Dandelion Dead (10 page)

Several people in the crowd gasped, including Simon. “Oh my God. I have to have this.”

“Don't go crazy,” I said.

“I'm gone. I did not expect this lot.”

“We'll start the bidding at sixty thousand dollars,” Black said.

“Sixty thousand dollars for a case of wine?” Jackson shook his head. “That is obscene. But at least it's for charity.”

“That's right, Jackson.” Simon grasped his bidding paddle tightly.

Carla raised her paddle.

“I have a bid for sixty. Do I have sixty-two?”

“Carla has that kind of money?” Simon said.

“I don't know,” I said.

Simon thrust his paddle in the air. “Sixty-five.”

Carla countered, “Sixty-eight.”

“Seventy,” Simon said.

Black nodded. “I have seventy. Do I hear seventy-two?” He looked at Carla.

She shook her head.

Simon grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Jackson rolled his eyes.

“Anyone else? I'm selling this very prestigious lot at seventy thousand dollars. Anyone else? No?” Black waited a moment. “Going once, twice . . . sold!” He slammed the gavel down onto the podium, where it made a satisfying
thwack
. Simon released my hand and gave me a hug. “I got it! Wow!”

“Good for you,” I said.

“Good for pets and people,” Jackson said. “This new program will make a big difference for a lot of animals.”

“Just like you do,” I said.

“She's right.” Simon was absolutely giddy with excitement. “And I've got a great idea. How about if I match my bid and gift your rescue?”

“Simon, you don't have to do that,” Jackson said.

“I want to. And I can afford it.”

“That's very sweet of you, Simon,” I said. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. You'll have a check tomorrow night when
you come to Salt for the dinner. Okay?” He put his hand out to Jackson.

Jackson smiled and shook it. “Thanks, this will do a lot of good. Really, thanks, Simon.”

“You are very welcome. I can't wait to see what's for sale next!”

•  •  •

Ramsey Black was true to
his word—the auction featured a wide array of wines, from the prestigious to the more moderately priced. By the end of the night, Simon had picked up two more prestigious lots, and Black announced that the auction had raised almost $500,000. It was a good night for animals and the people who loved them.

A reception followed with various local vintages, including those from Pure, St. Ives Estate Vineyards, Sisterhood Wines, Wave Crest, Crocker Cellars, Farmer's Vineyard, and others.

Unfortunately, when we went up to sample the various vintages, David's father, Walter Farmer, and David's brother, Kurt, were nearby talking to Carla Olsen and Ramsey Black, along with Harrison Jones of Wave Crest and Derek Mortimer of St. Ives.

Kurt seemed to be taking a special interest in Carla. I had to admit, now that he had shaved and showered and changed into a suit, he was a lot more appealing. Carla laughed at something he said.

David scowled. “What is Kurt up to with Carla?”

“Just ignore them. Let's take a taste of the competition.” Simon asked for a glass of Crocker's wine, while
I tried Farmer's, and David got Carla's. We tasted each one, then switched glasses.

“What do you think? Besides ours, I like the Crocker vintage,” Simon said.

“Me, too,” I said.

“Agreed, but I'd have to say that my father's is the best of the lot,” David said. “Still no competition for us, though.”

“That's because you should be working with us, your family, and not this out-of-towner,” Walter said as he moved over to our group, while Kurt and Carla continued talking.

“Dad, I'm not coming back.”

“We'll see. You just need to get your head straight.” Walter pushed past David.

“I need a drink.” David headed back to the wine-tasting table, where he grabbed two glasses of Crocker's wine and slugged them down in rapid succession.

“I think your friend might have a problem,” Jackson said. “Willow told me that he's drinking at lunchtime.”

“That's ridiculous,” Simon said. “He just likes Crocker's wine. It's my favorite, too, after Pure. Believe me, Jackson, David couldn't function the way he does if he had a drinking problem.”

“That's a common myth, Simon,” Jackson said. “Many alcoholics are high functioning.”

“No offense, Jackson, but I still don't believe it. I have to pay for my lot. I'll be back.” Simon set his glass at the table and headed for the cashier.

“He doesn't want to hear it, Jackson.”

“I know, that's pretty common, too.”

“You're here if he needs you, that's all you can do for now.”

As Simon walked off, Camille and Carter Crocker came up to us. “Hi,
chérie
,” she said, and kissed me on either cheek.
“Comment allez-vous?”

“I'm fine, and you?”

“Bon!”

“Good to see you,” Carter said, shaking Jackson's hand.

“Did you enjoy the seminar at Pure today, Camille?”

“I did. It's always fun to see what the other guy is doing.”

Camille, a petite brunette originally from Paris, had met Carter, a big guy with a penchant for jeans, plaid shirts, and cowboy boots, and with a big personality, at a wine auction in NYC five years ago. The couple, both in their early thirties, had moved to the North Fork two years later and opened their winery in Mattituck, fifteen minutes west of Greenport. We'd met the couple last year at the grand reopening party at Pure, and Camille and I had quickly become friends, since we both shared a passion for organic gardening.

“You guys did well tonight,” Jackson said. The couple had scored several bottles of pricey wines.

“Sure did,” Carter said. “Although not as well as your friend Simon.”

“Simon is enthusiastic about wine,” I said.

“That's an understatement.” Carter sounded somewhat annoyed. Simon had outbid him more than once.

“But he's done a great job revamping Pure,” Camille said, quickly smoothing things over. “It's impressive.”

“I'll tell him you said so,” I said.

“Terrible business about Amy Lord, though,” Carter said.

“Yes, we feel so badly for Ivy and David,” Camille said. “Do you have any idea who did it, Willow?” She knew about my penchant for amateur sleuthing.

“Not yet. In fact, it would be good to talk to you about the local vineyard scene to get some background. I also want to talk to several specific owners who were at the party.”

Carter checked his watch and tugged on Camille's arm. “I'd better pay, and then I've got to get home for that conference call.” Carter headed his own investment banking firm in New York, but spent most of his time out here. “Why don't you stop by to see us? We'll talk.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” I said.

Camille squeezed my hand. “Okay,
chérie
, we'll see you soon.”

•  •  •

The Crockers left, followed by
the Farmers, and Carla, Derek, Harrison, and Gerald. Ramsey Black had strolled down to the waterfront with Ivy.

“Those two are being chummy again,” Jackson said. “Something is going on with them. Shall we walk down there and try to find out what?” He put his hand out and we headed in their direction across the cool grass. While we walked, I told him about the message I'd remembered from Ivy's watch.

“That's not very nice.”

“No, it's not. Someone is obviously pretty upset, but who? It couldn't have been David. You said he and
Ivy were together in the corn maze,” Jackson said as we reached the dock pilings. “You'd have to get the watch to know for sure, and that's tricky.”

Now Ivy and Ramsey Black were less than three yards away and in a heated argument, contrary to their cozy conversation at the cocktail party.

“Maybe it was a message from Ramsey. They don't seem to be getting along tonight.”

The night was clear, with no wind, so it was easy to overhear the conversation. “I thought you knew what you were doing,” Ivy said. “I can't have him leaving, and spilling secrets.”

“He won't. I took care of it.” Black glanced in our direction. “But I can talk to him again. Try to smooth things over.”

“Please, we have to win on Sunday, and I don't want him causing trouble for us.”

“He won't.” Black took her arm. “Let's go.”

We watched as the two of them headed away. “Now, what was that about—controlling Gerald?” I said. “What is he, some kind of ad hoc adviser? I don't think that Simon knows about this.”

“If Ramsey's having an affair with Ivy, David probably doesn't know either.”

We left the party early
after Jackson got a call from one of his volunteers—someone usually stayed the night, especially with new arrivals—that one of the horses seemed sick. After Jackson called his vet, we headed to his house.

Fortunately, the horse was only dehydrated and was put on IV fluids overnight. By Wednesday morning she was doing much better. The weather was glorious, slightly cool, with blue skies and amber light bathing the fields behind Jackson's property. So after I did my yoga routine at the foot of Jackson's four-poster bed, and while he took care of our dogs and the rest of his charges, I decided to go for a walk.

I needed to get back to basics. I'd been up half the night thinking and reviewing what I knew so far. Finally, I'd realized that the simplest way to figure out who had poisoned Amy was to find out where the poison to do the deed came from.

I didn't know whether poison-hemlock was common on the East End. If it wasn't, that would help me narrow down the field, which included Ivy, and perhaps even Ramsey if the two were involved, and
Gerald, along with jealous vineyard owners, including David's father and brother. Other suspects, too, might reveal themselves over time.

I'd done some preliminary research about the presence of poison hemlock with the help of the East End Botanical website, which said that it could be found in fields usually in sunny areas, which wasn't much help. But the plant was over eight feet tall and featured hairless hollow stalks with purple blotches and lots of umbrella-shaped flower clusters, so it would be hard to miss.

Having often walked Jackson's and Simon's fields, I was reasonably certain they had no eight-foot poison-hemlock plants, but I had to check. Even though Lily and I had been super-careful and only foraged for safe plants, if it was here, somewhere, it might mean that someone close, such as Ivy or Gerald, had found it and tried to use it on David.

Anyone could have procured the poison from anywhere, but I'd start here and go on from there. If the plants weren't here, it might help Lily, too.

Starting out at the west end, next to Jackson's barn, I walked east, down the field toward Pure, making sure not to miss anything. Mostly, it was a combination of wildflowers, weeds, bushes, young trees, and my favorite: edible plants. Since I planned to lead another walk and workshop in two weeks—this weekend we'd be busy with crowds from North Fork UnCorked!
—
I'd brought a bucket along, and as I went, I scanned the ground for new edibles and plants for use in remedies.

I'd only walked a few yards when I quickly spotted a dandelion patch. Because of what had happened, the
plant I loved now seemed to take on a darker connotation. I bent down to examine it more closely. But it confirmed what I'd already known: Lily could not have mistaken this genial herb for an eight-foot-high poison-hemlock plant.

Continuing on, I passed more dandelion patches, then a few yards away I spotted chickweed, a plant with small green leaves and delicate tiny white flowers that sprouts in the fall. Small in size but mighty in power, the chickweed was chock-full of vitamin C, perfect for cold-and-flu season.

I plucked up a few plants to experiment with before the next class, thinking it would make a nutritious ingredient for a tofu stir-fry, a salad, or raw soup. As a natural remedy the chickweed had anti-inflammatory properties, for a soothing salve. So I'd show the class how to make this cure as well.

A few minutes later, I reached the other end of the field, by Pure's corn maze, turned, and headed back to Jackson's. On this pass, I quickly came upon the versatile malva. The plant featured a single white or pink flower with five petals and circular or kidney-shaped leaves. Malva leaves are anti-inflammatory and high in beta-carotene and are thus used in teas and syrups for coughs and sore throats, so it was also a good choice for the upcoming cold-and-flu season. The leaves can be eaten raw or added to soup, so I could combine it with the chickweed to make a raw concoction.

But I still hadn't spotted any poison hemlock. So I continued along the field, walking back and forth until I finally reached the forest's edge opposite the barn, and beyond that Long Island Sound. As I headed back
toward Pure for the last time today, I kept my head down and my eyes sharp, looking for edibles and poison hemlock. But when I reached the far end of the corn maze, I hadn't spotted any.

Since I was there, I decided to check in with Simon and David, but as I turned to go, I noticed a hole in the ground at the edge of the trees. The hole was empty except for a crisscross of roots and leaves that had fallen inside. What had been here? I stood up and moved around in a tight circle to try to find any indication of what had been planted here and removed. At first, I didn't notice it, but then it seemed impossible that I'd missed it at all. But once I followed the scattered leaves, branches, and roots from the now-gone plant, it led me to another poison-hemlock plant growing less than two feet away.

Sucking in a breath, I considered the implications of my find. Since I believed Lily was innocent, this had to mean that someone else, someone who knew or looked for and found the tree, had taken it and used it to try to kill David. However, the police weren't going to think that. No, they'd surmise that Lily had found the plant and used it to do the same thing.