Roses, Wine & Murder: In the City of Steeples

by Rose Young

  ‘In 1995, Williamson Wines started winning awards for their wines, first with a Reserve Merlot, then expanding to their Chardonnay, Sparkling Rosé and Cabernet. Sadly Lester passed away a year ago and Madeline oversees vineyard operations with her sister Camilla.”

  “Is that all?” Roxanne asked.

  “That's all, other than photos and their wines for sale,” Georgi answered.

  “Well, that's not enough information,” she declared.

  Georgi leaned back in his seat and stretched, “This doesn't make sense. Mitch wouldn't have all these files on Morelli for no reason.” He clicked back to Mitch's files, opening one attachment after another until he found a Morelli Distributor’s holdings list. “Here it shows Williamson Wines, and that Morelli is a 25% silent owner with a stipulation of reimbursement plus earnings. That's it!” Georgi jumped off his seat and raised his arms.

  “I think we’ve found something that links Morelli, Lester and Mitch.” Roxanne proudly beheld her new private-eye protégé.

  “Uh, I forgot!” Georgi admitted, “Mitch invested in Lester’s vineyard in the early 1990s. And he mentioned that in 1997 Morelli had made Lester an offer to help him financially. Lester took the offer and later wished he had not as Morelli was disagreeable and trying to force marrying his Finger Lake wines with Lester’s.” Georgi’s curiosity and adrenalin were in full flow. “Let's find out what else Morelli owns!” He scrolled through the screens searching further into Mitch’s notes.

  “Look, Mitch has listed all the vineyards where Morelli is the owner or major shareholder: Italy, Spain, Portugal, Chile, Argentina, California, Oregon, plus the Finger Lakes in New York. Wow! Mitch went to a lot of effort to figure this out. This means Morelli’s distribution can be sourced from the companies he owns, rather than equally among the wines he represents as a distributor! Mitch has found evidence that Morelli can manipulate wine markets. No wonder he documented all this research.”

  “Georgi, do you think Morelli found out that Mitch was suspicious of his business practices? And maybe there’s a connection to Lester's death? We have to be careful, this is much bigger than we could have imagined. Now, we really need to talk to Dan!” Roxanne readied to make the call.

  “Wait!” Georgi shouted, “Look, Mitch writes here he suggested to Lester that they speak with a lawyer and find a loophole to set up a trust for the 50% share Lester owned and protect it. Williamson’s Wines was looking like Morelli’s next target for takeover.”

  “Wow!” Roxanne called out, “We are finally onto something, Georgi.”

  Jumping off his seat with hands on hips, Georgi paced the floor, strutting in his naturally fashionable way. Thinking aloud, he speculated, “But it doesn’t make sense that they bothered you and me, because we don't know anything, and why the blackmailing and killing? I'm confused.”

  Sitting again he reads on, “Mitch has in his notes that, he never imagined Lester would die at 64 or that the greedy monster Morelli would stalk a vineyard owner. Early in the year 2001, Lester had to lie to Morelli to appease him. He led Morelli to believe he may sell his controlling interest to him. Yet in 2009, after one of Lester’s vintages won a 96 point acclaim, Morelli tried again to buy him out. Lester refused and became disgruntled with Morelli’s push. Morelli was unable to a buyout.

  After Lester’s death, Mitch says he hired a private investigator and did his own research on Morelli. He wanted to prove if Lester’s death was suspicious, even though it was deemed a heart attack.”

  Georgi leapt off the chair and shook his hands as if electrically shocked, “Oh my God, Roxanne! All Morelli wanted was to take the spoils like a pirate. This slime-ball is a land-shark in Bermuda shorts! What are we to do?” he pleaded.

  The image of a sun-tanned man, smelling of musk cologne, in Bermuda shorts ran through Roxanne’s mind. She shook her head to release it. Struggling to understand the scale of Morelli’s operation she expressed the now obvious, “No wonder this is complicated.”

  Horror began to sink in when she realized the worst, “Georgi, how did this man acquire all those vineyards? Did any of their owners die? Is he able to hide what he is doing under, ‘legal business practices’? Are these professional criminals? It’s time to call Detective Dan!” she spouted.

  “But wait,” Georgi urged, holding up one finger, as if to say give me a minute. Deep in thought and eyes stationary, he stared up at the large hand-hewn beams overhead. Roxanne looked up too, then back at Georgi then to a statue behind him. That statue looks like Georgi, Roxanne mused, Oh, silly me, it’s Dionysus, the Greek god of wine.

  Becoming impatient Roxanne stared at him in suspended anticipation, “Yes?” she said loudly. Georgi’s Dionysus stance came to life and circled about pacing the floor as his shoes resounded on them. With an edgy tone, she animated, “These pine planks haven’t seen this much traffic in a hundred years. Come on this is serious, Georgi! We have enough information to bring to Detective Dan now!”

  She was interrupted by a loud stomp as Georgi’s heel hit the floor boards. “I have it, Roxanne!” He marched toward her grasping her shoulders. “We’re going to Williamson Wines in Long Island!”

  “What! Why?” Roxanne gasped.

  “We have to talk to Madeline, and we have to do it in person. And we have to go now!”

  “Now? I’m not going now!” she protested.

  Georgi dramatically leaned toward her and said warmly, “But darling, you must. It is the only way we will find out why Mitch and possibly Lester were murdered. Why I was beaten up, and why you were mugged, and why there is a dead boy named J.J.”

  Roxanne’s eyes grew wide as she listened to Georgi’s strategy.

  “We can leave immediately,” he urged. “We’ll take my car and we’ll pretend to be going on wine business. It’s not even 9:30 so we can board the 10 o’clock ferry, and be there by 11:30. We will arrive at Madeline’s by noon or so, and catch the return ferry at 3 pm. You’ll be home in time for dinner, I promise.” He laid his hand over his heart.”

  Roxanne’s eyes narrowed. “Georgi, what’s gotten into you? We can’t just take off. What do I tell Sam, and what about your business here?”

  “I’ll put a sign on the door, Closed - Will Re-Open Soon. Everyone knows about Mitch, I need not explain. And Sam, well that’s your department. Where does he usually think you are?”

  “Oh, gardening of course.”

  “And do you garden all day long?” Georgi asked, tilting his head knowingly.

  “Sometimes…” her voice trailed off as she considered this clandestine caper running wild in Georgi’s head. “Is this a good idea?” She was tentative about following Georgi’s lead. She was the one often dragging others along on hers.

  Georgi responded, “We don’t know exactly, but that’s the point isn’t it? We need more information to definitely prove Morelli is behind all of this.”

  Continuing to sell his idea, he added, “How about this? You are doing a consultation for someone and you’ll be back for supper. That’s no lie! You are consulting to me!”

  “Oh, Georgi,” she hummed, reasoning that meeting with Madeline may be helpful, and at the moment they only had a list of unverified theories. And sure, Dan could investigate them but maybe one more piece of information wouldn’t hurt. Decidedly, she said, “I’ll do it! What do we need to bring?”

  Georgi listed, “I’ll bring the laptop and office items,” and suggested, “Why don’t you run to Muddy Waters for coffee. I’ll pick you up at their front door in five minutes.”

  Roxanne made a bee-line for the door then stopped, turned around and wondered aloud to him, “Who are you and what did you do with the meek and mild Georgi?”

  Smiling broadly he held up his fist, “Balls of the bull, Roxy!” She laughed and left.

  Chapter 49

  Day 6 – 9:30 am

  Roxanne was waiting at the curb with goodies in hand as Georgi pulled up in his burgundy PT Cruiser. With the drink tray balanced on her lap, she
hung on tight as they swerved past the historic red brick Union Train Station, and the waterfall of the Whale Tail Fountain. With great anticipation, they arrived at the Ferry terminal building.

  Georgi had texted and confirmed with Madeline Williamson that he was coming for a visit. While he put his car in the line-up, Roxanne ran into the ferry office to buy the tickets with his credit card. Returning, she hopped into the car just as they started to load the ferry. The dockhands waved them aboard.

  “I hope we know what we’re doing, Georgi,” she gripped his hand and he held hers tightly. They looked at each other and laughed. He squeezed tighter and said, “Don’t worry, Roxanne, we’ll be back before anyone notices were gone. This isn’t Thelma and Louise.”

  Her eyes grew wide and she cried out, “Georgi! We’d better be back!” He giggled at his own gusto.

  ***

  Neither of them knew that their clandestine mission was being watched by one of Silver’s stooges, who at this moment, was on the phone reporting their whereabouts.

  “Yeah hey, Mr. Silver, ya told me there would be another Benjamin in it for me if I found out something new. Well, I’ve got it for ya. That guy in the PT Cruiser and his blonde lady friend just boarded the ferry to Long Island. Just thought that would be bonus material for the both of us.”

  Silver snickered, “Buono, good job boy that’ll get you a Benjamin.” With a click to end the call, Silver’s flunky raised his fist, cheering his own windfall.

  ***

  Once the PT Cruiser was parked in the belly of the ferry, Roxanne and Georgi took their goodies to the top deck and sat on a bench in the open air admiring a beautiful 360-degree view. Being three stories above the ground, they overlooked New London, Groton and the Thames River. They nibbled on their crisp tarts and sipped coffee.

  “Isn’t this nice?” Georgi asked cozying up to Roxanne’s shoulder.

  “Yes, we’re so high, and look you really do notice several of the church steeples from here.”

  Towering spires of granite, brownstone, brick and wood, pierced the sky. Roxanne explained to Georgi, “The original namesake of the city will always be, ‘The Whaling City’, but many, including whale enthusiast, were pleased to coin a new one and so ‘The City of Steeples’ has been proposed. We’ll see if it passes the muster test.”

  “No matter what the muster says,” Georgi added, “I like it. It elevates the city to higher ground.” He nudged her pleased with his intended pun.

  Nearby, competing for air space and a paradox to steeples, a 21st century feature scraped the sky. On the roof of a 1950s building was a crowded metal tower with a collection of computer age antennas, satellite dishes and cellular components. Roxanne looked at it as a necessary eyesore.

  Continuing their gaze across the panorama, colorful tugboats were lined along the shore ready for work. In the background the Gold Star Bridge massively spanned the Thames River into Groton.

  Roxanne exclaimed, “Everything looks different up here on the deck. See the obelisk and Fort Griswold over there?” she pointed. “There’s a lot of history crammed into this area. I guess that’s why the new water- taxi is doing well as a sightseer’s dream ride.”

  One could see the Groton Monument obelisk rise up near the green acreage of the Fort mound. A small tunnel inside the mound allowed one to peer out, like the revolutionists, through a stone archway to the sparkling river below.

  Fort Griswold was the second landing of the turncoat Benedict Arnold’s troops. In a 1781 massacre, Colonel Ledyard and eighty men were killed after they had surrendered their weapons. The museum at the base of the obelisk honors this memory with many artifacts of the farmers and colonists.

  Announcements crackled over the ferry’s loud speaker and the horns bellowed for take-off. Jolted by the abrupt sounds, Roxanne giggled.

  “Whoa! I’m not use to all this excitement!” Standing up, she clutched the rail to watch their departure. A surreal shift occurred in Roxanne’s vision as the ship slowly moved away from the dock. Looking over the rail she watched the water swirl and foam far below under the engine’s surge. A cloud of diesel fumes puffed through the air and passed by her, making her feel a little dizzy. Simultaneously she was blinded as the boat turned toward the bright southeast sun. She gripped the railing tighter. The mixing of new sounds and sensations with the impromptu adventure had her feeling off. She focused on the shoreline.

  A fresh breeze moved across her face as Georgi came to her side, “Isn’t it lovely?” he mused happily.

  “I’m just finding my sea legs,” she revealed, “being a gardening girl, I’m more comfortable standing on soil than moving water.”

  “Don’t worry,” he encouraged her, “you will steady in a minute. And I promise you, when we are in the North Fork, you’ll be immersed in gardens and vineyards.” He nudged her, “Look over here.” As cargo ships, sailboats and motor boats glided along the river. Georgi pointed at a black Navy submarine mounted in its dry dock.

  “Oh my,” Roxanne resounded, “I’ve only seen them slink by in the Sound. It’s a huge boat out of the water!” Strolling across the deck they caught a view of the impressive Coast Guard’s tall ship, the Barque Eagle on display at its own dock. Consecutively, the New London City Pier had the grand 1840s whaling ship, the Charles W. Morgan, available for tours.

  Georgi spotted the wall of cannons facing the Sound at Fort Trumbull. “Those cannons look ready to fire, we probably could use those on our side,” he nudged her humorously. Roxanne recalled her angry thoughts of war just days earlier. So much has happened since then… and it’s not over yet, she mused.

  The breeze was blowing Roxanne’s hair about. She looked at Georgi. “So what’s the story? Not one hair on your head is out of place!”

  He smiled, “The ancient secret is aloe vera gel to set my hair, and the modern secret is hairspray to hold it.”

  “Aloe vera? That’s a good tip.” She considered, “If people really understood how dependent we are on plants, they might give the planet a little more respect instead of taking it all for granted.”

  “Oh, look!” someone called out. Rapidly coming into view and hugging the shoreline, was the brilliant white octagon spire of New London Harbor Lighthouse. “It’s so handsome from here and look at the light-keeper’s house,” Roxanne admired. “I wish everyone could see this view, it is totally different from driving by it on the road.”

  The ferry continued advancing towards Neptune and Ocean Beach. As it headed into Long Island Sound, what at first appeared to be a tiny lighthouse in the distance came into full view once they were upon it. The majestic Ledge Light rose as the 5-story guardian between Thames River and the Sound.

  Roxanne confided, “Lighthouses represent hope to me, Georgi, so let’s hope we are motoring towards a new future where we can return with solid evidence for the detective to break this case.”

  Georgi added with vigor, “Evidence that catches that heartless killer.”

  Roxanne looked up into Georgi’s blue eyes and saw a determination she had not witnessed before. It was confidence. He was starting to believe in himself, and it looked good on him.

  “Fresh breezes, Roxanne, soon we will have our lives back.” He cupped her hand, “Don’t worry Thelma, we’ll be fine.” She sheepishly smiled, hoping he was right. She looked back at New London. Here I am on a secret mission. It’s a good thing Sam’s busy with the President’s visit today. At least I’ll be back by supper. She sighed and convinced herself. Sam will understand. Roxanne looked out over the water. All I want is peace back in my life.

  Although encouraged by the hope of new evidence, she knew the possibility of peace was held delicately on the wind of their journey. This positive desire propelled her across sparkling waters, toward sandy shores, with vibrant vineyards, and land-sharks in Bermuda shorts.

  Chapter 50

  Day 6 – 10:00 am

  In one hour the motorcade of the President of the United States would arrive on the grounds of
the Coast Guard Academy in New London. Connecticut’s Governor, Senators, and numerous officials stood by ready to greet the president and shake his hand in an official photo opportunity. News was being made and the Press were waiting to report it.

  ***

  Meanwhile, at police headquarters, Detective Morrison was up to his neck with three murders and was buying time before releasing the information on the death of Charlie Brass, and planned to withhold the connection to Mr. Silver. The president was leaving by 1:00 pm and the detective was very concerned to maintain a static state of suspended reality until the president’s plane left. Morrison’s hope was: nothing new, no emergencies, urgencies and definitely no murders.

  Assistant Detective, Jack Peabody was fielding calls in response to the $5,000 reward offered in the newspaper and poster notices for information on Stockman’s demise and the whereabouts of anyone suspicious. Morrison expected they would be busy all day interviewing these informants. Meanwhile, one of the research experts investigated Morelli International Distributors on the computer.

  Looking forward, Morrison was anxious to hear from his colleague, Detective Jason Reuben on Long Island, with his results from the interviews with Mrs. Williamson and Mr. Morelli.

  ***

  The unlikelihood of Morrison ever discovering the background of Mr. Silver was high. Having worked in the undercover field for decades, Silver was an infamous secret silencer. His job was to assure covert success. In the past, Silver had been in the Italian Secret Service but had become a double agent and gone rogue in an undercover project called Gladio with the Military of Defense. The job was far-reaching into the depths of an international underworld. He was what was known as, a ghost. A legendary invisible hitman that could appear anywhere at any time and extinguish anyone.

  Once Gladio dissolved, he slipped into civilian life, yet stayed connected to the underworld where he was known for his talents. Eventually, he met Art Morelli.