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

Leopold in the Vineyard by Edward D. Hoch

When Ed Hoch created Captain Leopold he decided to let him age in real time, but that meant he had to figure out a way to retire the popular police-man at some point. Ever since his official retirement from the force, Leopold’s been coming back now and then as an amateur detective. Is he ever going to give up sleuthing? “I was planning to retire him for good after the 100th story featuring him,” Hoch said, “but this is his 105th case.” So who knows...

Having twice retired from his position as captain of the city’s violent crimes squad, Leopold had developed a distaste for the endless cases that seemed to intrude on his so-called leisure years. One evening in late September, when the wind off the Sound reminded them of autumn’s arrival, he suggested to his wife Molly that they take an extended vacation away from the city, to someplace where he wasn’t known.

“What about my job?” she asked as she brought out a bottle of red wine to accompany the roast beef she’d prepared for dinner. She was a trial lawyer with a schedule dependent upon the whims of judges.

“How does your schedule look?” he asked.

“I’m clear for the next couple of weeks but the Apex case goes before the judge on October twentieth. I’ll be tied up for weeks with that one.”

They talked no more about it that night, but the following day Molly came home with news. “My brother Mark phoned me at the office. He’s wondering if we could come up to the winery for a few days.” Mark Calendar was younger than Molly, with a wife and a three-year-old daughter. They’d been living in the Georgetown section of Washington until the change in administration trickled down to his job in the Department of Agriculture. By December of 2001, out of work and with few prospects in the nation’s capital, Mark and Sarah had pooled their money and taken out loans to purchase a small winery in the Finger Lakes region of New York State.

“How’s he doing?” Leopold asked.

“All right, I guess. I told you they expanded and added a new vineyard last year. They’ve got a hundred and fifty acres now.”

“I suppose we might take a drive up there sometime. I’d like to see it.”

“It’s just that—”

“What?”

“He’s got some sort of problem. He’d like us to come this week if we could.”

Leopold’s heart sank. “It’s not a police matter, is it?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet. My brother’s always been sort of vague. But he’s never asked for help before.”

There was no way out of it. “Can you get free?”

“Perhaps on Friday. If we leave early that would give us a long weekend.”

It was about 250 miles from their home to Cayuga Lake in central New York. They drove through Ithaca at the lake’s southern tip and then up the west side on Route 89. The Dogwatch Vineyard was about halfway along the slender lake, on a hillside commanding a magnificent view of the water.

“How did you ever find this place?” Molly asked, hugging her brother and exchanging kisses with Sarah.

Leopold and Mark shook hands and he launched into his story. “The previous owner, a fellow named Wade Southby, was in some sort of legal trouble. We never found out just what, but he had to sell the vineyard at a loss and disappear for a while. We happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

The place was buzzing with activity. A dozen cars were in the parking lot and Mark explained it was the season for vineyard tours and wine tasting. “It’s harvest time,” Sarah said. “The busiest we’ve been since we bought the place.” She was an attractive woman in her late thirties, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt that identified her as a working wife. The extra pounds she’d added during her pregnancy had been quickly shed and she seemed to have aged little since Mark married her some seven years earlier.

“How’s our little niece?” Molly asked.

“Megan is fine,” Sarah answered, a proud mother. “You’ll see her after her nap. Mark, show them their room while I check on Megan. Then we can do the tour.”

“Need help with that bag, Captain?” Mark asked, taking a smaller one from his sister.

“I can manage, thanks.” Leopold started up the stairs. “You don’t have to call me Captain, you know. I’m just a retired old man.”

“Well—” He seemed uncertain about what to say.

“Call me Jules. It’s my name, even though I never liked it.”

The upstairs guest room was cozy and colorful, with a flowery quilt over the big double bed. “It’s lovely!” Molly told her brother. “And look at the view!”

Leopold had to admit it was spectacular. They were looking down the hill directly at the lake, with the vineyard off to the south side. He could see workers with mechanical grape pickers moving among the rows, quickly harvesting the crop. Mark came over to stand by him. “Gathering the grapes takes a certain amount of planning. They don’t all ripen at the same time.”

“How’d you learn all this?”

“Partly through my job in Agriculture, and I took a course down at Cornell after we bought the place. Sarah’s been a great help to me.”

“Then what seems to be your problem?”

Mark sighed. “We’ll tell you over dinner. First I want to give you the tour.”

“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.”

“I called the sheriff yesterday. He claims not to know a thing about it.”

“It’s always the same?” Leopold asked. “The helicopter makes a single pass over the vineyards?”

“That’s right, but at different times. The others were all between ten and midnight.”

“What else is there? Sarah said that was one of the reasons you needed help.”

She spoke up. “The previous owner has contacted us. He wants to buy the place back.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult. Tell him he can have it for twice what you paid.”

Mark shook his head. “He’s already offered pretty close to that and I said no. Sarah and I love this place. We’re not about to sell it.”

“Who is this previous owner?”

“A man named Wade Southby. His parents had a vineyard in France before the war. They fled to America just before the Nazi occupation, bringing along enough money to buy this place. When they died he tried to carry on the family business, but within a few years he was forced to lay off his employees and shut down. That’s when he put it up for sale.”

“And now he wants it back.”

Mark nodded. “You’ll get to meet him tomorrow night. He’s coming here for dinner. He insists he’s making a serious offer and he begged me to hear him out. I agreed to do that, but I held out no hope for him.”

“Is that everything?” Leopold asked.

Mark and his wife exchanged glances, but it was Suzie who spoke up. “There’s Jerry Wax, our vineyard manager.”

“What about him?”

Suzie deferred to her employers and Sarah spoke with some reluctance. “Well, he suddenly seems to have lots of money. He bought an expensive new SUV and a new Rolex watch. Mark asked him if he’d come into an inheritance and he said he’d had some luck up at the Turning Stone casino.”

“He’s never been a gambling man,” Mark added. “He comes from a strict Amish family.”

“People change,” Leopold pointed out.

“We think he might be stealing from us,” Sarah said. “Suzie saw him putting a big bag of something in his car trunk one night and when she asked what it was he got very nervous. He might be stealing wine from us but we can’t prove it.”

“You believe his Amish upbringing would keep him from gambling but not from stealing?”

“Well—” she began and then fell silent.

“Perhaps I can meet him in the morning,” Leopold suggested.

It was later, when they were about to retire, that he heard the familiar thumping of the helicopter’s return. Leopold hurried downstairs and found Mark on the back porch, staring into the darkness. “It’s the first night he’s come back.” Even in the dim light Leopold could see his face was pale with fear.

In the morning, before the others were up, Leopold found Molly’s brother alone in the kitchen. “You’re up early. Been outside?”

Mark Calendar nodded. “I went to check the vineyards, the grapes we haven’t yet harvested.”

“Find anything?”

“No. Nothing visible.”

“You think that helicopter comes over at night to spray them, don’t you?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” he admitted. “The wrong chemicals could ruin our entire harvest.”

“Who’d want to do that?”

He shrugged. “Someone trying to force us off the property. The previous owner, maybe.”

“Mr. Southby.”

“Perhaps.”

“Let’s see what happens at dinner tonight.”

Mark readily agreed. “There’ll be eight of us. In addition to Southby I’ve asked Jerry Wax and Suzie.”

“Why Wax?”

“I just want to see how he acts around Southby. He worked in the vineyard when Southby owned the place, but Southby fired him.”

“That’s seven. Who else?”

“A woman from Seneca Falls named Pauline Fitzgerald. She’s an old friend of Southby’s, and when I suggested the dinner party he asked that I invite her. He had to ask what we’d be serving because she doesn’t eat meat. Sarah was already planning filet of sole so there was no problem.”

After breakfast, while Molly and her brother chatted, Leopold went for a walk in the vineyard. The section nearest the winery had been stripped of its grapes, but the mechanical grape pickers were still operating at the other end of the vineyard. He walked out that way until he spotted a stocky young man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses. He had a soft indoor face but seemed to be in charge. “Are you Jerry Wax?”

“That’s me,” the man admitted without taking his eyes off the grape-picking machine. “What can I do for you?”

“My name’s Leopold. I’m Mark Calendar’s brother-in-law, visiting for a few days. I wanted to ask you about the helicopter we heard last night.”

“Yeah, Sarah told me it came over twice after dark. I have a room with an Amish family on Route 414. Didn’t hear a thing over there.”

“Is there an airport near here?”

“Sure, a little one on Martin Road. Never saw a helicopter there, though.”

“Do you think someone in the copter could be spraying the vines to damage the grapes?”

“Doubt it,” he answered with a shrug. “They look fine to me. A good harvest this year.”

Leopold smiled and started walking toward the adjoining field. “I guess we’ll be seeing you later, at dinner tonight.”

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.

“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!”

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.”

She shook her head. “I worked at Sweetvine, over on Route 414. I knew Mr. Southby, of course, and I even dated Jerry a couple of times. But he wasn’t for me.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, he liked to smoke pot.”

“Anything stronger than pot?”

“Not that I know of. It wasn’t just that. He’s not my type.”

“You told Mark and Sarah you thought he might be stealing something.”

She shrugged. “Well, I saw him putting this big plastic rubbish bag in his trunk. It seemed odd. I wondered if he might be stealing healthy shoots for another winery.”

“Did they question him about it?”

Suzie shrugged. “I suppose that’s one of the reasons they wanted you to visit. That and the helicopter and Wade Southby. All of a sudden there was just too much for them to handle, and at the peak of our season.”

Sarah Calendar, who called to him from the front door, interrupted the conversation. “Sergeant Ambrose is on the phone. Mark and Molly have gone off and he asked to speak with you.”

Leopold took the call and heard the sergeant’s gruff voice on the other end. “It was arsenic,” he confirmed. “The forensic lab ran a flame spectroscopy test. And that vial we found stuck between the stove and the counter had traces of liquid arsenic and white wine.”

“Liquid arsenic?” Leopold dug through his memory. It was a long time since he’d handled a poisoning case. “That’s supposed to be faster acting, isn’t it?”

“Sure, the arsenic powder is already dissolved. Looks like it was put in his wineglass, though we can’t prove that.”

“There was a wine sauce on the fish, too. That may be more likely. It came from the kitchen. The bottled wine was poured at the table in full view.”

“Southby was trying to buy back Dogwatch, wasn’t he?”

“So I heard.”

“Was there a certain enmity between him and Mark Calendar?”

“The man’s my brother-in-law, Sergeant. I saw nothing that might lead to murder.”

Ambrose said he’d be in touch later and hung up. When Molly and Mark returned from town Leopold told them about this latest development. “Do you think they’ll arrest us?” Mark asked. “They might think Sarah and I poisoned him.” He seemed genuinely worried.

“Of course not!” Molly insisted, trying to cheer him up. “Look, let us take you both out to dinner tonight. There must be some good restaurants in Seneca Falls.”

He didn’t resist. “I guess Sarah deserves it after all she’s been through.”

They found a place just outside of town where the food was good. “At least we’re away from that damned helicopter for one night,” Sarah commented.

But they weren’t away from the poisoning of Wade Southby. The conversation drifted back to it, no matter how hard they tried to discuss grape growing and Amish customs and world politics. “One of us killed him,” Molly said, seeming surprised at her own words.

“There were eight of us at dinner,” Mark reminded them. “And people were in and out of the kitchen. Maybe Jerry had a grudge against him from the old days.”

But Sarah shook her head. “I can’t see him as a murderer. Not with poison, at least. He might punch someone, but he’d never poison them.”

Mark smiled at her. “You’re thinking poison is a woman’s weapon? You’ve been reading too many of those old British mysteries.”

They left soon after and headed back toward the Dogwatch. Leopold was driving and as they approached he could see the familiar flashing red lights of state police vehicles. “Something’s wrong,” he told them, increasing his speed a bit.

“Isn’t that...?” Mark pointed. “It’s the helicopter, on the ground beyond the vineyard!”

He was right. The helicopter and three state police cars had converged on a spot near the underbrush at the south end of the property. Leopold pulled up as close as he could and they were out of the car. “It looks like they’ve got a prisoner,” he called to the others, and led the way. Up ahead he could see Sergeant Ambrose and a number of uniformed officers. “What’s going on?”

Ambrose turned to them. “We were at the house looking for you. Sorry I had to keep quiet about the helicopter, but it was a D.E.A. operation.”

“Drugs?” Mark asked, seemingly bewildered.

The sergeant nodded. “They located a large patch of marijuana back in your underbrush a few weeks ago. But they needed to catch someone at the site, harvesting the crop. The helicopter flew over at night, with the crew using night-vision goggles, to try and spot someone. Tonight they did.”

“Who?” Sarah asked, trying to see past the officers to the figure being loaded into a squad car.

“One of your employees, Jerry Wax. He was caught red-handed with a bag full of harvested plants.”

“He must have heard them coming a mile away with that helicopter,” Leopold commented.

“It comes in fast in the dark, with its lights out, and they’ve been checking at a different time each night. We had cars on the alert for when they spotted someone.”

Mark tried to speak with his employee but the troopers kept him away. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Sarah muttered.

“I suppose that’s what he had in the plastic bag when Suzie saw him,” Leopold surmised. “She should have guessed it. She knew he smoked pot.”

Mark had a sudden thought. “Isn’t that why Southby fired him when he owned the place? When Southby came back in the picture, Jerry might have poisoned him to keep him quiet.”

“I still can’t see it,” Sarah said with a shake of her head.

Molly nudged Leopold. “Come on, I can hear you thinking. What is it we’re missing?”

“Can we go down to your fermenting room again?” he asked Mark. “Now that the helicopter mystery is cleared up, I have an idea about the rest of it.”

“Of course,” Mark said, leading the way, “but I don’t know what you expect to find there.”

Leopold followed along with the others, then went on alone to the far end of the cellar where the decorative wooden barrels stood as a reminder of days long past. “Southby was desperate to buy back this place, even offering twice what you’d paid for it. At dinner last night he asked to buy these old barrels to help decorate another winery, but he was again rebuffed. We must consider the possibility that the barrels were his main objective all along. Do these tops come off?”

Mark Calendar frowned. “I suppose so. We never bothered to remove them. There’s nothing inside.”

“Let’s see. Do you have a crowbar or something?”

As Molly and Sarah watched with fascination, Leopold pried the top off one of the barrels. It was empty. “Satisfied now?” Mark asked.

“No. There are still five more to open.”

He found what he sought in the third barrel. At first they appeared to be rolled-up scrolls, and even Molly asked, “What is it?”

“I think...” Leopold carefully unrolled one, revealing a painting of a ballet class. A second one seemed to show a wheat field at sunrise. “Yes. Pauline told me today that Southby’s parents supposedly brought some valuable paintings with them when they fled from the Nazis. He was still searching for them. I believe that was why he tried to buy the winery back from you. The bank forced him to sell the winery and after it was gone he came across something — perhaps a letter or diary — that revealed the hiding place of the paintings.”

“Does that tell us who poisoned him?” Mark asked.

“I think so. Let’s look at the rest of these paintings and go back over to your house. I’ll explain it all there.”

The paintings were carefully removed from the barrel and counted. There were eight in all, and the other barrels proved to be empty. They carefully carried them over to the house. “These could be worth millions,” Sarah speculated. “But if they were stolen from a museum or something we’d have to return them.”

“More likely they belonged to Southby’s parents,” Mark told her. “But they’re still not ours if he left any heirs.”

Molly was more interested in the mystery at hand. “Tell us who poisoned him,” she insisted.

“Very well,” Leopold said. “You’ll remember he asked again last night about buying the place, and even seemed to settle for buying those old barrels. When you turned him down again, Mark, he decided he had to kill you.”

“Southby?”

Leopold nodded. “He’d brought a vial of poison with him for just that purpose.”

“You can’t know that,” Molly argued.

“Yes, I can. You told me, Mark, that Southby asked you to invite Pauline Fitzgerald, too. But he had to know what you were serving because Pauline didn’t eat meat. That wasn’t true. She had a burger with me for lunch today, and said she’d gone to the same place with Southby last week. Why had he said she was a vegetarian? It could only have been to find out what you were serving for dinner. According to Ambrose, the poison was arsenic, dissolved in white wine, so it went well with the fish course. He must have known there’d be no chance to poison your glass, Mark, without anyone seeing him, but he found an excuse to visit the kitchen and add it to the wine sauce on one of the plates. He couldn’t keep that vial in his pocket so he stuck it in a space between the stove and counter.”

“Anyone might have done that,” Molly argued.

“But they wouldn’t have left it there to be discovered later by the police. They would have removed it, ground it up, dropped it in the rubbish, anything! Why was it still there for the police to find? It could only have been because the poisoner could not retrieve it. Only Southby couldn’t retrieve it, because he was dying.”

Mark frowned. “But he wouldn’t have poisoned himself.”

“Certainly not deliberately. But with eight plates, and four people carrying them, he simply got confused. When he felt the first terrible cramps he must have realized what had happened, but he could hardly admit what he’d done. He had to hope the dose would be non-fatal.”

“If I had died—”

“If you had died, he assumed Sarah would sell the place to him, or at least sell those barrels. That was all he really needed.”

They heard the throbbing roar as the helicopter took off, and Sergeant Ambrose came in to see them. “Jerry Wax will be held overnight for arraignment in the morning. Then he’ll probably be released on bail.”

“Tell him what you just told us,” Mark said to Leopold.

He went through it all again for the sergeant, and they showed him the newly discovered paintings. “We might be able to confirm it,” Ambrose said. “They lifted a partial print from that vial. I was going to have to fingerprint all of you. But couldn’t the mistake have been made at the table?”

Leopold shook his head. “Southby carried in the plate for Mark himself, and it was two seats away from his plate. Once the plates were on the table they couldn’t have been moved without attracting attention.”

Ambrose nodded. “I’ll call you within an hour about that print. You’d better let me take these paintings, too, until we establish ownership. I’ll give you a receipt.”

They waited up over an hour for his call, but when it came the news was good. The partial print on the poison vial belonged to Wade Southby.

Leopold rose early in the morning, and told Mark they’d be heading home after breakfast. “We’ve already stayed a night longer than planned. Molly was supposed to be back in her office this morning.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Mark said. “I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

“I’d do anything for Molly’s brother.”

Sarah came down with Molly to join them for breakfast. Afterward she suggested that Mark bring down their bags while she gave Leopold a final tour of the vineyard. “They’re finishing the harvest today. It’s a good year. We’ll send you a case when it’s ready.”

They walked among the rows of vines and Leopold said, “It’s a beautiful place you have here.”

“It is that.” She stopped and turned to him. “I just wanted to thank you. For everything.”

“What—?”

“I could see it in your face last night.”

“Yes.” He stared out at the lake, following the progress of a small boat. “You saw Southby poison your husband’s fish, so you switched the plates.”

“How did you know?”

“A man like Southby doesn’t get confused, not when he’s committing murder. The poisoned fish was on Mark’s plate when he carried it into the dining room. You and Suzie and I were the only ones in the kitchen with him when he must have poured that poison over the sauce. Only you or Suzie could have seen him do it.” He turned back to face her. “It seemed no one could have switched the plates when we were all at the table, but then I remembered the helicopter just before we started eating. We all ran out on the back porch to see it. Suzie was one of the first out, so she couldn’t have switched plates. It had to be you. Only you had both the knowledge of the poisoning and the opportunity to switch plates.”

“I didn’t know it was poison, then. I didn’t know what it was. I just knew I didn’t want my husband eating that fish. When Southby got so deathly ill I was horrified at what I’d done.” She lowered her eyes. “Will you have to tell Ambrose?”

“I’m the jury,” he said, “to paraphrase the title of an old novel. And the jury just found you not guilty.”

“Thank you again, for Mark and Megan. And for myself.”

Leopold heard Molly calling to him from back at the house. It was time to head home. “Goodbye, Sarah. I hope we see you again soon. Give Megan a hug for us.”

She smiled at him. “We’ll send you that case of wine.”