by J. C. Eaton
Glenda’s voice sounded wispy and out of breath. “I begged them to smudge the winery with sage and lavender. Witches aren’t like ordinary souls. They linger after death.”
I closed the door and gave Cammy a poke. “Betcha in two seconds she mentions Zenora and the need for a séance so we can communicate with Vance. Heck, I didn’t like communicating with him when he was alive.”
“Better not mention that at the interview.”
Just then there was a loud rap at the door and we jumped back. Cammy moved quickly to the side of my desk and I literally threw myself into my chair. “Come on in,” I announced.
A tall fortyish-looking woman with chin-length dark hair stepped inside. She had a beige top with cuffed three-quarter sleeves, navy slacks and navy pumps. Behind her was a young guy who couldn’t have been older than twenty. At least from his appearance. Curly blond hair and an earring. He juggled a TV camera and a tripod.
“Good morning, I’m Lorraine Stuyvesant and this is Chad Montgomery, our cameraman. Thanks so much for agreeing to this interview. It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“Likewise. I’m Norrie Ellington and this is our tasting room manager, Cammy Rosinetti.”
Cammy gave a quick wave and an even quicker hello before racing out of the office. The thud of the door almost made the camera guy drop the tripod.
“Um, however you want to set up in here is fine. Can I offer you anything? Water? Iced tea? Coffee?”
My God. I’m sounding like a flight attendant.
“We’re fine,” Lorraine said. “We stopped at Tim Horton’s on our way over. How about if we pull those two chairs over and we can talk face-to-face as Chad films us.”
I immediately dragged my chair out from behind my desk and set it across from the one Cammy had vacated a few seconds ago. When I’d left the house, my hair was perfectly draped on my shoulders and I had added a bit of tinted sunblock to my face. Not enough to cover the light freckles but sufficient enough so my complexion wouldn’t appear shiny. Now, given the clammy feeling that had taken over my body, I wasn’t too sure.
“This is a recording,” Lorraine said, “so you don’t have to worry. We can edit out any bloopers. Are you ready to begin?”
I nodded and then remembered something Theo told me: The camera adds ten pounds to you. Then I sucked in my stomach and took a quick breath.
“Welcome Channel Eight viewers,” Lorraine began. “I’m Lorraine Stuyvesant, and with me today is Norrie Ellington, co-owner of Two Witches Winery in Penn Yan. We’re here today to chat about the infamous Two Witches Summer Solstice Curse that may or may not have been responsible for the untimely and unexplained death of Vance Wexler, president of the Geneva Historical Society.”
Then, like a burp, I cut in. “Oh, it was responsible, all right. No doubt in my mind. I mean, what else could have happened? It’s not as if one of those Cornell entomologists who happened to be at Kashong Point at the same time was responsible.”
Lorraine’s eyes looked as if they couldn’t get any wider. “What entomologists?”
“The ones studying crane flies. Very detrimental to plant tissue.”
“I see.” Lorraine thumbed through her notes like a banker counting cash. “Yes, our news team noted something to that effect. I wasn’t aware the entomologists crossed paths with the crew from Mr. Wexler’s historical society.”
“Oh, they crossed paths, all right. More like trampled over the delicate field study area, resulting in a very time-consuming recalculation of the population, not to mention the insect behavioral study.”
Lorraine looked up from her notes. “Hmm, so maybe Mr. Wexler’s untimely demise had more to do with, say, one of those entomologists than the full moon summer solstice curse that’s been making the headlines.”
Oh, my God! What the heck have I done?
“Oh, no. If anyone’s responsible, it’s those two witches, Adeliza and Derella Marsten, certainly not Dr. Alex Bollinger.”
“Dr. Bollinger?”
“Yes, he’s in charge of the insect study. His department works with our vineyard managers to ensure winery pests like the spotted lanternfly are kept under control.”
I think it’s the lanternfly. Or was it a worm?
“I’m beginning to understand,” Lorraine said. “If those amateur archeologists interrupted a valuable field study, there could be scientific as well as financial implications. That does spell out motive, doesn’t it? That is, if Mr. Wexler’s cause of death is deemed a homicide.”
The only homicide will be mine if I don’t get this turned around fast.
“Vance Wexler’s death is still classified as unexplained.” But not for long.
Chapter 15
I took a deep breath and figuratively threw Adeliza and Derella under the bus like nobody’s business. From illicit winemaking to herbal concoctions and heaven knows how many spells, I left little doubt that their full moon summer solstice curse would continue to linger around Seneca Lake until 2062, when the next event of its kind would take place.
And while Lorraine seemed satisfied with my interview, Godfrey wasn’t. The three-minute segment aired that night during prime time as part of 8 ROC’s human interest programming. And five seconds later Godfrey called, all but jolting me off the couch since I had upped the sound level on the landline.
“Good grief, Norrie! What the hell were you thinking? You let out enough rope to hang the entire entomology department. At least you got the lanternfly part right.”
“I’m sorry, Godfrey. Honestly. I tried to do the exact opposite but once I mentioned the field study, everything kind of got out of control.”
“Well, maybe it will turn out to be a slow viewing night. Anyway, Alex is a basket case. He wasn’t officially charged with murder since the autopsy is still ongoing.”
“Ongoing? They released the results to the media.”
“Preliminary results. Not the official results. I hate to say it, but I think they’re hoping they’ll find something that links Alex to Vance’s death.”
“Like what? There were no signs of a struggle. No bruises. Just plain old suffocation.”
“They’ll run the DNA around Vance’s mouth and nose. Dead skin, dried saliva . . . that sort of thing.”
“Then Alex has nothing to worry about.”
“Norrie, they were face-to-face arguing. Trace DNA could have wound up on Vance’s face.”
“Or the real murderer’s DNA. If it turns out Vance was killed and didn’t die of some allergic reaction. Listen, Vance had a boatload of people who were ticked off with him. Theo, Don, and I went through the notes we found in his office. He wrote one of them himself and mentioned taking out a restraining order on someone with the initials R.S. It looked like Vance was concerned that R.S. would get even.”
“You think this R.S. might have killed him?”
“It’s the best clue we have, only there are no R.S.’s in the Geneva Historical Society. Don got the list and checked. And there were no letters of complaint with anyone who had those initials.”
“Think it was personal? Like a girlfriend or boyfriend?”
“Vance seemed too self-absorbed to be dating anyone. And the news said he was single. Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe we didn’t check his Facebook status. Godfrey, let me call you back. I’m off to pay social media a visit.”
I grabbed my laptop and immediately logged in to Facebook. Sure enough, Vance had a profile. Single and not much info. If I wanted to learn more, I’d have to submit a friend request, and well, that was a few days late.
The photos on the left-hand side of the page were vintage cars. Nothing was listed under his bio and his recent posts were about the Seneca Tribe Village on Seneca Lake. I scrolled down and found one post that didn’t deal with Ontario or Yates County history. It was about a vintage car race at Watkins Glen and was dated a month ago. Bummer. Nothing I could use and nothing at all about an R.S. To be on the safe side, I checked Instagram, Pinterest, and LinkedIn, but n
othing.
No sooner had I shut my laptop than the landline rang again. This time it was Theo and Don, who had also seen my less-than-stellar performance on 8 ROC.
“You may not want to grant any more interviews again, Norrie,” Don said. “Unless they’re carefully scripted.”
“Aargh. I know. I just got off the phone with Godfrey. I’ll probably have to buy the entire entomology department lunch one of these days. Listen, we’ve got two possible leads and a dead end on one of them. You checked the historical society and R.S. wasn’t there. I moseyed through social media and those initials didn’t appear on anything Vance had on his Facebook page. Which, by the way, wasn’t much.”
“Theo thought the R.S. could be a local business, so we scoured the online directories for Ontario and Yates counties and came up with a big fat zero. Might as well put that one on hold for a while. What was the other?”
“Vance’s car. One of Alex’s students saw it at Kashong Point on Friday afternoon but it wasn’t there Saturday morning when Vance’s body was found.”
“Sure it was the right car?” Don asked.
“Not many bright yellow Karmann Ghias floating around. Yeah, I’m sure. I’m going to run down to Kashong Point tomorrow right after our WOW meeting. I figure I can ask around the campground and see if anyone knows anything. Right now, I don’t think the sheriff’s office is looking for that car.”
“When you talk to people, please don’t try to pass yourself off as an investigator. We don’t have that much money for a bail bondsman.”
“I’ll tell the truth. That I’m a winery owner and that Vance’s unexplained death has some serious implications for our winery due to the Two Witches curse and that I need to track down the flesh-and-blood killer before things get out of hand.”
“Norrie, no one really knows if the guy was killed. The autopsy was preliminary and the toxicology report hasn’t been finalized.”
“Then why is Deputy Hickman badgering Alex? I’ll tell you why. His office wants to be poised and ready to make an arrest as soon as that other data is received. Anyway, which one of you plans to be at the WOW meeting tomorrow?”
“Theo does. He drew the short straw. I don’t think it will be a long meeting. The only thing on the agenda is the winemakers dinner.”
I gulped. “The written agenda. You know as well as I do that we’ll all get drawn in to discuss some picky little thing that could’ve been handled by an email.”
“Yeah, guess you’re right about that. Wonder what it will be this time. Oh, well. Theo will be sure to tell me.”
• • •
As it happened, the “picky little thing” turned out to be the Two Witches summer solstice curse and my “unfortunate blunder” during the 8 ROC interview with Lorraine Stuyvesant. At least they waited until our discussion about the winemakers dinner was over.
“Summer blends,” Madeline said. “That’s what we plan to serve at the winemakers dinner. You all got my memo with the menu. Pan-seared Chilean sea bass with garlic and lemon sauce and Malaysian tamarind prawn. Naturally we need to pair it with white or light wines. We’re featuring our Sunbeam Delight, a Niagara grape blend with hints of pineapple, lychee, and papaya. What about the rest of you?”
“Lakeview Breeze for us,” Catherine said. “It’s a Chardonnay blend.”
“Vignoles,” Stephanie chimed in.
As they shouted out their selections, I suddenly remembered part two of the summer solstice curse—that bit about drinking rosé and dropping dead. I wasn’t exactly sure if those witches meant rosé produced on our hill or rosé from that idiotic five-mile radius. And while the rational part of my brain knew it was a ridiculous notion, the other ninety percent of my brain wasn’t all that sure.
Not wanting to sound like Glenda, I sat still and held my breath until they were all done. Four white wine blends and one red. I was so busy tallying them up in my head, I didn’t hear Madeline’s question.
“Norrie, were you listening?”
“Huh?”
“Do you know what wine you’re going to serve? At the winemakers dinner. What wine will Two Witches be bringing?”
Thankfully I remembered Cammy talking about the melon and pear notes in our Cayuga and Riesling blend and how she thought it would be perfect for the winemakers dinner.
“Summer Magic,” I said. “It’s light and fruity.”
Madeline nodded. “Good. Looks like we’re all on board for next Saturday. Does anyone want me to review the menu again?”
A collective groan was all Madeline needed to skip over the dinner and launch right into my interview fiasco last night. “Dear me, I wouldn’t want to be in that entomologist’s shoes. All I can say is thank goodness I kept my diatribes to the verbal kind as far as Mr. Wexler was concerned. Imagine not letting someone extend their porch by three feet.”
The next seven or eight minutes were spent with stories about how Vance Wexler made life miserable for anyone in the new historic district who wished to modernize their home. Then Madeline went over the program for the winemakers dinner and how we sold a record number of seats. Forty-nine at the pricey amount of one hundred sixty-five dollars a pop. Glad I didn’t have to spring the money for mine. Of course, given the exotic menu and the wines, it was a pretty good deal.
The event would take place rain or shine in the clearing above her vineyard. Finger Lakes Awnings and Pavilions was to arrive the Thursday before to set up the giant white tent complete with tables and chairs. I tried to listen but honestly, Madeline just kept droning on and on about centerpieces and stemware, so I discreetly slipped my iPhone from my pocket and looked down to check my emails. That’s when I noticed one with a red flag alert on it.
It was from Cammy and it read, “Better get over here quick. Deputy Hickman has a search warrant for your office.”
Chapter 16
“Well, this was certainly a fun meeting,” I said, “but I’ve got to get back to the winery. Yes, indeed. Back to the winery.”
Theo gave me a funny look. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. I need to search through that grizzly pile of screenplay notes on my desk. I just remembered a deadline I have.”
I stood and started for the door when Theo pushed his chair back. “I’ll join you,” he said. Then he glanced at the ladies who were seated around Madeline’s enclosed porch. “That is, unless there’s unfinished business. I don’t have to review screenplay notes like Norrie.”
Madeline clasped her hands together and gave him a nod. “No, we’re all set here. Until next Saturday. Of course, I was hoping everyone would stay and give their opinions on the centerpieces but that’s not necessary.”
A chorus of “we trust your judgment” and “whatever you decide” immediately followed her comment. I didn’t wait for further conversation. I bolted out of the place as if it was about to explode. Theo was at my heels and all but tackled me in Madeline’s driveway.
“What’s Deputy Hickman doing in your office? Very cryptic. Stephanie probably just figured it out, and it won’t take Rosalee long.”
“I don’t know but you may be next. The only thing I can think of is that someone looked at the surveillance footage from that night in Vance’s office and shared it with the Geneva police and the Ontario County Sheriff’s Office. And we both know Hickman’s working with them on this case.”
“Oh, crap! I’d better call Don.”
While Theo reached for his cell phone, I texted Cammy, On my way. Then I sent another text to Bradley, just in case.
“Don busted a gut when I told him,” Theo said. “Grizzly Gary hasn’t made it to the Grey Egret but give it time. Call me and let me know what’s going on.”
“You mean let you know how much bail money I need?”
“You? We’ll both need it.”
I shot out of Madeline’s driveway and down Route 14 in a nanosecond. As tempting as it was to speed my way to Two Witches Hill, I decided to stay within five miles of the speed limit because, hea
ven knows, I didn’t need any more trouble.
Sure enough, Deputy Hickman’s official vehicle was parked right in front of the winery. If that wasn’t cause to scare wine tasters away, I don’t know what would be. I look a breath, ran my hands through my hair like I always do when I’m nervous, and walked inside the building.
Lizzie reached out her hand to my wrist the second I got within range of her. “What’s going on? Deputy Hickman showed Cammy and me that search warrant and he’s in your office. Thankfully Cammy had the good sense to close the door.”
“I’m not sure but it may have something to do with a bit of sleuthing that Theo and I did at the Geneva Historical Society on Saturday night.”
“Oh, dear. Nancy Drew was always careful to cover her tracks. Discretion was her middle name.”
Terrific. Now she has a middle name.
“Um, yeah, well, she had a good author. Or authors . . .”
Just then Cammy approached the cash register where we were standing and motioned for me to join her in the kitchen. “Hurry up,” she whispered. “He doesn’t know you’re here.”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on? What he’s looking for?”
“Whatever it is, the search warrant’s only for your office in the winery. Not your house.”
I let that sink in for a minute. If the warrant included my house, Deputy Hickman would be looking for the papers Theo and I copied from Vance’s computer files. After all, I could have stashed them in either location. That meant he was snooping through my office for something else. The question was . . . what?
“Did he come alone?”
Cammy nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, I can’t put this off much longer. I’d better go inside before he ransacks the place.”
“Yell if you need me!”
I left the kitchen, walked across the corridor and opened the door to my office. Before I could utter a word, Deputy Hickman stepped away from my desk and spoke. “It was about time you got here. I figured someone on your staff would send out a high alert as soon as I showed up.”
