A warm welcome to author Don Travis for joining us today to talk about new release “The Lovely Pines”, book 4 in the BJ Vinson Mystery series.
Welcome Don 🙂
May I first thank Dani at Love Bytes for hosting this guest post. This is the fourth book she has hosted, and I don’t really know how to adequately express my appreciation. I write series—don’t ask me why, I just do. Perhaps I fall in love with men and women who populate my books. Or maybe I’m lazy and don’t want to create a whole new set of principal characters. It is also possible that I have a one-track mind. Probably, it’s all of the above.
When I wrote The Zozobra Incident, I had no idea that was book one in the BJ Vinson Mystery Series. But I found it fun to showcase my adopted state of New Mexico in the book, and a history-loving confidential investigator provided a convenient excuse for traveling all over the state. Okay, that explains all that… but why is he gay? You’d have to ask him. When he showed up in my dreams that’s just the way he was. At first, he overcompensated for what was considered a “flaw” back in those days. That’s why he joined the US Marine Corps and became an MP. That’s likely why he became an Albuquerque cop upon his discharge. And by the time he left APD because of an on-the-job injury, the die was cast. He became a confidential investigator.
When he wouldn’t go away, I wrote The Bisti Business. Even then, he wasn’t finished with me. The City of Rocks came next, and now the novel being released on August 28, The Lovely Pines. Two more are on the way.
The book blurb gives you a sense of the novel:
When Ariel Gonda’s winery, the Lovely Pines, suffers a break-in, the police write the incident off as a prank since nothing was taken. But Ariel knows something is wrong—small clues are beginning to add up—and he turns to private investigator BJ Vinson for help.
BJ soon discovers the incident is anything but harmless. When a vineyard worker—who is also more than he seems—is killed, there are plenty of suspects to go around. But are the two crimes even related? As BJ and his significant other, Paul Barton, follow the trail from the central New Mexico wine country south to Las Cruces and Carlsbad, they discover a tangled web involving members of the US military, a mistaken identity, a family fortune in dispute, and even a secret baby. The body count is rising, and a child may be in danger. BJ will need all his skills to survive because, between a deadly sniper and sabotage, someone is determined to make sure this case goes unsolved.
The prologue and the first few pages of Chapter 1 give you the voice:
Prologue
A figure watched from the edge of the forest as blustery night winds raced through undulating boughs to brush evergreens with feckless lovers’ kisses and oppress the grove with ozone raised by a rainstorm to the west. Ground litter, heavy with fallen pine needles, trembled before gusts—as if the Earth itself were restless.
Advantaging a cloudbank obscuring the half moon, the intruder picked up a heavy duffel bag and breached a four-foot rock wall. The prowler crossed the broad lawn, pausing briefly before a brick-and-stone edifice to scan a white sign with spidery black letters by the light of a small electric fixture trembling in the breeze.
THE LOVELY PINES VINEYARD AND WINERY
Valle Plácido, New Mexico Ariel Gonda, Vintner
Established in 1964 Fine New Mexico Reds
Prompted by the rumble of distant thunder, the wraith made its cautious way to a large building at the rear of the stone house and removed a crowbar from the bag to pry a hasp from the heavy door. Unconcerned over triggering an alarm, the black shadow vanished into the depths of the deserted winery.
Chapter 1
Thursday, June 11, 2009, Albuquerque, New Mexico
I was reading an Albuquerque Journal article about the recent assassination of Dr. George Tiller, one of the few doctors in the US still performing late-term abortions, when my secretary, Hazel Harris Weeks, tapped on my office door before ushering a dapper gentleman inside.
He held out his free hand—the other clutched a small bag—and spoke with a slight European accent. “Grüezi, Mr. Vinson, I am Ariel Gonda. It is good to finally meet you.”
Taking grüezi to be a German word for “hello” or “howdy,” I stood to accept the proffered handshake as my mind grappled to place him. Then a memory dropped. Ariel Gonda was the corporate treasurer of Alfano Vineyards in Napa Valley. I had run across his name during what I mentally referred to as the Bisti Business, but I’d never actually met the man before. If I recalled correctly, he was a Swiss national, so the word in question was likely Swiss German.
“Mr. Gonda, how are Aggie and Lando doing?” I referred to the Alfano brothers to let him know I’d made the connection.
“They are well, thank you. At least, they were when last I spoke to Aggie. I am no longer with the organization. I am now one of you. That is to say, a bona fide citizen of New Mexico.”
I smiled inwardly as he neatly covered his tracks. It’s best to be precise when drawing comparisons to a gay confidential investigator. “Welcome to our world, Mr. Gonda.”
“Please call me Ariel. As you can see, I have become Americanized. In my native Switzerland, we would never have arrived at first names so swiftly. I find the informality refreshing.”
“With pleasure—if you’ll call me BJ. Please have a seat and tell me what I can do for you. Unless this is a social call.”
“Would that it were. Unfortunately it is your services as an investigator I require at the moment.”
He settled into the comfortable chair directly opposite my old-fashioned walnut desk and glanced around the wainscoted room. I detected a gleam of approval in his pale blue eyes as he studied pieces of my late father’s cowboy and western art collection adorning the light beige walls. He brought his attention back to me, a clue he was ready to discuss business.
I took a small digital voice recorder from a drawer and placed it on the desk. “Do you mind if I record the conversation?” With his consent, I turned on the device and entered today’s date and noted the time as 10:15 a.m. “This interview with Mr. Ariel Gonda is done with his knowledge and consent.”
I lifted my eyes to meet his and asked him to identify the name and location of his business. He limited his response to “The Lovely Pines Vineyard and Winery, Valle Plácido, New Mexico.” After that was properly recorded, I asked the purpose of his visit.
He cleared his throat. “The matter that brings me here is a break-in at my winery precisely two weeks ago today.”
I consulted my desk calendar. “That would be May 28. What time?”
“Sometime during the night before. I learned of it when I went to work that morning.”
“How was entry gained?”
“The hasp was forced, rendering the padlock useless.”
“What was taken?”
“Nothing that I can determine.”
“Vandalism?”
“Merely some papers in my office and lab disturbed. But nothing was destroyed or taken, and there are some quite valuable instruments in the laboratory.”
“Tell me a little about your business.”
I examined Gonda as he spoke. During my involvement in the Bisti affair, I’d built up an image of a rotund, stodgy European bean counter, but the man sitting across from me was rather tall—probably my height, an even six feet—solid but not fat, and darker than I pictured Europeans from the Swiss Alpine regions. His striking aristocratic face ended in a high forehead. Light brown hair brushed the collar of his powder blue cotton shirt. He might consider himself Americanized, but his pleasing baritone hadn’t yet mastered the art of speaking in contractions.
“The Lovely Pines is located northeast of here just outside the village of Valle Plácido. Do you know it?”
I nodded. “The area, not the winery.”
“I began negotiations to purchase the business from Mr. Ernesto C de Baca last summer. However, he passed away before we arrived at an agreement. In January of this year, I completed the transaction with his heirs.”
Gonda lifted the small bag he’d placed on the floor beside his chair. The two glass containers he extracted looked to be green, hippy Bordeaux bottles often used for reds. The gold seal covering the cork was quite elegantly done.
“I brought samples. Please enjoy them with my compliments,” he said before continuing his narration.
I listened patiently as he described the operation in his pedantic manner. The winery was located on ten acres fronting the north side of State Road 165 running out of Valle Plácido east toward Sandia Peak. A three-story stone-and-brick edifice housed the public rooms, offices, and family living quarters. The winery and the cellar sat some distance behind that building. A hundred-acre vineyard lay to the east, bordered on the south by a fifteen-acre lake or pond. Roughly one fifth of a square mile in total land area.
I tapped my desk blotter with the point of a gold-and-onyx letter opener fashioned like a Toledo blade. “Valle Plácido doesn’t have a police force, so I assume you reported the break-in to the Sandoval County Sheriff’s Office.”
“I did. However, since nothing was taken, the county officials decided it was a case of adolescent mischief and closed the investigation—such as it was.”
“Apparently you disagree with that conclusion. Have there been other incidents?”
“Certain small things have occurred. Things I would not have noticed were it not for the earlier break-in.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs in a less formal manner. Covering the lower portion of his face with a palm, he pulled his hand down over his chin and neck as though smoothing a nonexistent beard. “I suppose I can best explain by telling you that two days following the actual burglary, if that is the proper terminology, I noticed some of my tools and equipment had been moved.”
“How many employees have access to the area?”
“We have a viticulturist and two field hands working the vineyard. I am the vintner and have three assistants in the winery. Marc, my nephew, acts as my outside salesman and assistant manager. My wife, Margot, is responsible for the operation of the office. Then there is our chocolatier, Maurice Benoir, who is invaluable in making our chocolate-flavored wines. His wife assists him in running a kiosk in the entry hall. She acts as cashier for all the various profit centers and sells handmade sweets she and Maurice concoct. And, of course, we have a cook and waitress for the bistro.”
“A total of thirteen people if I counted correctly. And all of them have access to the winery?”
“Most of them. Our viticulturist’s wife is also on the premises since they live at the vineyard. She does not work for us but has the run of the place.”
“So the total is actually fourteen individuals. Let’s be clear. All of them have access to the winery?”
“Throughout the day, anyone other than the cook and the girl who waits our tables will be in and out of the winery numerous times. But I refuse to believe any of them were involved in what occurred.”
“I see. I must tell you in all candor, there is probably little I can do for you except to conduct background checks on your people. Chances are that a search might reveal something, but there’s no guarantee. You might end up spending a lot of money for nothing.”
He performed the palm-over-lip-and-chin maneuver again as he thought over what I’d said. “At least I would be assured of their honesty and would not walk around harboring darks suspicions about the people with whom I work.”
Did he recognize his own inconsistency? He was apparently prepared to spend some money to reassure him of what he professed to believe. “Mr. Gonda… Ariel, anytime you do a thorough background check on that many people, any number of moles and wens and warts are going to surface. They might have nothing to do with your problem but be warned. You will likely not look at some of your employees in the same light as before. All of us have secrets.”
I hope the excerpts from the novel interested you because what comes next is definitely uninteresting. It’s about me. I’ll try to rush through it.
Born and raised an Okie, I graduated from college with a double major in Government and History. The army took me to Germany and work took me from Denver, Colorado to Albuquerque, New Mexico. I tried oil painting for a while, but eventually put down the brush for the pen… or more aptly, the computer. Never regretted the decision. Widowed and rather insular, I bestir myself to participate in Southwest Writers, New Mexico’s premier professional writing association. For the last six years, I’ve taught a free writing class called Wordwrights at the North Domingo Baca Multigenerational Center in Albuquerque. See… I told you it was boring. But I will spice it up by telling you a secret. I also write a different genre under the pseudonym of Mark Wildyr.
I encourage writers to make direct contact with me. In pursuit of that, I’ve listed some contact links below:
Blog: dontravis.com
Email: dontravis21@gmail.com
Facebook: dontravis
Twitter: @dontravis3
There follow some buy links for The Lovely Pines:
Once again, thanks to Dani at Love Bytes for this post and to DSP Publications for publishing the series.
A new to me author. Saw the word Mystery on your blog post in my email and had to take a peek. The story sounds quite wonderful and intriguing. Much success to Don!