Corkscrew

By Richard Knight Armstrong

What would you do if one of your closest friends was murdered and the list of suspects looks like your personal address book? This is the dilemma facing Harry Ransom and his beautiful lady friend Eleanor Tyler as they attempt to identify the killer. Along the way they are in constant danger as the trail leads them across the country and eventually to France.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483549064

Book preview

9781483549064

Chapter 1

There are certain smells that immediately evoke thoughts of childhood. Having spent the summers of my youth on Cape Cod, the combined scent of salt air, sand, and scrub pine can send me back over thirty years. This smell is particularly intense during an early morning slack tide. So, it’s not surprising that I should be out sailing at 5:30 on a sultry August morning. The breeze was warm. The water was the same. The glow from the impending sunrise and the lack of clouds gave the water a soft, crimson hue. Life had never felt more comfortable or fuller.

And so, after sailing for a long while in the reveries of childhood, it was with great reluctance that I had come about and headed in to my dock. By now, it was just past eight and, shortly, the waters would be packed with weekenders and vacationers. I hate crowds. I especially dislike the type that don’t pay attention and could run me over! To my surprise, my best friend, Charlie Hardy was waiting at the end of the dock.

Hello, Charlie! I yelled, What brings you down this way?

I was hoping for a ride, Charlie yelled back, but I see I’m too late!

You always were a late sleeper, I accused, Now catch my line.

I luffed my sail, threw Charlie a line, and then nestled my little Beetle Cat up to the wharf. Tell you what, I offered, Help me stow the gear and I’ll buy breakfast.

Fair enough, said Charlie. Quickly, we put everything away and then drove over to Osterville for a bite.

Before I go on, I think I should, as my mother always says, ‘Take my manners out of my back pocket’, and explain, in relatively broad terms, who I am.

My name is H. Whitney Ransom. Friends, relatives, and anyone else you can think of, call me ‘Harry’. I’m thirty-seven and already retired for two years. I was a half-assed consultant in international banking. Mind you, retirement did not come because of huge success. I’m basically lazy and had the great fortune of being born into an old and venerated Boston family. I went to Yale just to aggravate Grandfather. In turn, he altered the disbursement date of my trust fund until my thirty fifth birthday. Upon graduation, I went to England where I took a Masters degree at Cambridge University.

Grandfather liked that but didn’t re-adjust my disbursement date! At the ripe old age of thirty five years and a day, I retired. My house is an old twelve-room ‘cottage’ that I inherited from my late wife, Maggie. It was in her family for four generations.

Anyway, as I was saying, I packed my six-foot-three-inch frame into my little ’56 Austin-Healy M100 and with Charlie in the passenger seat took the two-minute drive to Ollie’s in Osterville. Over coffee and muffins, Charlie explained why he stopped by to see me.

Mimi and I are down for the weekend and I needed to talk to you. First of all, the ‘Wine Thieves’ are meeting next Saturday as sort of a farewell to summer and I wanted to make sure you’d be there. (The ‘Wine Thieves’ is an informal wine tasting group. Technically, a wine thief is a long glass tube used to draw wine samples from the barrel.).

Charlie went on, Especially for you, I’m bringing out a magnum of ’53 Chateau Margaux. In addition, I have an old Barsac that I recently found in Bordeaux. Charlie’s eyes took on a real sparkle, "It’s just a negociant’s blend, but it’s SUPERB! There’s the scent of honey and fresh peaches, as you’d expect. But as it has aged, it’s gotten a wonderful caramel-toffee tone with; get this, a hint of almond! It’s so soft, so thick and rich, so silky! I fell in love with it immediately. I finally convinced the negociant-house manager to sell me two bottles. Just wait until you taste it. It’s as good as any Sauternes that you’ve ever tasted, including Chateaux D’Yquem."

I couldn’t help but laugh at the emphasis that Charlie put on his comment about D’Yquem. My unabashed affection for that particular wine is well known. I’m not alone in that opinion. Wine professionals and amateurs alike have paid homage to that great vineyard.

Charlie had hardly taken a breath in describing his newest acquisition. I’d known Charlie almost all of my life and I’d only seen him this animated a couple of times before. The most notable being just after he’d met his future wife- the former Emily Mimi Baker. I understood. The first time I met Maggie, my jaw dropped to my knees and stayed there.

I should have known better, but like any friend, I asked the fateful question that we all later regret: By the way, Charlie, just how was your trip to France?

I’m just glad he didn’t bring any home-movies.

Charlie talked non-stop for over an hour. I heard about every hotel, every course of every meal, every vineyard, every glass of wine.

Three cups of coffee later, Charlie finally began to run down. At least, I think so. After all, he had reached the point in the trip Mimi and he were getting off of the Concorde at Kennedy Airport.

As Charlie drank his, now cold, coffee, I wisecracked, It’s too bad you didn’t enjoy yourself.

"I did go on a bit, didn’t I?’ chuckled Charlie.

Just a bit, I said. Now then, earlier, when we were both much younger, you said ‘first’ when you mentioned a gathering of ‘Thieves’. Was there something else that you wanted to discuss?

Charlie face sobered. I’ve stumbled onto something, he said, "and I need your opinion.

Fire away, I said. I’ll do whatever I can.

This isn’t the place, he replied, shaking his head as he spoke, I think I’d better wait until you come to the house and then I can show you.

Charlie signaled to the waitress and said to me, I’ve got to get back. I promised Mimi that we’d go looking at antiques. She wants to go to a couple of shops over on 6A and you know how bad Cape traffic gets.

I paid. Charlie tipped. We drove back to the house. As we pulled into the driveway, I said, If it’s that important, why don’t we meet at your office, tomorrow?

Again, Charlie shook his head, I’m not ready yet. By next Saturday, I hope to have all the documentation in place.

We got out of the Austin and Charlie got into his Mercedes. Now promise you’ll be there, Charlie said quietly, It’s important that we talk.

Charlie had a worried look on his face. Besides, he said, brightening, you wouldn’t want to miss out on your favorite wine, would you?

You know I never give up the chance to drink Margaux, especially someone else’s! I grinned, I’ll be there. Maybe, I’ll be on time. Who knows!

Charlie laughed, That’ll be the day. Champagne at seven and dinner at eight. Then he drove off.

Chapter 2

Sunday became Saturday. The intervening week proved blissfully uneventful. My cottage is located in what is known as Oyster Harbor. It’s two minutes from Osterville and the yacht club. Hyannis is ten minutes east and the Real World is millions of miles away. Very little in the way of excitement occurs. Fortunately.

Saturday morning broke with a nasty rain out of the southeast. Being the intrepid ‘fair weather sailor’ that I am, I slept late. I was sleeping so soundly, that when the phone rang at ten-thirty; all I could muster was a croaking simulation of Hello? It was Charlie on the other end.

And a cheery good morning to you, too! chirped Charlie, I figured you’d be in bed. No sun, no sail. He laughed, If it’s at all possible, you’ve gotten lazier in the last seven years.

Just lucky, I guess. Brightening a bit, I said, Do you mind if I call you back? I haven’t even had my coffee yet.

No need. I just want to remind you about dinner tonight.

I haven’t forgotten, I yawned, champagne at seven and dinner at eight. Right?

Right…. By the way, Charlie’s voice gained a conspiratorial edge, I should warn you. Mimi has arranged a dinner partner for you.

I groaned. Mimi was always trying to fix me up with a ‘nice’ girl. Anybody I know?

Well, yes, actually. She’s my cousin Eleanor, said Charlie.

I was very surprised. I thought she was living in California with her husband and kids, if they have any. I haven’t seen her since they moved. That was, what, ten or twelve years ago?

Charlie replied, Eleanor and her husband separated almost three years ago. She’s been divorced over a year.

Charlie, what’s Mimi trying to do to me? I protested. "I’m not in the market for a wife. And besides, I remember what your cousin looks like. No offense, old buddy, but Eleanor was always overweight, a bit dumpy and that short, pixie-cut did nothing for her. I realize that I’m no great prize either. But really, Eleanor?"

Charlie was chuckling again, Don’t sell yourself short, Harry, he said. Look. She’s lost a few pounds and she’s changed her hairstyle. Do me a favor; just humor Mimi. She thinks the whole world should be married. Besides, you might enjoy yourself."

Okay, for Mimi, I promised.

Good boy. You won’t be sorry, said Charlie, Now remember: champagne at seven. Try to set a precedent and be on time!

Say goodbye, Charlie.

Goodbye, Charlie, he repeated.

I rolled out of bed. What to do for breakfast. One thing was certain; champagne was at the top of the list. I padded down the hall to the wine cellar. No, I don’t sleep in the basement. My wine vault is on the second floor. I had it especially built. Wine and salt water don’t mix very well. Living on the beach, even on a rise above the beach, damage from storm surge is a real possibility. So, even if seawater creeps into the first floor, I’m sitting high and dry. Besides, if I want mimosas at breakfast, I can grab a bottle of bubbly on the way to the kitchen.

Anyway, I flipped on the light to the vault and went inside. Once upon a time, my wine cellar was a spare bedroom. I had to block and insulate the windows from the inside so as not to spoil the appearance from the outside. I outfitted the room to use all available space and still be able to shoehorn yours truly in as well. I made a beeline for the Domaine Chandon ‘Blanc de noir’, grabbed a bottle and went downstairs.

I made three things in the kitchen: steak, eggs and a mess. My housekeeper, Mrs. Barrett, would clean up on Monday and then give me a good scolding. It wouldn’t be the first or the last. Hey, at least I admit I’m a spoiled brat.

After drinking half of the bottle of sparkling wine, sans juice, I decided to be magnanimous that evening. I called the florist and sent flowers to Mimi, along with a card stating that I would settle with her later. Then, I went back to the vault and pulled out a 1945 Taylor Fladgate vintage port. Holding it up to the light, I could just barely see through the dark glass. Still, I could see that the level in the neck was very high. The cork had to be holding up very well and that meant chances were exceptionally good for the wine. I grabbed a second bottle and did the same check. It never hurts to have a back up.

Upon completing this grueling task, I considered my rigorous social schedule for the afternoon. My next move was obvious. I took a nap.

Chapter 3

The drive to Sherborn takes almost an hour and forty-five minutes. Being my usual, prompt self, I didn’t manage my exit from home until five-thirty-something or other. I hurried along back roads and made the Mid-Cape Highway in close to record time. Once on the highway, I took it up to seventy miles an hour and settled in. It was only a matter of minutes until the Sagamore Bridge, crossing the Cape Cod Canal, was in sight. If you ask many Cape residents, the canal could never be wide enough. Summer weekend traffic gets so heavy with tourists and day-trippers that it seems like a seventy-mile long gridlock.

In fact, I thought to myself, I’m glad it’s Saturday. In twenty- four hours, the news media will be reporting a seven to ten mile backup coming off-Cape. As I was traveling during ‘slack tide’, as it were, I was quickly over the bridge.

I love driving, especially on a warm summer evening. I can drive with the top down on my little Austin-Healy, feel the wind blowing through my hair, and get a real sense of comfort. Generally, my mind works best at these times.

This was just such an evening. As highways go, Route 3 is boring. Make that: BORING. But, I needed to make the best time possible so engineering non-imagination didn’t matter. Settling in again, following the setting sun, I had a nice think. I was thinking, of course, about the night ahead. The Thieves had been meeting, more or less regularly, for eleven years. Most of us had offices in Boston and it had been convenient to meet at one house or another every couple of weeks or so. Since retiring to the Cape, I had gradually ceased to be a regular participant. A two-hour ride, sometimes longer, just to attend dinners, was a bit far. Besides, I travel a lot. With good friends in, literally, all parts of the world, I was away from home extensively, except, that is, in summer. Summer, the Cape and sailing; I am eternally in love with that combination.

Tonight will be a real pleasure, I was thinking, I wonder how many of the group will be there. I haven’t seen any of them, except for Charlie, in at least… I had to pause to remember, Let’s see. It had to be early last December. Right, Orrin Weintraub’s place. He lives up in Beverly Farms, near Mum and Dad.

It certainly had been awhile. It had been even longer since I had seen my ‘date’ for the evening. I admitted to having been a little shocked by Charlie’s announcement. I hadn’t seen Eleanor Tyler since she moved west to California with her husband, Howard. That was twelve years ago.

I’d never known her very well as an adult. My only contact was at family parties that Charlie would invite me to attend. I remembered that she was a nice girl, about five-feet-seven- inches tall, auburn hair, and rather thick through the middle .She never seemed to co-ordinate anything she wore and everything she did wear looked thirty years too old for her. She’s about five years younger than I am and had dated Howard from high school until marriage. Howard dominated her completely and I always felt a little sad that Eleanor had not been allowed to be herself. Whatever that was! Nonetheless, she was a very nice girl.

‘Actually, I’ve known her most of her life,’ I reflected. ‘When she was a chubby little kid, her parents used to rent a cottage near us. She would follow Charlie and me around all summer. She really looked up to Charlie. I can understand that.

By this time, Charlie’s house was only about twenty-five minutes away. The change in highways brought my attention around to direction signs. Route 128: Dedham and Needham- bear left. I went left.

My thoughts went back to Charlie. Good old Charlie. We had been friends a very long time, ever since Exeter Academy. Friends like that don’t happen every day. I remember the night Mimi and Charlie met. He had just broken up with his girlfriend. He was really depressed. I suggested a double date.

C’mon, I’d said, it’s for your own good. Ever since you and Nancy broke up, you’ve been moping around. Life goes on, chum. You’re twenty-one years old. It’s summer. The weather’s perfect, and frankly, three on a date can get awkward!

Charlie smirked, then said, "I guess I have been a pain in the ass. It’s just that Nancy and I had been going together for almost three years. Remember, breaking up was her idea, not mine."

Your point is well taken, I said, Just don’t dwell on it. What you need now is fun. You need exercise. A little excitement couldn’t hurt either.

Tell you what, I continued, Let me fix you up and we’ll double date. My little black book is around someplace. Since I’ve met Maggie, I don’t need it. At least, not yet, I grinned at Charlie.

I doubt you’ll ever need it again, retorted Charlie, I was there when you met her. Your chin almost fell down to your knees. I had to shove you to break out you out of your trance. I’ve heard of love at first sight, but man, you were ridiculous!

My apologies, O perfect one, I said and made a rather inane bow, Now stop being stubborn. You need a change.

Okay, Okay, Charlie relented, I’ll go along with your idea. Anything’s better than hanging around the cottage all summer.

The next day, after extensive rummaging, I found my little address book. After a minute or so, I came across an entry that was exactly what I was looking for. It read: ‘Baker, Emily; friends call her Mimi; about 5’6", slim, well proportioned; honey-blonde hair, brown eyes; NICE LEGS!! Under comments, I had written: ‘Brains, beauty, breeding. Likes tennis.’

Mimi grew up in a brownstone on the east side of Manhattan. She started at Smith and finished at the Rhode Island School of Design. My parents and Mimi’s parents had met on a cruise some years before. They tried to play matchmakers. Unfortunately, for them, we found that we could be great friends, but never lovers. I knew that she had been summering in Newport, Rhode Island the last few years. I called and left a message to call me at my parents’ summerhouse, in Chatham, as soon as possible. Surprisingly, she called back fifteen minutes later. When I answered the phone, she said, Why Harrison, it’s so nice of you to wait around for me to call! then she laughed. She enjoyed calling me ‘Harrison’ on occasion, because she knew it aggravated me.

‘I always wait for you…Emily," I said, using her given name, teasing her back. Then we both laughed.

It’s nice to hear from you, Harry, she said, I just got in from tennis and I’m late for a luncheon engagement, but I just had to return your call. How are you? How’s Maggie?

In answer to both: great. Why don’t you come down for the weekend and see for yourself?

Sounds wonderful. I need to get away from Mum and Dad for a few days, said Mimi. Do I come stag, she continued, or is an escort required?

Stag is preferred, I chuckled at her choice of words, In fact, I have to confess that I intended to coerce you here on an errand of mercy. I believe I’ve mentioned my best friend, Charlie Hardy.

Only a thousand times or more, replied Mimi, He’s a little shorter than you, muscular, blond hair, and never looks mussed up. You called him a real hunk.

That’s the guy. He just broke up with a long-time lady friend and I’m trying to break him out of the doldrums. Charlie needs to have some fun without any pressure. What d’ya say?

Could be fun. Besides, that way I get to go shopping with Maggie, replied Mimi. Ok, we’ve got a deal. One of Daddy’s friends keeps an airplane at a private field about six miles from here, in Portsmouth. If you can pick me up at Barnstable Airport on Friday, I’ll get him to fly me over.

Sounds good to me, I said, If you can arrange to be in around noon to one, I’ll take everyone to lunch.

I arranged with Maggie for Mimi to stay with her. Mimi came for the weekend and stayed for the summer. Mimi and Charlie got married the following summer. In fact, it was a double ceremony. Maggie and I got so caught up that we decided to join them. I was Charlie’s best man and he was mine. We tried to keep things at a reasonable size. But, with four families involved, pure chaos ensued. We narrowed the guest list down to seven hundred and fifty people. Talk about a zoo! It was wonderful. There was one casualty, though. Maggie turned my ‘little black book’ into confetti. An appropriate end, I guess.

A little over a year later, Maggie was dead. She was hit-and-run, while walking, by someone who was never caught.

That thought brought me out of my reverie. It was then that I realized that I had missed my exit by at least eight or nine miles. My reputation for tardiness would remain intact. I moved from the left lane to the right and paid deliberate attention for exit signs. At least I knew one thing about the evening ahead: ‘Good Old Harry’ was going to be the butt of the jokes for at least the first half hour. I half-smiled at the thought. Some things never change.

Chapter 4

By now, it was 7:10 P.M. and I was cursing myself. I got off at the very next exit and worked my way back. Finally, I reached the entrance to Charlie’s driveway. I checked my watch: 7:42 P.M. Well, I’ve certainly been later, I thought to myself as I pulled into the long, tree-lined driveway.

Charlie and Mimi’s house dominates the scenery: twenty-six rooms, two pools (indoors and out, of course), a stable and an eight-car garage. In short, it makes my house look like a shack. Charlie’s grandfather had bought IBM stock back when the company was only selling manual typewriters and hand-crank adding machines. In general, Charlie’s family, and Mimi’s as well, have managed to do very well in past and current generations.

In spite of all this, Charlie answered the door himself, as always; and, as always, Charlie’s greeting to me was, You’re late!

You have a wonderful flair for the obvious, I said in retort, "Seriously, I’m sorry I’m late. I almost got here on time, but I got thinking back when you and Mimi met. That got me