Blood on the Vine by Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain

Author:Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain [Fletcher, Jessica & Bain, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780451202758
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2000-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter TWenty

The drawbridge was up when we arrived and we had to call on the intercom to have it lowered. Standing on the castle side was Wade Grosso. He wore his usual high rubber boots, coveralls, and a broad-brimmed straw hat. He watched us get out of the car, and was about to turn and walk away when I called to him.

“Yes?” he said.

“I was wondering whether we could steal a few minutes of your time, Mr. Grosso.”

I couldn’t tell from his expression whether my request annoyed him, or if he didn’t care one way or the other.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“We were wondering exactly where Mr. Ladington’s body was found in the moat the night he died,” I said.

“Why?”

“Pardon?”

“Why would you want to know that?”

“Just curious,” I said.

“Bull! You and your limey friend here want to make it look as though Ladington was murdered instead of taking his own life. Isn’t that right?”

“No, it isn’t right. Bruce Ladington has asked us to learn the truth. We want to know what really happened that night. If he committed suicide, fine. Don’t you want to know what happened to him, what really happened?”

“All I want to know, Mrs. Fletcher, is that he’s dead. That’s good enough for me.”

“You sound pleased that he’s dead,” George said.

“Doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. If that lily-livered, weak-kneed son of his hadn’t brought you here, the whole thing would be over and we could get on with the business of making wine. But no, Mr. Bruce Ladington has to make a stink about what seems perfectly obvious to me, that the old bastard decided he’d had enough of his family and packed it in, checked out, said adios. As far as I’m concerned, if I had to put up with these people, I’d swallow pills too.”

“Doesn’t anyone like anybody around here?” George asked.

His question brought a smile to Grosso’s lips. “Not much,” he said, breaking into what passed for a laugh. “You want to see where Ladington ended up? Come on. I’ll show you.”

We followed him around to the side of the castle. Grosso stopped, went to the edge of the moat, and peered down into it. “Right there,” he said, pointing.

We stood next to him and looked down.

“A secluded area of the property,” George said.

“No more so than most,” Grosso said.

“You have lights out front,” George said, “illuminating the moat. I don’t see any lights here.”

“You’re right,” said Grosso. “It gets pretty dark on this side.”

“Those are nasty looking rocks,” I said.

“Did Mr. Ladington often come out here at night?” George asked.

Grosso shrugged and screwed up his face. “Not so I can recall.”

“The assumption is that he took the pills, left the house, came here, felt the effect of the pills, and fell into the moat,” George said.

“That’s what they say,” said Grosso.

I hesitated before asking, “Did you see him come out of the house that night, Mr. Grosso?”

His broad face turned hard. “Are you asking whether I might have pushed him into the water?”

“No.

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