Dandelion Dead (19 page)

“Yes, it certainly does.” Jackson parked the truck.

I scrolled down. “Hey, Pure is also having a haunted Halloween maze for kids and adults. I forgot about that. It could be fun, right?”

“Sure, but I did want to try and catch the jazz concert in Mitchell Park.” Jackson turned the ignition off, and the dogs started barking, wanting to go inside.

I picked up Zeke and helped Qigong to the ground, while Jackson took care of Columbo and Rockford. “We can do both.”

When we got to the back door, he said, “Okay, if you really think we need to go to Pure.”

“Yes, I think we should.” I stared at the screen, waiting for the message to show that Lily had read it. But she hadn't. “We may need to run interference.”

•  •  •

I had to hand it
to David, when he talked about the technical and creative aspects of winemaking, he was in his element. Pure had drawn a good-size crowd—almost a hundred people—in the winemaking barn Friday evening, considering all the options in Greenport and at various wineries tonight, and David, in a denim shirt, a burgundy-colored tie, black cords, and loafers, held them rapt with his almost-poetic rhapsodizing about how grapes become wine.

Included in the crowd were a bored-looking Ivy, Ramsey Black, Gerald Parker, Leonard Sims, and surprisingly Camille and Carter Crocker, Derek Mortimer, and Carla Olsen. Fortunately, Lily had stayed home. Except for David's family, all our suspects were here. For this reason, Jackson and I stayed in the back
to watch out for late arrivals and any trouble that could ensue.

By eight o'clock David had already covered gravity-fed winemaking, and how natural vineyard yeast fermentation worked, and was finishing up with the barrel-aging of wine. He walked over to the barrels that were stacked along the wall.

“Oak is an essential aspect of winemaking—from the type of barrel that is used to the size, age, grain, and treatment of the oak barrel, it all affects the way the finished wine tastes. And we have the Romans to thank for this.

“Before this, way back to the ancient Egyptians, clay amphorae were used to store and transport wine.” He took out his phone and pulled up a photo of an ancient clay pot and showed it to the crowd. “But as the Roman Empire marched north into Europe, this process didn't work so well. But then they met the Gauls, who used oak barrels to transport their beer.” David's phone rang.

“Excuse me.” David flipped a toggle. “Sorry, I should have put that on vibrate.”

The crowd laughed.

“Back to the Gauls. Now, not only was the oak tree easy to find in Europe, oak was softer, easier, and faster to bend, and waterproof because of the tighter grain. It also made the wine taste much better, giving it a smoother texture and imparting accents of spices like cloves and cinnamon, and flavors such as vanilla. The longer the wine remained in the barrels, the better it tasted. This fact transformed the way wine was made and enjoyed. Any questions?” David
went to put the phone into his pocket, but something stopped him.

“What do you do to give Pure's wine a distinctive flavor?”

David kept staring at the screen.

Finally Simon said, “David?”

“Uh, I can't give away all our secrets.” David handed the phone to Scott Peters, his bodyguard, who stood behind him. “But I can tell you that the principles used by the Romans are very much in use today . . . I don't know why someone is doing this. . . .” David stepped back.

“Let's go,” Scott said, and took David by the arm and led him toward the door.

After Scott and David walked
out, Jackson and I began to move through the crowd to the door, and Simon conferred with Ivy. Moments later, she reluctantly stepped in front of the crowd, dressed impeccably in a luxe-looking crème cashmere sweater, pearls, and velvet pants. “Hi, everyone.” She smiled. “Not to worry. David, Simon Lewis, and Pure's winemaker Gerald Parker will be happy to answer your questions one-on-one after a short break. In the meantime, Gerald will pour barrel tasting samples, and you can also enjoy our current line of wines.” She gestured to a large bar with several current vintages on top, a bartender ready to serve.

Gerald went over to a barrel and picked up a long syringe. “This is a new cabernet sauvignon for next season that I think you'll find very exciting.” He extracted or “stole” a few ounces of wine at a time and poured it into a shimmering crystal glass that reflected the lights overhead and handed it to Camille Crocker, who was the first in line.

She thanked him, smiled, and took a sip. She
obviously immediately found it impressive, but she only said, “Nice, Gerald. Thank you.”

As Jackson and I got closer to the door, Gerald continued to serve each in line, all the while chatting about the grapes chosen, the special blend, the concentration, the age of the wines, and Pure's criteria for the vintages created. He wasn't as charismatic as David, but he still put on a good show. I could see why the Crockers might want to steal him away.

“Our new wines will be bottled typically twelve to eighteen months from now. Our stock is always limited, and in high demand, so buying futures tonight will ensure you can add our new vintages to your cellar at a reduced price point,” Ivy said. “It's an exclusive opportunity to taste tomorrow's wine today. So enjoy.” Ivy stepped to the side to confer with Ramsey Black. But Jackson, Simon, and I skipped the tastings and went after David and Scott.

We found them in the main room's bar. David had already downed one beer and was working on another. Jackson gave me a knowing look.

“What the hell is going on?” Simon said.

David didn't say anything, just pushed his cell phone across the bar to us. There, on the screen, was his photo with a big
X
across his face and the words “Withdraw from the competition or you're DEAD!”

“I'm so sorry, David,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“No, I'm not okay. First, I get these threats, then someone tries to poison me, run me down, and lock me in a freezer. I thought things would be different with Scott here, but it keeps happening.”

“It's difficult to stop this kind of thing,” Scott said. “Unless you want to go off-grid.”

“No, no, no.” David took another drink. “That's impossible.”

I picked up the phone and scanned through his photos. He'd received several with what looked like a vineyard in the background from the person who'd been sending him threatening messages. There was a sign, but only part of it was visible—and the letters
ard
.

“David, have you looked at these photos? It looks like they were taken at a vineyard.”

I showed the photos to David. “I know, but I don't recognize it.”

I handed the phone to Simon. “Me either.”

•  •  •

Since it was North Fork
UnCorked! week, too much was at stake for David to go home, so a few minutes later—after drinking another beer—he got himself together and returned to the barn. Simon had forwarded the photo to Detective Koren, but besides that, the only productive and proactive thing to do was to continue our investigation and try to clear Lily and protect David. The best way to do that tonight was to mingle at the party ourselves, try to gather more information, and keep an eye out for trouble.

The barn had been decorated with tiny white lights along the rafters above, cornstalks in the corners, and giant pumpkins on the floor, and the guests milled around the area, with glasses of wine in their hands, to the sounds of jazz.

Clutches of conversation had quickly formed, and one of special note was with Camille and Carter
Crocker and Gerald. Camille now had a big smile on her face and was chatting happily to Gerald.

“So that's why they came,” Jackson said. “It's pretty blatant.”

“It sure is.” Simon sipped a glass of Falling Leaves wine. “And I thought that Hollywood was a tough town. If they do make an offer, I'll have to stop it.”

“The way you did with David when they tried to lure him away?” I said.

“Yes.” Simon gave me a look. “Who told you that?”

“Carla Olsen. She seems to have the scoop on everything. Including the fact that Leonard Sims tried to partner up with Derek Mortimer of St. Ives to try to buy Vista View Vineyards, now Pure, before you did.”

“That's old news,” Simon said.

“But something we needed to know,” Jackson said.

“I didn't think it was important,” Simon said.

“Maybe not Mortimer and Sims, but it definitely shows that the Crockers are hungry for your talent.” I looked over at Camille, who had on a faux-leopard-print car coat, jeans, and thigh-high boots, and her manicured hand on Gerald's arm. Carter was in his usual cowboy garb. “Who knows how far she'll go to save her winery?”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “I see what you mean, and I don't like it.”

“It's too bad we can't get into Gerald's office again and try and find out.”

“Maybe after everyone goes,” Simon said, “I can get you in there.” He scanned the room, then returned his attention to us. “You two look good, by the way. Best-looking couple in the room, I'd say.” I hadn't given my
wardrobe much thought and had just thrown on a corduroy jacket over a beige shirt, and black jeans, while Jackson had on a gray cotton shirt, jeans, and boots. Simon, on the other hand, had on a tailored blue-and-black-check suit, right out of
GQ
.

“Of course that wouldn't be true if Sara were here. I invited her, but she was busy.”

“So you're going for it,” Jackson said. “Good man.”

“Yeah, I like her.”

Jackson's phone rang and he pulled it out. “It's Shawn Thompson. . . . Shawn, what's going on?” Jackson put his arm around me and whispered, “It's going to be okay. Shawn is good, Willow.”

“Right,” Simon said.

“Okay, thanks for the update.” Jackson put his phone back into his pocket. “Bad news. He thinks that the police are close to charging Lily with Amy's murder.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Why?”

“She's got means, motive, and opportunity. Detective Koren says that their investigation has led them to no one else but her.”

“So they're going to arrest her by default? Way to go.”

“I hate to say it, but it sounds like Koren,” Jackson said. “He always zeros in on one suspect and that's it.”

“Then we've got to show them that they're wrong.”

“And quick, too,” Simon said. “Shawn says they are closing in.”

“Which means that they'll have the wrong person in custody, and a killer will still be on the loose.” I sucked in a breath. “This is a nightmare.”

“I know it sounds kind of lame, but I've grown to
really like David, a lot. I'd hate it if something happened to him, beyond any effect it might have on the business.”

“Simon, it's not lame,” I said. “It's good that you care about him. In fact, I think it shows your growth as a human being.”

“That's your influence, honey,” Jackson said. “She's right, Simon, it's good.”

“Gee, thanks, you two,” Simon said. “I feel you two are like my moral compass. It's annoying, but true.”

“Glad to be of service,” I said. “Right, honey?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“So there's a lot at stake, all around.” Simon looked at Jackson. “Jackson, did you ask her about you know who?”

“Yes.”

“Ask me what?”

“We were just wondering if you still think that Lily couldn't have done this.”

“Yes. She's mixed up, yes, but I believe that she's innocent. Do you?”

“I told you last night that if it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me,” Jackson said.

“Me, too.” Simon put his arm around me. “We're good.” Suddenly, he spotted someone across the room. “Oh, no. Guess who's here?”

“Lily?” I felt my stomach drop. Why couldn't she just stay away? I mean, I knew why, but still . . . not another scene, not now.

“No, Leonard Sims.”

“What are you doing here?” David said, his voice carrying across the room.

We turned to see Leonard Sims, in a cheap-looking suit, at the entrance to the barn. But he hadn't been allowed access because Scott, David's bodyguard, had stopped him.

“We'd better try to defuse this,” I said, taking Jackson's hand. “Simon, you keep an eye out for Lily. I don't want her causing a scene like last night.”

“Okay, but get rid of him, pronto. We really don't need this right now.”

When we reached them, David said, “I want you to leave now. I don't need any more harassment. We're not selling!”

“Leonard, why don't we go outside?” Jackson said.

“But I don't want to go.” Sims made a face.

“Too bad.” Jackson grabbed his arm and led him out the door.

When we got outside, the night air was cool, and the sky was clear and dotted with stars. Sound carried easily and we could hear kids laughing and screaming from the direction of the haunted Halloween maze. Simon had hired a local special-effects company and high school and college kids to dress up as vampires, ghosts, and zombies. It was supposed to be G-rated, but it sounded more like PG-13.

“What are you doing here, Sims?” I said.

“I came to hear his talk, that's all, and my wife is taking the kids through the maze. What's up with David tonight?”

“Someone has been sending him threatening texts and e-mails, and he received another one in the middle of his talk—which you were late for. Not to mention the attempts on his life over the past week.”

“And you think I did it?” Sims looked flummoxed. “Now why would I do that? I want to buy the place back, and its value goes down the tubes if David loses it. It's his talent I'm buying. He's the biggest asset that Pure has. I wouldn't be interested in buying Pure back without him. I'm a businessman, not a killer.”