by Rose Young
Since 1639, the Griswold family, were some of the first settlers, seamen, and whalers in southern Connecticut. Matthew Griswold IV was voted in as Governor in 1785 and promoted Thanksgiving as an official holiday to carry on the Pilgrim tradition of giving thanks. The Griswold’s colonial pursuits were liberty in the young America and financial prosperity as land owners, mariners and boat builders. Their heritage stood as strong as the masts on their famous merchant ships, the Black X Line.
Captain Griswold had sailing in his blood. His passion was to live near the water, dock on the land and set sail as often as possible, leaving and returning like a tide. He loved both the departure and the return equally. He felt sailing made him a better person, appreciating his family and the land more because of leaving, yet always returning. In turn, his wife and children appreciated him more too.
Ferrying the Sea-Jet high-speed passenger catamaran and the Mary Ellen car-carrier, required the captain to be away from home overnight because of his route to Long Island. Not long at all compared to serving in the Coast Guard. Besides, time away made his wife’s kisses sweeter when he returned.
From Captain Griswold’s vantage point at the helm, he could see Mrs. Stockman. She had come into New London on his morning run from Long Island. He knew her through her husband, the jovial, easy-going Mitch. Word had traveled quickly across Long Island Sound that his regular passenger, Mitch Stockman was murdered.
He watched her on the open deck as her light auburn hair and yellow scarf lifted and floated in the breeze. He felt for her loss, not able to imagine the shock of this young widow, who appeared to be in her early forties.
Once underway, Griswold put the second officer in charge of the wheelhouse so he could greet the passengers. He noticed Mrs. Stockman as she stepped up to the bar, ordered a drink, and strolled to the open air deck. Her eyes were hiding behind large designer sunglasses. He pondered how the eyes reveal so much about someone, if they are engaged in a conversation or withdrawn, if there is emotion or indifference. ‘Windows to the Soul’, his mother called them.
Griswold considered approaching her to say he was sorry, say how he knew Mitch and enjoyed their conversations, say how Mitch chatted with him often and told him about his wine business and his home on Long Island with his new wife of four years. He could say how he felt Mitch and he were similar, traveling to and away from home and appreciating all of it. After much thought he decided it was best to leave her with her grief and he climbed the small iron staircase to the helm to maneuver the ferry through the currents that churned at the mouth of the Thames River.
Beyond Ledge Lighthouse, he was in the open waters of the Sound. Griswold had his second officer take charge again. Straightening his uniform, he descended the narrow steps to the deck below and the bar. He was about to step out of the shadows of the stairwell when he saw one of his deck-hands approach Mrs. Stockman. He whispered to her, and handed her an envelope. She briefly said thank you, then just as quickly turned away and clenched her hand.
Griswold stopped and stayed in the shadows, wondering what this young man passed on to her, and what had he whispered. He considered his next move when he saw her take off her sunglasses. He watched her svelte form approach the bar for another drink. She then sat at a small table by a window and opened her hand.
Cautiously, she opened it and inside was a note that contained a memory stick. Griswold watched quietly. A flash of anger crossed her face. She folded the note around the memory stick, slipped it in her purse and eyed her surroundings warily.
It was then the Captain moved out of the shadows and toward her table.
“Mrs. Stockman, I’m Captain Griswold,” he introduced himself as he stood with his hands behind his back and gently nodded to her, in respect. Griswold had handsome dark hair with gray flecks, a short well-trimmed beard, and looked ten years younger than his early-fifties.
Slightly surprised, she said “Oh, hello captain,” looking apparently taken aback by his sudden appearance.
“I want to extend my condolences for the loss of your husband, Mitch.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s been very difficult as you may imagine.” Her eyes fluttered downward as her voice trickled over him like a gentle stream on a hot summer day. Griswold was caught off guard by her demure femininity, composing himself, he volunteered some sociable information.
“Mitch and I came to know each other quite well on these trips when he checked in on his business here in New London. He had shown me your photo, as he was very proud of you. He was a friendly Soul and I will miss him.” Griswold searched her eyes as he spoke. There was something lacking and he thought maybe she was still in shock.
“Yes, that is very considerate of you to tell me,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize he had many friends here. I was busy with my own work and didn’t manage to travel with him. He did love his wine business and meeting people who loved wine. It’s terribly difficult to believe this has happened, it’s all such a shock.” She pursed her lips and looked down at the table.
Griswold gently replied, “If there is anything I can do to make your travels more comfortable, please do not hesitate to let me know. I imagine you will be back and forth a few times until things are settled,” he inquired.
She looked up at him startled to think that it might be true, “Oh, I don’t know. It’s up to the police, really.” Then catching herself she switched her tone and added in a smooth silky voice, “Thank you, Captain for your kindness,” she extended her hand to shake his. As he reached for her hand, he looked into her eyes. They were an unusual blue-green and with her fair complexion and auburn hair, he found her quite stunning.
Then purposely to catch her off guard he asked, “Was my deck-hand Johnny able to assist you in some way?”
Ever so smoothly she pulled her hand back and said, “Yes, he helped me with my bags and I gave him a tip.” She shifted again in her seat. He watched her lying eyes turn cool as she controlled her emotions. “Thank you Captain for your concern,” she nodded with respect.
The bartender leaned in, “Here is your drink, Ma’am.”
The captain backed away, and tipped his cap, “Good day, Mrs. Stockman.”
He returned to the bridge and observed his second officer piloting the Sea-Jet flawlessly while approaching Little Gull Island. Griswold announced over the loud speaker, “Ladies and gentlemen, you will see the seals are out today and have gathered on the Little Gull’s rocky shore sunning themselves.” He proceeded to inform, “The first Little Gull Lighthouse was installed in 1806 and in 1869 it was replaced by the current 81-foot stone tower with a brighter second order Fresnel lens.”
It was 4:10 pm when Captain Griswold smoothly steered the Sea-Jet into the Orient Point Terminal, on the tip of the North Fork of Long Island, New York.
Griswold said to his crew in the wheelhouse, “Right on time, mates, a good 40-minute run. Be ready for the return in an hour.”
“Yes, Sir,” the crew chimed. They afforded him more respect than the other captains, because of his Coast Guard career, but he was fairly relaxed about it. He liked order and discipline, but didn’t require overt boot-licking to maintain his command.
Griswold stood at the end of the boat ramp to say ‘Good-day,’ to the passengers as they disembarked the ferry. He looked for Johnny, the young deck-hand. His thoughts raced as he considered Mrs. Stockman. Why did she lie about giving him a tip? What did he give her? He’s not in her league. He’s a guppy in her sea of influence.
Griswold waited for his crew to clean up the ferry, grab their bags and head off the ship to the local snack bar to relax for a short time. Since Johnny lived in Greenport, he was off until the morning shift.
Johnny stepped off the ramp, Griswold asked, "Johnny, can you spare a minute?"
"Sure thing Cap, what can I do for you?" He was a clean-cut kid. His navy polo shirt and khaki pant uniform were clean and crisp, his belt and boat shoes matched. He had be
en working for the ferry service just 2 months.
“Take a short walk with me, will you?”
“Yes sir.”
“I just want to tell you that you’ve been doing a fine job this spring." He walked Johnny back to the locker room.
“Thank you, sir, I like the work and it pays for my online school.”
“Johnny, I have to ask you something about one of our passengers.”
Unfazed Johnny asked, “What's that, Cap?”
“I saw you hand something to Mrs. Stockman. What was it? I'm concerned for your safety because her husband was found murdered yesterday.”
‘What? I didn't know that!’ he said, sincerely astonished.
“So, tell me, what is going on? What did you give to her?”
“I, er, gave her an envelope from Charlie Brass, the dockworker. He pointed her out and asked me to pass it on to her. He said she left it behind and wanted to be sure it was returned to her. That's all. I didn't know her husband was just murdered!”
The Captain lifted his cap and scratched his head, “That’s it?”
“Really, Cap that's all I know. I don't want to get mixed up in anything.”
Griswold looked the boy over then analyzed his behavior and his eyes. He believed him.
"Has Charlie asked you to do anything else?” the captain asked.
“No Sir, I promise you.”
“Johnny, stay alert for anything unusual. Someone murdered Mitch Stockman and he was my friend. We need to pay attention until they catch the killer. Anything at all, you report to me, only.”
“Of course, Sir, I just need to keep my job.” Visibly nervous, he swiped his dark blonde hair to the side
“If Charlie asks you to do anything, just go along with it and get back to me, Okay?"
“Yes Sir, I will do that. I don't want any trouble.”
In a fatherly way, the captain put his hand on Johnny's shoulder and quietly said, "There are all types of characters in the world, Johnny, and most will do anything for money. I know Charlie. He’s a good guy and he’s been here for a long time. But Mrs. Stockman’s husband is dead. I’m just saying to be careful.”
"Yes Captain, thanks for the tip. I’ll be more alert now."
"Ok, I'll see you tomorrow on the morning run." Griswold watched Johnny swing his backpack over his shoulder. He’s a good kid, he reflected.
Griswold walked out to the observation deck for some fresh air and to eat his sandwich. His gut felt an atmospheric shift, like when the barometric pressure drops before a storm, not visible but sensed. Yet in this case, it was a storm made by man, not by weather. Little did he know, there was no measurable length and breadth to this man-made tempest. Its environs were far reaching, much like a hurricane, with incalculable troubling disturbances.
Chapter 14
Day 2 – 4:45 pm
Marissa Stockman hugged her daughter Vanessa while looking out to the Sound in the small town of Orient Point on Long Island. Her view from the second story of their home was hard earned. Her years as a real estate broker had paid off. The business practically ran itself now with the agents she employed. Her summer plans had taken a terrible turn. Mitch's death felt insurmountable and the fear of the unknown overwhelmed her.
“I’ll watch over you, Mom.” Vanessa hugged her tightly. Her long dark hair draped over her mother’s shoulder. She had just finished her third year of university in New York City and was home for the summer. Marissa was relieved. Her friends, her business, and now her daughter would keep her busy while she would try not to be consumed by the loss of Mitch.
“I can't believe this happened,” Marissa said, squeezing her daughter. “We were to spend the summer off together, enjoying ourselves. A second honeymoon, he called it.” Tears streamed down her face. She allowed her daughter's sleek hair to soak them up. Vanessa held her tighter, and silently her tears continued.
“I'm so sorry Mom. Mitch was so good to you.”
Her mother heaved a massive sigh and replied, “I have to get ready to meet the florist, darling, for the funeral. Do you want to come?”
“Is anyone else going with you?” Vanessa asked, concerned.
“Yes, I asked Jenny from the office. She said she would be available.”
“Mom,” Vanessa wiped a tear from her mother’s cheek gently, “I'll run some other errands for you, if you don't mind. Maybe I'll pick up your dry cleaning, and order food at Gabriela's Catering, so we have something when people stop by.”
“Oh, yes. That would be lovely, dear.” She stroked her daughter’s hair while looking into her dark brown eyes, “What would I do without you? Thank you, honey.” Marissa kissed Vanessa’s cheek.
Immediately after Vanessa left the room, Marissa pulled the memory stick out of her purse. She locked the door and went to her laptop in the adjoining sitting room of her master suite. She stood looking at the screen. A boldly stated message popped up:
Do as I say, or your daughter will suffer!
Mitch didn't want to play but I know you will.
Put $10,000 cash in one of your red Realty envelopes. Address it to Johnson Jones for pick up only.
Put it in the mailbag the day after tomorrow on the 7am Long Island Sound Ferry.
P.S. No Cops or there will be No Vanessa!
Marissa’s knees buckled under the horror. She fell into a chair succumbed by the thought of harm to her daughter. Her thoughts raced, Oh my God! Oh my God! What am I to do? Hugging a pillow, she rocked back and forth. She thought of Mitch. How did this happen to us? Who are these people?
For a moment, her mind took over, and urged her to check the memory stick for more information. Another file was on it. She clicked it open, suddenly in a flash, Vanessa’s face popped up smiling on the screen. Marissa burst into tears and clutching the pillow she buried her face to muffle her sounds. She moved to her bed and curled into a ball weeping.
Vanessa walked by her mother’s door and heard the sobbing, thinking they were tears for Mitch. Mom finally met the right man and now he’s gone. This is devastating.
Chapter 15
Day 3 – 8 am
Early the next morning Roxanne decided her garden needed a good cutting back. Spring flowering shrubs had bloomed and new growth was bolting forth. Judiciously, she lined up several tools, a crossover hand pruner and loppers, the pole-saw for trees, and the electric hedge trimmer for shaping the shrubs. All ready to go, she started snipping and clipping.
First, she pruned the lilac Sensation, the only one that has a smooth fragrance and dark purple petals outlined with a white edge. Next was the lightly perfumed early blooming viburnum burkwoodii. Then she climbed a ladder and trimmed the pink thornless rose, Zephirine Drouhin. Tolerating part shade and poor soil, its best trait was imbuing its surroundings with a sweet fragrance. It was interwoven on the arbor with a kiwi vine, the variegated one with pink and white leaves. It offered delicious tiny fruit which the squirrels and birds devoured, leaving her and Sam a few handfuls for dessert.
Roxanne moved on to her David Austin rose bushes, rich yellow of Graham Thomas and the warm pink rosettes of Gertrude Jeykll. Gingerly, she snipped off the dead wood and spent buds. She whizzed through the privet hedge with her long hedge trimmer. It was one of the main privacy walls to the backyard.
The physical activity of cutting and clipping was a rewarding way of cleansing her of her frustrations. The garden labor, fresh air and sunshine finally released her mind from worrying thoughts.
Standing by the small pool in her Asian contemplation garden, she took a moment to admire the multiple tints and tones of green in her hostas and the graceful sweeping bend of the Hakone grass under the Hinoki cypress. She had separated her yard into three distinct garden rooms.
She moved on to review the annuals in the front yard which were beginning to fill in well among the mixed border of perennials and shrubs. The multi-colored zinnias, pink and yellow lantanas, and brilliant blue scaevola would all bloom well in the sun.
&
nbsp; Taking a moment, she swallowed some water, and observed her small kitchen garden. A rectangular-raised herb and vegetable bed satisfied her cooking needs, producing chives, thyme, parsley, rosemary, tarragon and sage. She even had a spot of catnip for kitty. Later on, there would be fresh tomatoes of various heirlooms, yellow string beans, peppers and cucumbers.
After several hours passed, her cell phone rang, interrupting her contentment. “Hello?”
“Roxanne, we know who has the motive!” Detective Morrison declared.
“Oh good! Who?”
“It’s Georgi Algarve!” Morrison replied quickly.
She threw her loppers on the ground, “That’s impossible!”
Morrison tried to explain, “We’ve read the will and business contracts and Georgi inherits the Vinho Verde, Roxanne, the whole business, including investments in several wineries. It seems he has the most to gain financially since Mitch’s wife is already wealthy and doesn't want the business."
“I don't believe it. It can't be, Dan. No, I don't think he did it!”
“Well, he may have hired someone,” the detective suggested. “His neck was snapped and a preliminary toxicology report has confirmed that poisonous plant in his mouth is Taxus baccata! I’m still waiting for further results, but this was a hit not an accident.”
Emphatically protesting, Roxanne said, “No, no, no! It's not possible. Maybe someone slipped Mitch a Mickey. Georgi doesn't have a bone in his body that could do that, and besides he wouldn't beat himself up! Have you talked to him?"
“Not yet, but I'm planning on going down there soon. I’d like you to be there when I question him. I don’t think he will lie to you,” Morrison said, persuasively.
Unimpressed, Roxanne retorted, “You mean when you accuse him? Oh, I don't know Dan. I don't think I’m ready to do anything like this. What am I, the good cop, while you're the bad cop?”
Thoughts flashed through her mind. Oh, what should I do? He's innocent. I really should be there for him. He’s been such a dear to me this year. He let me use Vinho Verde for an impromptu birthday party... Maybe I can help him. She spoke up before Dan’s thoughts had come together.