Murder in the Wine Country

Book 6: Kelly Jackson Mystery

by Janet Finsilver

Genres: Female Sleuths; General Fiction; Cozy Mystery

Synopsis

Weeding out killers wasn't part of the job description . . .



Kelly Jackson, manager of the Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast, is excited to participate in an event to raise awareness for the plight of struggling veterans in their Northern California coastal community. Local wineries are sponsoring tastings, and to prepare for a culinary competition, professional chefs will forage for wild edible greens. Kelly plans to come along, despite a warning to beware of poachers, who have been stealing the highly valued succulent Dudleya farinosa. The senior sleuths who call themselves the Silver Sentinels join forces with environmental activists known as the Succulent Saviors to thwart the poaching operation. When a consultant for the sale of a local winery is murdered, the poachers are suspected—but so is a wine merchant, Kelly's friend Phil. As Kelly and the Silver Sentinels attempt to root out the real killer, what she digs up might just put her permanently underground . . .

Release date: April 28, 2020

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter 1

I opened the door to the lounge of the Redwood Cove Community Center and froze. Miniature baby goats filled the room. Some balanced on top of the couches, three frolicked in front of the fireplace, and others bounced on the chairs. A black and white spotted one standing on top of a coffee table snacked on a bouquet of yellow daisies.

Scott Thompson, manager of the center, was yelling, “Shoo…out…go” as he waved his hands at the little creatures.

All he got in return were a few bleats. None of them moved in the direction he wanted them to go, which was toward the back door.

I joined in and grabbed a blanket a cream-colored goat had pulled off a rocking chair. A tug-of-war ensued, which I lost as I landed on my stomach. Before I could get up, a brown goat began tap dancing on my back. I sat up, and he slid off. A tiny white one plopped into my lap.

I began to laugh and soon tears cascaded down my cheeks. How could I not? Scott, a city boy in the country, now turned goat wrangler, sat down abruptly on a couch and joined me in laughing at the hilarious scene. The black and white spotted one on the table made a leap and landed next to him, a yellow flower dangling from its mouth. A black spot on its forehead resembled a heart.

A heavyset man I didn’t recognize rushed into the room. “Sparky, get down,” he yelled at the goat next to Scott.

Sparky wiggled his ears but didn’t move.

“I’m so sorry about this,” the man said. “I’m Bruce Kincaid, and these are the Nigerian Dwarf goats you wanted to rent for the yoga class. I couldn’t get my rig close enough to the livestock pens, so I put them in the backyard temporarily until I could move them. I was coming around to the front door to tell you.” He looked around at the herd, which was in constant motion. “Clearly I wasn’t fast enough.”

Scott wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand. “Not a problem. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much or so hard.” He stood. “I didn’t realize they were there and opened the back door to let in some fresh air.”

“Point me in the direction you want them to go, and I’ll get them back in the yard,” the goat owner said.

Two border collies had entered with the man and crouched at his side, their eyes intently watching the goats.

“There’s a sliding glass door in the meeting room adjacent to this lounge.” Scott walked to a door in the corner of the room. “I’ll go open it.”

He returned a few moments later. “You’re all set.”

The man gave a sharp whistle and called out, “Tim, Sally,” and pointed to the door Scott had left open. The dogs leaped into action one going to the left, the other right. The goats paid attention. In seconds, a herd was formed and began to move in the direction Bruce indicated.

Suddenly, Sparky made a break for it, but Sally was faster and cut him off. The miniature goat made a pirouette and rejoined his friends. After lots of kicking, bleating, and head butting, the four-legged intruders eventually disappeared headed for the backyard.

I got off the floor and looked at Scott. “Goat yoga?”

He raised one eyebrow at me. “Sure. It’s the latest craze. Haven’t you heard?”

I shook my head. “Seriously?”

Scott nodded. “I had the same reaction when members of the center’s planning committee brought it up. People say the goats bring a different level of experience to yoga as well as an opportunity for lots of laughter…which we certainly got to experience. Participants say they leave the classes happier and more relaxed then they have felt in a long time.”

“Bruce said you were renting them.”

“Right. We decided to see how it goes before investing in our own herd. If it’s successful, we’ll buy our own goats. If we do, some of the veterans want to explore making goat cheese.”

Michael Corrigan, our mutual boss and owner of Resorts International, built the center to benefit the residents of the isolated community of Redwood Cove, located on the northern California coast, by providing services and classes to help promote a healthy lifestyle. In addition, there were many struggling veterans in the area, some of them homeless. Cabins had been built to house the ex-military on-site.

I noticed the time on the grandfather clock in the corner and saw it was close to eight. “We’d better get to the barn. The meeting is about to start.”

Michael had invited some of the wealthiest philanthropists in the country to attend an event at the center, hoping they would be encouraged to replicate this community support model elsewhere. Guests would be staying at Resorts International properties. I managed Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast, an inn owned by Michael, and would be helping out during the occasion.

We went outside and headed for the recently completed barn-sized structure on the property. The name of Redwood Cove Community Meeting Facility had been shortened to “the barn” in everyday communication. Michael had wanted to build something large enough to accommodate big community events. The recent addition to the property had already been the site of a Russian formal ballroom and would now be used for the meeting with the “movers and shakers,” as Michael called them.

The community center was about ten miles inland from the Pacific Coast. The fog had burned off and the sun shone through the towering redwood trees. The walkway had verdant green pastures on the right side. The resident llamas watched as we approached then walked next to us until the fence stopped them. I figured they were hoping for treats, which I often supplied, or a quick scratch under the chin. No time for it today.

The doors to the meeting area were wide open, and we walked in. Rows of chairs were set up, and we chose a couple of empty ones at the back. Notepads and pens were on each seat, along with a packet of information. We picked those up as we sat.

Daniel Stevens, manager of a sister property called the Ridley House, was a few rows up. He saw us sit and waved. His long, straight, black ponytail, high cheekbones, and light copper skin left no doubt of his Native American heritage.

I surveyed the room and saw several other managers as well as some veterans who lived on-site. The center employed a number of locals to run the place, and they made up the rest of the group.

Michael Corrigan stood at a lectern at the front of the room. The faded blue jeans and denim shirt gave no hint of his billionaire status. He looked more like a large lumberjack than an internationally known top player in the financial world. He had a heart of gold and considered his employees family. Help was there whenever they needed it.

I opened the notepad and uncapped the pen. Michael had been sending updates as planning for the event progressed. Today we’d hear about everything that was scheduled.

Michael said, “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming. We have a lot to discuss. Please take the papers out of your packet and look them over.”

I did as requested and found schedules for the guests as well as a pamphlet with color photos and descriptions of plants and other information. Today was Monday. Thursday was the official start of the event, and he’d welcome his guests at a wine and cheese reception in the evening.

Friday, members of the community and the veterans would talk about what the community center had done for them. The veterans would demonstrate the training they’d been doing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder service dogs. That evening there’d be a barbecue.

The main event would be a gourmet food and wine tasting experience on Saturday. The guests would have an opportunity to mingle with locals and veterans in an informal setting.

“As some of you know, it’s been a dream of mine to have others do something similar to what I’ve created here so more people can benefit. My purpose is to explain what we’ve done, have members of the community share what changes this has brought to their lives, and have the veterans living here tell their stories.”

I’d seen the changes in the veterans’ lives, and I’d heard the buzz in the community over the opportunities the center provided for them. I hoped Michael would be successful.

“I think the schedules are self-explanatory,” Michael said. “I asked a number of local chefs to be part of the Saturday event, and they were happy to do it.”

Scott nudged my arm. I turned toward him.

He whispered in my ear, “I volunteered.”

I wasn’t surprised. He was a superb cook and enjoyed any opportunity to try new recipes.

Michael continued, “I invited my guests to bring a chef to participate if they were interested. Many of them have private chefs and some own restaurants.” He chuckled. “The idea was wildly successful, and many wanted to participate.”

Michael shared that most of the chefs were arriving today so they could get used to their cooking areas. They had permission to use the kitchens at the inns where they were staying, as well as the community center’s two kitchens, one located in the meeting building and the other in the main house.

“Chefs will be foraging for local wild edible plants tomorrow and Wednesday. Three wineries have volunteered their properties for the hunt, and we will host a group here at the community center. Half of the chefs will forage at two sites tomorrow morning while others will be working in their assigned kitchens. Everyone will have lunch here then swap roles. The same plan will be used on Wednesday. I worked with a botanist, and she developed the pamphlet of edible wild plants in your packet.”

I looked at the long list of plants. I was surprised at how many were listed. The woman had done an excellent job supplying photos as well as descriptions. A picture of fireweed caught my eye with its colorful purple stalks of flowers.

“I’d like to introduce Warden Luis Rodriguez of the California Department of Fish and Wildlife. He wants to discuss a problem that has been happening in the area.”

Luis took Michael’s place at the podium. He wore a tan uniform with an official name tag on the right side. A bright blue Fish and Wildlife emblem was on his left sleeve. The light glinted off his wavy dark hair.

“I want you to know there has been plant poaching going on of a succulent called Dudleya farinosa. It, unfortunately, has become a popular plant as a status symbol of Chinese middle-class families. The plants sell for about fifty dollars each. State wardens recently discovered the poaching operation is much larger than we thought. Literally tons of them have been picked. A photo of one is in your packet.”

I leafed through the pages until I found the picture. The plant’s thick pale green leaves formed a rosette pattern. A note said that the color could range from what was in the photo to having tips of bright colors, especially red.

Plant poaching? Who knew?

“I’m going to strongly suggest anyone foraging search in teams. Nothing violent has happened yet, but a lot of money is involved. You need to be careful and attentive to what is happening around you. The plants grow primarily on rocky seaside cliffs and coastal hillsides.”

I raised my hand, and he nodded at me. “What makes this particular plant so sought after?”

“Tending succulents has become a favorite pastime in China, and the Dudleya farinosa has become particularly desirable because it’s hard to obtain.” He looked around the room. “Any other questions?”

No one raised a hand, so Luis picked up his notes and moved away from the lectern.

Michael stepped forward. “Thank you, Luis.”

“You’re welcome,” the warden replied.

“He’ll meet with the people hunting tomorrow and share this news with them.” Michael continued, “The guests returned forms with personal information to help make their stay as pleasant as possible as well as let us know of any concerns they might have. Managers of the inns where they will be staying have received copies.”

Deputy Bill Stanton entered the room and sat next to Scott. I wondered what he was doing here.

Michael nodded in his direction. “One of our guests has a stalker and two have received threats around some projects they are involved in. That’s not unusual for people with their kind of wealth and influence. A number of them have bodyguards and will be bringing them.”

He shared that surveillance cameras had been installed and explained the veterans would take turns patrolling the property. He and Deputy Stanton had met several times to discuss the role local law enforcement would play.

“Deputy Stanton and I are reviewing the plans today after the meeting. Does anyone have any questions?”

Everyone shook their head.

“The theme for the event is The West: Past and Present. The dress is casual clothing, Western style is encouraged. The people attending have mostly formal occasions in their life. I want this to be relaxed and fun. If you feel like getting into costume as someone from the days of the Old West, feel free to do so.”

It sounded like an opportunity to wear my ranch clothes from home—cowboy boots and a Stetson hat.

“That’s it then,” Michael said. “Managers, packets with copies of the information you just received have been delivered to your inns to distribute to attendees and staff. Our next meeting is tomorrow morning at eight to welcome our chefs.”

We’d gone from learning about fun activities to hearing about plant poaching and being cautioned to be careful. We were ending with news of a stalker and threats. The course of the day had taken a dark turn.

Chapter 2

On that somber note, Scott and I headed back to the main building.

“That sure wasn’t how I imagined the meeting would end,” I said.

Scott nodded. “I knew about the issues because I handled the surveillance equipment installation.”

We entered the room where the goats had frolicked. I spied Phil, full name Philopoimen Xanthis, wine expert extraordinaire, sitting at a table with a young redheaded man. I wondered if he had been teased like I had growing up with red hair. Scott and I joined them.

“Kelly and Scott, so good to see you both. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Eric Stapleton,” Phil said.

He introduced us and then said, “We’re preparing a wine tasting class for Michael’s event. Please join us and sample some wine.”

“I’ll have to pass,” Scott said. “But thanks for the invitation. I have to meet with one of the new veterans about his cabin.”

He bid us farewell and left. Phil pulled a chair out for me, and I sat next to him. He provided the wine for many of the inns in the area, including mine, and stayed at Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast when he was in town.

Small vials covered the table, along with several bottles of wine and numerous glasses. I picked up one of the little jars labeled jasmine.

Eric smiled. “Take the top off, sniff, and see what you think.”

I did as he suggested and was rewarded with the flower’s sweet scent.

Phil pushed several vials in my direction. “We will use these during the class to teach people what smells they can detect in a variety of wines. Everyone’s sense of taste and smell is different, and these scents help people learn that.”

“Fascinating.” I proceeded to check out several other jars.

“These are Eric’s,” Phil said. “He teaches classes on a regular basis. We’re working together on this one.”

I put one labeled eucalyptus back on the table after enjoying its refreshing scent, which reminded me of mint with a hint of honey. “Eric, I created themed rooms at the inn, and one of them involves wine tasting opportunities in the area. The scents along with directions would make a delightful addition to the Wine Room. Could I hire you to put that together for me?”

“Sure. It sounds like fun. I won’t be able to do it for a while, though. I’m in charge of choosing vendors for an upcoming fundraiser for a local hospital. I’m also acting as a consultant for the sale of the Sagatini Winery.”

I took out a business card and handed it to him. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Phil shook his head. “I hate to see another family-owned business disappear.”

I hadn’t been in the area long and wasn’t familiar with this winery, but I’d heard Phil bemoan the loss of other small wineries.

“Carlo’s ready to retire and his son, Lorenzo, doesn’t want to carry on. It’s a tough business, and if you don’t love it, it’s not the place to be.” Eric tightened the lids on his jars. “Thanks for offering to look over the paperwork I’ve put together. I appreciate having a knowledgeable wine person examine the data to see if I missed anything.”

“Happy to help,” Phil said. “What’s Lorenzo going to do?”

Eric started to gather his vials and put them in a box. “He and some of his friends have put together a real estate venture.”

Phil helped him with the jars. “I’m guessing Carlo is disappointed.”

“That’s my guess as well. But…Lorenzo is ready for a change. I can understand that.” He turned to me. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Jackson.”

“Please call me Kelly. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Just then a young woman came in carrying a full grocery bag with celery stalks and a narrow baguette sticking out of the top. “Hi! I’m Cassie MacGregor,” she announced with a wide smile. “I was pointed in this direction to use the kitchen.”

Her cropped hair was as black as Dani. . .