Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

Having twice retired from his position as captain of the city’s violent crimes squad, Leopold had developed a distaste for the endless cases that seemed to intrude on his so-called leisure years. One evening in late September, when the wind off the Sound reminded them of autumn’s arrival, he suggested to his wife Molly that they take an extended vacation away from the city, to someplace where he wasn’t known.

“What about my job?” she asked as she brought out a bottle of red wine to accompany the roast beef she’d prepared for dinner. She was a trial lawyer with a schedule dependent upon the whims of judges.

“How does your schedule look?” he asked.

“I’m clear for the next couple of weeks but the Apex case goes before the judge on October twentieth. I’ll be tied up for weeks with that one.”

They talked no more about it that night, but the following day Molly came home with news. “My brother Mark phoned me at the office. He’s wondering if we could come up to the winery for a few days.” Mark Calendar was younger than Molly, with a wife and a three-year-old daughter. They’d been living in the Georgetown section of Washington until the change in administration trickled down to his job in the Department of Agriculture. By December of 2001, out of work and with few prospects in the nation’s capital, Mark and Sarah had pooled their money and taken out loans to purchase a small winery in the Finger Lakes region of New York State.

“How’s he doing?” Leopold asked.

“All right, I guess. I told you they expanded and added a new vineyard last year. They’ve got a hundred and fifty acres now.”

“I suppose we might take a drive up there sometime. I’d like to see it.”

“It’s just that—”

“What?”

“He’s got some sort of problem. He’d like us to come this week if we could.”

Leopold’s heart sank. “It’s not a police matter, is it?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet. My brother’s always been sort of vague. But he’s never asked for help before.”

There was no way out of it. “Can you get free?”

“Perhaps on Friday. If we leave early that would give us a long weekend.”

It was about 250 miles from their home to Cayuga Lake in central New York. They drove through Ithaca at the lake’s southern tip and then up the west side on Route 89. The Dogwatch Vineyard was about halfway along the slender lake, on a hillside commanding a magnificent view of the water.

“How did you ever find this place?” Molly asked, hugging her brother and exchanging kisses with Sarah.

Leopold and Mark shook hands and he launched into his story. “The previous owner, a fellow named Wade Southby, was in some sort of legal trouble. We never found out just what, but he had to sell the vineyard at a loss and disappear for a while. We happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

The place was buzzing with activity. A dozen cars were in the parking lot and Mark explained it was the season for vineyard tours and wine tasting. “It’s harvest time,” Sarah said. “The busiest we’ve been since we bought the place.” She was an attractive woman in her late thirties, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt that identified her as a working wife. The extra pounds she’d added during her pregnancy had been quickly shed and she seemed to have aged little since Mark married her some seven years earlier.

“How’s our little niece?” Molly asked.

“Megan is fine,” Sarah answered, a proud mother. “You’ll see her after her nap. Mark, show them their room while I check on Megan. Then we can do the tour.”

“Need help with that bag, Captain?” Mark asked, taking a smaller one from his sister.

“I can manage, thanks.” Leopold started up the stairs. “You don’t have to call me Captain, you know. I’m just a retired old man.”

“Well—” He seemed uncertain about what to say.

“Call me Jules. It’s my name, even though I never liked it.”

The upstairs guest room was cozy and colorful, with a flowery quilt over the big double bed. “It’s lovely!” Molly told her brother. “And look at the view!”

Leopold had to admit it was spectacular. They were looking down the hill directly at the lake, with the vineyard off to the south side. He could see workers with mechanical grape pickers moving among the rows, quickly harvesting the crop. Mark came over to stand by him. “Gathering the grapes takes a certain amount of planning. They don’t all ripen at the same time.”

“How’d you learn all this?”

“Partly through my job in Agriculture, and I took a course down at Cornell after we bought the place. Sarah’s been a great help to me.”

“Then what seems to be your problem?”

Mark sighed. “We’ll tell you over dinner. First I want to give you the tour.”