“Yes, but what’s this?” I pointed to a small jewelry case.
“Is it an engagement ring?”
I picked up the tiny box and flipped the top open. Inside, resting on velvet fabric, was a silver engagement ring, with a big diamond. “Wow, this is beautiful.” I examined the inscription. “But it’s not for Ivy. It says, ‘MP, Yours Forever, RB.’ ”
“Can I see it?” Simon said.
I handed the ring to him, and pulled out my phone. “Jackson just sent me a text to get out. We need to go.” I glanced out the window and no one was there, but I guessed that he didn’t want to take any chances.
I held out the box and Simon placed the ring back inside. “I don’t get it. Who is MP?”
chapter thirteen
On the way home, we filled Jackson in on Nora’s letter and the bracelet and engagement ring. All of it was intriguing, although the content of the letter was much clearer than who MP was. But we’d have to find out.
In the meantime, I’d planned a fun evening for Jackson and me—movie night at Sisterhood Wines, where we might also be able to gather information. Throughout the summer Carla had hosted a film festival of classic movies every Thursday night, and she’d saved the best for the last one of the season: Alfred Hitchcock’s North by Northwest, starring Cary Grant. Instead of using a traditional movie screen, however, she’d painted the side of one of her barns white and projected the films onto it.
Carla provided the wine, but we brought along organic popcorn and Honest Tea, along with blankets and chairs, and water for the dogs. We’d scored good seats in the front, and the dogs, Qigong, Columbo, Rockford, and Zeke, tired from a long walk around town and playing together, napped under a woolen blanket. Carla had also placed heat lamps throughout the seating area.
We dressed in jeans and sweatshirts and sneakers because we wanted to be comfortable. We also planned to stop by the St. Ives Estate Vineyards afterward to look for any poison-hemlock plants and needed to be in activewear to move.
As for investigating tonight, Simon was hosting a wine tasting at Salt, another North Fork UnCorked! event in town, and our suspects, Ivy and Ramsey Black, Gerald, the Crockers, Derek Mortimer, and the Farmers, were absent. I’d wanted to chat with Carla about her relationship with David, but she’d been busy with her guests.
Jackson and I both loved this movie—and Hitchcock films in general—so I decided that I’d take a break from the case and just enjoy watching it. But I couldn’t help but notice when David got up and followed Carla around the side of the barn right after the film started at eight o’clock. Scott Peters, his bodyguard, followed.
Twenty minutes after that, when a drunk Roger O. Thornhill, aka Cary Grant, almost died in a fiery car crash, my assistant, Lily, drove in, screeched to a stop in the parking lot, jumped out, and ran around the barn.
“That looks like trouble,” I said. “She went to talk to David.”
“Should we go over?”
“I will. Can you stay here with the dogs?”
“Sure, text me if you need me.” Jackson squeezed my hand.
When I rounded the corner of the barn, Lily was yelling at David. “You told me you were done with her! And here you are!”
David looked befuddled. “I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”
“A friend of mine saw you two together and texted me, so I came down.”
“Just calm down, miss,” Scott said. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t,” Lily said, crying. “You know that I love you, and you do this.”
“Carla and I are just friends now, nothing is going on. Right, Carla?”
But Carla suddenly looked uncomfortable. She didn’t answer.
Lily lunged at David and pummeled his chest with her fists. “You are a bastard and a liar!”
“I’m calling the police, David,” Scott said, pulling her off, then taking out his phone. “This girl is out of control.”
I grabbed her arm. “Lily, I thought that this was over.”
“It was, but then . . .”
Carla looked at David. “Is this true? Did you two hook up again?”
“David?” I said, giving him a hard look.
“This is none of your business, Willow,” David said.
“That’s true, but this is a complicated situation, and you know that I’m just trying to help both of you.”
“I know and I’m sorry,” Lily said.
“You should be,” Carla said.
I pulled Lily into a hug. “Lily, I know you’re upset, but you’ve got to get yourself together. The police are already interested in you. This will just make things worse.”
She pulled away from me and wiped her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about is David.”
• • •
The police arrived a few minutes later and took down statements from all of us about what had happened. When Detective Koren arrived, he went a step further and took Lily into custody. Her face was blank as he led her to the car. I told her I would call her lawyer immediately.
Movie night was ruined, so Jackson and I decided to head back to St. Ives Estate Vineyards a little earlier than planned to check for poison hemlock. We really needed to figure out what was going on, now that Lily was back in custody. I had wanted to question David, but Scott hustled him off. So we packed up our stuff, put leashes on the dogs, and headed back to the truck.
Jackson had parked in front of the tasting cottage, and once the dogs were inside the truck and we’d packed the blankets and chairs in the back, I said, “I’m just going to take a quick look to see if there is any poison hemlock here. The way Carla was acting, I don’t think she’s okay with being ‘just friends’ with David. It was obvious that David and Lily hooked up again, and Carla didn’t know anything about it. Maybe this happened before with Lily or someone else, and she got fed up and tried to kill him.”
“Okay, use this.” Jackson handed me his flashlight. “But keep it low to the ground or she’ll see you. Be careful.”
“I will. Back in a bit.” Using the flashlight, I stepped through the wet grass and circled the tasting shed first, then the barn, and finally Carla’s farmhouse, but didn’t find anything.
But on the way back, I spotted familiar-looking tall plants at the end of a row near the parking lot. Keeping the flashlight down, I swept it across the ground, watching where I walked since it was so uneven, until I reached the spot. There, entangled in the wires that trained the vines, were four poison-hemlock plants in a cluster. Using the flashlight, I scanned the plants. By now, I knew what the real thing looked like, and this was it. I headed back to the truck.
“It’s here, she has it, too,” I said as I climbed into the truck, and the dogs jumped up and kissed me.
“So she’s definitely in the pool of suspects,” Jackson said. He backed out of the lot and took a left, then a right onto Route 48. We rode along in silence for a few miles before he said, “Willow, please don’t get upset, but are you sure that Lily could not have done this? Tried to kill David and killed Amy instead? From what you said, she sounded pretty unhinged.”
I thought about it for a moment. “She was upset, but I think it’s because she really loves him. And I don’t think, despite what’s happened and how he’s acted, that her love has turned to hate. I say we keep looking.”
“That’s good enough for me. Let’s go to St. Ives.”
• • •
Jackson parked across the street from St. Ives, and after we cracked the windows, covered the dogs with blankets, and said we’d be right back, we locked the truck and headed into Derek Mortimer’s estate. We had no idea what kind of security was present, so our plan was to get in and out quickly, so the dogs wouldn’t be alone for long.
Having access to poison hemlock, especially when it seemed to be ubiquitous on the East End, might not be damning evidence on its own for a suspect, but it had to be considered, along with other factors. So we went through the gate next to th
e tasting cottage and headed directly for the English garden that Mortimer had created.
Beyond it, the light gray stone castle, a scaled-down version of Queen Elizabeth’s Balmoral Castle in Scotland, stood watch over the grounds, as clouds moved through the air above the towers and the turrets. Keeping the flashlight low, we moved quickly down the paths featuring flowers, bushes, and trees, many of which were now dormant, and checked for poison-hemlock plants.
“I don’t see anything, do you?” Jackson said as he swept the light across a large grouping of Montauk daisies, sedum plants, and a grouping of the edible plant lamb’s-quarter. It bloomed in the summer, and the green leaves with a white mealy coating were rich in iron, calcium, beta-carotene, and vitamin C. I liked to make a tea by pouring a cup of boiling water over two generous tablespoons of fresh leaves and steeping for ten minutes. Afterward, I cooled the remaining tea and put it in a compress for headaches and sunburn.
“I see edible plants but no poison hemlock, and those plants are hard to miss. Should we go? I don’t want to leave the dogs alone too long. Plus, it’s getting cold.”
“Just one more row to go,” Jackson said as he reached the head of the path and took a U-turn past large pots of mums and a giant pumpkin and headed back to the street. We made it to the large stone fountain at the end of the path, before the tasting room, when suddenly floodlights above the castle gate flashed on, and the sound of barking dogs shattered the silence.
“We’d better move it, McQuade—run!”
Jackson grabbed my hand and we took off, hoping to reach the gate by the tasting room before the dogs caught us. But the grass was wet, and I went down.
“I’ve got you,” Jackson said, helping me up. “Let’s go!”
We ran as fast as we could, covering the ground quickly but maybe not fast enough, because the sound of the dogs’ barking and growling was getting closer—in fact, they were now just behind us.
I took a chance and glanced back. About ten yards in the distance were what looked like jaguars, not dogs, big, black, and menacing. “They’re getting closer!” I said. “I think they’re Dobermans! And they’re huge!”
“Don’t think about it. Just run!”
We double-timed it, but moments later I slipped again. I hit the ground hard and almost took Jackson down with me. But although he stumbled, he didn’t fall, and reached down to help me up.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, let’s go, almost there.”
He swept his flashlight toward the gate, and we started running again. Suddenly, I spotted it. “The plant! I see it! It’s there by the gate! How did I miss it?”
“Forget the plant! Move, McQuade!”
With speed I didn’t know either of us possessed, we covered the last few yards and made it to the gate. While Jackson flung it open, I grabbed part of the poison-hemlock plant and tried to tear a piece off.
“C’mon!”
Jackson took my arm and tried to pull me through the gate, but I resisted.
“I’ve got to get it!” I plucked off a few leaves and part of a stem.
“Willow!” He stepped back, lifted me up, and carried me through, using his foot to slam the gate shut behind us. A moment later, the Dobermans reached the gate and jumped on it, barking, snapping, and growling, mouths wide, spit flying through the air. Our dogs were barking, too, and lights were going on in the nearby houses. We ran across the street, through the inky darkness, jumped into the truck, and took off, leaving the cacophony of the night behind us.
• • •
When I woke up early Friday morning and got out of bed, my body protested. I’d gone down hard more than once in Derek Mortimer’s English garden, and now my muscles were sore and cramped. I also felt anxious about Lily and her fate now that she was back in jail. So while Jackson slept, I drew a hot bath and emptied in a cup of Epsom salts. Once the tub was full, I added ten drops each of lavender, patchouli, and jasmine essential oils to the water. Immediately, the blissful aroma filled the room and I felt myself relax. Inhaling essential oils through the nose in the practice of aromatherapy works because it stimulates the part of the brain—the olfactory system—that is connected to smell. In turn, a signal is sent to the limbic system of the brain, which influences the endocrine and nervous systems in the body.
The tub was so relaxing that I found myself almost drifting back to sleep, but Jackson, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, padded in and woke me up. “Hey, why didn’t you invite me in?” He leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “We like a good bath, don’t we, boys?” The dogs wagged their tails and pawed at his pant legs. Qigong put his paws on the bathtub and tried to drink the bathwater. “No, Qigong, down, boy.”
“Falling last night took its toll, so I thought I’d try a hot bath. But I need to get out and get going. Did Lily text me? I’m worried about her.”
Jackson took my towel from the back door and handed it to me. “No, but Shawn Thompson, her lawyer, did. She’s still in jail, they are still questioning her, but he’s hoping to get her out by lunchtime.”
As I toweled myself off, I said, “She never should have gone to Carla’s, or the funeral. She needs to keep a low profile. I’ll have to talk to her. But between the attack on David at Salt and the funeral and our outing yesterday, I haven’t had time.”
“So what’s the plan for today? I’ve checked in at my place and everyone is doing okay, and we aren’t expecting any new arrivals, but that could change, of course.”
I put the towel back on the door and got dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved white Nature’s Way T-shirt, and vegan sneakers. “Since we can’t do anything to directly help Lily right now, and we’d planned on going to the Vines and Canines guided walk at Wave Crest Vineyard at noon, we could use some of that time to talk to Harrison.” Harrison Jones, the owner, was a friend of ours. “He can give us the scoop on Ivy and Amy, since they grew up together as teenagers. He went to BU with them and David, too. With what Ivy’s grandmother had to say, about her always getting her way, I want to learn more about the Lord family dynamics.”
• • •
We arrived at the Wave Crest Vineyard at twelve thirty and headed down a cypress-tree-lined driveway to the parking lot, which overlooked the Sound. The main building, surrounded by vines, was modern, clean, and white, with glass walls and solar panels on the roof. The wine cellar, where the vintages matured, was connected through sloping tunnels to the contemporary structure above with its offices and tasting rooms.
The Vines & Canines event was a self-guided tour through the vines and along a two-mile path that ran along the top of the cliffs. It also featured, inside a gated area in front of the tasting room, fun competitions such as cutest dog, dog who jumps the highest, and dog who looks the most like its owner, along with agility and earthdog events. All the proceeds went to local animal charities, including Jackson’s.
Harrison spotted us and headed over as we got out of the car with all our dogs. In his late thirties, he had a beard and was dressed in cords, a turtleneck, a wool wrap sweater, and loafers. He’d made big money in Silicon Valley, and this was his third home, after Napa and L.A., where his wife, Julie Jones, worked as an up-and-coming actress and had starred in Simon’s first TV show, I.Q.
After Simon bought his house here, Harrison and Julie came to visit. Harrison had wanted to move back here for some time and get involved in the burgeoning East End wine movement. So they bought a house on the water, and the land for Wave Crest. But his vineyard was small, a hobby, really—a way to create his own vintages to please himself first.
A huge animal lover, he held events of this kind whenever he was in town and often alerted the shelters and Jackson about animals that were in need. Harrison opened the gate and stepped out with his black Lab. “Willow, Jackson, thanks for coming by! This is Marshall. He’s my latest rescue from the Southold animal shelter. This makes four so far, but who’s counting? Certainly not me.” Harrison smiled and scratched the d
og behind the ears. His tail went ticktock, ticktock.
“Hi, Marshall!” Jackson and I said, and petted him, too.
“And look at your brood. One is cuter than the next. Who’s the new fella?”
“This is Zeke,” I said. “He belonged to Simon, but he just didn’t have the time to put in as a pet parent.”
Harrison made a face. “I hate to hear that. Getting a pet should never be an impulse purchase. I’ll have to talk to him.”
“I know, Harrison, believe me, we’ve tried. But Zeke’s with us now and we’re enjoying him.”
“You’re right, and good for you. Now, what would you like to do? Compete? Take a photo? Take a walk? I’m afraid Julie isn’t here. She’s up for a part in a new series and had to stay put in L.A.”
“That’s okay. A walk sounds good,” Jackson said. “I can take the dogs if you want to talk to Harrison, Willow.” Jackson grabbed all the leashes and headed toward the path along the cliffs. “C’mon, boys, you’ll see Willow in a bit.”
Harrison looked at me. “If you’re here with me, and not with him and your pups, it must be something serious. What’s up?”
“You know about my work as an amateur sleuth, right?”
“Sure do. Are you working on something now?”
“Yes, and I’m having trouble. The police think, and so do Jackson, Simon, and I, that Amy Lord was poisoned by accident at the Pure party.”
“How so?”
“Amy ate one of David’s appetizers, and it was poisoned. That’s why we think she died.”
“Poisoned with what?”
“Poison hemlock, and I’ve been checking the various vineyards out here to see if they had access. So far the places I’ve found it—at Crocker Cellars, St. Ives, Sisterhood Wines, and even out behind Pure—all have people who didn’t like David.”
“What, you’re checking me out?” He feigned insult.
“No, I needed to speak with you, get some background info.”
“Okay, well, just so you know, I don’t have it, and I like David but not Ivy. Simon can be a little out there.”
Dandelion Dead Page 13