Dandelion Dead (13 page)

“Good,” Simon said. “But you'd better come back. Ivy and Ramsey left after you two did to go to Whitman's bar, but she just came back here alone to go over the arrangements for the reception after the funeral. Now she's on her way home.”

“Was she with David?”

“No, and that's the other reason I called.” Simon blew out a breath. “I can't find him, and I need your help.”

We arrived back at Salt
fifteen minutes later to find the place empty, except for two waterfront tables and Simon behind the bar, mixing a martini in a silver shaker. “Thanks for coming back, you two.”

“What's going on?” I said.

“I don't know. I tried David on his cell and his home phone and even went to his favorite bars in Greenport, but I can't find him. I'm getting worried, especially with what's been happening.”

“Did Ivy have any idea where he might be?” I said.

“No, and she didn't much seem to care. She just wanted to get home.”

“Maybe he reconciled with Lily or he's with someone else, Simon,” Jackson said. “It could also be nothing.”

“I suppose you're right. I'm definitely on edge.” Simon turned around and looked at the shelf where the glasses were supposed to be stocked. “Crap. No more glasses. Roger, the waiter, already took them all into the back to run through the dishwasher.” The door to Salt opened and a couple came in. “I'd better handle this,” Simon said. “We are closed for the night.”

“I'll
get you a glass in the meantime,” I said. “So you can have your drink.”

“Thanks. You're a pal.”

Jackson and I walked toward the back of the restaurant to the kitchen. “He's really having a hard time,” I said. “We've got to figure out what's going on here.”

“We will. We made good progress at Pure tonight.”

“True.” As we passed the freezer, I noticed that the door was ajar. “What's this doing open?”

“Roger or another member of the waitstaff probably forgot to shut it.”

“Maybe.” But something made me take a step back, and I opened the door. Through the frosty air, I spotted a body slumped in the corner of the freezer next to the gelato, and it was chillingly familiar. “Oh my God! It's David!”

Jackson peered inside. “And he doesn't look good.”

The two of us went over to him, and I checked his pulse. “He's alive.”

“Help me move him out of the corner,” Jackson said. Each of us took an arm and moved him toward the middle of the freezer.

“What's going on?” David mumbled.

“We're getting you out of here,” Jackson said. “Can you stand up?”

“Think so.” David tried, but he dropped to his knees.

“Let's try this again,” Jackson said, and grabbed David's arm and put it around his shoulder, put his arm around David's waist, and helped him out the door into the warm air of the corridor. While he did, I called 911 and asked for an ambulance and the police.

Twenty minutes later, both had arrived, and while
the medics tended to David, the crime-scene people secured the scene, and Detective Koren talked to us.

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you three here,” he said.

“Simon is our friend,” I said. “We came to Salt for dinner, as his guests.”

“Yes, and it was damn good,” Jackson said.

“Thank you, Jackson,” Simon said.

“Okay, enough for the Zagat guide review, Spade.” Detective Koren flipped open his black notebook. “Now, Mr. Farmer tells me that he'd been going to get more bottles of that wine Falling Leaves when someone knocked him on the back of the head and shoved him into the freezer. He estimated that he'd been inside for over an hour—from ten o'clock to eleven—and would have remained there and probably frozen to death if you hadn't found him. Can you take me through the chain of events?”

Jackson told him about eating dinner here, then created an on-the-spot lie, saying that we'd taken a drive to the Narrow River Marina beach in Orient to take a walk in the moonlight. We'd returned, he said, when Simon called to say that David was missing around 11:00 p.m. It sounded good to me. I hoped it did to Detective Koren.

“When did you leave to go for this walk?”

“Right around nine o'clock. An hour before David disappeared.”

“Given that it takes approximately twenty to thirty minutes to get to Orient and back, this clocks your walk in at what—an hour and a half—at night? At the end of October?”

“Our schedules are very busy right now,” Jackson said. “We like our alone time. But the point is, we were gone well before David, Mr. Farmer, was struck on the head and put into the freezer.”

“Okay, Spade, okay,” Detective Koren said. “You weren't here. I get it. But keep your nose clean and out of whatever this is.”

“What is it?” I said. “Do you think that someone is trying to kill David, and that they tried before at Pure, at the party, and killed Amy by mistake? Are you still after Lily?”

“You've sure got a lot of questions, Ms. McQuade. Not that I'm answering any of them.” Detective Koren waved to a uniformed officer, and the two of them headed toward the kitchen.

“Lovely fellow,” Simon said.

“Isn't he just,” I said. “Let's go check on David.”

Outside, we found David sitting in the rear of the ambulance, shivering underneath several blankets and sipping hot coffee.

“How are you feeling now?” I said as we walked up to him.

“I'm glad to be out.” He pulled the blanket up to his neck. “But now, I'm really dizzy and nauseous, and my brain feels like it's swimming in my skull. They think I have a concussion. They're going to take me to the emergency room to check it out.”

“I'm so sorry, David.”

“Don't be sorry,” he said, brightening. “You two saved me.”

“Did you see anything? Do you know who hit you?” Jackson said.

“No. I was just walking past the freezer to get more wine from the storeroom when someone knocked me on the head and shoved me inside. If you hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now. I don't know how to thank you.”

“You just did,” I said.

He shivered and clutched the blankets even closer. “Did you talk to Detective Koren yet?”

“Yes, we're all good,” Simon said.

“He interviewed me, too,” David said. “But I couldn't help him much.”

“That's understandable considering what happened,” Jackson said. “But I think he has what he needs.”

“He did tell me that they found a ladle in the freezer with blood on it, so I guess that's what he or she used.” David took another sip of coffee, warming his hands on the cup.

“Try not to think about it right now,” I said.

“Right,” Simon said. “Just chill out, buddy.”

“Did you call Ivy?”

“Yes,” Simon said. “She's on her way.”

“This is all she needs after Amy's death.”

But when we'd arrived, Simon had said that Ivy didn't seem concerned about David at all. The marriage was obviously in trouble.

“She's tough,” Simon said, smoothing things over. “She can handle it.”

The ambulance driver—a burly guy in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and vest, and boots—came around back and said, “We're okay to go.”

“Take care, David,” I said. “We'll check on you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Amy's funeral, but I don't know if I'll be able to go now.”

“Just take care of yourself,” I said. “We'll hold a good thought for you, too.”

“Okay, thanks. You guys are really great.”

The driver helped David lie down on a cot in the back of the ambulance, and then slammed the back doors shut.

We watched the ambulance pull away and went back inside, where Simon headed directly for the bar. “Now I really need a drink. Want one?”

“I'm good.” I followed him over and sat down on one of the stools that surrounded the rectangular bar on four sides. The bar had been built with teak from an antique sailboat, while the reclaimed-wood floors and rustic beams in the ceiling came from a weathered barn, giving the interior the feel of a ship's cabin.

“Jackson? Seltzer?”

“No, thanks.” He sat down next to me.

“Forget the glass.” Simon strained the drink, rubbed a twist of lemon peel around the edge of the martini shaker, dropped it in, and took a good, long swallow. “Nice.”

“So who do we think did this?” I said. “Ivy, maybe? Or Ramsey? When did they leave originally?”

“I think it was nine thirty or so,” Simon said. “Definitely after you two left around nine. I even followed them over to Whitman's bar to make sure she wasn't headed home.”

“But they could easily have come back and tried to kill David later,” Jackson said.

“Sure,” Simon said. “I watched them for a few minutes, but then I had to get back here.”

“Right,” I said. “Then she shows up around eleven to discuss the arrangements for the reception after the funeral and said she didn't know where David was when you asked her.”

“
If
she did it, it was a nice act.” Simon took another sip from the shaker. “Leonard Sims, the guy who wants to buy Pure back, was here for dinner, too, and he stayed awhile. And he left about the same time that Ivy did. A lot of people were in and out tonight.”

“So whether someone was here or not, it might not matter,” Jackson said. “Anyone could have come in through the kitchen and attacked David.”

“It wouldn't have been easy, though,” Simon said. “The kitchen was rocking up until almost eleven o'clock.” He took another drink from the shaker and put it down. “So you found some interesting stuff at Pure?”

“I think so,” Jackson said. “Ivy's laptop gave us the e-mail exchange between her and Ramsey Black, and there was also an e-mail from David to Ivy that we didn't tell you about.”

“What?”

“David told Ivy that her behavior was reckless and was putting everything they'd worked for at risk,” I said. “He told her to find a way to fix it or he would tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“We think David may have found out about Ivy and Ramsey,” Jackson said. “If anyone else did, it would put the competition at risk for Pure because he's a judge. David wanted her to stop.”

“That makes sense,” Simon said. “And it also gives me something else to worry about.”

“I know,” I said. “Sorry.”

“If you win, they'd have to prove that he made it happen,” Jackson said. “So don't get carried away just yet.”

“But maybe Ivy or Ramsey or both may have tried to kill David tonight before he told you or anyone else. Just to keep it quiet.”

“I don't know,” Simon said. “Ivy is a control freak, but I really don't think she would kill David. Without him, Pure isn't worth much.”

“True, but we've got to connect these dots somehow,” Jackson said.

“What about Gerald's office?” Simon said. “Anything you didn't tell me?”

“No, we told you about finding what I thought was poison hemlock but is probably yarrow,” I said. “And that it could have been planted there by Ivy or Ramsey. And Gerald's letter to Mr. Farmer, and the fact that he worked for them before.”

“And if he goes to work for them, he could try to share our secrets,” Simon said. “Terrific.”

“Again, it hasn't happened yet,” Jackson said. “So try to remain calm. But I do think that David should consider hiring a bodyguard. I could recommend a few.”

“Okay, but right now, I need to go to the hospital and see how he is.”

•  •  •

At ten o'clock on Thursday
morning, Simon and I sat in a pew at the Methodist church in Southold, several
rows behind David, Ivy, and various family members, including her grandmother Emily Lord, the family's ninety-two-year-old matriarch and widow of Walter Lord, the family's patriarch, who had died in 2012, leaving Ivy his fortune. David had been released from the emergency room at the Eastern Long Island Hospital a little after one o'clock in the morning, diagnosed with a mild concussion and freezer burn. In the short time between the attack and the service, Simon had called Jackson and asked him to find a bodyguard who could start immediately, and now that man, Scott Peters, sat next to us.

Scott, forty-eight, six feet four, and heavily muscled, had retired from the village police force six months ago, but soon became bored with puttering around his garden and playing golf. Now, his job was to see to it that David came to no further harm.

Funerals are always difficult, but the church was interesting because of its historic past. It dated back to the 1640s, and the simple interior reflected its colonial beginnings.

White wooden pews lined with worn red velvet faced a simple altar with a large standing gold cross on top, while a red carpet ran down the length of the room. Stained-glass windows depicting scenes from the Bible were on either wall, and soaring above were hanging lights with embellished crosses. The smell of incense lingered in the air.

Gerald sat in the row behind us, apparently recovered from whatever illness he had been suffering from, and next to him was Ramsey Black. Farther back, on both sides of the aisle, were members of the community
showing their support, and on either side by the exit were vineyard owners, including Carla Olsen, Derek Mortimer, Harrison Jones, and Camille and Carter Crocker. Leonard Sims, the former owner of Pure, had made an appearance as well to pay his respects or perhaps to try to buy back his vineyard one more time.

Unfortunately, David's father, Walter, and David's brother, Kurt, had decided to show up as well, scrubbed up and looking presentable, and they, too, sat in the back. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any more trouble between the two brothers.