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

“It’s a year-round job,” he explained as he drove them around the vineyard in his Jeep. Leopold was with him in the front seat and Molly and Sarah were in back with little Megan. “In the winter we prune the vines and graft new vines onto different roots. In the spring we clear away weeds and tie the vines to the wires of each row. The grapes flower in June and July. By August the berries are changing color as a certain level of sugar is reached. We’re picking them selectively now, as you can see. We’re lucky we have someone to look after Megan while Sarah helps out.”

“You have a lot of land here,” Leopold observed.

“We hope those trees and underbrush to the south will be replaced by new vineyards within two years,” Mark said.

“When’s the grape stomping?” Molly wanted to know.

Her brother laughed. “No more grape stomping and no more oak barrels, at least not here. We spent a small fortune installing stainless-steel vats. They allow far better quality control during the fermentation process, which can last days to weeks.”

“I thought oak barrels were important for flavor,” Leopold said. “Back during Prohibition some bootleggers bought charred barrels from Canadian whiskey distilleries and brought them across the border, all perfectly legal. Then they filled the barrels with denatured alcohol and let it stand for a few weeks. It absorbed the flavor of whatever had been in the barrels originally and came out tasting like scotch or bourbon or whatever.”

Mark Calendar smiled. “If we want a bit of the old oak flavor, we throw a few wood chips into the vat — something that horrifies the French. Or if it’s been a poor growing season, sugar is sometimes added during fermentation. Happily, there are few poor seasons in the Finger Lakes. We struggled a bit last year because it was our first season and we were still learning, but things are lots better this time around. Our wine-tasting room has been crowded all month.”

“Don’t people just travel around to the wine tastings to get high?” Molly asked her brother.

“Sure, some do, but we warn them of the new alcohol limits for drivers in New York State. Most people sip a little, then leave with a bottle or two, sometimes a case.”

They drove back to the winery and he led them on a tour of the cool, damp cellar where the fermenting vats stood. Like a professor instructing his class, he stood beside some unused wine barrels he kept for show and explained to Leopold and Molly the differences between red and white wines, and the part tannin played in the coloring process. “Red wines age in the bottle. Most of the tannin is neutralized, but the remaining tannin content determines the degree of dryness.” He showed them the filtration operation before bottling, and the storage area where the bottled wines completed the ageing process. “Those wooden barrels are just for show,” he explained, pointing to a half-dozen large casks at one end of the cellar. “They came with the place.”

Back in their living quarters Leopold realized it was already time for dinner. He and Molly washed up while Sarah put the finishing touches on a welcome meal. They knew there’d be a variety of Dogwatch wines with dinner and they weren’t disappointed. There was a dry white wine with hors d’oeuvres and a Bordeaux-type red with the steaks. A sweet white wine was served with dessert.

“I haven’t eaten this well in ages,” Leopold admitted. “Molly often works late and we go out for dinner.”

“You should learn to cook,” Sarah chided him.

“I can grill beef for summer cookouts,” he replied. “That’s about it.”

The afternoon had been gray with clouds and the autumn night descended quickly, darkening the sky before seven. As they started their cheesecake dessert, Leopold suggested it was time to discuss his brother-in-law’s problem.

“I was just going to—” Mark began, then fell silent as a throbbing sound filled the sky from the direction of the lake.

“What’s that?” Molly asked. “A helicopter?”

“It’s one of the reasons we need help,” Sarah told them. “It comes every night, usually later than this.”

“Come on,” Mark said grimly, leaving his dessert and starting for the back door. Leopold and Molly followed gamely along.

A young dark-haired woman running toward the house met them in the backyard. “Mark!” she called out.

“I hear it, Suzie.”

The black helicopter, barely visible against the night sky, came in from the lakeside across the vineyard, then made a sharp turn and flew over the house. “Who is it?” Leopold asked.

“I wish I knew. One of these nights I’m going to take a shot at it.”

“Mark,” his wife called from the steps. “Come back inside and stop talking foolish.”

Suzie followed them in and Mark introduced them. “Suzie Trotter, this is my sister Molly Leopold and her husband. Suzie is in charge of our wine-tasting and general promotions.”

In the full light of the kitchen Suzie was revealed as tall and very attractive, with a ready smile even when she was talking business. “That’s every night this week. We have to do something.”