The Subverted Flower

By Randolph E. Rogers

In the second installment of the Dash Ramblar mystery series, "The Subverted Flower", part-time PI Ramblar finds himself involved in solving the brutal murder of a local business man who became unwittingly entangled with the Mexican Cartel in an unsavory mix of human trafficking, cattle ranching and wine and weed that takes place in Dash's ordinarily quiet town. The wine industry and the burgeoning cannabis business have collided, setting the scene for murder and intrigue.
Dash Ramblar is brought into the investigation of Kent Kilgour's untimely murder. It is up to Dash to untangle the web of subterfuge caused by the partners and players
The story takes the reader to San Miguel de Allende in Mexico as Dash tries to unravel the involvement of the Cartel in the untimely death of Kent.
The well developed characters include; Rita Pescarelli, Kent's partner
In Coast Cannabis. She and her husband ,Dante, own Terra Bella Winery. Rita is an attractive and sympathetic protagonist whose double life leads her into murky waters. Other persons of interest include Dash's girlfriend, Ginger, who has an acerbic wit and charming presence. She reluctantly gets caught up in the investigation but in the end provides valuable insight into the murders.
The investigation follows the investors and others associated with Coast Cannabis—a mixed group of winery owners, an heiress operating a major Equestrian facility, the Mayor, a cartel honcho and Detective FJ Evans, an opera loving cohort and mentor.
The action culminates in Morro Bay. The plot keeps you riveted until the unexpected ending. This page turner is character and plot driven with vivid descriptions of the undulating landscape and the life style of the wine country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098391201

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Copyright © 2021 Randolph E. Rogers

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-09839-119-5

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09839-120-1

Many thanks to everyone who lent me support and encouragement throughout this process.

Recognizing my fearless editor, Joan Singleton, correctly tacking the main sail, and scrubbing the brine and barnacles off the hull.

To Hope Haywood Boland: a writers best friend; a majestic blend of intelligence, honesty, critical acumen, and supportive feedback…

She drew back; he was calm

‘It is that had the power.’

And he lashed his open palm

With the tender-headed flower.

He smiled for her to smile,

But she was either blind

Or willfully unkind.

He eyed her for a while

For a woman and a puzzle.

He flicked and flung the flower,

And another sort of smile,

Caught up like finger tips

The corners of his lips

And cracked his ragged muzzle.

From The Subverted Flower

by Robert Frost, 1942

Contents

PROLOGUE

Part One: Sativa

CHAPTER ONE: IRRIGATION DITCH

CHAPTER TWO: BARN ROOF

CHAPTER THREE: DANTE PESCARELLI

Chapter Four: Scott Sandberg

CHAPTER FIVE: KINGS COUNTY

CHAPTER SIX: LA BICYCLETTE

CHAPTER SEVEN: RITA PESCARELLI

CHAPTER EIGHT: BABE BETTENCOURT

CHAPTER NINE: TEQUILA OSCAR

CHAPTER TEN: THE MAYOR

CHAPTER ELEVEN: ROSEMARY TAGUCHI

CHAPTER TWELVE: Amber Ramblar

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: CATTLE CHUTE

Part Two: Indica

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ROCK COD

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: STEPHAN LEMIEUX

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: MEXICAN VACATION

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Amber RAMBLAR

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: OPOSSUM GULCH

CHAPTER NINETEEN: FJ EVANS

CHAPTER TWENTY: HORSE PARK

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: KENT VINEYARDS

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: NEW CLIENT

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: COAST CANNABIS

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: JAIME HERNANDEZ

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: GINGER RUTE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: ANTHONY ROSELLI

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: LIGHTS FESTIVAL

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: CHRISTIAN KILGOUR

Part Three: Kush Strain

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: HENRY HAMMER

CHAPTER THIRTY: TERRA BELLA

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: WALLY FOGG

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: COUNTRY CLUB

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE PERINEUM

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: PETER PEREA

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: DANTE PESCARELLI

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: CHECK-MATE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: GREAT OAKS

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: TERRA BELLA

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: MORRO BAY

CHAPTER FORTY: COME CLEAN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Dash Ramblar returns to the Central Coast, entangled in the weeds and underbrush of the new money crop, cannabis, legalized in California in 2019, after the popular vote in 2018.

The Central Coast comprises of the three counties: Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, and Monterey, that took a different outlook and plan into the issuing of cannabis growing permits, believing that this crop could be the magic panacea for budget shortfalls. Politicians had to walk the line of the old bias against cannabis with the new reality.

The rush to garner investors, growers, and distributors creates some odd bedfellows. The conservative agricultural community was seduced by the notion of easy money. Struggling wineries and wine grape growers saw an opportunity to right their ships, only to find that they’d been manipulated by new agricultural leaders who lacked the integrity and the knowledge to make their dirt profitable. Farming is never an easy enterprise with a predictable outcome, or cash cow – It’s a fickle mistress at best, and always a rough row to hoe (mixed metaphors be damned)

The novel begins in King County in the great San Joaquin Valley (Central Valley) dwarfing the Central Coast in terms of agricultural production and range of crops. Due to the proximity of these regions, there’s a high level of interaction in commerce, travel, and recreation. The regions could not be more different in terms of culture, politics, and landscape.

Working from his small ranch on the Central Coast of California, Dash stumbles into a world of deceit and compromise in the fictional wine centric town of Great Oaks. Money and greed are the primary motivations of the characters. The novel is also about the burgeoning romance between Dash and Ginger. It is romance of the place that drew Dash and countless others to the Central Coast and it is romance that will sustain them. Readers will also enjoy the return of Detective FJ Evans, Great Oaks P.D., with his sarcasm intact, and his unmitigated love of all things operatic.

Highway 101 runs the entire length of the Central Coast touching the coast, follow the Mission trail. This scenic highway snaking along the coast not only is a conduit for tourists, but also a primary artery for human trafficking, drug trafficking, and crime. The idyllic communities along the coast are infiltrated by an unsavory clan preying upon the guileless denizens.

Finally, Dash battles against these seedy elements despoiling the beautiful Central Coast, making a valiant attempt to rectify wrongs, honor an ancient code of conduct, provide for a couple of overfed dogs, keep his vineyard pruned, and his sheep sheared.

In the end, Dash Ramblar discovers that the big land owners, developers, and conglomerates ultimately squash the competition, and are greenlighted to grow and sell California’s new bounty.

Part One:

Sativa

CHAPTER ONE:

IRRIGATION DITCH

Kent Kilgour would often stop by the San Joaquin River Wildlife refuge, watching the migratory birds on his way home from Ripon. The San Joaquin Valley routinely flooded after the winter rains creating several giant lakes. The rushes provided an oasis for Canadian geese and water fowl in route along the West Coast fly zone. This refuge was a glimpse of what the valley was before the ditches and pipes altered the water flow, draining the giant lakes forever.

Kent would not reach Ripon, or visit the refuge, on this road trip or ever again. He stopped by the Sandberg Ranch, Lemoore, where his nascent company had a permit to grow cannabis. It was the first pot harvest; there would be two more harvests this year. He was met by the owner, Scott Sandberg, who they had leased the land from. Scott was raised in a farming family, but it never took. He failed at growing hops, tomatoes, alfalfa, and corn. His two hundred acres was heavily leveraged. Scott saw the cannabis legislation as a quick fix money maker. To Kent’s surprise, his partner, Dante Pescarelli, was supervising the harvest. The farm workers were loading just cut plants into large enclosed trucks, where they hung upside down on cables to dry. The all-female plants that were over five feet tall when cut, were laden with huge bud blossoms.

Kent got out of his truck and walked over to Dante. What’s going on? When were you going to tell me, you were harvesting?

This has nothing to do with you Kent. This is between me and Scott, Dante said with a clinched jaw.

Wait, wait, wait, Kent continued, I secured the lease, shepherded the permit process – it’s in our partner agreement – all activity must be communicated. If not, it’s a breach of the agreement.

I guess that means the partnership is voided, Dante said with a smirk.

You have half a million dollars in weed right here. Until the agreement is voided – we split the proceeds by percentage. Based on my fifteen percent share – I estimate, you owe me seventy-five thousand dollars, less expenses.

Dante laughed, Sorry, you’re not getting any money. You’ve been fired. You just didn’t know it yet.

I started the company. You can’t fire me. Our company attorneys will set you straight, Kent bellowed.

Go home to your wine grapes, Kent. Forget about what you saw today. In the long run, it’s better for your health. Dante grinned.

Is that a threat? Kent asked.

No, it’s a fact. Now, get out of here, before you end up face down in the ditch. Dante pointed to the ditch that ran along the county road.

Kent had seen enough. He got back in his truck, started the engine, rolled out into the highway, drove a quarter mile, pulled along the embankment, and got on the phone with his attorney."

Hey Max. My partner, Dante Pescarelli, is harvesting a ton of weed over here at the Sandberg place in Lemoore. Dante’s making an end run on the partnership, hoping to pocket the money.

Max replied, Sorry, I can’t help you Kent. I’m working for Dante’s company. They formed a new company. They’ve shuttered your limited partnership.

Don’t you think, I should’ve been notified. This is total bullshit. You’re in contempt – I could report you to the Bar, Kent screamed at the receiver. "It could mean your license and your equity share with Coast Ag.

Max didn’t respond. Then the call abruptly ended. Kent had his driver’s side window open while he talked to Max. A wiry man he didn’t recognize at first, came up to the driver’s side truck window, staring blankly at Kent. He was a small man. Kent peered out the window to get a better look at the man.

The man wore a Wrangler work shirt with pearl buttons and shorts. A stringy pony tail hung out of a baseball cap, with a Fresno State Bulldog patch on it. He appeared menacing, but not dangerous. Dash asked, What can I do for you?

The man with the cap smirked at Kent, You need to get out of your truck.

Kent’s face contorted into a quizzical expression. Why? Kent thought the man with the ponytail looked familiar. I’m in a hurry – I’ve got business to attend to.

The man in the bulldog cap, pulled out a gun, pointing it at Kent. Your business is here. Get outta’ of the truck.

If it’s the truck you want, you can have it. The keys are in the ignition, Kent said.

The man with the ponytail motioned again with his gun, not responding to Kent’s words. Kent got out of the truck, towering over the short man. The shorter man waved his gun, motioning for Kent to walk in front of the truck. Once in front of the truck, the man with the bulldog cap, dropped Kent with one shot to the back of the head. He went over to Kent, took his wallet, checked all his pockets, dragged his dead weight to the ditch, and pushed him into the shallow water, barely covering the corpse. The killer took the truck keys out of Kent’s truck, the registration, insurance forms, and all personal items. He then walked back to his van, which was parked not far from the entrance to the Sandburg place, along the road, lined up with the other worker’s vehicles, who were engaged in the cannabis harvest. He had a passenger who was smoking a joint and watching porn on his cell phone. He drove him to Kent’s truck, told him to drive the truck to the Fresno Wal-Mart parking lot, off Highway 41 on Ashland Avenue. He’d follow him, pick him up there, and abandon Kent’s new Ford pick-up.

The killer got in his van and followed his partner, as they drove north on Highway 41 to Fresno.

Kent’s body was found two days later. There was no identification, except that he was an Anglo, ruling out that the victim was an itinerant field worker. Field workers ending up dead in irrigation ditches aren’t a rare occurrence. The Fresno County Sheriff’s Department searched missing person leads, asking the field workers at the Sandberg place if they’d ever seen the victim, or any strange activity. If they had, they didn’t respond.

Kent Kilgour had no immediate family. He’d never been married, or had any children. He was currently unattached, despite owning a large winery, Kent Vineyards, and having a large asset portfolio. Kent was frequently away from the winery only checking in occasionally with his assistant, Rosemary Taguchi. She assumed he was occupied by his new venture.

His company, Coast Cannabis, had two founding partners, six investors, who communicated only by email, and text. Rarely, if ever, did they speak on the phone. They had a semi-annual meeting scheduled for November. No one reported him missing until the winery needed him to approve payroll for their contract workers. When they couldn’t locate him, Rosemary Taguchi, reluctantly put out a missing person’s report to the Great Oaks Police Departnebt.

Within twenty-four hours there was a positive identification, in one week a funeral, and burial. His new truck was discovered in Fresno, in the Wal-Mart parking lot, towed to impound in Fresno, and the case remained in the jurisdiction of the Kings County Sheriff’s office. The Sheriff’s deputies’ initial reaction was that it was a car-jacking gone bad.

Kent was congenial and well-liked by everyone who encountered his breezy casual manner. Rita Pescarelli, her husband, Dante, and Scott Sandberg along with Kent’s cousins, aunts and uncles went to the funeral in Ripon. When Kent moved to the Central Coast, he became estranged from the rest of the Kilgour clan, forsaking the largesse of the family table grape business.

Dante Pescarelli took control of the cannabis company and put up a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the apprehension of Kent’s murderer. Max, the attorney, had lied; there had not been a new company formed.

Kent Kilgour was buried in the family cemetery in Ripon, surrounded by almond groves.

CHAPTER TWO:

BARN ROOF

Dash never grew weary of the hot August days in Great Oaks. He awoke early, tended to his vineyard, his garden, his affairs, took a walk to the mailbox on the access road, and made a substantial lunch before going out in the evening.

He met Ginger Rute at the Hotel L’Adventure outdoor bar in downtown Great Oaks. Ginger walked across the large town square near the Jasper Winery tasting room that she managed. She always got Dash’s motor running. This evening was no exception. It was always a surprise to see what she was going to wear - Today it was a bright orange patterned dress, sandals, and a navy-blue shawl to cover her bare shoulders.

You look amazing, Dash greeted Ginger with a hug and a kiss on her cheek. Dash deferred to her status in town, never taking her for granted.

I thought I’d wear a dress, Ginger sat at a raised table top underneath a massive oak tree. Just to reveal my vulnerable feminine side.

Dash laughed. Not oft seen, but much admired.

What are we drinking? Ginger asked.

Prosecco – What would you like? Dash asked.

I’d like a gin and tonic, but they only serve beer and wine – I’ll have a dark lager. I’m around wine all day, and frankly, I’m tired of expensive grape juice.

The waiter brought Ginger a beer and Dash stayed with prosecco.

I was thinking of taking an insurance fraud case to tide me over. I have to replace the barn roof, Dash said with a frown.

Ginger laughed out loud. Poor baby has to stop playing. A barn roof isn’t sexy. Why don’t you buy a Maserati, trade in your ugly Range Rover, get a massive car loan, then you’d really have to go to work.

No need. The barn’s roof is more expensive then you’d think: replace some planks, beams, insulation, and gutters. We’re talking about twenty to thirty grand, Dash grimaced, Enjoying the bucolic lifestyle, comes with a price tag."

Isn’t it a metal roof? Ginger asked.

Yep – fancy-green – corrugated.

I’m romancing wine all day while you play gentleman farmer. The tourists want the fancy spiel before they plunk down seventy-five dollars for a red blend. You can get the same swill at Costco for fifteen, Ginger said.

That’s why they pay you the big bucks. You’re good at spinning the tale of making fine wine: the passion, the art of wine making, the sustainable farming practices. They eat it up.

If they only knew, Ginger said taking a long swallow of beer. Very nice. I was thirsty.

What’s new in the industry? Dash asked. You’re my eyes and ears.

Ginger’s demeanor became serious. "Did you hear about Kent Kilgour, owner of Kent Vineyards?

I’m afraid not. I’ve heard his name – Never met the guy.

They found his body in a drainage ditch up near Lemoore. He took a bullet in the head, Ginger took another sip and continued, He was the talk of all the women in town – single, rich, handsome and yet unavailable. Everybody figured he had a girlfriend, or even an out-of-town boyfriend. He was married once for a short time – ended years ago.

Sounds like damaged goods, to me, Dash quipped.

Nah. He was supposedly ecstatic to get out of his marriage. His wife was against him getting into the pot business, Ginger said. She ordered another beer. The evening was cooling and she wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Everybody wants in the cannabis business, except me, Dash said with a grin. I still haven’t figured out how to make a buck in the wine business. That business is full of shady characters. I wouldn’t doubt that’s how he got killed.

Ginger looked confused. The pot business, his ex-wife, or shady characters? Make up your mind.

If you lie down with dogs, you get up with flees, Dash said. I believe Shakespeare first said it – even truer today. The cannabis business is full of get rich-quick types, who’d kill you for free.

Ginger wasn’t buying it, Hello, it’s legal – You sound like an old fart. Everyone’s in the business, even the cops.

That’s even a better reason not to get involved, Dash said. So, I have to get a gig investigating insurance fraud. I prefer farming: the purity of intention, the Buddhist calm in compensation for the hours of repetitive pruning, the succor derived from sore limbs – compared to investigating the greasy activity of the great unwashed.

Ginger clapped mocking him. Nobody’s going to pay you twenty-two grand for weeding. Time to put your big boy pants on, and chase down a workmen’s comp claim. The guy cutting two chords of firewood, after claiming, he can no longer bend his elbow.

Dash nodded, Let’s say, we get outa’ here - Get some dinner.

I’m not hungry, Ginger smiled. Let’s talk about anticipation.

Dash perked up. I think my appetite just switched to something more delectable.

Don’t get your hopes up cowboy, Ginger smiled. It’s too early for dinner and too late for lunch.

Are you mad at me or just messing with me? Dash asked.

Neither, I just got tired of talking about your barn roof.

CHAPTER THREE:

DANTE PESCARELLI

Dash got a call from his friend in the Great Oaks Police Department, Detective FJ Evans. Dash had left a message – wanting Evans to fill him in on the murder of Kent Kilgour.

Evans told him that a reward of twenty-five thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest of Kent Kilgour’s murderer had been posted by the Dante Pescarelli. There would be no retainer, expense reimbursement, nor was there any jurisdiction from the local police force.

Dash would be on his own, and on his own dollar, investigating a murder in a community over a hundred miles away – a world apart from the Central Coast.

Dash’s quick answer to Detective Evans was short. I’m not a vigilante, I’m a professional private investigator, or at least it says so on my license.

Evans gave a gruff response. You’re just foolish enough to chase it down.

Is that a dare? You’ve got a cushy job, an office, free coffee and donuts, a nice pension, and a company car. You expect me to follow this investigation down a rabbit-hole, max out my American Express card – maybe get shot for the inconvenience.

If I were you, I’d call Dante over at Terra Bella Vineyards – See if the offer is legitimate. Maybe, he’ll give you a retainer.

Dash quipped. Nah, I’ll pass. The conversation ended.

Dash went back to his vineyard. It was August, the vineyard had begun veraison: the changing of the grape bunches from green to deep purple. His dogs, Bixby and Barney, were enjoying the warmth of the days, after a cool spring and summer. Ginger had just spent the weekend. The autumnal equinox was nigh. He could dip into savings to repair his barn roof, or call Interstate Commercial Insurance to get a fraud gig. Neither was an appealing option.

He googled Dante Pescarelli and Coast Cannabis. Pescarelli had a checkered past - he did time in a Federal prison, then found redemption and absolution with the ownership of a successful winery. Coast Cannabis was another story. There was a flashy video on You Tube about their company, an email address to learn more, and a list of its officers. Kent Kilgour’s name, as president, hadn’t been removed. Coast Cannabis had four leased properties with permits to grow cannabis and a dozen or so parcels throughout the region in the permit process.

The offer of a twenty-five-thousand dollar reward for information leading to the conviction of the murderer of Kent Kilgour, was not attached to the company web site, but was on a separate post. There was a phone number listed. Dash called.

Dash expected a recorded message but, instead, got Terra Bella Winery.

Rita Pescarelli answered. Terra Bella Winery, how may I help you?

This is Dash Ramblar, I’m calling about the reward posted for the Kilgour murder.

Let me have you talk to my husband, Dante.

Dante got on the phone. I’ve heard of you. You’re a local private investigator, here in Great Oaks. I can’t provide any more details. What can I do for you?

Is there a chance I could meet with you? Dash asked.

Sure, if you think it’ll help. But frankly, there’s a reason for the reward – There aren’t any leads, or suspects. It’s becoming a cold case quickly. The Kings County Sheriffs are stuck in the ditch.

How about we meet tomorrow at the winery, say nine a.m.?

Dante hesitated. Let me look at my calendar – Okay, you’ve got fifteen minutes.

Dante Pescarelli bought the winery after it went into foreclosure, in 2008. He then went through a quick million dollars to bring the wine operation up to snuff. Dash learned all this via a google search. Who needs a private investigator when you’ve got the internet? Terra Bella earned its first ninety point rated wines by Wine Spectator for the 2011 vintages, turning the winery around, built a lucrative wine club and expanded the wedding venue and event bookings.

Dash got up at five thirty, drank a pot of coffee, and googled the map to Terra Bella. It was located just four miles west of town in the rolling hills on a stretch of Peachy Canyon. The curvy drive from Great Oaks required his caffeinated focus and a tight grip. The entrance to Terra Bella was well marked, turning on to a steep driveway that ended at the crest of the hill. The winery buildings were huddled together on the hill-top, offering sumptuous views in every direction. The buildings that were modern in 1985, now needed a make-over.

Terra Bella Winery sat high above the marine layer, that lingered on the valley floor, framing the hilltop winery, giving it a surreal floating appearance. The tasting room, looked to be patterned after a mountain chalet, towering glass windows with an A-frame roof line. The out buildings were of newer construction: wood, corrugated tin, and concrete. Dash went to the tasting room and was directed to the office in the production building. The office was part administrative, part laboratory. In the foreground were desks, computers, copy machines, and in the rear were lab stations for chemical testing and wine quality analysis. The lab had a rear entrance. Dante greeted Dash, pulling him to a small conference room.

Dante was handsome,