Last of the Vintage Page 7

  Dulcie heard her stomp toward the door and quickly ducked around the corner. Angry footsteps marched down the stairs.

  Dulcie quietly entered the room again. Jeremy was still standing there. Dulcie expected him to look distraught. He did not. Instead, he was holding the wine bottle. He eyed the top closely, then sniffed it. He attempted to pour anything that was left into a glass, but only a bit of sediment came out. He shook his head.

  Dulcie cleared her throat. Jeremy looked up at her. “I’m sorry about all of that,” he said. “I think it’s been brewing for a long time.”

  “It seems like it,” Dulcie answered. “Should you get her home?”

  “I would, but a couple of the people here said that they wanted to talk with me. They could be good connections for work after I pass my exam.”

  Dulcie was taken aback by his obvious disinterest in his wife, or in assisting Dulcie with what might continue to be a difficult situation.

  Jeremy suddenly realized what Dulcie had been implying. “I’ll head back down now and make sure she’s simmered down. And I’ll get her in a taxi home.”

  Dulcie couldn’t think of anything to say. She nodded and followed him back downstairs knowing that the evening did indeed qualify as a disaster. The question was, just how much of a disaster was it?

  The world of reality has its limits;

  the world of imagination is boundless.

  ― Jean-Jacques Rousseau

  CHAPTER 6

  He yawned widely and peered out into the darkness. No lights were on around him, only the eerie glow of the instrument panels. The sun hadn’t quite crept up over the horizon yet. In the east, he could see a vague dull blue color. In the west it was still black.

  He reached around behind him and, without looking, located his thermos. Popping off the plastic cup from the top he set it down beside the instruments so that he could see into it. He couldn’t turn on a light. His eyes would no longer be adjusted to the darkness. He unscrewed the insulated lid. A cloud of steam escaped as he poured coffee into the cup.

  Thermos coffee. He couldn’t say that he enjoyed it, but it did the trick. He always had cream and sugar in his coffee, but thermos coffee was different. He’d learned to drink it black. It was too much trouble to carry the extra items with him, and somehow it never tasted right when he added them directly to the thermos with the brew, two hours earlier while still in the warmth of his kitchen. Maybe it was because they sat mixed together for so long.

  He gulped down the first cup, wishing he could be sitting at his kitchen table right now in his bathrobe and slippers rather than clomping around in heavy boots and a jacket on the bridge of an icebreaker. “It pays the bills, though,” he murmured out loud. “It pays the bills.”

  The deckhand opened the door and a blast of cold air entered. “Hey Chuck. Ready to fire ‘em up?” he asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Chuck quipped. He turned on the engine and heard the loud motor begin to crank. It wasn’t happy about the cold, either.

  The light was creeping up over the horizon. Chuck had always been surprised by how quickly it seemed to move. You couldn’t see the Earth turning, but you sure could see the sun coming up. It was kind of strange. It reminded him to keep moving and get things done because that sun was going to go down just as fast.

  He waited for the engines to warm, then sounded a quick blast on the horn. He always hated doing that so early in the morning. Portland was a small city, and people lived right near the harbor. He surely woke up one or two, but knew he had to. Once the big vessel began moving, anyone in the way would have to just watch out. He wasn’t exactly able to stop on a dime.

  He eased the bow out into the harbor, crunching through the first sheets of ice. The overnight temperature had been in negative digits. Today they would barely break zero. Cold didn’t even begin to describe it.

  The door opened again with another gust of freezing air. The same man who had spoken to Chuck earlier jumped inside and shut it quickly. “Man! Cold enough to freeze yer …”

  “Got the gist, Conrad,” Chuck said, interrupting him. He wasn’t above the typical curses of a sailor, but preferred to at least start the day without swearing too much. He found himself slipping into it all too quickly as it was.

  Conrad just grinned. They had worked together for quite a long time. He liked to goad his friend a little. The day was rapidly growing brighter and he peered out across the ice covered bay. “Seems kinda a shame to mess it all up sometimes, doncha think?”

  Chuck snorted and smiled ruefully. “Yep. Seems like we otta leave well-enuf alone.” They were silent for a moment. Chuck was staring straight ahead, carefully guiding the vessel. Conrad looked off to the port side where the docks of the city extended out into the sheets of ice. “Never seen it this bad before,” he nearly whispered.

  As he gazed out he saw a dark lump. “Hey, that a seal?” he said. “How the heck can they stay warm in this weather? I know they got blubber and all, but still…”

  Chuck looked over. Something was strange. He’d never seen a seal just lying on the ice all on its own. He was considering calling the animal rescue people when Conrad interrupted his thoughts.

  “Chuck, you think that’s a seal? I mean, has to be, right? But sure don’t look like one now that we’re gettin’ closer.” A hint of anxiety had crept into Conrad’s voice.

  Chuck threw the engine into neutral. The ship drifted forward only slightly until it was caught in the ice ahead of it. He reached under the instrument panel and found his binoculars. He had to adjust them twice, mostly to be sure of what he was seeing. He felt a knot twist in his stomach.

  “Conrad, get on the radio. Call marine patrol, or 911… both actually. That’s no seal. That’s a person!”

  #

  Nick heard a grunt from behind him. “Any chance he’s still alive?” Johnson rasped in the frigid early morning air while stomping his feet.

  Nick was flattened out on the dock, peering over the edge at the body on the ice below. He twisted around and looked up at his partner. “What do you think?”

  Johnson continued to stomp, shifting his hefty weight back and forth.

  “And can you stop that please? It’s bad enough lying here on this frozen dock without you jumping on the planks underneath me.”

  Johnson stopped, unfazed. “You should get up. You’ll freeze to death if you stay there much longer.” A marine patrol boat was approaching as closely as it could between the floating sheets of ice. “Figures it’d be low tide, eh?” he said to Nick. “Can’t reach him from here.”

  Nick stood up and brushed off the snow from his front side. “Yeah. I know.” He pulled his hat down farther over his ears. In the cold, still air he could easily hear the boat crew talking with each other. Two were in full dry suits, ready to jump in the freezing water if necessary. Two more held ropes and long gaff hooks. The boat was steered carefully around the sheet of ice.

  “I see the problem,” Johnson said, rubbing his hands together. “One false move and they tip that sheet. Then our body goes rolling into the drink!”

  In spite of himself, Nick had to smirk. Johnson had a way with words, but he was right.

  “Think it was some drunk who tripped and fell last night?” Johnson wondered. “Seems most likely.

  “Probably,” Nick answered. Still, he had an uneasy feeling. The clothes didn’t look like those typically worn by someone on a simple drinking binge. From his vantage point he could see what appeared to be a well-tailored overcoat.

  The crew below them had managed to pull the body closer across the ice, which had mercifully remained flat and intact. Nick heard someone count to three, and they hauled the body in. It was frozen in one, solid piece.

  “We got pictures, yeah?” Johnson asked.

  “Yep. Photographer’s come and gone. I gave her the ok. She can get the rest inside when we get the body back to the morgue.”

  Johnson nodded. “Usually hate the morgue. Too cold. It’
s gonna feel like Florida in the springtime today, though,” he chortled.

  Nick was too cold to laugh. “Grab a coffee and head back there?” he asked.

  “Yeah. What time is it?” Johnson asked.

  “Don’t know. I’m not pulling up my sleeve to look at my watch right now either,” Nick replied.

  “No matter. But hey, you know what?” Johnson was rubbing his gloved hands together again.

  “What?” Nick looked at him warily.

  “Standing in this cold, bet I burned off like a hundred extra calories! So you know what that means?”

  Nick groaned.

  “Roasters has those new cinnamon buns!”

  Nick just shook his head. Johnson’s thoughts almost always began and ended with his stomach.

  Half an hour later the two men walked into the morgue with coffees in hand and unfastened their coats. The body they’d previously seen on the ice was lying on a table. “All right, doc, whddya got?” Johnson asked.

  They walked over to the body. Johnson looked more closely. He knew this man. How did he…? “Nick, this is the guy from last night! The one who did the wine thing, remember?”

  Nick had been looking at the man’s hands. He quickly looked up at his face. “Damn, Johnson. I think you’re right.” He turned to the doctor. “Do we have an ID?”

  She nodded. “Jeremy Plunkett. Lives here in Portland. We haven’t notified next of kin yet though. You guys can do the honors.”

  Nick groaned and looked at Johnson. “Huh-uh!” he replied simply, shaking his head.

  “Why do I always have to do it?” Nick lamented.

  “Because you’re good at it,” Johnson answered. “And I have seniority.”

  “Well somebody has to do it, and it won’t be me,” the doctor chimed in. “Sorry, boys!” She turned to the body. “But you would be interested to know a couple of things first.” She attempted to roll the man’s head to one side slightly. “I thought this was a bump on the head that he could have received if he’d just fallen on the dock then rolled off onto the ice. But look,” her finger tapped a spot on his scalp. Both men knelt down to see where she was pointing under the man’s head. “We have some multiple contusions.”

  “So he fell more than once?” Nick asked, looking up at her.

  The doctor shook her head. “I don’t think so. They aren’t that pronounced. What they look like is smaller bumps. Maybe from being dragged along an uneven surface, bump bump bump…” she put her hand behind her head and jerked her head back and forth on it to demonstrate.

  “An uneven surface, like the planks on a frozen dock,” Nick considered as he stood again. Johnson grunted as he pulled himself up, using the table for support.

  “You’re the detectives. I just tell you what I see,” the doctor joked. “But there are a couple of other things. He’s got a bruise on his wrist here, as though someone grabbed it and held it tightly. And, there was a piece of broken glass in his collar.” She handed a plastic bag to Johnson. A small piece of thick green glass was in it.

  “Huh,” Johnson replied.

  “That’s all I can tell you for now. We’ll have to let him thaw out a little before I can get to the rest.

  Nick grimaced and nodded. “We’ll stop by this afternoon,” he said as he and Johnson headed for the door.

  “Looking forward to it!” the doctor called from behind them.

  When they stepped into the hallway Johnson nudged his partner on the shoulder. “She thinks your cute,” he teased.

  “Shut up,” Nick answered.

  “Just sayin’! It’s going around the station now that you’re available!”

  “Does no one realize that I’m seeing someone?”

  “Yeah, they don’t care. Early stages. That could go awry any day, as far as they care.”

  “Who is ‘they’?” Nick sputtered.

  “All the single ladies,” his partner jested. “All the single ladies, my friend!” He continued down the hallway.

  Nick frowned from behind him. His mind turned to more serious matters. He would have to contact the wife, that weather girl. ‘Weather forecaster,’ he corrected himself. That wouldn’t be easy. He caught up with Johnson.

  “I’m thinking I might call Dulcie and see if she knows anything about this guy or his wife. I’ll have to tell the wife soon, but I don’t want to go in without at least a little more background.”

  “Good idea,” Johnson said. He was serious now. “Wonder when exactly it happened?”

  “We probably won’t ever know, not with the body half frozen. Dulcie might know when he left last night, though.”

  “True.” Johnson looked at his watch. “Bet she’s at work now. Want to go over there?”

  “Yeah let’s. Sooner the better.” They both turned around and went back through the hallway, zipping up the coats that they had yet to even remove. The cold hit them like a wall when they stepped outside.

  Nick sunk his chin down into the collar of his jacket. “What’d you think of that piece of glass?” he asked Johnson.

  His partner shrugged. “Could have gotten in there while someone dragged him along?”

  “Maybe. What if someone hit him with a bottle and it broke?” Nick asked.

  Johnson stopped quickly. “If that’s the case, there’d be pieces of a broken bottle around, I would think.” As he spoke, it began to snow. It was as though the clouds had burst and decided to dump as much of the powdery white flakes on them as possible. “Great,” Johnson huffed, his breath coming out in a large cloud. “Now we have an excellent chance of finding it,” he said sarcastically.

  “Let’s have a quick look on that dock though, just in case,” Nick said, although he wasn’t hopeful.

  They hurried toward the dock where they had started their morning and kicked at the swiftly gathering snow around them as they walked up and down along it.

  “Nuthin’,” Johnson announced unnecessarily.

  “Yep,” Nick answered.

  The Maine Museum of Art was located on the waterfront near the dock where they now stood. They both looked over at it. “Yeah, let’s get inside,” Johnson agreed to Nick’s questioning look.

  Nick and his partner sat in chairs facing Dulcie’s desk. Their various layers of coats, hats, gloves, scarves, were scattered on the thick rug around them. They both looked very serious.

  “Okay you guys are scaring me. What’s going on?” Dulcie demanded. “I saw you both out there walking up and down that dock, so you can’t tell me that something isn’t up,” she added.

  Nick took a deep breath. “Yeah, something’s up, Dulcie. It seems that your sommelier from last night, Jeremy Plunkett, didn’t make it home.”

  Dulcie looked dumfounded.

  “They found him on the ice in the harbor this morning,” Johnson added.

  That seemed to break the spell over Dulcie. She shook her head quickly as though something in it was rattling. “What?!” was all that she could say.

  Both men began talking at once. Dulcie held up her hand to stop them. “Wait. Yes, I heard you. Both of you.” She put her hand down. “What happened? Did he fall?”

  Nick tilted his head sideways. “Sort of. Well, yes he did, but it seems that he might have been hit on the head first.”

  “Then dragged down the dock by his feet,” Johnson added.

  Dulcie stood quickly and paced around the room. She stopped and turned to them. “Does his wife know?”

  Nick shook his head. “Not yet. I have to go tell her. We were hoping to get a little more information about the two of them from you first.”

  Dulcie returned to her desk and sat down, exhaling loudly. “I don’t know very much,” she said. “My friend Veronica owns the wine bar over on Middle Street. I asked her if she knew of anyone who could be our guest taster. I knew she had professional sommeliers working there from time to time. She told me about Jeremy, who was perfect. He was about to take the highest level exam in the industry. I spoke with him only once before
the event last night, but it was mostly just to confirm the date and time, and for me to make sure he was right for the job, which he was.”

  “And his wife?” Johnson asked. “She’s that weather girl, right?”

  “Weather forecaster,” Dulcie and Nick said simultaneously. Johnson looked back and forth between them.

  “Yes, she is,” Dulcie said, avoiding the term. “Samantha Sanders. I actually met her at a shop down the street by accident a couple of days ago. We were both looking for dresses to wear last night.”

  “And they were both quite fetching as I recall,” Johnson said gallantly.

  Dulcie smiled in spite of herself. “Thank you, sir.”

  Johnson looked smugly at Nick, who simply rolled his eyes in return.

  “Hang on, though. Wouldn’t Samantha be wondering where her husband is? Has she contacted the police already?” Dulcie wondered.

  “Not to our knowledge,” Nick said.

  “Yeah, I called the station and asked them to let us know if they found out anything,” Johnson added

  Nick pulled out his cell phone. “Nope. Nothing.”

  “Still, she must be frantic by now,” Dulcie insisted.

  “You’re right. We have to get over there. Dulcie, is there anything else you can tell us? Any impressions? General thoughts?” Nick asked.

  Dulcie closed her eyes for a moment. “Samantha was clearly bothered by someone else there. The man that she shrieked at up in the board room – Patrick Spratt. She had seen him downstairs and seemed almost afraid of him. That’s all I can think of,” she paused for a moment. “Wait, one more thing although it may just be my interpretation and nothing more.”

  “We’ll take if for what it’s worth,” Johnson said encouragingly.

  “Well, when Samantha spoke about her husband, she seemed… annoyed is the only word I can think of.”

  Both men chuckled at the same time. “Show me a wife that isn’t annoyed at her husband at one point or another?” Johnson said rhetorically.