by J. C. Eaton
“Stay here and don’t move,” Theo whispered. “We should give them a few minutes before we walk back to your car.”
“Do you think they’ll be suspicious about a car parked right across the street?”
“Nah. It wasn’t the only one. Lots of student housing on Main Street.”
I stretched my arms and shook my legs while we waited. “Did you hear those horrible things Vance said about Madeline? And that wretched Agnes will use it to make it look like Madeline had a motive for murder. Yeesh. I had no idea she was in the workroom.”
“And what about Curtis? Dredging up that full moon curse to shift the attention off of them.”
“Yep. Self-serving bureaucrats for sure.”
“Want to know what the worst part is?” Theo asked. “We won’t be able to say a word since we’d be hard-pressed to explain how we happened upon that piece of information.”
“If it means saving Madeline and Alex I’m willing to take my chances and tell all.”
“Come on, Norrie, looks like the coast is clear.”
Chapter 11
“What took you so long?” Don asked the second Theo opened the door to their house. “I was half tempted to drive over there myself.”
“Three unexpected guests, that’s what. But you can relax. Norrie and I didn’t get caught. Just don’t suggest we buy heavy floor-length curtains for our living room.”
“Huh?”
“Long story. Turns out we weren’t the only ones interested in what Vance might have had in his notes. The remaining three board members were concerned he had enough dirt on them for a motive to commit murder.”
Then he turned to me. “I was sweating bullets. Agnes was inches from my feet. Inches. When I looked down, I could see the heels of her shoes. Brown orthopedic shoes.”
“What about me? If Curtis waved his hands any more, he would’ve socked me in the face.”
“How’d you know he was waving his hands? You were behind the curtain.”
“I kind of took my chances and sort of peeked.”
Then we both laughed.
Don looked at us and put his hands on his hips. “I think the two of you got a big charge out of that clandestine escapade. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it gave you a full-blown rush. Flirting with danger like that.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it danger,” I said. “It wasn’t as if we were dangling off a cliff or anything.”
“Don’t get any ideas. Look, it was a damn good thing no one saw you lurking behind curtain number one and curtain number two. Breaking and entering carries a heavy fine and maybe jail time.”
Theo put his hand on Don’s shoulder and gave it a pat. “Calm down, big guy. No one got caught.”
“Not this time. Anyway, I want to hear all about it.” He ushered us to the kitchen table and plunked down some coffee cups and filled them. “Unless you’d rather have wine.”
“Coffee’s fine,” I said. “Theo and I got to hear most of their conversation and I really don’t think any of them was responsible for killing Vance. All they want to do is protect their own butts, even if it means lying.”
I went on to tell Don what Agnes said regarding Alex and how Curtis insinuated he’d fan the flames about the full moon curse to shift the attention to our winery.
Don didn’t look all that surprised. “Let’s hope their acting skills stink.” Then he looked directly at Theo and back to me. “Please tell me you got what you were looking for.”
“The papers are a little creased from being rolled up in my jeans,” I said, “but we pulled up Vance’s ‘incident notes’ from his computer. The guy kept a log on anyone who crossed paths with him, and that’s not all. Theo’s got a list of all the owners of historical homes who were denied applications for improvements. I guarantee, if Vance was murdered, the killer’s name is sitting on one of those lists.”
Don stood, walked to the pantry and came back with a tin of apricot and raisin rugelach. The minute he opened it, Isolde appeared and jumped on the kitchen counter. Don immediately scooped her up and opened a drawer, where he retrieved a handful of kitty snacks. “Here. Eat these. Tuna morsel treats. You’ll like them more than the rugelach.”
“He spoils her something awful,” Theo said, to which Don replied, “And who soaks bread in warm milk for her?”
I laughed. “I’ve spoiled Charlie, too. He’ll be insufferable by the time Francine and Jason get back. And speaking of insufferable, that may be what got Vance killed. I mean, if that’s what happened.”
Don stroked Isolde’s long white and gray fur and shook his head. “You know, we could be spinning our wheels for no reason. Maybe Vance had an underlying medical condition or an allergic reaction to something. It’s still an unexplained death as far as Deputy Hickman is concerned.”
I nodded. “Yeah, but that’s likely to change, and when it does, I want to be ready. At least we’ve got some time. If the autopsy doesn’t point to anything, it will be weeks before the toxicology report does. Meanwhile, I was kind of hoping we could divvy up these names and see if anything pops out at us.”
Don grabbed a rugelach and motioned for me to show him the papers that I had placed to the left of my coffee cup. “Mind if I take a peek?”
“Oh, my gosh. Don’t tell me you’re chomping at the bit to do some sleuthing, too.”
“Chomping, no, but curious, yes.”
I handed the coiled papers to Don and took a sip of coffee while I waited for his reaction. He thumbed through the first three pages and slapped the side of his cheek. “Vance missed his real opportunity. The guy should’ve been writing a daytime soap opera. Did either of you read this?”
Theo and I looked at each other and shook our heads. “Who had time to read it?” he asked. “We were too busy finding it, copying it, and getting it the hell out of there. Why? What does it say?”
“First of all, that copier was low on toner. Never mind. I can still make this out. The first one is a blow-by-blow description of a conversation he had with Madeline Martinez regarding her request to extend that porch of hers. His version paints her as a dangerous woman with a short fuse who would ‘stop at nothing’ to get what she wanted.”
Then Don ran his thumb through the remainder of the pile. “The second one is worse. Look, this could take us all night and it’s late. Although I must admit, it makes for some compelling bedtime reading. Better than that novel I started.”
Theo chucked. “I’m sure Norrie wouldn’t mind if you ran into the office and made yourself a copy. Our machine is pretty quick. Then we could all read what it says and compare notes tomorrow after work.”
I stood and helped myself to another cup of coffee. “That’s a great idea. And while you’re at it, can you make me a copy of Theo’s list of denials? We can tackle that next.”
Don was out of the kitchen and on his way to his office before I had filled my coffee cup. “Does this mean you’re joining our makeshift investigation?”
“Arrgh. I suppose so, besides, there were two Hardy Boys, weren’t there?”
I winked at Theo. “Yep. Take your pick.”
• • •
Don was right about bedtime reading. Even though it was late and Charlie was snoring from his new place in the middle of my bed, I shoved him over to the side, propped another pillow behind my head and one by one went through the pile of papers that documented Vance’s unfortunate dealings with the public. It read like Where’d You Go, Bernadette? sans the Microsoft references.
Vance saw himself as the last crusader, fighting off throngs of Huns, Visigoths, and Vandals who sought to destroy the final vestige of humanity with their architectural plans for longer and wider porches, patio enclosures, brightly hued paints, and in that one instance, a backyard pool.
With few exceptions, the notes focused on the denials given to the home owners who had the misfortune of living in the Geneva Historical District. Tidbits of conversations were drawn out and embellished to the point where all of these
people, including Madeline, appeared to be unhinged and potentially dangerous.
Then again, maybe one of them was. I set the pile of papers on my nightstand, having read all but a handful of them, and pulled the cord on the lamp. Seconds later, I was out cold. Had it not been for the phone ringing at eight fifteen, I might have remained that way until noon. I was that exhausted.
“Good morning, Norrie. It’s me, Gladys Pipp. I hope I didn’t wake you, especially on a Sunday, but I’m heading out shortly for church services. Much better refreshments at the earlier service. Anyway, I wanted to get back to you regarding some more information I dug up at the Yates County Historical Society last Monday but I haven’t had a chance. Every time I picked up the phone, Deputy Hickman was looming over my desk. And then that dreadful discovery at Kashong Point yesterday. If that doesn’t catapult that Two Witches curse to new heights, nothing will.”
“I, um, er . . .”
“I know. I know. You don’t have to say a word. I was originally supposed to work the morning shift but wound up staying all day on account of the . . . well, I’m sure you know by now. It was on the news last night. A very brief statement and a photo of Kashong Point, followed by—”
“Don’t tell me. Someone mentioned the Two Witches full moon summer solstice curse.”
“Well, yes. The news anchors mentioned how coincidental the death was.”
“Did they mention the deceased by name?” I asked.
“No, pending notification to next of kin.”
“I don’t suppose they speculated about the cause of death, did they? Those news anchors speculate about everything. The price of eggs, which celebs had work done, and which foreign countries are messing with our elections.”
“No, no mention about cause of death.”
“Yeah, it’s not as if it was obvious, like a gunshot wound or a stab to the heart. Um, I kind of ran into Deputy Hickman at the scene. One of my friends, who’s an entomologist, is doing a study at Kashong Point.”
“Dr. Bollinger?”
“Uh-oh. How did you know?”
“He’s on a list of . . . well, people that Deputy Hickman needs to speak with further.”
“I really hope it turns out to be some underlying medical cause, because the last thing Dr. Bollinger needs is to have his attention taken away from that very important study on water flies, and the last thing Two Witches needs is to have that curse rumor spreading around. One good thing, though. The full moon summer solstice is over.”
“That’s precisely the reason I called. Oh dear. You may not want to hear this.”
“Hear what?”
“When I did my research, I uncovered the rest of the curse.”
“The rest of the curse? You mean there’s more?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Chapter 12
My throat usually has that cracking, croaking feeling when I first get up in the morning, but as soon as Gladys said there was more to the curse, it felt as if every last bit of moisture was sucked dry.
“What do you mean? What are you saying?”
“Oh, dear. I hope this doesn’t upset you.”
It’s never good when someone says they hope something doesn’t upset you, because inevitably, it will upset you. I held my breath and waited for her to continue.
“The Yates County Historical Society is privy to archival information that other historical societies can only envy. I was able to read the original land holdings documents dating back to seventeen ninety-six, when a man by the name of David Wagener bought a tract of land that would eventually become Penn Yan. A year later, Adeliza and Derella Marsten from Massachusetts bought a small tract of land on a hill in what is now the Town of Benton.”
“The two witches? Those were the two witches?”
“The land holding documents only listed names and dates, but there was a side note next to Adeliza and Derella’s names. It seemed to be added later and was a referral to another document—a small leather-bound diary of sorts found in the basement of the original Penn Yan Library. The docent was good enough to let me peruse it. It was mostly recipes for poultices, lists of herbs and their uses, as well as a few recipes for wild mushrooms. Then I noticed pages folded up within other pages and was terrified the paper would crumble. But I couldn’t resist. I unfolded the paper and there it was in front of me—the full moon summer solstice curse.”
“Do you remember what it said? And what was the other part?”
“I’ll do better for you, Norrie. I’ll email you the two photos I took of it with my cell phone. I still have your email somewhere. Anyway, I must be going or I’ll be late for that service.”
“Can you just tell me more or less what the second part of the curse said?”
“Hmm, let me think. I was sure it said, ‘When a fortnight cycles past, your breath will be the last. One sip of the partridge’s eye and ye are surely to die.’”
“The partridge’s eye? What on earth is that?”
“I asked myself the same question so I googled it. It refers to rosé wine. Norrie, are you still on the line?”
“Um, yeah.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you, dear. Your winery doesn’t produce a rosé.”
Oh, crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! We do now! Thank you, Franz.
I was so stunned, all I could muster was a croaky-sounding thank-you before Gladys hung up.
Happy Sunday to me! Now, as if I didn’t have enough to worry about, phase two of what seems to be “the never ending curse from Two Witches Hill” just appeared on the horizon. I threw the covers back from the bed, got up, and headed straight for the shower. If nothing else, I’d be clean for what I imagined would be one hell of a long day.
• • •
Curse or no curse, Cammy hit me with more glorious news the second I set foot in the winery. She had two pitchers of water for the tasting room tables and set them down before walking toward me.
“Talk about a busy Sunday morning,” she said. “Someone from Channel 8 ROC called here about an hour ago requesting an interview with you. Let me see . . . it was—”
“Not Wade Gallagher? He all but ruined Stephanie’s reputation last February at that Chocolate and Wine Extravaganza. It better not be him.”
“No, it was a woman. Lorraine Stuyvesant. Their programming director. I wrote the number down in the kitchen. They want to do a special on the Two Witches full moon summer solstice curse. When they got wind of that death yesterday at Kashong Point, they sent a team right over there. Couldn’t miss an opportunity to attract more viewers.”
I groaned. “For all we know, Vance Wexler could have died from sleep apnea or something.”
“Exactly. The breath taken right out of him. Not that I believe in all that mumbo-jumbo, but if the networks can keep the viewers tuned in, they’ll make the advertisers happy, and that’s all that counts. When they finally learn the truth, it won’t matter.”
“They won’t learn it for a while. I doubt they’ll get the autopsy results before Tuesday, and as for the toxicology results . . . well, that takes weeks. Face it, we’re doomed either way. If the cause of death was foul play, then Deputy Hickman won’t just point a finger at Alex Bollinger, he’ll point an entire fist. And if it was some kind of natural cause, our winery will be flooded with every new age lunatic and nutcase from here to California. One thing for sure, I’m not about to give any interviews.”
Cammy tightened the fuchsia ribbon on her bun. “You may want to give that a second thought. If you do the interview, you can control what’s being said. If not, they’ll find someone else, and who knows what that will lead to.”
“Yeesh. You’re right. Guess I’ll have to call her after all. But I only intend to talk about what everyone already knows. The nighttime kiss-of-death thing and not a word more.”
“What do you mean by ‘more’? What else is there?”
“We’d better not talk about it right here. Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.”
&nb
sp; I got right to the point telling Cammy about my wake-up-call conversation with Gladys this morning, including the partridge eye reference.
Cammy’s eyes got wider and wider and her jaw actually dropped. ‘“Fortnight cycles past,’ huh? That’s two weeks from yesterday. The date of the WOW Winemakers Dinner.”
“Uh-huh. So?”
“So you better hope Franz doesn’t decide to show off that new rosé of his. It’s ironic, isn’t it? In a weird sort of way.”
“What is?”
“If I remember what those nuns taught us in Ancient History, some Greek king claimed that drinking undiluted wine would drive you insane, and that’s when they started making diluted blends from white and red grapes. Now, this twist has the opposite curse. It’s the blend that will kill you.”
“Well, it won’t come near us at the winemakers dinner. Franz was waiting on label approval from the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau. Believe me, it won’t come by the time of the dinner. And labeling takes forever, even with our modern equipment.”
I thought back to when I was in my early teens and Francine and I got stuck hand-labeling bottles of wine. I remember having to soak the labels and use a special glue gun to get them to stick just right. It was a wretched experience and involved most of the winery workers plus anyone else my father could commandeer. Then, as Two Witches began to expand in vineyard acquisition and wine production, my father purchased a semi-automatic pressure-sensitive bottle labeler.
It could label over eight hundred bottles an hour and took all the guesswork out of centering that darn label. Not to mention the wasted labels and sticky glue that was the mainstay of my handiwork.
The tension on Cammy’s face dissipated. “That’s a relief. About the second part of the curse. Not that I put any credence into it, but why take a chance? I mean, should something happen, and I’m not saying it will, but should it happen, we don’t need people to worry about drinking our wines.”
“No, they’re too busy worrying about our curses.”
Since no one needed my help in the tasting room, I grabbed a bacon and avocado panini at the bistro and returned home to finalize that screenplay proposal I meant to do a few days ago. Unfortunately, the pile of Vance’s tell-all notes that I had moved to the kitchen table caught my eye the minute I got in the door, and in an instant I forgot all about that proposal and plunked myself down at the table to read them thoroughly.
