Dandelion Dead

by Chrystle Fiedler

  “No,” Jackson said. “It just reinforces the fact that she still does have feelings for David to Detective Koren, which goes directly to motive.”

  Almost everyone else had gone to their cars, including David’s father and brother. “I’ll talk to her. But shall we go?” I said. “We can take my car to the cemetery.” The three of us got into my mint-green Prius and followed the hearse, the limo, and the rest of the mourners. But Walter and Kurt Farmer veered off in a different direction. At least there would be no confrontation today.

  The rest of us headed around the corner to the church’s cemetery, which would be Amy’s final resting place. The Lords had been second-home residents in Orient for years, and upon retirement had settled here permanently and purchased a family plot.

  Jackson turned to look in the backseat at Simon, who had two bouquets of roses. “What are those for?”

  “Ivy asked us to pick them up so people could say good-bye and lay one on her grave.”

  “Nice.”

  We drove into the cemetery across from Southold High School and down a dirt road to the gravesite and parked behind David’s limo. When we got out, we walked over to Amy’s grave, which was next to Walter Lord’s, her grandfather, both of which had elaborate marble headstones. Once we had all gathered, the pastor led a brief ceremony.

  Once he was done, I helped Simon hand out the roses to all the mourners. Ivy went first, with her mumbling something we couldn’t hear, then dropping the rose on the coffin and falling to her knees on the dirt crust around the grave. David dropped his rose, then helped her up. He and Scott guided her to the limousine.

  One by one, we stopped by Amy’s grave, said our good-byes, and placed a rose on the coffin. Gerald, who was last, lingered by the grave longer than most. When he finally tossed the rose in, tears were in his eyes.

  Before the crowd began to disperse, Simon said, “Please join us at Salt now for light refreshments.”

  The crowd mumbled back thank-yous and headed for their cars. But when we got back in the Prius, Simon pointed out the window. “Look, Gerald is still standing there, by the gravesite.”

  “He looks like a statue,” I said. “Like he’s frozen.”

  • • •

  Most of the mourners had decided to come to Salt, but David’s father and brother thankfully were not among them. Gerald was also missing; perhaps he was still at the gravesite. Obviously, there was more to that relationship than we’d thought. The other vineyard owners weren’t here either, since it was North Fork UnCorked! week.

  But this wasn’t a worry, as Simon and I would begin interviewing them all later on our self-styled tour. For now, Simon’s staff had prepared a light lunch of chowder and sandwiches for everyone, although Ivy and David weren’t interested in eating and instead kept to themselves at a table in the corner.

  Jackson grabbed a table nearby while I went to the bar to get something to drink. Emily Lord, Ivy and Amy’s grandmother, had taken a seat at the bar and was sipping a manhattan on the rocks. She wore a simple black shift dress, with sturdy heels, glasses, and her hair in tight white curls. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lord.” She turned to look at me. “Thank you, dear. And you are?”

  “I’m Willow McQuade, a friend of Simon Lewis. I own a health food store, Nature’s Way, in Greenport. I catered the cocktail party at Pure on Sunday.”

  “My poor sweet Amy. The family is shattered. She was so young.” Even though Emily was elderly, she definitely seemed clearheaded and cogent.

  “I know. This must be very difficult for all of you.”

  “Amy had so much potential. If only her grandfather and Ivy didn’t try to dominate her so, she might have found her way.” Emily took a sip of her drink. “I stood up for her more than once, but there was only so much I could do. It’s no wonder that David ended up with Ivy, instead of Amy. Ivy knows how to get what she wants—she learned that from her grandfather, and my husband, Walter Lord.”

  chapter eleven

  The buzz of the crowd inside Salt continued, but I stared at Emily Lord, trying to digest what she had just told me. “David and Amy used to be a couple?”

  “Of course, all through college. David, Amy, and Ivy all met out here and eventually attended Boston University. The date for the wedding was set for the middle of June right after graduation in May, but then something happened and it was called off. By Christmas of the following year, David and Ivy were engaged to be married.”

  “What happened, do you know?”

  Emily shook her head. “But David and Ivy have made a good marriage, so I suppose it worked out for everyone.” Obviously, Emily Lord hadn’t had a close-up view of that marriage in a long time. Before I could probe any further, she had taken her glass, grabbed her walker, and wandered off.

  I stepped up to the bar and waited to order two seltzers with lime wedges. No drinking for me today. Simon and I had decided in the car that we would begin our wine-country tour this afternoon, and I needed to remain clearheaded to try to find some answers. As I stood there, Gerald finally arrived and headed directly for the bar.

  I approached him when he reached it. “Are you okay? You seemed pretty upset during the service and afterward.”

  “I told you, Amy was good people. Not like her sister, or David. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”

  I decided to push it a bit. “But to be that upset, it seems like it was more personal. Were you and Amy involved?”

  “That’s none of your business.” He raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention and, when he came over, said, “Give me a glass of Farmer’s cabernet, please.”

  “Farmer’s? Not one of your own wines?”

  The bartender returned with the glass of wine. Gerald took the glass, turned back to me, said, “I seem to have lost my taste for it,” and stormed away.

  I ordered the seltzers and returned to our table, where I found Jackson talking to Simon. At the next table, Ivy was talking to Ramsey Black.

  “What did you find out up there?” Simon said.

  “Interesting stuff,” I said. “Did you know that Amy and David were an item in college at BU and were supposed to get married, but called it off and no one knows why? And that by Christmas of the following year, David was engaged to Ivy?”

  “Wow,” Simon said. “No way. Really? That had to cause some hard feelings all around.”

  “I know, and on another front, Gerald definitely does not want to talk about his feelings for Amy, and he ordered a glass of Farmer’s wine instead of yours. He said, ‘I seem to have lost my taste for it.’ ”

  “So something is up,” Jackson said. “Maybe Walter Farmer made him an offer after he e-mailed over the letter and his résumé that we found on his computer last night.”

  “Maybe, but where is David? And what’s up with Ivy and Ramsey? Did you manage to overhear anything?”

  Jackson nodded. “David left the table right after you went up, and I don’t know where he is. But Ramsey came right over to talk to Ivy. At first, he expressed his condolences, but it quickly changed into a discussion about Gerald and the possibility that he might be leaving, and the fact that David knew about the two of them, and how it might affect the competition if the word got out.”

  “Really? You heard all that?”

  “I have supersonic detective hearing. Even though I’m retired, I don’t miss much.”

  “You are good.” I gave him a smile.

  “Thank you, hon,” Jackson said. “But we still have lots of gaps that need to be filled in. Personal relationships are one thing, but so is money.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Simon said. “Two hundred K is a good chunk of change. It could be life-changing to some. Not to me, of course.”

  “We know, Simon,” I said.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Focus, you two. So this means that it’s really important to check out the other vineyard owners to see if one of them wanted David dead, and if they are trying to l
ure Gerald away. They were not happy at the tasting.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “We also need to check and see if any of the vineyard owners who were at the Pure party have access to any poison hemlock. So besides asking questions, we need to be on the lookout for that as well.” I checked my watch. “It’s twelve fifteen. I say we leave right after we finish eating.”

  “Where do we start?” Jackson said.

  “Are you coming?” I looked at him. “I thought you didn’t have time.”

  “Everything is under control at the farm. And I thought you could use my help.”

  “Always.”

  Simon smiled and clapped his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

  “We’ll start with Camille and Carter Crocker at Crocker Cellars. I think she may be able to shed some light on the other vineyard owners.”

  • • •

  An hour later, on Thursday afternoon, we all piled into Simon’s fire-engine-red convertible Mini Cooper and headed to Crocker Cellars, which was located in Mattituck, fifteen minutes east of Greenport. Camille was closely connected to most members of the local wine community and had indicated a desire to help, so it was the logical place to start.

  The so-called North Fork Wine Trail began in Baiting Hollow and ended in Orient Point, but instead we would be hopping from vineyard to vineyard, not to taste every wine but to interview those owners who had been at the party at Pure on Sunday.

  Ten minutes later, we drove past the former Hargrave vineyard, now Castello di Borghese, in Cutchogue. Louisa and her now ex-husband, Alex Hargrave, cofounded the LI wine industry in 1973 when they were the first to plant grapes out here, on this land, and eventually produced several different award-winning varietals, including cabernet franc, cabernet sauvignon, chardonnay, merlot, and pinot noir. Thanks to the glacial soils and cool maritime climate, grapes thrived both on the North Fork and the South Fork, i.e., the Hamptons, and the winemaking business grew, eventually catching the attention of wine aficionados across the country and around the world.

  Crocker Cellars was located north of Route 48, five minutes west of Castello di Borghese. Simon took a quick right, and we traveled down a rough cement road that was badly in need of repair. Because farmland bordered both sides of it, when gusts of wind from Long Island Sound blew in, the air became filled with yellow-brown particles of dirt.

  Crocker Cellars was an oasis in the middle of the brown farmland. The twenty-five-acre estate featured over $1 million in landscaping, including lush gardens and a man-made pond, with half the land dedicated to growing the grapes to make merlot, cabernet franc, chardonnay, and cabernet sauvignon vintages.

  The tasting room was fashioned after a Tuscan farmhouse, made out of pale yellow brick accented with wrought iron, a red-tile roof, and a wooden double door with heavy metal door knockers. This nod to Tuscany was thanks to Camille Crocker’s heritage—her grandfather had an olive-oil business in this region of Italy.

  My favorite part, though, was the beautiful plants in front of the building, a mixture of blues, violets, and pinks, from flax, sage, and rosebushes, which were just about done for the season. Camille had taken the tour of Aunt Claire’s medicinal herb garden more than once, and I knew she had faith in natural cures, such as the lavender found here.

  Lavender was my all-time favorite herb—the Latin root of the name is lavare or “to wash” because of its clean aroma—and I often used it as a tonic for stress relief and to help me sleep since it’s a natural sedative. I often picked off a few dark purple blossoms and rubbed them together to release the soothing scent.

  Simon pulled into the parking lot and took a spot near the door. But as he did, Leonard Sims, the former owner of Pure, backed out in his Lexus. Simon jumped out of the car and went over and stopped him before he could go.

  “What are you doing here, Sims?”

  “It’s a free North Fork, Simon. I can go where I please. Have you reconsidered my offer to buy Pure?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then I was right to explore other options. Now if you don’t mind, I need to be going.”

  Simon stepped away from the car. “What other options?”

  But Sims drove off and left Simon there. “What was that all about?”

  “Maybe he was here to do business with the Crockers.” Through the window of the tasting room, I saw Camille inside talking to Carter. “They’re in the tasting room.”

  “So what’s our approach?” Simon said.

  “Camille knows that I’m looking for information so I say we get the general lay of the land, the feelings about David and Pure in the community. See if anyone is especially disgruntled.”

  “And why Sims was here.”

  But as we got closer, it became clear that Camille and Carter weren’t talking, they were arguing. As Jackson opened the door, we heard Camille say, “I told you I’m not selling! We can figure this out.”

  Carter, who was facing the door, saw us and said something to Camille, who turned around with a smile plastered on her face. “Chérie! You made it!”

  The interior of the tasting room was rustic, with stone floors, stucco walls, a pitched wooden ceiling, and rows of barrels, with several round high-top tables and stools, accented by colorful murals that depicted Tuscan vineyards and villages.

  Several Crocker Cellars wine bottles of various vintages had been placed on the tasting station next to pretty crystal glasses, ready for customers. Through an arched doorway, a corridor led to crates of wine that were ready to go.

  I went over to her and we exchanged air kisses. “Is this a good time?”

  “Sure thing,” Carter said. “In fact, I have something I wanted to show you, Simon.” Carter walked over to the tasting bar, picked up an impressive-looking bottle of wine, and handed it to Simon. “Got this little beauty at an auction in New York yesterday. Whatcha think?”

  “A Chambertin, nice.”

  “It’s not nice, it’s amazing. I had to get my own back after you beat the tar out of me at that East End Community Veterinary Care auction.”

  “Right.” Simon handed it back. “I see.”

  “There’s still the matter to be settled on Sunday by those Wine Lovers magazine judges.”

  “Sorry, buddy, that one is in the bag.”

  Carter gave Simon a hard look, but then broke into a broad grin. “We’ll see about that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my day job is calling. Good to see you folks.”

  “Shall we do a little tasting?” Camille turned away, went over to the wine bar, and picked up a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

  “Sure,” Simon said. “Love to.”

  Camille picked up the corkscrew, opened the bottle, and began to pour.

  “None for me, thanks,” Jackson said. “I don’t drink.” We were both grateful for his recovery in AA.

  “No problem,” Camille said as she filled three glasses, and handed one to each of us.

  Simon sipped his. “Very nice, Camille, thank you.”

  “Simon, let’s take a look around,” Jackson said, motioning to the archway. It would give me time to talk to Camille privately.

  Once they moved away, I said, “Camille, are you okay?”

  “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

  “But you two were arguing about selling the winery, and we saw Leonard Sims outside.”

  “That man is a leech. We’ve just had some problems this year, and some unexpected expenses, and our winemaker just quit, so it’s been, well, tumultuous. But I believe that we can make a real go of it. We’ve already won several prestigious competitions, and despite what Simon said, we do have a chance of winning on Sunday. We’re nipping at Pure’s heels. He knows that—everyone does.”

  I took a sip of the wine. “Your wine is very good.”

  “Thank you, but unfortunately, Carter is only focused on the bottom line. We’ve had a lot of money going out, and not enough coming in. So he asked Sims here.”

  “It takes time
for a business to become profitable. Surely Carter understands that.”

  “Sometimes he does, but today is not one of those days. But I’m working on a solution. I won’t sell.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She took a generous sip of her wine and placed it on the bar. “Enough about me. How can I help you?”

  “I’m trying to get a feel for things in the vineyard community. I’m hoping that it will help me figure out who killed Amy. It may have been a mistake.”

  “What kind of mistake?”

  “David offered one of his scallop appetizers to Amy, and she ate it and died. He didn’t eat his. We think, and the police do as well, that David was the actual target, that somebody wanted him dead.”

  “No! How horrible.” She downed the rest of her glass, and as she put it back on the bar, her hands were shaking.

  “So I guess my question is, have you ever heard any chatter about David or know of anyone who really had a grudge against him or Pure?”

  “Pure has done well, so naturally there is a lot of jealousy, but I can’t point to anyone specifically, no.” Her cell phone on the bar rang, and she went over and looked at it. “I need to get this. It’s an important call from a new distributor. If it works out, it could really help us.”

  “You’d better take it then. Thanks, Camille, and good luck with everything.”

  “Merci, Willow, merci.” Camille blew me a kiss good-bye.

  • • •

  “Something’s up,” Simon said as we walked out the door.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Simon noticed that they had a lot of inventory,” Jackson said.

  “Doesn’t that make sense since the wineries have just harvested and bottled most of their wines?”

  “Not that much of a reserve, and not from last season,” Simon said. “We certainly don’t have that kind of volume left over. It can only mean one thing—that it’s just not selling.”

  “The wine tasted pretty good to me,” I said. “But I’m no expert.”

  “It is good, not as good as ours, but right up there. I don’t get it.”