Murder
5 STARS From Reviewers of Readers’ Favorites!!!
“The story combines aspects from different genres — thriller, historical, mystery, and crime fiction — and pulls the reader into an intriguing world. Roses, Wine & Murder has a beautiful setting, a gripping plot, and readers can’t resist the wonderful pacing. It’s one of the most entertaining books I have read in this genre this year.”
- Arya Fomonyuy - Reviewer for Readers’ Favorite - 5 STARS
“The brilliantly woven canvas upon which Rose tells her story has is it all from pirates to poisonous plants! I employ all of you to curl up on the couch with a warm cup of tea or a nice glass of wine, clear your mind and escape into Roses, Wine and Murder.”
-Terrie Scott, Editor and Author of Shattered Rose
“The picturesque setting, coupled with the gripping plot, with wine dinners, poisonous plants, and a gritty investigation make this story a memorable one. …an exciting read, intelligently plotted and accomplished to a masterly finish. A must-read from one of today’s best storytellers.”
- Divine Zape - Reviewer for Readers’ Favorite - 5 STARS
“Roses, Wine & Murder - In the City of Steeples has a little of everything for readers; New England vineyards, gardening, mystery, intrigue, friendship, crazy escapades, and is truly a book worth reading.”
- Trudi LoPreto - Reviewer for Readers’ Favorite - 5 STARS
“Georgi and Roxanne, are a dazzling pair, playing well off each other with complementing personalities. There's a sharp wit, humor, and intelligence in Young's writing that will easily charm you. …a fun ride, funny and compelling, with a complex mystery of threads that slowly come together in a satisfying conclusion.”
- Liz Konkel - Reviewer for Readers’ Favorite - 5 STARS
Roses, Wine
& Murder
In the City of Steeples
A Novel by
Rose Young
Roses, Wine & Murder - In the City of Steeples.
Copyright © 2017 by Rose Young
Published November 2017
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The cataloging-in-publication is on file with the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-0-9988817-0-6 (ebook)
ISBN 978-0-9988817-1-3 (print)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system.
Best Books Publishing, 103 South Main Street, #324
Colchester, CT 06415
Printed in the United States of America
Book Cover Design & Steeple Illustration: Cindy Samul, Illustrator
www.CindySamulIllustrator.com
www.RosesWineandMurder.com
Rose Young, Author - Facebook
www.RoseYoungAuthor.com
Roses Wine and Murder Book Trailer Video:
Vimeo Link - https://vimeo.com/238502114
YouTube - https://youtu.be/D8mSVXRAUb4
Foreword
Rarely does a manuscript cross my desk that is as entertaining and intriguing as Rose Young’s Roses, Wine and Murder. From the onset, the reader is swept into a madcap adventure with a murder mystery to solve. Steeped in New England history and the enticing world of vineyards and wine tasting, this kaleidoscope of colorful characters and locations mesmerizes the reader.
The brilliantly woven canvas upon which Rose tells her story has it all from pirates to poisonous plants! I employ all of you to curl up on the couch with a warm cup of tea or a nice glass of wine, clear your mind and escape into Roses, Wine and Murder.
Terrie M. Scott
Editor
Terrie M. Scott has been an Editor for over 30 years, with a MFA from the College Conservatory of Music, UC. She is also a decorated Army veteran and author herself.
Dedicated to:
My Inspirations
I dedicate this book to the hardworking men and women that make a little city pulse with vitality. I thank those who work in flower gardens and vineyards to create beauty and wine. They are an industrious community who made this book possible. My adopted city, New London wonderfully inspired me, as does much of Southeastern Connecticut. In my research, I walk and drive the streets, take the trains and ferries, and find myself enamored by the rich history and architecture of the city of steeples and wine growing regions.
FACT:
All historical, viticulture and gardening references in this novel are real.
The Connecticut vineyards can be found on the Connecticut Wine Trail.
There are more than 200 vineyards on Long Island and several inspired this story.
There are thousands of vineyards, large and small worldwide; all strive to make the best wine possible from their soil and climate, a.k.a. terroir. Wines graded upwards of 90 points are most desirable to wine connoisseurs and sommeliers.
The United States Coast Guard Academy, founded in 1876, is in New London, Connecticut. Presidents of the United States give a commencement speech periodically to the graduates.
New London, Connecticut is a small city with a population of 27,000 people. The harbor became the base for military and naval operations during the Revolutionary War and Benedict Arnold attacked and burned New London in 1781. In the 1800s, New London became wealthy, as it was one of the world’s three busiest whaling ports. These fortunes funded the wonderful architecture and multiple churches with grand steeples.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Months later…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
11:30 pm Columbus Circle,
New London, Connecticut, USA
The glowing orb on a black iron street lamp failed to illuminate a quiet scen
e under the looming statue of Christopher Columbus. In the dark shadows of a small city garden, a black clad figure crawled through the shrubbery. He desperately searched amongst the plants for a prized possession he lost in a scuffle. It was vital that he remain undetected, so his irritation grew with the interruption of passing headlights. Forced to stop his rummaging, due to the traffic, he proceeded silently toward his next destination.
Remaining in the shadows, the mysterious agent slipped into the alleyway of the posh Harlow Towers condominiums. Compact gear clung to his muscular form as he scaled with purpose and dexterity, the grated ironwork of the Tower’s parking garage. Its architects unwittingly provided perfect hand and foot holds for him to reach the third-floor roof. From his backpack, the undercover operator took a rope and small grappling hook and adroitly launched it onto a railing on a balcony far above.
With the ability of a mountaineer, he plied the rope, hand over fist, and ascended to the eighth-floor penthouse. Retrieving and packing his gear, he opened the unlocked balcony door.
Scanning the plush interior with a small flashlight, he moved toward the bedroom. Luggage was laid out on the bed. His gloved hands skimmed through, in, and under the clothes. Dissatisfied, he moved to the office.
A magnificent ebony desk was in the center of a contemporary room. The desk surface lacked a computer, hard drive, or laptop. To free his hands, he placed the flashlight between his teeth. He opened the drawers of the desk probing every crevice. His hands slid through papers, lifting them carefully he scanned the words. Grunting in annoyance he searched under the drawers.
Shining the light across the room on an opposite wall, he observed a panoramic picture of a vineyard. Recognizing a probability, the raider removed the large art photo. As suspected, a wall safe was behind it.
Retrieving a vial of chalk dust from a pocket, he brushed it on the surface of the safe’s touch pad. Turning a knob on his flashlight, it now beamed ultra-violet. The numbered pips shone in the UV light. Four keys were prominently white.
Utilizing a digital device, he entered the numbers and it calculated all possible combinations. He changed the numbers to read-out letters, to attain any obvious word codes. One stood out. He entered, 9463 and the safe clicked. The man snickered to himself, Quello che un buffone! (What a buffoon!)
It spelled WINE. Pulling the handle, the door swung open and he adjusted his flashlight to illuminate the safe’s interior.
The intruder looked for a memory stick, CD or SD card, seeing none he groaned with impatience. He leafed through papers and found a jeweler’s receipt and business contracts. The contract was with his employer’s Long Island vineyard partner. He slipped the papers into his backpack. He shut the safe, locked it, and replaced the artwork.
Swiftly he removed his black garb attached by Velcro. The prowler donned a grey running suit. He stuffed the removed apparel into his backpack, placed a baseball cap on his head and left via the penthouse elevator. He arrived at the ground floor parking garage and strolled onto Bank Street. A party of inebriated revelers wandered past him, as he quite casually entered his silver sedan.
The thief drove to another building on Bank Street. The Vinho Verde Wine Bar was his next mark. After picking the lock, he slipped into the basement’s delivery entrance. Standing inside the dimly lit surroundings, the trespasser observed the tall stone walls and ancient timber supports. The cellar was full of wine cases stacked into narrow rows. On his right, he spied a wooden staircase. Mounting it two treads at a time, he found a small office at the top.
He turned on the lone desk-top computer and searched for the files he desired. Just as he suspected, the files had to be kept separate from the wine bar business and must be on a private laptop or memory stick. But where? Who had them?
After searching the premises, he had nothing more to accomplish at the Vinho Verde. Making his way down the stairs he grabbed two bottles of French Cabernet Sauvignon, before slipping into the night. A grin emerged as he clutched the fine vintage. Piccola recompensa per i miei sforzi. (Small reward for my efforts).
Chapter 1
Day 1 - 8 am Columbus Circle
Roxanne found herself disappointed with the President of the United States. His decision to give the commencement speech at the Coast Guard Academy in New London had uprooted her vacation plans. Her husband Sam, Fire Chief Samson, was part of the Homeland Security team and had to be available for the Commander-in-chief’s arrival, in six days’ time.
Roxanne expected to be tootling around in their vintage Buick, enjoying the sunny weather. Instead she tended her garden at the Columbus Circle site for the New London Beautification Committee.
Carrying a hose from her truck, she attached it to the ground spigot and watered the small, city plot. Grateful for shade, she admired the arching branches and mottled bark of the old London Plane tree. Its fingered boughs reached over her and toward the Columbus statue, erected in 1928. Its broad canopy partly covered her quaint garden, a green oasis surrounded by pavement and the sporadic traffic of Bank Street whizzing by.
Silently appreciating a momentary lull, Roxanne noticed an odd sensation. It was a subtle sense of being watched. She looked around at the adjoining streets and buildings. Seeing nothing unusual, she continued watering.
Unexpectedly, disharmony grabbed her attention. Broken stems, squashed plants, a portion of the garden was in disarray! Sounds of dismay, left her lips, “Ugh, those darn drunks, they trampled my flowers again!” Crouching, Roxanne placed the hose on the ground to water the shrubs alongside the statue. Suddenly, she recoiled in horror and landed on her backside.
Motionless and staring at her through the evergreen shrubs, were two glassy, wide eyes! Backing away on all fours her body shook and shivered. The lifeless eyes made her jump to her feet. Roxanne cried loudly, “Oh for God’s sake! I can’t believe this!” His ashen-grey face was stiff as the stone he laid against.
Alarmed, she pressed her hands against her chest. Her heart was racing. A ripple of shock and nausea traveled through her body. Roxanne took a deep breath, trying desperately to shake off the feelings.
She glanced at him briefly, and saw his body was oddly propped against the statue of Columbus. Oh my, she whispered, he’s a handsome well-dressed man!
Roxanne envisioned what was to come next. She whined to herself, Why couldn’t we have just been away on our vacation? Her husband would soon feel the same. His crew would be the first responders on the scene.
Shaking her head, she raised her eyes to the statue of Christopher Columbus and made the call to 9-1-1. The operator asked, “Nature of your emergency?”
“There’s a man, not breathing here at Columbus Circle on Bank Street. He appears to be dead!”
Fire Chief Samson heard the dispatch over the station’s PA system: “Unconscious man at Columbus Circle on Bank Street. Engine Company 1, rescue squad and ambulance responding.”
Then his cell phone rang displaying his wife’s caller ID.
“Sam,” she whispered, “a man seems to be dead here in my Columbus garden!”
“Oh, that was your call?” he felt deeply concerned for her.
“Yes dear, I do mean dead! Please come quickly!”
The responders swooped in as Roxanne held onto her yellow brimmed hat. The stiff morning breeze off the water of Long Island Sound added another element of drama to Columbus Circle. She stood out amid all the dark uniformed police officers, rescue and ambulance crews in her bright pink T-shirt and work jeans. Concerned for the man she watched as her husband’s crew trudged through the flowers to attend to him.
The emergency responders all knew her well, being the Chief’s wife. She was a quick-witted, petite blonde woman with a stylish page-boy haircut.
Roxanne saw her months-long work being destroyed. One of the younger men eyed her knowingly, “Sorry, Roxanne we have big feet in these boots.”
She murmured, “It’s okay, Sebastian, I understand.”
She took pride in the gard
ens she and her committee friends maintained. A dozen gardeners formed the New London Beautification Committee (NLBC) to enhance the town they loved and lived in. Containers and gardens full of colorful flowers were grown in high-volume traffic and tourist areas. Funds and water were provided by the city of New London and these enthusiastic volunteers worked diligently to deliver beautiful cityscapes.
Roxanne was asked to standby so the detectives could interview her about her discovery. As she waited she spotted some of her NLBC friends arriving. They had responded to her text, DEAD MAN IN GARDEN. The group huddled beyond the police set-back, by the corner bistro. They were assessing the situation and the damage being done to the garden.
Tessa, the NLBC leader, gave Roxanne a shrug, shook her head, and raised her hands in disbelief. Separated by the police cruiser that cordoned off the scene they watched Roxanne in the thick of the activity.
An officer grabbed from the trunk of his cruiser a bright yellow roll of Crime Scene tape. In a swift motion he stretched it around and through the flower garden.
Oh no! she lamented silently, sighed and looked at her friends. They felt for her, the man, and the garden. Roxanne hung her head and surrendered, I give up.
Just then, Detective Dan Morrison approached her, “Hello Roxanne, I see you’ve found yourself in the middle of a police case instead of hearing about it on the home scanner.”
With a tone of, ‘why me?’ she answered, “Detective, you know it’s not my plan.”
He had known Roxanne and Chief Samson for many years. Morrison noticed Roxanne stayed out of the limelight supporting his position as Fire Chief. They frequently met at town functions, parades and barbecues and she was always available for interesting conversation.