most innocent of people got the sweats when they were under the modified and civilized third degree. I mean, we used to talk about sweating information out of people in the old days-you know, the glaring lights, the nonstop interrogations, the third degree, whatever the hell that means. Today, we're very gentle, sometimes, but no matter how gentle you are, some people-innocent and guilty alike-just don't like being questioned.
It
The bees had found me and I said, 'Do these sting?'
'If you annoy them, they do.'
'I'm not annoying them. I like bees.'
'They're actually wasps. Yellow jackets. You must be wearing some cologne that they like.'
'Lagerfeld.'
'That's one of their favorites.' He added, 'Ignore them.'
'Right. Were the Gordons invited to dinner Monday night?'
'No, I wouldn't have normally invited them to a small, spontaneous gathering… Monday's gathering was mostly close friends and people involved with the business.'
'I see.'
'Why do you ask that?'
'Oh, just for the irony of it. You know, if they'd been asked, maybe they'd have come home sooner, gotten dressed… you know, they might have missed their appointment with death.'
He replied, 'No one misses their appointment with death.'
'Yeah, you know, I think you're right.'
We were in a row of vines with purple grapes now. I asked Mr. Tobin, 'Why do purple grapes make red wine?'
'Why…? Well… I guess you could more properly call it purple wine.'
'I would.'
Mr. Tobin said, 'This is actually called pinot noir. Noir means black.'
'I took French. These grapes are called black, they look purple, and the wine is called red. You see why people are confused?'
'It's really not that complicated.'
'Sure it is. Beer is easy. There's lager and pilsner. Right? Then you have ale and stout. Forget those and forget dark beer and bock. Basically you have lager and pilsner, light or regular. You go into a bar, and you can see what's on tap because the taps are labeled. You can ask, 'What do you have in bottles?' When they're through rattling it all off, you say, 'Bud.' End of story.'
Mr. Tobin smiled. 'That's very amusing. Actually, I enjoy a good, cold beer on a hot day.' He leaned toward me conspiratorially and said, 'Don't tell anyone.'
'Your secret is safe with me. Hey, this goes on forever. How many acres do you have here?'
'Here I have two hundred acres. I have another two hundred scattered around.'
'Wow. That's big. Do you lease land?'
'Some.'
'Do you lease land from Margaret Wiley?'
He didn't reply immediately, and if I'd been facing him across a table, I could have seen his expression the moment I said, 'Margaret Wiley.' But the hesitation was interesting enough.
Finally, Mr. Tobin replied, 'I believe we do. Yes, we do. About fifty acres. Why do you ask?'
'I know she leases land to the vintners. She's an old friend of my aunt and uncle. It's a small world. Small fork.' I changed the subject and asked, 'So, are you the biggest grape on the fork?'
'Tobin is the biggest vineyard on the North Fork, if that's what you mean.'
'How'd you manage that?'
'Hard work, a good knowledge of viniculture, perseverance, and a superior product.' He added, 'And good luck. What frightens us here is hurricanes. Late August to early October. One year the harvest was very late. About mid-October. No fewer than six hurricanes came up from the Caribbean. But every one of them turned off in another direction. Bacchus was watching over us.' He added, 'That's the god of wine.'
'And a hell of a composer.'
'That's Bach.'
'Right.'
'By the way, we have concerts here and sometimes operas. I can put you on our mailing list, if you'd like.'
We found ourselves heading back into the big shingled complex. I said, 'That would be great. Wine, opera, good company. I'll send you my card. I'm out at the moment.'
As we approached the winery, I looked around and said, 'I don't see your house.'
'I don't actually live here. I do have an apartment on the top of that tower, but my house is south of here.'
'On the water?'
'Yes.'
'Do you boat?'
'A little.'
'Motor or sail?'
'Motor.'
'And the Gordons were guests in your house?'
'Yes. A few times.'
'They arrived by boat, I guess.'
'I believe they did once or twice.'
'And did you ever visit them in your boat?'
'No.'
I was going to ask him if he owned a white Formula, but sometimes it's a good idea not to ask a question about something you can discover another way. Questions tend to tip people off, to spook them. Fredric Tobin, as I said, was not a murder suspect, but I had the impression he was hiding something.
Mr. Tobin showed me in through the entrance that we'd come out of. He said, 'If I can be of any further help, please let me know.'
'Okay… hey, I have a date tonight, and I'd like to get a bottle of wine.'
'Try our Merlot. The '95 is incomparable. But a little pricey.'
'Why don't you show me? I have a few more things to cover anyway.'
He hesitated a moment, then led me into the gift shop, which was attached to a spacious wine-tasting room. It was a very handsome room with a thirty-foot-long oak tasting bar, a half dozen booths to one side, boxes and racks of wine all over the place, stained glass windows, a quarry tile floor, and so on. About a dozen wine lovers meandered around the room, commenting on the labels or slurping up freebies at the wine bar, making stupid talk with the young men and women who were pouring and trying to smile.
Mr. Tobin said hello to one of the pourers, Sara, by name, an attractive young lady in her mid-twenties. I assumed that Fredric picked the furniture himself, and he had a good eye for clean-cut pretties. The boss said, 'Sara, pour Mr…'
'John.'
'Pour John some of the '95 Merlot.'
And she did, with a steady hand into a small glass.
I swirled the stuff around to show I was into this. I sniffed it and said, 'Nice bouquet.' I held it up to the light and said, 'Good color. Purple.'
'And nice fingers.'
'Where?'
'The way it clings to the glass.'
'Right.' I sipped a little. I mean, it's okay. It's an acquired taste. It's actually not bad with a steak. I said, 'Fruity and friendly.'
