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

Wade Southby seemed at first glance to be a somewhat dapper man past middle age. It was only after Leopold had studied him for a few moments that he became aware of the frayed cuffs on his shirt and the not-quite-invisible stain on his necktie. “You’ve done wonders with this place,” he was telling Mark and Sarah. “Its value has certainly increased.”

“Thank you,” Sarah replied. “It’s still not for sale.”

He merely smiled. “I brought you a bottle of California wine for dinner, though I know you’ll want to serve your own. Still, you might try this sometime.”

She accepted the bottle graciously. “Thank you, we will.”

When Pauline Fitzgerald arrived he greeted her with a hug and a kiss. “So good to see you again after two years,” he told her. She was an attractive blond woman in her forties, well dressed in a conservative manner. During their conversation it developed that she worked at the Women’s Hall of Fame in Seneca Falls.

“Come see us while you’re in town,” she suggested, crossing a pair of shapely legs. “We’ve done a lot with it since your last visit.”

“I may do that. I’m thinking of relocating in this area. I’ve even made an offer to buy back Dogwatch.”

“Really?” She looked to Mark for confirmation.

“It’s not for sale,” he told her. “Sarah and I plan on being here for a good long time.”

Suzie Trotter joined them and presently Jerry Wax came in from the vineyard. When he saw Southby in a jacket and tie he was quick to apologize for his work clothes. “I didn’t realize—”

“That’s all right, Jerry,” Sarah assured him. “You look fine.”

“We were late doing the harvesting, but we finished most of the section.”

“That’s good,” Mark told him. “Everything all right? No irregularities?”

Wax must have known he was referring to speculation about the helicopter flights. “Not a thing. Perfectly normal.”

Mark served a blush wine before dinner, and seemed pleased when Southby complimented him on it. “I’d stack this up against those California zinfandels,” he said. “What do you folks think?”

There was general agreement around the table, with Pauline Fitzgerald singing its praises. “You’ve done wonders with this place, Mark. No wonder Wade wants to buy it back!”

“I’ve told him several times it’s not for sale.”

Wade Southby pretended exasperation. “I’m hoping to wear you down.”

“How? By sending helicopters over the vineyards every night?” Mark’s tone was light, trying to keep the accusation only half-serious, and Southby ignored it as if he didn’t understand the joke. Sarah quickly retreated to the kitchen to see how dinner was coming. Little Megan was already in bed and she had to be checked on, too.

“Well,” Southby decided, “I suppose I could look around for another vineyard that might be for sale in the Finger Lakes. Do you still have those old wine barrels my family used?”

“They’re just decorations for the tours now. We use stainless-steel vats.”

“If I find another vineyard maybe you’d sell me those barrels. I’d like to keep some connection to my parents. They’re the ones who started me in this business.”

“I don’t know that I’d want to sell them,” Mark said, not holding out much hope.

Suzie was helping remove the wineglasses and prepare for the main course. She opened two bottles of white wine and placed them on the table. “No decanting here,” she told them. “We want you to see our label.”

Southby shifted his attention to Pauline Fitzgerald, reminiscing about people they’d known in their younger days. “I remember Jerry, here,” she said at one point. “Didn’t he work for you?”

Jerry Wax seemed embarrassed that the subject had come up. “Just briefly,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Southby said, addressing the young man for the first time. “Seems to me I caught you smoking pot on the job.”

“And fired me on the spot.”

“Let’s not get into any of that,” Mark said, trying to keep the peace. “Jerry has helped me a great deal with the harvest.”

“I’m sure,” Southby said, pushing back his chair. “Is there a place here where I could smoke a cigar without bothering people? Out on the back porch, perhaps?”

“Right this way,” Sarah said, leading him through the kitchen. Leopold decided to follow along.

Southby looked up at the bright walls and newly installed cabinets. “You’ve certainly fixed it up since my day.”

“It could use a lot more fixing. We hope to build an addition on the place as our family grows.”

“You’re planning more children?”

She shrugged. “Those things happen.” She went back to the stove. The sole filets had been halved lengthwise, with the eight halves rolled, fastened with picks, and placed in a large skillet. She added a cup of boiling water and some other ingredients, topping it off with a cup of white wine.

“That should be delicious,” Southby commented. He turned to Leopold. “Join me in a cigar?”

“I haven’t smoked in years, though I’ll take some night air with you.”

The back porch looked down toward the lake. It was a cool, crisp night, and Leopold found himself scanning the sky for any sign of the mystery helicopter. “You were a detective captain?” Southby asked.