Art and Arsenic (Veronica Margreve Mysteries Book 2) by Valerie Murmel Page B
Authors: Valerie Murmel
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them.
When I was done, I thanked Officer Martins, who seemed to not let his eyes off me for a second, and got up. I was relieved to leave the scene of the death.
As I walked out, Connie was talking to Detective Johnson, standing with her back to me, very straight. I nodded to him, passing by. Pauline was in the far corner and talking to the other police officer. I caught her eye and did a small wave goodbye.
As I ducked out the door, I saw Linda Raven in a small crowd of onlookers on the other side of the street. I was looking straight at her as I thought of whether to cross the road to talk to her. She recognized me, saw the policeman escorting me out of the gallery, and her face contorted into a panicked look. I thought that, if Johnson read my report and thought it was related in any way to Fred’s death, he would pay Linda a visit himself; and in any case, I did not want to be part of the local gossip chain and give Linda any info about the death. I did not go towards her. She watched me as I headed to my car.
When I came home, Bitty jumped up on my lap and together we settled in to do some research on fatal poisons. Apparently, there were plenty to choose from, and none too pretty: cyanide, arsenic, strychnine. Yes, it was possible that Fred was killed, deliberately.
Why?
When?
By whom?
10
My phone rang about 16 hours later, on late Sunday morning. It had been another cold and drizzly day, which I had spent thus far on research.
I hadn't been able to sleep the night. It rained hard outside, and I felt like I could hear each drop of rain, falling directly into my brain and splashing there in a puddle. My thoughts kept returning to who might have killed Fred. After what felt like a stretched-out black eternity of that, I gave up and got out of bed. That woke up Bitty, who was curled up at my side, and prompted a questioning “Urr?” from her. She was wondering why her human was up in the middle of the night.
“No, little one, it’s not breakfast time yet.”
I turned on the light and headed to the kitchen. She followed me and got comfy in her box on the floor, yawing and looking at me.
I did a web search on Christopher’s uncle. Calvin Willembauer had worked in the wine business, and did some wine importing, mostly from France, back in the 1960s-1990s. He liked wine and art, and had apparently amassed a nice collection of paintings. I came across an article about his wine collection, from 2000, in the local newspaper of Walla Walla – tens of cases of old Bordeaux and Burgundies, some old and rare wines. In addition to the producer of the bottles that were opened at the party, Domain Leflaive, big names like Ponsot and Georges Roumier were mentioned. The article said that Mr. Willembauer bought most of it in the 80s, before the prices, particularly for Burgundies, had gone sky-high. Those wines were not particularly popular with American collectors at the time, so he likely bought his picks at reasonable cost. He also worked in the wine industry, and I assumed tasted the stuff and could find the good vintages and producers, and excellent values. That must have been quite a wine collection! I day-dreamed for a moment about trying some of those celebrated wines.
Coming out of my reverie, I did a web search for that varietal and the vintage year, curious about how much the wine would sell for – it came to around $1700 a bottle! A brief item from a Vegas newspaper a couple of months years ago talked about a case of this wine going for auction, and being bought by a prominent Nevada wine collector, for a round sum of $25000 for a 12-bottle case. Not bad at all! If Christopher was indeed selling his uncle’s wine collection, at these prices he would be getting a lot of money.
As I sat in front of my laptop with a steaming cup of tea, Bitty was busy napping in my lap after her breakfast, her soft black fur warming me up. This was the activity that the loud
When I was done, I thanked Officer Martins, who seemed to not let his eyes off me for a second, and got up. I was relieved to leave the scene of the death.
As I walked out, Connie was talking to Detective Johnson, standing with her back to me, very straight. I nodded to him, passing by. Pauline was in the far corner and talking to the other police officer. I caught her eye and did a small wave goodbye.
As I ducked out the door, I saw Linda Raven in a small crowd of onlookers on the other side of the street. I was looking straight at her as I thought of whether to cross the road to talk to her. She recognized me, saw the policeman escorting me out of the gallery, and her face contorted into a panicked look. I thought that, if Johnson read my report and thought it was related in any way to Fred’s death, he would pay Linda a visit himself; and in any case, I did not want to be part of the local gossip chain and give Linda any info about the death. I did not go towards her. She watched me as I headed to my car.
When I came home, Bitty jumped up on my lap and together we settled in to do some research on fatal poisons. Apparently, there were plenty to choose from, and none too pretty: cyanide, arsenic, strychnine. Yes, it was possible that Fred was killed, deliberately.
Why?
When?
By whom?
10
My phone rang about 16 hours later, on late Sunday morning. It had been another cold and drizzly day, which I had spent thus far on research.
I hadn't been able to sleep the night. It rained hard outside, and I felt like I could hear each drop of rain, falling directly into my brain and splashing there in a puddle. My thoughts kept returning to who might have killed Fred. After what felt like a stretched-out black eternity of that, I gave up and got out of bed. That woke up Bitty, who was curled up at my side, and prompted a questioning “Urr?” from her. She was wondering why her human was up in the middle of the night.
“No, little one, it’s not breakfast time yet.”
I turned on the light and headed to the kitchen. She followed me and got comfy in her box on the floor, yawing and looking at me.
I did a web search on Christopher’s uncle. Calvin Willembauer had worked in the wine business, and did some wine importing, mostly from France, back in the 1960s-1990s. He liked wine and art, and had apparently amassed a nice collection of paintings. I came across an article about his wine collection, from 2000, in the local newspaper of Walla Walla – tens of cases of old Bordeaux and Burgundies, some old and rare wines. In addition to the producer of the bottles that were opened at the party, Domain Leflaive, big names like Ponsot and Georges Roumier were mentioned. The article said that Mr. Willembauer bought most of it in the 80s, before the prices, particularly for Burgundies, had gone sky-high. Those wines were not particularly popular with American collectors at the time, so he likely bought his picks at reasonable cost. He also worked in the wine industry, and I assumed tasted the stuff and could find the good vintages and producers, and excellent values. That must have been quite a wine collection! I day-dreamed for a moment about trying some of those celebrated wines.
Coming out of my reverie, I did a web search for that varietal and the vintage year, curious about how much the wine would sell for – it came to around $1700 a bottle! A brief item from a Vegas newspaper a couple of months years ago talked about a case of this wine going for auction, and being bought by a prominent Nevada wine collector, for a round sum of $25000 for a 12-bottle case. Not bad at all! If Christopher was indeed selling his uncle’s wine collection, at these prices he would be getting a lot of money.
As I sat in front of my laptop with a steaming cup of tea, Bitty was busy napping in my lap after her breakfast, her soft black fur warming me up. This was the activity that the loud
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