Dandelion Dead (15 page)

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.”

“She got that call from that new distributor. Maybe that will help, but she did say that Carter wants to sell. They've
had a lot of bad luck this year. That's why Sims was here.”

“He did say he was exploring his options,” Simon said.

“But she doesn't want to sell,” I said. “She said something about working on a new solution, but she changed the subject before I could get any details. She did say that they had lost their winemaker as well. So I wonder if they've approached Gerald, too.” I noticed something near the corner of the building and walked over to see what it was.

“Terrific,” Simon said. “That's all we need—our closest competitor stealing our number two winemaker with all our secrets.”

“Don't panic,” Jackson said. “You don't know anything for sure yet.” The two of them walked over to me. “What are you doing, Willow?”

“Checking this out.” I pulled out my phone and took a photo. “If I'm not mistaken, this is poison hemlock.”

Before anyone at the vineyard
could see me, I plucked part of the plant off and shoved it inside my jacket pocket. Then we scurried to the car.

“If that's real, it means that Camille or Carter could have done it, tried to kill David to get him out of the way, and killed Amy instead,” Simon said as he pulled out of the winery, took a left onto the cement road, and headed east again.

“I'll need to take a closer look first.”

Jackson grabbed his phone and did a search. “When you get up there a bit, pull over so Willow can examine the plant and try to match it to this.” He held up a photo of poison hemlock.

“Will do,” Simon said. Moments later, when we reached the end of the road that fed back to Route 48, he pulled over onto the dirt shoulder.

Once we'd stopped, I carefully took the plant out of my jacket pocket and examined it. “Can I please have the phone?” Jackson handed it to me and I considered the two plants, the one in my hand and the one on the screen.

“Do you think it's the real thing this time?”

“Well, is it? Is it poison hemlock?” Simon leaned over to try to see.

“Yes, this time it is. I'm sure of it.” I showed the plant to Jackson and Simon and held up the plant. “Do you two agree?”

Jackson nodded. “Looks right to me.”

“Me, too,” Simon said.

“Since Crocker Cellars is operating in the red, Camille and Carter do have a motive to kill David,” Jackson said. “Getting rid of him won't affect the two-hundred-K prize from the competition, which it seems like they desperately need, but it would put a big dent in their main competition, which is Pure, and boost their sales in the long run.”

“You said they were good, Simon,” I said.

“It's true,” Simon said. “Besides us, they are the most recognized vineyard out here, with the most awards even in the short time they've been open. Just like us, really.”

“Which means they had good reason to be threatened by David, and Pure, and the most to lose by coming in second,” Jackson said. “Think about it. If you're way back in the pack with no hope of succeeding, it doesn't make much sense to take out your main competition, but if you're running neck and neck, it might.”

“It's even possible that if David were dead, it might sway the
Wine Lovers
judges to vote for the Crockers instead,” I said. “You never know what will change people's thinking. It might have been a risk that the Crockers thought was worth taking.”

“Not to mention that Carter's supercompetitive,” Simon said. “Did you see how he tried to rub in that sale
of Chambertin in my face? I saw that sale, I could have scored big online, but I was busy with other things.”

“Forget it,” Jackson said. “There will always be another bottle of expensive wine to chase. You'll get it next time.”

“Sure you will,” I said. “But I'd like to drop this off at the EEAC.”

“In English?” Simon said.

“The East End Agricultural Center. It's on the way back and I'd like them to check it. Let's be one hundred percent sure.” I opened Simon's glove compartment, which was neat and tidy and held only the driver's manual. “I'm going to put it in here for safekeeping for now.”

“Okay, we'll drop it off,” Simon said. “But didn't we need to check out a few other places today—you know, pass the cork, as they say, from one winery to another? We might even get a free tasting.”

“Do you have the cork from Crocker Cellars?” Jackson said. “You'll need it to give it to the next winery to get your drink.”

“Well, no,” Simon said.

“Then you'll have to pay your own way,” Jackson said. “But we know you can afford it.”

“Because you told us so,” I said, and smiled at Simon.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Where to next?”

•  •  •

We arrived at St. Ives
Estate Vineyards, in Peconic, a few minutes later. While Crocker Cellars took its
inspiration from all things Tuscan, Derek Mortimer, the owner and vintner at St. Ives, had re-created a traditional granite cottage common to his native seaside village of St. Ives, in Cornwall, England, for his tasting room. Up the road past the cottage, he'd gone even further, building two guesthouses for visitors, an elaborate English garden, and even a medieval castle that would be right at home in a Masterpiece Classic TV show.

The castle had caused a furor when he had proposed building it, but after he gave part of the acreage to the Nature Conservancy and scaled down the size, the plans were accepted by the Town of Southold. Since then, his castle had been featured in lots of glossy lifestyle magazines and on home-and-garden TV shows.

We found Derek Mortimer inside the tasting room, dressed in a three-piece suit and pouring a glass of burgundy for a visitor. The tasting room featured a fireplace that took up one entire wall, rugs on the stone floors, medieval-looking sconces and chandeliers, and a round oak table with all the wines on offer. A TV in the corner ran a short documentary about the vineyard; the building of the castle, tasting room, and guest cottages; and the English garden here, and a look back at Mortimer's first vineyard in Cornwall, Heath Estate Cellars, which he still ran with an on-site partner. Mortimer finished with his customer and came over to us.

“Mr. Lewis, what are you doing here, away from Pure on this busy North Fork UnCorked! week? Shouldn't you be close to base?”

“Just thought I'd stop in with my friends,” Simon said. “This is Willow McQuade and Jackson Spade.”

“Aren't you the one who catered that ghastly affair
on Sunday? I felt so horribly for poor Amy. She was my favorite in that family.”

“Yes, it's very sad,” I said. “And we're trying to find some answers.”

“Isn't that what the police are for? Besides, I've already spoken to them, and I couldn't tell them anything of interest.” Mortimer walked back over to the tasting bar and opened a cigar box. “Care for one? You, too, Willow, I don't discriminate.” He smiled and plucked a cigar out of the box, clipped off the end, and lit it.

“I think we're all good,” Simon said.

“How do you like my little estate—and my castle? I didn't see any of you during those dreadful village planning meetings. The town was all up in arms; they were against me, you see, but we made a compromise and it all worked out.” Mortimer puffed on the cigar, which quickly filled the room with smoke and made me feel quite ill. I moved toward the window, which was open an inch. “When I wake up in the mornings, if I didn't know better, I'd swear that I was at home in Cornwall. Although the air doesn't smell the same and I do prefer our lovely beaches—”