Roses, Wine & Murder: In the City of Steeples

by Rose Young

  “Who was it?”

  “They don’t know yet. He had no identification and he wasn’t a homeless guy.” Her face was contorted by several emotions which made him start laughing. He tried to stop but her expression was priceless.

  “Yeah, you laugh,” she chastised him, “but how would you like to be bending down in the garden and find a dead man staring up at you?” To show her displeasure at his callousness, Roxanne added, with some degree of sarcasm, “I nearly suffered whiplash and fell back on my bum.”

  “Oh geez, Roxanne, I’m so sorry,” he imagined her recoil and slapped his knee as he started to laugh again.

  Roxanne shook her head and with a shadow of a smile conceded to him. “I guess when you’re removed from it, it sounds a little funny.” Catching the moment, she taunted him, “What if you found him, Joe?”

  He responded, “I would have jumped so high and run so fast that I would have been at the firehouse faster than making the call.” She knew he would have. He continued describing the film reeling in his mind.

  “I would have looked like one of the Three Stooges, flailing my arms while mouthing strange sounds as if a ghost were on my heels.” Roxanne could picture Joe’s soft round figure suddenly moving at a speed it never does, running the two blocks. They both chuckled at the image.

  They finally settled down, and Roxanne remarked, “Thanks Joe. I needed a laugh and you’re a good friend. I’ve had a hell of a morning.” She took a long sip of her drink.

  Joe empathized, “I understand. Besides, a little laughter is good for your heart. You know tragedy and comedy are at opposite ends of the spectrum. When you have tragedy, sometimes you need a little of the other.”

  “Thanks, Joe,” she murmured.

  They both turned to the door after hearing knocking.

  The police officers had returned with Roxanne’s fanny pack.

  “Can you tell us what’s missing?” an officer asked.

  Roxanne opened it. “Here are my keys, my wallet with $30 dollars, my credit cards, but my license is gone.”

  “That’s weird,” Joe commented.

  “Can we walk you to your car and escort you home, Mrs. Samson?” the officer asked.

  “Normally I would say no, but today, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she answered appreciatively.

  After she thanked Joe with a big hug, the officers accompanied her to her truck. She climbed into the cab. Everything looked fine but as she settled into the seat she sensed something was wrong. Her thoughts raced. That’s impossible. The seat has been moved! She adjusted the seat, and started thinking. Someone’s been in my truck. What’s going on here?

  She drove through the parking lot gates. The officers were behind her as she passed Neptune Beach and took a left on Ocean Avenue. Their home wasn’t far, just down a few streets in a quiet historic part of New London.

  As she was about to turn into her driveway, Roxanne was shocked to see someone leap off her front porch and dash toward the backyard. Startled, she stopped the truck in the road. The officers following her slammed on the brakes nearly running into the rear of her truck. They watched her jump out and run toward her backyard. Both bounded out of the car and followed her to the back of the house, only to find her climbing an arborvitae tree and peering over the back fence.

  “He got away!” she yelled.

  The two men stood there in the middle of her Asian contemplation garden looking up at her.

  “Who?” They asked in unison.

  “The guy who just jumped off my porch,” she answered, clinging to her branch.

  “We didn’t see him,” they said simultaneously.

  She looked at them queerly. And they looked at each other.

  She quickly rattled off the details. “He’s wearing a gray running suit, black sneakers and has dark brown hair, sunglasses and a baseball cap on.”

  “Come with us, Mrs. Samson,” ordered one of the officers, “We’re going to scope out the neighborhood.”

  “Ahh, ok,” she said from her branch, “but first can you help me get down from this tree?”

  One officer cupped his hands while Roxanne held onto the shoulders of the other. Gracefully they let her down and all quickly scrambled into the cruiser.

  “Go to the right!” Roxanne ordered with confidence. The officers obeyed. “He could sneak through the yards to the next street,” she explained. They drove up and down through the neighborhood for fifteen minutes, then cancelled their pursuit.

  “Let’s get you home, Mrs. Samson.”

  They entered her door and looked around the house. She went from room to room with them. It didn’t seem he had been in the house. Roxanne made them iced tea. They went to the porch, gladly quenching their thirst. The officers kept a lookout, making sure the character was not coming back. The safety of the Fire Chief’s wife was a priority.

  “Okay guys, that’s enough excitement for today. I’m done.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, we’ll make a full report,” the senior officer assured her.

  “Ahh, can you leave out the part where you had to help me get out of the tree?” she quizzed with a smirk, “They don’t really need to know that do they?”

  They chuckled. “No Ma’am, that won’t be in the report.”

  “Thanks, guys I appreciate it. I don’t want stories of me up a tree circulating through the department.”

  The officers left and their first order of business was to call Chief Samson to report what happened. After his morning meeting with Homeland Security, he left work immediately and headed home to Roxanne. But on his way, he made a call to Detective Morrison.

  Chapter 5

  Day 1 – 12:30 pm

  Trying to settle out from the morning activities of murder and mugging, Roxanne made a sandwich and took it to their front porch with a book under her arm. She looked up and down the street. All was peaceful. She peered down each side of the house. One of the neighbor’s cats came gingerly out of her herb garden. Well, if the cat isn’t bothered, the guy must be gone, she reasoned. She sat down and heaved a sigh. Now alone she wondered. Am I safe? Should I be afraid? I’m exhausted.

  To clear her mind, she opened a botanical book on poisonous plants. Looking up the yew shrub, Taxus baccata, she read,

  “The yew was so deadly that often the first sign of toxicity was death. In ancient Roman times, a decanter made of yew wood was filled with wine to poison ones’ enemies who drank from it.”

  “Oh,” she moaned and took a big bite of her sandwich when she saw the red and white Fire Chief SUV pulling up in front of the house. Sam came lumbering up the steps looking a bit concerned.

  In a voice muffled with food, she asked, “Whhaat arre youu dooing heeere?”

  He smiled, sat down and patted her hand. “I’m just checking on you.”

  She wrinkled her brow and said more clearly, “Oh for Pete’s sake, they told you.”

  “Of course they did, dear,” he replied, “they’d be in a heap of trouble if they didn’t. You know that.”

  “Well then, I’m glad you’re here,” she conceded.

  “Look,” he said, “I think it’s all connected.”

  “What is?” she asked.

  “The murder, the mugging, and the guy here at the house.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes,” his face was pallid with concern.

  “Well, in a way I feel better,” she said surprising him. “At least I know I haven’t turned into a bad luck charm. I was starting to take all this commotion personally, wondering if I needed to start doing more good in the world. Now I can go back to being happy with myself knowing it’s not me. It’s the murderer,” she paused and had a realization. “Wow, that doesn’t make me feel better. What are we going to do? How concerned should we be?”

  “I called Morrison, he’s coming over.” Sam squeezed her hand. “He thinks it’s all related too. We don’t want to let any details fall through a crack.” Sam was silently brooding, Who knows what this murdering
, mugging idiot will do next. We must get a tight grip on this situation.

  “Oh geez, do you think I can change clothes before my next interrogation?” she pleaded, “I’m sweaty and overwhelmed.”

  Chuckling, Sam observed, “The one thing I can count on is your wisecracks.”

  “Well life wouldn’t be any fun if we forgot how to laugh,” Roxanne answered back with a twinkle in her eye for him.

  “That’s our glue,” he acknowledged, squeezing her hand. Sam was not surprised his wife was handling things so well, but he didn’t want to take her strength of character for granted. Having seen people crack after too much stress was something he was trained to look out for, besides this was his love and he felt protective.

  When Morrison drove up, they met him on the porch. Roxanne recounted the events at the beach and her concern about the man on their property. The detective took it all in before he updated her and Sam.

  “Here is what we found out, Roxanne. I had our officers take the murder victim’s picture around to all the Bank Street storefronts in case someone had seen him recently. Georgi Algarve identified him, poor soul, he was beside himself. He was in despair. It was his boss that was murdered, Mitch Stockman, the owner of the Vinho Verde Wine Bar.”

  “Oh no, Georgi is so sweet!” Roxanne exclaimed, “I know him, we plant his containers and window boxes. I thought he was the owner of Vinho Verde!”

  Morrison explained, “No, Mr. Algarve actually manages the business and is a partner. He says he owns a small percent. The man you found is from Long Island. He comes here to check on Mr. Algarve and the business. It’s hard to say what warranted his murder, but I hope to find out soon enough.”

  Roxanne asked the obvious, “How do you think the mugging and the man here at the house tie into the murder?”

  “It has to, Roxanne. It’s too much of a damn coincidence. The murderer must think you saw something or found some evidence that could give us a clue. I can’t say what because we combed the scene and didn’t find anything apparent. When you first arrived at Columbus Circle did you see anything unusual? A car, a person, anything you can remember?”

  “Gee Dan, everything seemed average to me, except my trampled flowers,” she replied.

  Roxanne reviewed the scene in her mind. “I parked my truck, grabbed my tools, hooked up the hose, and then saw the dead man. It was quite an ordinary day until I found poor Mr. Stockman.”

  The detective theorized, “If that’s the case, then the murderer must have been watching the scene. He followed you to Ocean Beach. If he inadvertently left something behind, he must have thought you found it.”

  She eyed her husband, “What are we to do now, Dan?” Roxanne felt insecure and Morrison recognized his friends needed assurance.

  “Well, he saw the police with you here at your house. I think it’s safe to say he won’t be around again,” Morrison glanced at the chief, “I’m waiting on forensics for more details. Right now, I’m on my way to interview Mr. Algarve. We’ve searched Stockman’s condominium and Mrs. Stockman will be arriving from Long Island tomorrow for questioning.”

  Roxanne sympathized, “Georgi is such a dear. I hope he’s going to be okay.”

  “How well do you know him?” the detective probed.

  The chief informed Morrison, “She knows everyone, detective and if you don’t know that by now you soon will. I think she is more popular than me because of her gardening committee. Since her group does all the local city garden sites, they end up meeting the neighbors, store owners and even the politicians.”

  Roxanne added, “Georgi is one of the few who donates money to the Beautification Committee. He is on the City Center District planning committee and he pays us to do the planters in front of his store. I’ve had coffee and scones with him on several occasions.”

  Morrison pushed his hand through his hair, “Is that right, well… it’s not protocol, but would you like to come with me to talk to him? Maybe we can find out why someone is following you.”

  “Sure thing,” she quickly agreed.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Chief Samson protested, “Detective, do you really think that’s a good idea involving Roxanne like that?”

  Roxanne spoke before the detective could. “I’m already involved dear, and Georgi is my friend. Maybe we can see this mystery done and over so we can all sleep tonight.” He knew she was right and he eyed Detective Morrison.

  Morrison picked up the thread. “Chief, since she knows him, he might be more comfortable with her and probably reveal more, or say something he wouldn’t share with us. It could help us move this along. I’d like to see how Mr. Algarve responds around Roxanne and if she notices anything unusual about him.” Morrison was asking for permission and the chief knew it.

  “Alright, but I’m coming along,” the chief asserted. “Let me change out of my uniform since I’m off duty.”

  “Okay, chief,” the detective razzed, knowing they were really never off-duty in or out of uniform.

  ***

  Detective Morrison was about 15 years younger than the chief’s 52 years. Morrison had been promoted to lead Detective just three years earlier, after being a skilled uniformed officer for 13 years. When the position opened, Chief Samson had given him an excellent recommendation due to his work on a couple of arson cases they solved together.

  Samson reported that Morrison had a razor sharp mind for details and a blood hounds’ instinct. He couldn’t have solved the arson cases without him. Sam was now relying on the detective’s shrewd abilities to protect his wife. Little did he know; Georgi Algarve was about to introduce a whole new dynamic to the investigation.

  Chapter 6

  Day 1 - 2 pm

  The door chimed as Detective Morrison, Roxanne and Chief Samson walked into the Vinho Verde Wine Bar. Georgi, obviously frazzled, paced back and forth between the racks of wine bottles. He was talking to himself.

  Interrupted by their presence, he looked up and recognized his friend. “Ohh! Roxanne!” he wailed with his arms in the air as he rushed toward her. His thin frame wore slim black slacks, a designer belt and a starched soft green shirt. “Oh, thank you for coming. You’re such a doll,” he crooned. She gave him a big hug and he started to cry. Blubbering he said, “What am I going to dooooo?”

  “There now, Georgi,” she assured him patting his back, “We’ll figure things out together.” He hung on to her and didn’t stop fretting until she said, “Georgi? You know my husband, Chief Samson?” Georgi let go of her immediately, wiped his tears, and stiffly nodded to the two men.

  “It’s okay Georgi, you can relax,” Sam counseled. Georgi swiftly went into a femme fatale pose, hand against his forehead, hip swiveled and he swooned, “What am I to dooooo?”

  Detective Morrison raised his eyebrows then cleared his throat, “Georgi, we have to review some details with you, as I have new information from Roxanne here.”

  Surprised and wide-eyed, Georgi inquired of Roxanne, “What is it, my dear?” Then he muttered, “Oh, oh, where are my manners? Come sit down here at the tasting table.”

  The spacious room had a high ceiling with large rafter beams, and floors of wide pine planks with a golden patina. Old brick walls were supported by chiseled granite blocks. Tasting tables of polished oak stretched across the room. Multi-paned industrial windows let in the eastern light and framed the view of the sailing and shipping activity on the Thames River. The Chief and Detective sat on one side of the table and Roxanne sat opposite them next to Georgi.

  “Georgi,” Detective Morrison began, “I’m going to record this interview and it will be part of our investigation.” He placed his digital recorder on the table, and added, “When you met with the police earlier today, they didn’t tell you that Roxanne had found your boss, Mr. Stockman. I brought her here to help fill in more details so we can apprehend the perpetrator.”

  Georgi gasped as his hand went to his chest, “Oh Roxanne, that’s just horrible!” he squealed.

>   Roxanne told her story including all that had happened at Ocean Beach Park and her home. Hearing she had been mugged and someone was on her porch made Georgi start whimpering. “I don’t understand,” he groaned, “what if I’m next? What do they want? We’re just running a simple business. Detective, what are we to do?” Georgi pleaded with him, his face and body contorted under the emotional distress.

  The detective did not find this type of drama common, but he held his composure and explained, “Georgi, we have to follow basic procedure. We gather as much data and details as possible. That’s what we are doing now. I put it all together like a puzzle. Tomorrow morning, Mrs. Stockman is coming in and we’ll interview her, too.”

  With another melodramatic move, Georgi clasped his forehead and groaned, “Oh, no! Uhh! She’s not into this business and that’s another reason I am so upset. She’ll close us down and I so love the wine business, parties, tastings, vineyard tours and catered events. Mitch loved this business too. He was here twice a month and was pleased with how I ran it.”

  Rambling on he added, “But he loved her, I could tell, and she always wanted him home and not here, so I guess she loved him too. Detective, she hates New London. She is so over the top with ‘Long Island this’ and ‘Long Island that’.”

  “Okay Georgi,” Morrison commanded as he interrupted the emotional rant, “Let’s go over some facts, shall we?”

  Georgi calmed down and tried to behave, but Roxanne knew that wouldn’t last for long. She put her arm around his and hugged it to help him settle down. Chief Sam admired his wife’s care and compassion.

  “How’s the business been doing?” the detective asked Georgi.

  “It’s been really growing each month by word of mouth. We have a wide range of patrons, all different ages and many who travel quite a distance. We are open Wednesday to Sunday and thinking we needed to expand our hours.”

  “Are you aware of any enemies of Mr. Stockman’s, such as disgruntled vendors, employees, neighbors, anyone whom you can think of?” asked Morrison.