by Rose Young
Marissa graciously appreciated his concern for her, “Oh no, everything is in New London. The business is going to Georgi. Mitch knew I didn’t want anything to do with it.” Morelli’s eyes widened when he realized he was done with her. His eagle-eye focus on Lester and Madeline’s vineyards was still a moving target.
The ruthless Morelli’s next arrow was now aiming at the business files Mitch may have had on him. Mr. Silver had not found them in the condominium or at the Vinho Verde Wine Bar. Nabbing those files before Georgi eyed them was paramount to eliminating suspicions of his business practices. He would assure Mr. Silver’s quiver of arrows remained fully stocked, so he could complete the clandestine operation.
Chapter 47
MITCH’S LAST DAY - 8:00 am
On the day of his murder, Mitch Stockman arrived in New London at 8 am, on the car ferry, the Mary Ellen. He drove off the ferry in his Mercedes-Benz SUV and traveled eastward to Ledyard and Stonington for several vineyard appointments.
Enjoying the fresh morning air, he walked through the vineyards looking for the promise of the juicy jewels which would feed his thirst in the months to come. He lightly bantered with the vintners and tasted their selections.
Before opening a bottle, Mitch would look it over for its general appearance, legibility of label and size of air space. As a discerning buyer, he held the wine bottle up and looked through its neck to observe the vintage’s clarity, and at the conical punt on the base to detect the wine’s brilliance. Once poured, he deeply breathed in the bouquet, hoping to be enticed, to taste this fresh decant.
Pressing the glass to his lips, he cherished that moment, that very moment, which promised instant gratification. On tasting he savored, then assessed, the balance between sweetness, acidity and astringency. He was determining whether it was vinous and invigorating with a sufficient bite. Satisfied with his choices, Mitch purchased several cases from each location, some were to be delivered and some loaded into his SUV.
His next destination was Stonington Borough which occupied a point of land that projected into Little Narragansett Bay. Mitch adored the escape he felt upon entering the Borough, like arriving into another era of time. He found the historic charm embraced him as tall branching trees swept over the narrow streets filled with the sweet scent of the sea. He drove past grand sea captains’ homes, period houses and colonial architecture exhibiting old-world regalia. The large granite stoops seemed to welcome him and pledged exquisite interiors within.
Mitch had read that during the American Revolution in 1775 Stonington Borough was barraged by a British fleet which the residents stalwartly fought off their shores. 200 years later, a replica of the attack ship, the HMS Rose, was built in 1970 and later modified and used in two films, Master and Commander: ‘Far Side of the World’ and Pirates of the Caribbean: ‘On Stranger Tides’.
These corridor streets of Stonington Borough now welcomed the owners of sailing yachts, kayakers, boaters and diving day-trippers. Fisherman still worked the waters for Stonington scallops, lobster and fish right from the Bay and the Sound.
Yet on this day, the handsome wine expert had a special mission planned. Mitch drove down Water Street passing the boutique shops and savory faire restaurants, parked the car and strolled with a spring in his step into a jewelry store. The shop owner had been anticipating Mitch’s morning visit.
“How are you, my friend?” asked Orlando the owner. Reaching out his hand, he clasped Mitch’s with both of his. Excited, he announced, “Your wife’s ring is ready. The size is now a perfect 6.5. She will be so surprised!”
“Thank you, Orlando, I’m looking forward to giving it to her. Marissa would have found out about it if I had it re-sized in Long Island. She knows everyone and my surprise would have been ruined. I’m grateful my friends at the Water Street Café here, recommended you.”
“I have the ring in the safe,” Orlando said by way of assurance. He stepped into the back room to retrieve it and while he was absent, the bell on the door jingled as another customer entered. Mitch noticed a well-dressed man in a tailored silk grey suit, a dark turquoise tie and expensive Italian shoes. The gentleman nodded to Mitch.
“Good morning,” he said with a slight, non-descript accent.
“Good morning,” Mitch responded.
The gentleman asked, “Would this be the right place to have a diamond bracelet re-sized? My fiancé is so petite, it is falling off her wrist.”
Mitch understood what the man was asking, could the jeweler be trusted with an expensive item? “Oh yes, Orlando is a certified jeweler, and has been here for many years. He just re-sized an anniversary ring for my wife.”
The gentleman thanked him, and waited. When Orlando returned he saw the new customer and said, “Mitch, please come into my office.” Then he told the customer, “I’ll be with you very soon, sir.”
Mitch stepped behind the counter and slipped into Orlando’s work area which housed large magnifiers, special lighting and a bench meticulously lined with instruments of the trade.
“Here, take a look at this,” Orlando said handing Mitch the magnifying glasses he wore.
“See on the back it says, Forever My Love.”
Mitch was pleased, “I’m so glad you suggested inserting a special message. She is going to love it.”
Orlando laughed, “Mitch, my friend, this ring is 7.9 carats! There is plenty of room to inscribe on the back of such a rare pink diamond like this! Oh, my, my! In all my life, I have not seen anything like it! I did my research and found there is only one mine in Australia. It’s called the Argyle and it produces some of the best flawless pink diamonds. There is the famous Pink Star from this mine which is 59.6 carats and was auctioned for over $83 million. Bono fortunata! You have honored me by letting me work on your one-of-a-kind treasure. Multo grazie, thank you.”
“Well, this one is quite smaller, just shy of a million,” Mitch stated. “I was bono fortunata to have found it for Marissa, she will enjoy showing it off.” Mitch smiled broadly, “I thank you Orlando for having it ready in time for our anniversary.”
Just then the shop bell rang. “It’s a busy morning,” Orlando exclaimed and stepped to the doorway of his office to see who else was there. “Oh, he is gone,” Orlando murmured.
“I think he will be back,” Mitch declared, “he said he needed to re-size a diamond bracelet.”
“Very good,” said Orlando, “Here is your receipt Mr. Mitch and I wish you all the best.”
Mitch put the receipt in his inside pocket then had a thought, “I’ll be right back, hold onto the ring.” He ran out to his SUV, opened a cooler, and grabbed a bottle of wine. Returning, he offered it, “Orlando, this is one of my favorite wines with pasta, shrimp and a fra diavolo sauce. It’s a lovely Lu Rappaio Primativo, an Italian Zinfandel.”
“Grazie, thank you,” Orlando nodded with honor. “And here is your ring, in its lovely case.”
Mitch slipped the ring box into his inside jacket pocket, shook hands with Orlando and was off. Sitting in his vehicle, he patted the ring in his chest pocket. He adjusted his rear view mirror and saw the man in the jewelers cross the street and step into a silver sedan. Mitch started his engine and continued to the end of Water Street for a quick look at Stonington Harbor. He admired the Old Lighthouse Museum and parked at the Point. The high tide surf crashed on the granite boulders that retained the big shoreline view out to Watch Hill, Rhode Island and beyond to the Atlantic Ocean.
Mitch made a call to his next stop, Stonington Vineyards, to say when he’d be arriving. He was unaware of the man in the silver sedan curving round the parking lot, observing him, and slowly leaving.
***
Evening of Demise
Mitch Stockman strode down Bank Street whistling a tune. The evenings wine dinner, at the Vinho Verde, had gone extremely well. He felt confident that while he took the summer off with Marissa, he could leave the business in Georgi’s capable hands.
Arriving at Harlow Towers, Mitc
h met up with his friend Tony for an espresso at the bistro on the ground floor.
Under the stars and on the patio, they enjoyed their coffee and enthusiastically encouraged each other’s businesses in New London. The new Coast Guard Museum was about to boost tourism and their incomes too. When Tony bid him a goodnight, Mitch stood up, stretched, and took in a deep breath.
Fancying a short stroll, he admired the up-lit face of the Columbus statue and stepped across the sidewalk. He circled the dimly lit garden to the back of the statue in shadow. He looked up into the canopy of the grand old tree whose scraggly branches caught muted light and appeared like widow’s fingers grasping for the stars.
While Mitch stared upwards, he suddenly felt off balance. His mind tried to catch up to why he was falling.
He reached out as he pitched forward and found himself against the back of the statue where he braced himself against the stone staying on his feet. Swiftly he realized someone had shoved him, so he pushed off the statue towards his assailant.
Pivoting perfectly Mitch surprised the attacker with a left hook that sent the aggressor reeling backwards. The dark figure was at a disadvantage.
The two opponents were still in the shadow behind Columbus’ 16-foot stature when the mugger came back at Mitch like a bull. He tackled him at the waist, bulldozing him into Columbus’ marble foundation. Mitch hit the back of his head, yet fought with all he had. The foe, the illusive Mr. Silver, was now at an advantage. He swiftly turned Mitch toward the statue pinning him with his knee. Then with hit-man precision grabbed his head and twisted his neck. Mitch went limp.
Morelli’s advocate, rifled through Mitch’s pockets then cursed. He quickly grabbed a handful of the yew shrub that Mitch laid in and stuffed the toxic plant in his mouth, insuring his death. Frantically, he scrounged around in the dirt to find his bonus. Loudly, a passing car’s sound system broadcasted the song, ‘Mercy,’ by Shawn Mendes. There had been no mercy for Mitch Stockman on this night.
Chapter 48
Day 6 – 8:30am
Georgi, a self-professed neat-nick, was at Vinho Verde cleaning, dusting and frustrated. He was trying to stay busy while he waited to hear if Detective Morrison had caught the actual killer.
Motivating himself to feel better, he turned on his sound system and played, ‘Safe and Sound’ by Capital Cities. When he noticed the studio album title, Georgi snickered at the irony, In a Tidal Wave of Mystery. “Welcome to my life,” he murmured.
Intent on his hygienic practices, he decided to clean and ran a disinfectant cloth over the stainless-steel prep area of the bar. To the beat of the music he sang and danced as he moved the cloth over and around the cash drawer to the storage area below it.
Unexpectedly, his hand encountered a slim, hard edge deep in the cubbyhole. Quickly bending down he saw nothing, so he reached into the recess. Surprised, he pulled out a black laptop computer.
“Uhh, this is Mitch’s!” he gulped. Opening it, he suddenly felt like an intruder into Mitch's private sanctum. A back and forth banter ensued in Georgi’s mind, between curiosity and fear. Finally, he stopped his mental and emotional rumination, turned off the music and made a call.
“Roxanne!” he yelped into her ear. “I just found Mitch’s laptop under the bar! What do I do?”
Rubbing her ear she put him on speaker and yelled at the phone, “What? Oh my God, Georgi! We may finally have a break. I’ll be right there.” Roxanne raced for her purse, ran out the door and took the five-minute drive from her house to Bank Street. She wished and hoped along the way the whole thing would be over with soon.
On arrival she urged him, “Go ahead, what are you waiting for? Open it up Georgi! See what’s in there!”
He stared at the laptop immobilized. “I’m scared, what if we don’t want to know what’s in here? What if we we’re intruding?” He whined, “I’m so confuuused, uhhh,” his will was withering.
Roxanne pressed him, “We have to know, now!”
“I’m so nervous. I’m wound tighter than a string. Do you think this is the right thing to do? Shouldn’t we call Detective Morrison?” he implored.
“No!” she said loudly and Georgi jumped. “Let’s strum that string and find out what’s in this damn laptop! Then maybe we’ll know who’s playing with us, and what to do. If we give it to the detective now, we may never know what’s inside,” pleaded Roxanne. “Don't delay Georgi, we've come too far. Think, will you? Mitch would want us to find his killer.”
Georgi moaned, so Roxanne added with a motherly influence, “Let's imagine we are Mitch’s private investigators. We have to help Detective Dan. He has nothing to go on and this guy has been hiring local people off the street and in the library to do his dirty work. He uses decoys in grey suits and silver sedans. In the end Dan has no leads, just people who are paid a hundred dollar bill here and there to drive a car, or pick up an envelope.”
She attempted to appeal to Georgi’s compassionate side, “Poor Dan has nothing. Everyone is breathing down his neck. We have to help him,” she beseeched him with her best.
Georgi had listened intently, “Oh, the killer is marrying his mistakes, blending the group to make a finer wine.”
“What are you talking about?” Roxanne was baffled by his response.
“Well, it’s like wine, darling,” Georgi countered elegantly. “A vintner can start with an initial wine which may come out too acidic. But if blended with a sweet, say fruity wine, they call that marrying your mistakes. You put an average wine with a good wine and sometimes you get a great wine. So that’s what this mastermind has been doing. He takes some average people off the street and pairs them with his smart plan. He’s made an ingenious diversion and a series of calculated tricks to confuse the cops. He doesn’t get caught, his pawns do, and they know nothing. It’s a perfect blend.”
“Oh,” Roxanne uttered dryly, now remembering to whom she was talking. “Okay, you view the world through Rose´ colored glasses,” she found herself quipping, yet she was exasperated. Her hands animated her words as her voice swelled, “I’m talking about the antics of a murderer, and you attribute it to winemaking! I give up!” she looked toward the ceiling hoping for help from any willing angel.
He loudly interrupted her quiet prayer, “Of course, it’s all about the wine, darling! However else shall we see the world?” Teasing her he gestured with one hand rising slowly into the air, as if holding a helium balloon. Roxanne’s eyes followed his hand upward. Then as if released from its tether his hand gracefully floated downward and dramatically he tapped ENTER on the keyboard of the laptop.
Sure enough Mitch had his business files here. Some were labeled vineyards and vintners, others were labeled distributors, and some were labeled wine favorites. Then he came across one file labeled Morelli International Distributors. Georgi’s forehead crinkled, “I don’t believe Mitch liked him much,” he muttered. Applying his instincts, he pressed the key to open the file. It had several sub-directories of multiple documents, links and images.
Georgi clicked one and up came a Morelli site describing the company with its marketing methods, etc. “They are one of the top four distributors in the world,” he clarified.
Roxanne wondered aloud. “Why would he bother to have all this information on Morelli Distributors?”
Georgi narrowed his eyes and winced, as if in pain, “This looks suspicious. Maybe we’ve gone far enough.” He rubbed his temple recalling the blow to his head. “Let’s call the detective,” he urged.
“Georgi!” Roxanne yipped, “it's time you grow the balls of a bull!” She made a fist.
Georgi squealed, “Oh!” and his eyes grew large.
She accused him, “Don't look at me with eyes like Crème Bombes!”
“Oh, ho, ho!” Georgi exclaimed. “If I had Crème Bombes we would be eating them with a good Pinot Noir from Burgundy, France,” Georgi teased. Crème Bombes was one of his favorites, an individual chocolate cake dolloped with a white custard center.
/> Dramatically he tapped the keyboard again, “How's this?” Another file opened and zoomed forward on the screen.
“Uh, look! These are all the companies that Morelli has holdings in. I thought he was only a distributor. Why does Mitch have all this detail on him here?” Georgi was now intrigued.
“See what else there is,” Roxanne pressed. Georgi clicked the keys without hesitation.
“Here's Williamson’s Wines, vintners on Long Island, one of Mitch's favorites,” Georgi’s voice trailed off… then he murmured, “It's a shame Lester died.”
“He died!” Roxanne exclaimed, “When? I’m not taking any death for granted.”
“Oh!” Georgi gasped. “Just over a year ago. Oh, my!” His face became morbid like Melpomenes,’ the Greek muse of tragedy, “Do you think it’s connected?”
“Yes, I do,” Roxanne answered emphatically.
Georgi hypothesized, “Mitch could have been onto something about Morelli.”
“Who owns that vineyard now?” she posed.
“His wife Madeline, I think,” he responded.
“Look it up!” she commanded.
Georgi searched for Williamson Wines. “Here is their webpage. I’ll go to the tab that says, About Us.” Georgi read a historical review of the owners and the vineyard.
“It says here, ‘Lester and Madeline Williamson have owned their vineyards of fifty acres in the North Fork, since 1980. Lester developed the land into vineyards, which were originally potato fields. In 1988 vintners from Bordeaux, France were invited to advise the North Fork vintners on how to work with their climate and terroir. They reviewed which grapes were the best varieties and how to trim the vines and leaves for the best sun exposure. The goal was to harvest more mature fruit for a complex and flavorsome wine.’