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Not only was Gerald Greystone quite deceased, and due to his body’s contortions, it appeared that he might have had a very unpleasant demise. His expression said strychnine to Myrtle. She backed up and looked grimly at Elaine. “You’ll need to call Red. And we’ll need to get everyone away from the area.”
Elaine gaped at her for a second before dialing her husband, who was the chief of police. As she did, Myrtle spoke loudly in her best teacher's voice. “There’s been a suspicious death. The police are on their way. Everyone must stay on the grounds, but you’ll need to step inside, away from the body.”
At the mention of a body, everyone sent shocked glances toward the slumped man, then hurried off for the tasting room.
Elaine finished her call as she and Myrtle followed the others to the tasting room. There was lots of background chatter going on inside. People stood huddled by the fire, talking to each other and gesturing to the outside. The staff looked confused, asking each other what had happened.
Miles looked the most confused of all. He’d just woken up from a lovely nap to find a note in his lap, no sign of his friends, and the building buzzing about a sudden death.
“What happened?” he asked blearily as he hurried over to Myrtle and Elaine.
“Gerald Greystone is dead,” said Myrtle in a clipped voice. “Poisoned.”
Miles, who had never finished his wine flight, still froze.
“Elaine, do you see your friend Isabella? She’ll want to know what’s going on.”
Elaine craned her head to look around. “She’s right over there,” she said, gesturing toward the front door of the lodge.
Isabella Montague was frowning, listening to several guests who were gesticulating wildly as they talked. Myrtle strode over to her, cane thumping as she walked, with Elaine and Miles in tow.
“May I speak to you for a second?” she asked. “I’m Myrtle Clover, Elaine’s mother-in-law.” The surrounding guests quickly dispersed, still talking among themselves.
Isabella gave her a tense smile. “Oh, Miss Myrtle. Elaine told me so much about you.” Isabella was looking quite stressed, as was understandable. However, saying just the right thing seemed like muscle memory to her. She was nervously fingering her necklace, which had a grapevine motif.
Myrtle pulled her away from the group of people and said quietly, “Gerald Greystone. You know him?”
“Of course,” she said, frowning. “Is he all right? I’ve been hearing all kinds of things from people. What’s happened?”
“He’s dead. Out in front of your firepit,” said Myrtle.
Isabella looked at Elaine and Miles for confirmation, not wanting to believe it. Elaine nodded, and Miles, who’d only just learned about the death, looked carefully noncommittal.
Myrtle said, “What’s more, it appears he’s been murdered.”
“Murdered?” hissed Isabella frantically. “That’s impossible.”
“Red’s on his way,” said Elaine, giving her a sympathetic smile. “He told me on the phone to make sure everyone stays put until they can find out what happened and get statements.”
Isabella swayed on her feet, looking pale. “I can’t believe this.”
“Let’s go sit down,” said Elaine, giving her friend a concerned look.
But Isabella shook her head. “I’d rather the guests sit. This isn’t what anyone signed up for when they came for the tasting.” She paused. “Excuse me, I should go out back and see what’s happened. I’ll be right back.”
Myrtle put her hand out. “The police won’t want anything disturbed.”
Isabella gave her a quick nod. “I’ll be careful.” She strode to the back door of the winery, ignoring customers who tried to speak with her. She was only out there for less than a minute before re-entering and joining Myrtle, Miles, and Elaine again. Isabella’s face was troubled. She glanced around the room for a moment as if looking at all of her guests through a different lens.
“This is unbelievable,” she said slowly. “How could something like this happen? And why would someone murder him here? We haven’t been open long enough for most people to know we’re even here.”
“How long has the winery been open?” asked Miles.
Isabella gave an unhappy laugh. “Only six weeks. Oh my gosh, this is going to be the kiss of death for the place. The negative publicity alone is going to kill it. And I’ve put so much time and money into setting it all up.” She paused. “I’m sorry, I know it’s crass to consider money when someone has lost his life.”
Miles wasn’t listening to Isabella. The idea of poison was apparently still deeply embedded in his mind. He eyed his abandoned flight suspiciously, as if afraid it was going to explode.
Isabella turned to Myrtle. “You say it looked like he’d been murdered. You’re not sure?”
“Well, I’m not a coroner, but it certainly doesn’t appear anything like a natural death to me. Did you know Gerald well? His vineyard adjoins yours, doesn’t it?”
“It does. But I wouldn’t say I knew him well.” She gave Myrtle a look of concern, taking in Myrtle’s advanced years and the cane. She made the leap that Myrtle must be horribly traumatized. Isabella reached out to her, gently taking her arm. “I’m so sorry. You found him? That must have been an awful shock. Would you like to sit down? Maybe have a glass of wine?”
Miles, still clearly ruminating on the poison, gave Isabella an alarmed look.
Myrtle said, “No, I’m all right, thank you. At least, I’m doing much better than poor Gerald.” Finding bodies, even traumatic looking ones, had become all too familiar for Myrtle. She glanced over at the door through narrowed eyes. “People are trying to leave, Isabella. Perhaps you should make sure they stay on the premises until the police give the okay?”
Isabella ran a hand through her hair and hurried over to the door. She spoke to the customers, who seemed quite annoyed at having to stay. Then she raised her voice. “Let me remind you we’ve all been asked by the police to stay here until they allow us to leave. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“It’s a bit more than an inconvenience,” murmured Miles.
“How well did you know Gerald?” Elaine asked Myrtle. “I know you recognized him right away.”
“Oh, he and I were just acquaintances, really. I wrote a profile on him for the paper once after he gave Sloan some advertising dollars. The winery he owns is directly next to this one. I don’t believe he was involved in the day-to-day running of it any longer, though. He’d employed a manager.”
Elaine said in a quiet voice, “What do you think happened to him? Out there?” She gestured to the outdoors. The weather outside remained beautiful—sunlight pouring down out of blue skies. It created a strange backdrop for murder.
“I believe, just from looking at Gerald’s contorted features, that he might have been poisoned with strychnine.”
Miles and Elaine stared at her.
“Are you sure?” asked Miles. “You sound like you’re a character in an Agatha Christie novel.”
“I practically am a character in an Agatha Christie novel. Miss Marple. Although she was a mere child compared to me,” said Myrtle with a sniff.
Miles clutched his water bottle to his chest as if concerned someone would come over and forcibly pour a noxious substance in there. “I’d imagine strychnine would be challenging to acquire these days.”
“Not having been in the market for it, I wouldn’t know,” said Myrtle. “But yes, I’d think it’s probably considered a controlled substance.”
Isabella, after speaking with several guests along the way and trying to keep everyone calm, joined them again. She looked very pale and shaken. “I hope Red will make it here soon. People are getting restless.” She glanced toward the back door. “Who’s going to visit the winery if someone’s been murdered here?” She sighed. “Aside from some really ghoulish folks.”
“I’m sure the police will find out what’s happened as quickly as possible,” said Myrtle.
Isabella suddenly looked very focused on Myrtle. “Wait. You write for the newspaper, don’t you?”
Myrtle was always pleased to be recognized as a reporter. “I do.”
“You’re going to write an article about this, aren’t you?” Isabella nervously twisted her hands together. “About what happened?”
Naturally, she was. Myrtle lived to do crime reporting instead of wasting her time on the helpful hints column her editor made her do. She’d much rather be penning a serious story than turning in yet another article extolling the virtues of baking soda and white vinegar. “I’m sure Sloan will ask me to cover Gerald’s death. This will be a big story, unfortunately.”
Isabella said in a pleading voice, “Could you say something good about the winery in the article you write? Something about the wines, maybe? Or the building and the atmosphere?”
Miles cast a disbelieving look her way. Myrtle agreed with him. The atmosphere had certainly been shattered by the advent of murder.
“The story will be about Gerald, of course. But I can do a separate piece on your vineyard and winery. And a bit about you, of course. More of a profile piece.”
Isabella seemed pleased. “Would you? That would be amazing.”
“Of course. I’ll come back soon and sit down to speak with you about it.” Myrtle went into crime reporter mode. “Now, did you notice anything unusual today? Did anyone seem as if they didn’t quite belong? Did you see anything that now might seem suspicious?”
Isabella was already shaking her head as Myrtle was speaking. “I’ve spent the whole time flitting around from one guest to another. Taking drink orders, promoting the wines. Talking about the vineyard. I didn’t even go outside to the firepit—I was too busy inside.”
Myrtle couldn’t help but think that this was awfully convenient. After all, there were guests out there, too. And empty glasses to be collected. Plus, she’d seen a flicker in Isabella’s eyes that made her think she wasn’t completely telling the truth. “You didn’t make it out there at all during the tasting? It seemed very tidy out there. I didn’t see many empty glasses.”
Isabella flushed. “You’re right, actually. I did make it outside once and spotted Gerald there. He was talking with a couple of other customers. I just grabbed the empty glasses and headed back inside.”
“Gerald has been focusing on his work as a wine critic lately, hasn’t he?” asked Myrtle. “Did you invite him here today to write about the Serenity Springs wines?”
Isabella nodded. “I wanted Gerald to have a pleasant visit today. A good review from him could have meant a lot of extra business coming my way.”
Miles cleared his throat. “How did Gerald handle being a wine critic and running a vineyard at the same time?”
“He wasn’t really hands-on at the vineyard anymore. He’d hired a guy, Ben Foster, to help him out. From everything I’ve heard, Ben’s doing an exceptional job at Greystone Grapes.” Isabella’s voice was just the tiniest bit bitter. Myrtle wondered if perhaps Isabella had tried hiring Ben to help at Serenity Springs instead.
Isabella continued, “I really like Ben. He’s a smart guy, very professional, with a lot going for him. He’s spent a little time over here, actually, and has been nice enough to give me some free advice.”
Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “What did Gerald think of that? His employee helping his competitor?”
Isabella flushed. “When he caught wind of it, he shut that down. Ben had been complaining about Gerald lately, as a matter of fact. I was wondering if he was going to end up quitting. Of course, I’d have been delighted to take Ben on over here.”
Elaine asked, “Why was Ben complaining about Gerald? The two of them didn’t get along?”
“Not lately, they haven’t. Apparently, the two of them had very different ideas for the future of Gerald’s vineyard. Ben didn’t care much for Gerald’s ideas.” Isabella paused, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe now Ben will come over to work for me.”
Myrtle said carefully, “You don’t think Ben could have anything to do with Gerald’s death, do you?”
“What? No. No, of course not. I can’t picture him being violent. He’s just very passionate about grape growing and sustainability in the grape growing industry. He couldn’t harm a fly.”
But Myrtle saw that flicker in Isabella’s eyes again. She’d like to hear more about her thoughts on Ben and Gerald’s relationship. Before she could inquire further, however, Red suddenly showed up in uniform, interrupting everything, as usual. He spotted his mother, his wife, and Miles right away and strode over.
“Where?” he asked.
They all pointed to the back door. “By the firepit,” said Myrtle helpfully.
Red gave her a look through narrowed eyes and headed off outside with a roll of yellow crime scene tape. After a couple of minutes, he came back in, giving a piercing whistle that cut through all the nervous chattering of the guests.
Red’s voice was loud, but calm. “There’s been a suspicious death on the premises. I need everyone to stay quiet and here on the grounds. Officers will be going around getting statements. This is all standard procedure. No one is allowed out the back doors.” He gestured toward the back veranda and firepit.
He moved over to join them again. “Isabella?”
She nodded, looking tense.
“Sorry to have to see you under these circumstances. I’d like to speak with you first for a few minutes.” He walked off to a corner of the room with Isabella, scattering a few guests as he did.
Soon, there were more officers on the scene. Then more as the state police started arriving. The officers busied themselves outside, although Myrtle noticed that one seemed to be stationed where he could keep guests from leaving.
Elaine sighed. “Poor Isabella. I feel so sorry for her. Here she is, trying to have a lovely event to get her winery off the ground, and then something like this happens.” She lowered her voice. “Do you think this Ben Foster could have something to do with Gerald’s death?”
“I have the feeling he’s going to be a suspect, for sure, after Isabella fills Red in,” said Myrtle. “After all, they apparently weren’t getting along well. Maybe Ben blew up and did Gerald in.”
They didn’t wait long before Red was striding back over to speak with them again. His face was flushed almost as red as his hair. “Hi, Mama. Here we are again. I’m getting tired of this.”
Myrtle gave him an indignant look. “I’m tiring of it too, Red. Perhaps you should consider more intense policing. It seems there are dead bodies fairly littering Bradley. Even at nice, respectable events like this one.”
Red growled, “I’m used to poor Miles being dragged into these situations with you. But you rarely throw my wife into your shenanigans.”
Elaine said, “Actually, this was my shenanigan. Remember my wine tasting hobby?”
Myrtle could tell he had conveniently forgotten about Elaine’s latest hobby. It was a forgivable offense. Elaine’s hobbies were legion and usually ended poorly. Then Red’s gaze suddenly sharpened. “Where’s Jack?” Red asked, head craning. He looked around him in horror as if the three-year-old might be tramping through his crime scene, toy trucks in hand.
“At a playdate, of course,” said Elaine rather indignantly. “That’s why we’re all here, supporting Isabella.”
“She’s going to need support after this,” said Red, shaking his head.
“It’s murder,” said Myrtle. “Strychnine, isn’t it?”
Red leveled a look at his mother. “This is a subject that I don’t want to be talking about with you. I’m not even sure why you know so much about poison. It’s very unsettling hearing the word strychnine come out of an octogenarian’s mouth.”
Myrtle fingered the gift bag she was holding. The gnome was going to make a debut appearance with a cast of one-hundred in her front yard. Red was most annoying.
“Now please, let’s get this over with so y’all can all go back to your respective homes. Miles, you got anything to offer on all this?”
Miles looked abashed. “I was asleep.”
Red frowned. “Had some wine, did you?”
Miles now seemed even more uncomfortable. “A little, although I didn’t even finish the tasting. I think it was more the stuffiness of the room with the fire running and all the people inside. But Myrtle is driving back, regardless, so don’t worry about my intake.”
Now Red was uncomfortable. Or, perhaps, alarmed. And Miles’s words didn’t have the soothing effect that Miles had intended. “Excuse me?”
“That was how we set it up,” said Elaine. “I drove us over here. The arrangement was that Myrtle would drive us home. She barely drank a sip.”
“I’m not worried about Mama driving drunk. I’m worried about Mama driving, period.”
Myrtle glared at her son. “I beg your pardon! I’m an excellent driver. And I’ve become very accustomed to Elaine’s minivan. I know where all the controls are.”
Red closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, he said, “Okay. Let’s go over the details of what happened so you can start out on your long journey home.”
“Well, Miles was right. It was quite stuffy in here. It still is, despite all the police officers coming and going and opening the doors outside. Miles had nodded off in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Elaine and I stepped out to look at the vineyard and get some fresh air. We settled at the firepit, and I noticed that the man across from us was Gerald Greystone. I also realized he was slumped rather oddly.”
“Oddly, how?”
Myrtle said, “Just not in a natural position for someone who’d dropped off to sleep. Not like Miles, with his chin on his chest.”
Miles blushed again at having been caught napping.
“You knew this Gerald?” asked Red. “I don’t know if I recognize the name.”
Elaine said, “Myrtle seems to know most people in town.”
Myrtle beamed at her. “Well, first off, I knew Gerald’s parents. They were older than me, but we were friendly. They’re both gone now.”
“Moved away?” asked Red, now jotting notes in a small notebook.
“Dead,” said Myrtle.
“Ah.”
“They were the ones who originally established the vineyard. They were lovely, hardworking people. They were fairly visionary, too. Few people at the time were thinking North Carolina could be remotely good for any sort of wine-making.”
“Wait,” said Red. “Gerald’s parents owned this winery?”
“No, no.” Myrtle gave her son an impatient look for not keeping up. “This winery is brand-new, Red. They owned the one next door to this one. Gerald, until today, still did.”
“Did you teach Gerald?” asked Red. It was a fair question. Myrtle, at her advanced age, had taught many people of a certain age in Bradley, North Carolina before her long-ago retirement.
“He was too old for me to have taught. But I taught his ex-wife. Ramona. You remember who she was.”
Red raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I do remember her. Wow. That was a significant age difference between the two of them.”
“Yes. And they had a baby, nearly right after they married.” Myrtle could tell that Red’s attention was about to head solely to the ex-wife as a suspect. “Before you become too invested in Ramona’s guilt, she lives in Canada now with her new husband. I’d imagine that would put her completely out of the picture for this crime.”
Elaine said, “What did you make of Gerald, Myrtle? Since you knew him.”
“Well, as I mentioned, I interviewed him a couple of years ago for a profile for the paper. I thought he was sort of smug, filled with his own self-importance. And something of a know-it-all. He was quite possibly also a control freak.”
Red said, “That’s quite a ruling on the man, Mama.”
“It’s well-deserved. I remembered asking him about his daughter and whether she was going to take over running the winery one day. A fair question, wouldn’t you think? Gerald wasn’t getting any younger, and he had a perfectly able daughter who could step in and take over his little empire. He was very condescending about her.”
Red’s gaze sharpened. “He was, was he?”
“That’s correct. Julia, I think her name is. A lovely girl, from what I saw in the family photographs. Anyway, I thought Gerald’s attitude was very odd. After all, his winery was basically a family enterprise, started by Gerald’s parents.” Then, suddenly, it occurred to Myrtle that she was giving far too much information away, having been lulled into doing so by everyone’s interest in what she knew about Gerald’s background. She decided to shut her mouth and tell her companions more about Gerald when Red and his little notebook weren’t around. If Red wanted to solve the case, he was going to have to work for it.
Red seemed to sense Myrtle was now firmly opposed to being useful. He closed his notebook with a snap. “Okay. Now, I need you all to head home. Mama, obviously, I need you to stay focused and undistracted. It’s not a short drive.”
“For heaven’s sake, Red! You realize I was driving twenty years before you were even born. That makes me an expert driver.”
Red rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that statement before. Just know that you’ve got precious cargo in the vehicle with you. I’ll be checking on all of you to make sure you make it back safely.”
Myrtle was about to give Red a piece of her mind when he slipped away, heading over to speak with one of the uniformed officers.
“Those gnomes are going to make an appearance as soon as I get home,” muttered Myrtle as the three of them headed for the door.
Miles said, “You could call Dusty. He’s probably still at your house, taking care of the yard.”
“If he and Puddin ever made it over there, you mean.” But it was a good idea. Myrtle carefully texted Dusty. He texted back. He wasn’t delighted about the prospect of hauling gnomes out of the shed. Myrtle sweetened the pot by offering a little extra money. She needed to make a statement to Red that he couldn’t denigrate her driving like that. She was an excellent driver.
They walked out into a blustery breeze and were all about to climb into the minivan again when they were waylaid by a middle-aged, grouchy looking man of average height with salt-and-pepper hair. He wore a knit hat that appeared homemade and a coat that seemed to have been hastily donned. “Hey there,” he said in a gruff voice. “I was wondering if you could tell me what’s going on at Serenity Springs.”