Dandelion Dead (31 page)

At the other end of the bar, Gerald Parker chatted with Derek Mortimer and Carla Olsen. The Crockers headed over to the bar, too, but upon seeing me, Camille turned and went to a tasting station at the opposite end of the room. Derek and Carla wandered off, too, and Ramsey and Ivy went up to the bar. “Let's see if they found out anything about the judging,” I said. “And should we ask them about Amy's murder?”

Jackson shook his head. “No, not tonight. Let's keep it casual, except for the competition.”

“Simon is anything but. Look at him,” I said. “He's talking to Nora Evans and he's pouring on the charm.” We watched as Simon did his thing, smiling, touching, chatting, and in general trying to convince Nora to vote for Pure.

I walked up to Ramsey and Ivy, as Jackson followed. “Ivy, are you feeling better about the judging now? I really think that you will win.”

“I don't know, and you certainly don't know,” Ivy snapped.

“And I can't talk about it,” Ramsey said, grabbing two glasses of wine and leading Ivy away.

“I really don't like either of them,” I said. “I've tried, or maybe I haven't, but I just can't do it.”

“I know what you mean.” The band began playing again. “Let's dance.” Jackson put his hand out.

We stayed on the dance floor for “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered” and “Come Fly with Me,” before retreating to the banquette seating by the entrance. A
few moments later, Simon and Sara came over to us. “How did it go?”

“I don't know. And I think I'm over it. I just want to know.”

Jackson looked at his watch. “Won't be long now.”

“Can you believe this?” David said as he joined us. “Ivy said we're in danger of not winning.”

“I think she's overreacting,” Simon said. “She does that, you know.”

“True, but she's even worse tonight, and she's driving me crazy. I think it's Amy's will and the fact that she left her share in Pure to Gerald. It's all she can talk about.”

“I've already contacted my estate lawyer,” Simon said. “In the meantime, she talked to Ramsey, so maybe he calmed her down.”

“I'm sure he can,” David said sharply. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine o'clock,” Jackson said.

Jackson and I moved toward the stage and danced while the band played “I Only Have Eyes for You” and “Mack the Knife.” When they were done, the lead singer announced that the winners of the
Wine Lovers
magazine competition would be announced next. The crowd clapped.

After the band left, two Southwold Hall employees carried a dais onto the stage, placed it in the middle, and set up a microphone, while the rest of the crowd gathered. A few minutes later, the judges climbed the stairs to the stage, conferred for a moment, and stood behind Nora Evans as she went to the microphone.

“Hi, everyone, thanks for joining us at historic
Southwold Hall this evening. I think I speak for all the judges when I say that we have really enjoyed visiting the East End during North Fork UnCorked! week. Meeting all the local vintners and vineyard owners has been nothing less than inspiring. Getting to know you, and observe your process, has only made our decision tonight harder as we've found your community vibrant, talented, and welcoming, and a credit to winemaking here and around the world. You should be very proud.”

The crowd clapped. I leaned over and squeezed Simon's arm. “Win or lose, I'm proud of you, Simon.”

“Yeah, you done good,” Jackson said.

“Thanks, you guys.”

“We'll start with the third-place winner. This vineyard will be featured in
Wine Lovers
magazine at some point during 2016 and will receive this award.” Nora held up a bronze sculpture of a wineglass with a placard on the base. She turned to confer with Ramsey Black. She said something, and he nodded.

She turned back around. “We think that this vineyard shows real promise and is doing really interesting things with their vintages. The third-place winner is Carla Olsen, of Sisterhood Wines, and her very special Riesling wine—Drunken Vines.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, and applause followed Carla up to the stage. She looked surprised and happy as Evans handed her the trophy. “This is a big surprise,” Carla said. “There are so many talented vintners here, and I'm proud to be in your company. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Carla, and congratulations.” Nora
checked her notes. “The second-place vineyard hasn't been around for very long, but it has already made its mark, winning local and regional competitions. We feel they hold great promise for the future. The winner will also be featured in the pages of our magazine and will receive the second-place award.”

“This is it,” Simon said, taking Sara's hand. “This could be us or we could win.”

“Breathe,” I said. “It will be okay.”

“The second-place winner is . . . Crocker Cellars and their Bordeaux Red Rose.”

The crowd clapped, but it was more subdued. Obviously, the Crockers weren't as popular with them as Carla was.

“We did it—did we do it?” Simon said.

“Hold on. You're almost there,” I said.

Camille and Carter Crocker stepped onto the stage and went over to the microphone. Unlike Carla, they were not happy, and Carter's statement reflected it. “Thank you, judges, for this award. We worked hard to make a vintage that was worth recognition. Although this isn't what we were hoping for, we are grateful nonetheless. Thank you.”

The Crockers headed off the stage, and Evans stepped back to the microphone. Jackson and I and Simon and Sara took one another's hands. Simon gave a thumbs-up to David, who stood to our right with Ivy and Tony.

“Now, the moment we've all been waiting for.” Evans smiled. “This vineyard has been the leader in innovation on the East End, in the region, and nationwide. We think this is the case because the winemaker
here views winemaking as art and science, and this imbues each vintage with something almost intangible, truly special, and excitingly unique.”

She picked up the award. “The winner of the
Wine Lovers
magazine competition will receive a four-page photo spread in the spring 2016 issue of our publication, and the two-hundred-thousand-dollar prize.”

The drummer of the band got back in place and did a drumroll. “The winner is . . . Pure vineyard and their pinot noir Falling Leaves! Come on up, David and Ivy Lord and Simon Lewis!”

Simon jumped into the air
and pumped his fist. “We did it!” He hugged Sara, then hugged me and Jackson. “Thanks, guys. Let's do this!” David gave Simon a high five with his good hand and kissed Ivy. The three of them headed up to the stage.

Nora Evans handed the trophy to David and shook all their hands. “Great job—really a top-notch vintage! Very impressive all around. We're excited to see what you craft next year, aren't we, folks?”

The crowd clapped loudly, and a few people whistled.

“Wow, wow, wow,” David said. “Thank you,
Wine Lovers
magazine. We are very grateful for the award and everything it means. We do try to combine art and science at Pure, and this honor will only encourage us to push the boundaries of winemaking, not only for our vineyard but to raise the bar for the industry.

“I'd like to also thank my wife, Ivy Lord, and our partner, Simon Lewis, and Gerald Parker.” David looked at Jackson and me. “And two good friends, Willow McQuade and Jackson Spade, for watching
my back. It's been a rough week, losing Ivy's sister, Amy, and we all miss her. So this is for Amy. Thanks, everyone!”

Ivy, smiling, stepped up to the mike. “Thank you so much. This award is all because of my husband, David, and his brilliance, and out-of-the-box thinking.” She kissed David.

“Thank you!” Simon said into the mike. “It's been a long and winding road for me from Hollywood producer and screenwriter to vintner, but I've enjoyed every minute of it. I want to thank Willow McQuade for introducing me to this, the beautiful East End of Long Island, and her support, along with Jackson Spade.” Simon waved to us, and the crowd turned to look. He held up the award. “And I promise you that you'll see this prize money invested in our new and even more exciting ‘futures'!”

The crowd laughed, but Gerald, who was on the other side of the stage, turned and walked out.

•  •  •

An hour later, after photos
were taken of all the winners and the winning vintages, Simon, Ivy, David, and Gerald were all still being inundated by local, regional, and national press. Meanwhile, the rest of the crowd, including Jackson and me, enjoyed themselves on the dance floor and were chatting to one another. All were in a celebratory mood and, for the evening, focused on the present moment and enjoying the event.

But then I saw Lily enter, dressed in a champagne-colored one-shoulder gown, with a slit down the side
that hugged her body, bronze evening sandals, opera-length gloves, and her hair up in a French twist.

“Lily's here,” I said as I danced with Jackson to “P.S. I Love You.”

“That's not good.” He turned to look at her. “We'd better go talk to her, make sure she doesn't make a scene again or, even better, leaves. It's more than likely a condition of her bail that she stay away from David.”

We left the dance floor and walked over to her at the tasting bar closest to the door. “Lily, what are you doing here? You need to lie low. By the way, you look amazing.”

“You do,” Jackson said. “But this is a bad idea. It could revoke your bail. Didn't the judge tell you to stay away from David?”

“I guess, but I won't make a scene, don't worry.” She picked up a glass of chablis. “It's just that I had planned to come and I really needed to get out. Did Pure win?”

I nodded. “Yes, and everyone is very happy about it. Please don't spoil it by trying to confront David and getting upset all over again.”

“You have my promise. But I do see a few of my friends that I'd like to say hi to. Is that okay? I promise that I won't stay long.”

“Sure,” I said. “Just chill, no drama.”

“You got it.”

As she walked over to a group of her friends, David spotted her and said something to Simon. “I'll bet that Simon is giving David the same lecture we just did to Lily.”

Jackson blew out a sigh. “I have a hard time believing that this will end well.”

•  •  •

Half an hour later, Jackson
and I were back on the dance floor, dancing to “Puttin' On the Ritz,” when Simon, in a panic, came over to us. “Have you seen David? The
New York Times
Long Island reporter wants to interview us and I can't find him.”

“Lily?”

“Probably, I can't find her either.”

“We'll help you look,” I said.

“I'll check the foyer and search upstairs,” Jackson said. “Why don't you two look around down here? I'll be right back.”

We separated and looked for David, and possibly Lily, at opposite ends of the ballroom, including behind the stage, in the bathrooms, and in the cloakroom. We met back in the middle between two tasting stations, next to the doors that led to the back lawn.

“Where's Jackson?” I said. “Should we check upstairs or outside?”

“He's probably still looking around.” Simon took off his jacket. “Put this on, and we'll check the backyard.”

Outside, spotlights illuminated the back stone terrace and the steps to the rolling green lawn. Beyond that, the only light came from the moon. “Do you have your flashlight?” Simon said.

I pointed to my purse. “In this thing, no. But we could use our phones.”

“No can do, my battery just died. It was all those interviews. Some of the reporters had more questions on their way home.”

“Mine is fully charged, and I didn't use it tonight at all.”

“How do you live without it out at all times?”

“I get by.” I reached inside to grab my phone, but the edge of the rubber case had become hooked on my wallet's zipper. Gently, I pulled it off and separated the two. As I did, I noticed a receipt sticking out of the wallet.

“Flashlight, please?”

I closed the purse and handed my phone to Simon, and he turned the flashlight on.

“Hey, look over there!” Simon said. “Someone is on the edge of the cliff. It looks like they're fighting or something. Is that Ivy? I think it is.”

“Is she with David?”

“Can't tell, but it looks like a guy, and Amy . . . no, I meant to say Ivy. You know, even when she was alive, if it wasn't for the way they were dressed—you know, Ivy in her designer labels and Amy in her bohemian chic—I couldn't tell them apart. It must be crazy being twins.”

His words stopped me in my tracks. I opened my purse, took out my wallet, and pulled out the receipt. I remembered it now. “Can I have the flashlight, please?” I trained the light on the piece of paper. “Why didn't I spot this before?”

“Spot what?” Simon said. “Wait a minute, she pushed him! I can't tell if he went over the cliff or not.”

He started running, so I shoved the receipt back in my purse and followed him, but stumbled and fell in my high heels to the dew-damp ground, right on top of a grouping of poison-hemlock plants.

“You okay?”

As Simon helped me up, I pointed to the ground. “There's poison hemlock here, too.”

“Forget that, I think she pushed that guy off the cliff!” The moon was so bright that Simon put the flashlight in his pocket and we ran across the path of light to the edge of the cliff. But when we got there, the woman was gone.

“Look! He's down there!” Simon pointed down at the beach.

Lying on the beach was a man's body, but it was difficult to tell if it was David or not. I pointed to the stairs. “We can take those down to the beach.”