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

“For more years than I like to remember. It’s relaxing to be out of it.”

“Your wife seems quite nice.”

“She is, and smart, too. She has a law practice back home.”

They chatted about the Finger Lakes climate and the techniques of tending to a vineyard. The previous owner seemed very knowledgeable, with a true feel for the earth. “I don’t doubt that they’re doing a fine job,” he admitted, “but it was my family’s winery and I want it back. I should never have let it get away from me.”

He finished the cigar and they went back inside. Sarah and Suzie were just removing the eight strips of filet of sole from the skillet and placing them on individual plates. “These smell superb!” Southby said. “Let me help you serve them.”

“You’re a guest!”

“Nonsense! You must serve them all while they’re still warm!”

“Be careful. Those plates are hot.”

He picked up the first two, apparently with some difficulty, and carried them into the dining room. Sarah and Suzie followed right behind with two each and Leopold saw that he must join in with the final two. Southby had started at the head of the table with Mark and Pauline Fitzgerald. Suzie brought plates for Southby and Molly, while Sarah positioned hers at Leopold’s and Suzie’s places. The last two, in Leopold’s hands, went to Jerry Wax and Sarah herself.

Mark, as host, circled the table with the wine bottle, filling the first four glasses in turn, starting with Pauline’s. Then he used the second bottle for the remaining four, ending with his own. “This was our best dry white wine from last season,” he explained. “We only have a few bottles left.”

“Very good,” Southby pronounced. “I would compare it with the best—”

His verdict was interrupted by a distant throbbing noise that quickly grew louder. The helicopter was back.

Southby led the way onto the back porch, with Mark, Leopold, and Suzie close behind. The others clustered in the doorway. As it had before, the helicopter came over without lights, visible only by pale moonlight. Then it was gone.

“We’d better get back to our fish,” Sarah urged, “before it cools off.”

While they sampled the main course, Pauline Fitzgerald said, “It must be a military training flight, something like that. Isn’t there an Air Force base near here?”

“Not since Sampson closed,” Southby told her, “and that was years ago.”

The filet of sole seemed to meet with universal approval, and was followed by crème brûlée and a sweet dessert wine. “You’re a wonderful cook!” Pauline complimented Sarah.

“You’re too kind.”

“No, it’s true!” Molly agreed. “I’m happy to see my brother is so well cared for.”

The after-dinner conversation shifted to the Women’s Hall of Fame where Pauline worked. She tried to entice Southby into visiting it the following day, but he’d fallen oddly silent. Jerry Wax excused himself, saying he had a few last-minute chores, while Suzie was cleaning up and loading the dishwasher.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Southby said finally. “My stomach seems a bit off and I have this burning in my throat.”

“We had an extra bathroom installed down here,” Sarah told him. “Let me show you the way.”

She returned, nervously rubbing her hands. “I hope it wasn’t my food that upset him.”

“Of course not!” Mark told her. “We all ate the same thing.”

But when Southby hadn’t returned from the bathroom in twenty minutes she suggested her husband see if he was all right. Almost at once Mark called out for Leopold’s help. “God, he’s curled up on the floor! And he’s been vomiting. What should we do?”

“Call for an ambulance,” Leopold ordered. “Right away.”

Southby was unconscious when they rushed him to the hospital. By morning he was dead. The attending physician informed Leopold that he strongly suspected the man had been poisoned.

Sergeant Ambrose of the State Police Criminal Investigation Division, a man with large eyes and a small moustache, arrived at the Dogwatch Vineyard at eight o’clock the following morning, shortly after Mark and Sarah — who confessed to getting very little sleep, worried as they were by Southby’s sudden illness — got the news of Southby’s death. He was accompanied by two uniformed officers and came right to the point.

“Mr. Calendar, we need to recover any and all food, drink, and dishes left over from your dinner party last night. The county medical examiner is running toxicology tests on the deceased’s organs at this point, but it looks very much as if he was poisoned.”

Molly and Sarah were still upstairs, but Leopold had been having coffee with Mark Calendar when the police arrived. “Go right ahead,” Mark told them, escorting them to the kitchen. “I can’t imagine you’ll find anything, though. The dishes and utensils have been washed, of course.”

The officers checked the refrigerator and the wastebasket, then one of them moved on to a plastic bag of rubbish on the back porch. “We’ll want to take this along,” Sergeant Ambrose told him.

“Go ahead.”

The other officer, who’d remained in the kitchen, called out, “Here’s something!”