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

Leopold found him standing by the stove, holding a slender vial between the fingers of his gloved hand. “Where’d you find that?”

“Right here,” the officer pointed, “in this little space between the stove and the countertop.”

“Bag it for evidence,” Ambrose ordered. “Be careful. There might be fingerprints.” Leopold feared they were already smudged, but said nothing. It wasn’t his job anymore.

Following the search, Sergeant Ambrose sat down with them both to take their statements. Molly and her sister-in-law, hearing the voices, had dressed quickly and came downstairs to join them. Leopold listened to their accounts of the dinner and contributed his own, which added nothing. When they’d finished, he revealed to Ambrose that he was a retired detective captain.

“Then perhaps you can help us by shedding some light on this,” the sergeant suggested.

“Let’s wait for the forensic work first. You may be all wrong suspecting poison.”

“We should know something later today. I’ll phone you.” He glanced at his watch. “Now I’d like to question the others who were at dinner. I believe Jerry Wax and Suzie Trotter are both employed here?”

“That’s correct. I’ll page them for you.”

“And Pauline Fitzgerald? Is that the woman from Seneca Falls? I know her slightly. I’ll catch her later.”

Leopold decided that he wanted to catch the Fitzgerald woman, too, and later that morning he drove alone into Seneca Falls. Mark had directed him to the National Women’s Hall of Fame on Fall Street, near the center of town. The two-story building was crammed with exhibits and he found Pauline upstairs, setting up a new display in one of the large glass cases.

“Mr. Leopold! So good to see you again. Have they learned anything about Wade’s death?”

“Not yet. They’re waiting for the toxicology report.”

“I can’t believe it was the food. We all had the same thing.”

“I know.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, it’s almost noon. Can I buy you lunch while we talk?”

She swept back her blond hair in a gesture perhaps half-remembered from high school. “That would be fine. I just eat at a fast-food place in the next block.”

They had burgers and fries while he complimented her on the Women’s Hall of Fame. “I should bring my wife up to see it before we go back home.”

“I hope so. Molly seems like a very liberated woman.”

“Tell me about Wade Southby. You seem to have known him better than anyone else.”

Pauline Fitzgerald sighed. “That involves telling you my life story, but I’ll give you the condensed version. I was married and divorced before I was thirty, and moved to Seneca Falls about fifteen years ago to start a new life away from my ex. Given my situation, I suppose it wasn’t too surprising that sooner or later I would hook up with Wade. He was the only son of an immigrant family who’d fled the Nazis. Still unmarried in middle age, he’d inherited the Dogwatch Vineyard when they died. For a time we were a couple, attending fund-raisers for the Women’s Hall of Fame, greeting celebrities who came up here from Washington.”

“Was the vineyard profitable in those days?”

“Mildly so. He had a great deal of competition in this area, and couldn’t come up with the necessary money to expand. The local banks helped out for a time but then they stopped. I could see it was eating away at him. He’d take me out to dinner and the restaurant wouldn’t accept his credit card. I paid for it a couple of times, and then I suppose he was too ashamed to invite me out again. After a few drinks he’d start talking wildly, telling me his folks had smuggled valuable French and Dutch paintings into the country when they fled here. He said if he found them his money problems would be over.”

“Pardon me for asking, but was your relationship with Southby an intimate one?”

She hesitated only a moment. “Not successfully,” she replied with a sad smile. “He was as unskilled at that as he was at running the vineyard.”

“Yet he wanted you invited to last night’s dinner party.”

“Perhaps he only felt awkward at being the odd man.”

Leopold insisted on paying the few dollars for their lunch. Walking back toward the Women’s Hall of Fame, he asked, “Did you bear a grudge against him from the past?”

“Enough to poison him, do you mean? Hardly! In fact, we had lunch together at this same place just last week. He thought there was a possibility he might buy back Dogwatch or open a new winery. Wade was an old friend, but both of us knew it was nothing more.”

By the time Leopold drove back down Route 89 to the vineyard, Sergeant Ambrose’s car was gone. He saw Suzie Trotter heading toward the wine-tasting room and intercepted her. “Hello there,” she greeted him. “I heard the bad news about Mr. Southby. Do they know what caused it yet?”

Leopold shook his head. “Still waiting for that fellow Ambrose to call. Tell me something, Suzie. Did you ever work here when Southby owned the place? I know Jerry Wax did and I was wondering about you.”