Death, Dismay and Rosé

by J. C. Eaton

  “How long do you want me to keep talking?” she asked. “Better yet, text me when you’re back in the car.”

  “Keep an eye out. You’ll see me.”

  No one was in the front parking lot, and once Stephanie had gone inside, I walked toward the bays. Six of them were wide open and I could hear people working. Tools were strewn on the garage floors but I didn’t notice the usual oil spills and messes that seemed to come with the territory.

  I walked quickly. BMW, Mercedes, Mercedes, Audi, BMW, and a white Alpha Romeo. I’d only seen those in the movies. I looked around and still no one in sight. That’s when I peered into the first two closed bays. Empty on both counts. There was a silver Acura in the third bay and I wondered if maybe it belonged to one of the mechanics who was working on his own car. That left one more bay. I leaned forward, almost pressing my nose against the glass when all of a sudden I heard a noise and the garage door started to lift.

  Forget that whole flight or fight thing. I opted for the other F. I froze with my eyes fixed on a gleaming white BMW X3. “Do you know when we can expect this car to be ready?” I asked the dark-haired man who stood inches away from it. “I’m―”

  “I know who you are. You can tell your boss to stop sending over his employees to check on the car. We told him it would be overnight. This isn’t Quickie Oil or one of those fast car places. We’re specialized technicians who take our time to ensure that quality work is being done.”

  I nodded. “Got it. Will do. Um, this has nothing to do with my boss,” I said, “but do you guys work on old, I mean, vintage Karmann Ghias?”

  “We work on all European models. Why? Do you have a Karmann Ghia that needs to be serviced? Depending on the repair, it may take a while for parts. The last one we did took six weeks. And it was body work. Needed a new left fresh air grill. Then the owner decided he wanted the damn thing repainted to Bahia Red from Amber. Go figure.”

  “Wow. Another Karmann Ghia owner. Do you remember who it was? Are you allowed to tell me?”

  “All I know is the guy worked for International Paper and got transferred to someplace in North Carolina.”

  Terrific. A dead end.

  “Thanks. And I’ll tell my boss to hold his horses on the Beemer repair.”

  The man gave me a wave and I walked back to the car. I figured Stephanie was probably anxious to get the heck out of the showroom but I didn’t realize how anxious until I saw her getting escorted into a new Mercedes Benz E-Class.

  Damn it! She was taking a test drive. A test drive of all things! I’m trying to track down a possible killer and she’s what? Christmas shopping in July?

  I charged for the Mercedes but it was too late. Stephanie had already executed a left-hand turn out of the place and was now driving on Routes 5 & 20 toward Waterloo. Part of me wanted to get on her tail and honk the horn but I knew better. Instead, I slunk behind the wheel of my car and scrolled through Facebook until I saw her pull back into the dealership.

  “I’m so sorry, Norrie,” she told me later. “But I ran out of things to ask, so when the salesman insisted I test-drive that new Mercedes, I couldn’t very well say no.”

  “Please don’t tell me you couldn’t say no when he asked if you intended to purchase it.”

  “Of course not. I told him I’d be back with my husband. Now all I have to do is pray that salesman doesn’t set foot in our winery.”

  “Oh, brother.”

  Chapter 21

  I took 96A until it veered off to Route 96 and followed it into Ithaca. Like the Geneva foreign car dealership, Ithaca was a total bust, too. No one had seen nor worked on a canary yellow Karmann Ghia, and in fact, no one had serviced any Karmann Ghias in the last six months. On the bright side, Stephanie was offered one hell of a deal on a new BMW 7 series but she’d have to remortgage her house and the winery.

  “This is taking longer than expected,” Stephanie said when we started for Watkins Glen. Gee, you think. “And we haven’t even stopped for lunch. Let me see if my mother-in-law can watch the boys until I get home. If not, we’ll have to do Watkins Glen another day.”

  I kept my fingers crossed while Stephanie phoned her mother-in-law because I really wanted to get this trek wrapped up in one day.

  “Good news, Norrie. We’re all set. Thank goodness Erline agreed to babysit. She adores the boys and has far more patience than I do. Of course, she spoils them like crazy and gives them whatever they want to eat, but still . . . free babysitting is free babysitting.”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “What do you say we grab a bite to eat and then check out that last place in Watkins Glen? Maybe I can test-drive a―”

  “Don’t even go there. Let’s just eat. My stomach’s been growling since we left Geneva. How about lunch at Wegmans? The one in Ithaca has a huge food court.”

  “Other than the winery, my whole social life is food courts and pizza parlors with kiddie games. What do you say we try out that new winery on County Route 28? Overlook Glen. Derek ate at their restaurant a few weeks ago and said it was good.”

  “I’m game.”

  I took the Finger Lakes version of a roller coaster, aka Route 79, from Ithaca to Watkins Glen, and I thanked the gods my exhaust pipe didn’t wind up on the road. Once in town, I took a left-hand turn up a winding street that gradually morphed into a county road. One twist after another and I began to wonder if I’d read the GPS wrong.

  “There’s the sign,” Stephanie said. “On the right. The place looks magical.”

  Like Two Witches, Overlook Glen stood at the top of a hill with a spectacular view of Seneca Lake. The winery was part of the Seneca Lake Wine Trail but it was fairly new and I wasn’t all that familiar with it.

  The building was a large converted barn painted in shades of gray and white. A circular sign with a logo of a lake and trees stood above the entrance to the winery. The tasting room was to our right and a rather formal-looking restaurant was situated to our left. Stephanie and I wasted no time heading directly for the food.

  The aroma of roasted chicken and garlic filled the room and I all but salivated. It must have shown on my face because the college-aged hostess smiled and said, “The rosemary garlic chicken is our specialty.”

  “I’m surprised Don and Theo haven’t discovered this place,” I told Stephanie, “but then again, they’ve been so busy working at their own winery, they hardly have the time.”

  Naturally we ordered the house specials coupled with a glass of their Chardonnay. Stephanie wiped the edge of her lip with a cloth napkin and sighed. “We need to do this more often. Heck. What am I saying? We need to do this, period! I never get out anymore.”

  “Geez, it’s almost four. I’ve got to make a quick pit stop and then we should get to Glen Foreign Motors before they close.”

  Stephanie gave a nod. “I’m fine. I used the restroom in Ithaca. They actually have scented towels.”

  With that, I stood and walked to the small corridor where the restrooms were located. No scented towels but sparkling clean facilities. When I exited the room, I stumbled over something and caught myself on the small table outside the restroom. Whatever it was, it felt like a marble.

  I bent down to eyeball the culprit and groaned. Some kid had dropped his or her teeny tiny toy car. The words “choking hazard” came to mind and I wondered just how old the kid was. Without scrutinizing the item, I snatched it up and was about to stick it in my pocket when I realized it was a key chain with a small green car attached. And not any old green car. It was a vintage Karmann Ghia and both the car and the chain looked ancient.

  The insignia for Karmann Ghia was on the end of the chain, and I noticed that one of the links was broken. I raced back to the restroom and took a closer look under the bright mirror light. Engraved into the surface on the flipside of the insignia were two initials and I knew there was no way in hell this was a coincidence.

  It was a good thing no one was in the corridor or near our table or I would have run them do
wn. I held the key chain under Stephanie’s nose and couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “Stephanie! Take a look! Take a good look!”

  “Ugh. Is this some disgusting insect you found? You’ve been hanging around those entomologists too long.”

  “No. I think this is Vance’s key chain. Or at least part of it. No keys, only the fob and that car charm. But look closely, the initials V.W. are engraved on the backside of the fob.”

  “Let me see.”

  Stephanie turned the key chain around in her palm at least a half a dozen times. “It’s freaky, isn’t it? I mean, it could be his or it could belong to someone else with the same initials.”

  “Oh, come on. How many V.W. Karmann Ghia key chains are out there? It has to be Vance’s. Whoever stole his car, not to mention the possible murder bit, was in this winery.”

  Stephanie sat up straight and turned her head to face the tasting room. “Maybe not was, maybe is.”

  I immediately eyeballed their tasting room area but all I saw were a few matronly women and a couple who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. “I don’t think the thief is still here.”

  “It might not be a thief, Norrie. It might be some poor man or woman who happens to have the same initials. You should give that key chain to the hostess.”

  “Are you nuts? And lose the only clue I have? Besides, it’s not as if I’ve got someone’s car keys and they can’t drive home.”

  “Someone may come looking for it. It may have sentimental value.”

  “Or it may point to a killer. Look, if it will make you feel any better, I’ll speak to the hostess.”

  Stephanie pushed toward the center of the table and reached for a water glass. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  I wanted to heave. Right thing or not, there was no way I was about to part with the only clue I had. “Check out the dessert menu,” I said. “If they have anything chocolate, order it for me. I’ll go find the hostess.”

  With that, I retrieved the key chain and walked to the small podium in the front of the building, where the hostess was leafing through some brochures.

  “Um, your podium faces the front parking lot; by any chance did you notice a bright yellow Karmann Ghia earlier today?”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a Volkswagen. A vintage Volkswagen.”

  “I wasn’t really looking, but yellow would have stood out and I don’t remember any yellow cars, why?”

  “It may belong to someone I know. I’m not sure. I found a Karmann Ghia key chain fob on the floor by the restrooms and it may belong to my friend.” I held up the key chain and quickly closed my fingers around it. “If it turns out that it’s not my friend’s, and someone comes looking for it, have them call me at Two Witches Winery in Penn Yan. I’m Norrie Ellington, one of the owners.”

  “Uh, sure. No problem. Two Witches, huh? Is it really true about that curse? Everyone’s been talking about it. It’s getting more attention than that Penn Yan kiss-the-gravestone thing. Boy, all we have around here are car races. Although some of the drivers who come in are pretty superstitious. We had one guy who told everyone he wasn’t about to change his lucky socks until the racing season was over.”

  “Yeesh.”

  At that moment, an older couple walked in and the hostess greeted them.

  “Thanks,” I said. I turned and walked back to the table with the key chain safely stashed in my pocket and sat back down.

  Stephanie slid the dessert menu toward me and shrugged. “Only chocolate mousse, so I ordered it for you. I’m trying their wild berry crumble.”

  Moments later, I watched as she spooned the first mouthful and closed her lips around it. The groans and moans that followed were almost X-rated.

  “Good grief, Stephanie, it’s a berry crumble, not―”

  “Shh. Don’t tell anyone. It might be better.”

  “I am so telling Don and Theo.” Then I did the same with the chocolate mousse. It was a blend of bittersweet, milk, and white chocolate in layers that made me forget why we drove to Watkins Glen in the first place.

  Stephanie grinned. “See what I mean?”

  I was about to reply but in that instant, I caught a movement in the corner of my eye and turned to look. A man and a woman were being escorted to a table at the far end of the room and there was no doubt in my mind that the man was the one who shoved me off the dock at Kashong Point.

  “What’s wrong?” Stephanie asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I’m about to find out.”

  Chapter 22

  Under ordinary circumstances I would have filed a report with the Yates County Sheriff’s Office regarding the incident at the dock. And calling out the culprit, even though we were in Schuyler County, would have been a no-brainer. However, that wasn’t an option.

  Instead, I walked outside and took a good look at the parking lot. Three new cars had arrived since Stephanie and I first showed up. I wasted no time jotting down their makes, colors, and license numbers. Then I walked directly to the table where my assailant was seated.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “but do you own that white Cadillac parked out front? It looks like one of the tires might be low.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” the woman said. “I need to see for myself.”

  The man grabbed her by the wrist. “Sit down, Ma. I’ll check it out.”

  Holy cannoli! I took a stab at the car and actually nailed it. Does that qualify as psychic in Zenora’s book?

  When the man stood and headed for the door, I followed. “Remember me? Or maybe I’d be more recognizable with wet hair.”

  The man’s tan complexion turned ashen and he let out a long sigh. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. It was an accident. My buddy tossed in a line but missed with the hook. Then I lost my balance and toppled into you.”

  “Then why did the two of you bolt out of there leaving me to drown?”

  “Drown? The water by the dock doesn’t even come up to your waist. Besides, I did check to see you were all right. And it was my buddy who took off. I was the one who went after him.”

  “Give me a break. Surely you can come up with a better lie.”

  “You won’t be able to prove anything, you know.”

  “Are you talking about the misfortune I had in the water or the one Vance Wexler had? Are you two for two?”

  “Vance Wexler? The dead guy at Kashong Point? It was all over the news. If you’re thinking my buddy and I killed him, you’re way off.”

  “So you knew him?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So why the cloak-and-dagger routine when I asked about his car?”

  Just then, the man’s mother approached us. “Jerome, do I have a flat tire?”

  “It was only an optical illusion from the sun,” I said. “My apologies for worrying you.”

  “That’s all right. Better safe than sorry.” Then she turned to her son. “I’ll see you back at the table.”

  When she was out of earshot, I took a step closer to Jerome. “You can call me or I can call the sheriff’s office. I’ve got your mother’s license plate number. Your choice.”

  Then I handed him one of our Two Witches business cards and winked. “If you must know, I’m one of the witches. I’ll expect that call no later than tomorrow.”

  “I’ll expect that call no later than tomorrow”? Who do I think I am? Philip Marlowe?

  I seriously couldn’t believe what had come out of my mouth. The guy took the card, turned his back to me and walked away. I stood there for a moment, trying to catch my breath. I had no idea who I was dealing with, what possible connection he had with Vance, if he did have a connection, or how dangerous he was. If Theo, Don, Godfrey, or Bradley knew about this encounter they’d ring my neck. And Cammy wouldn’t be that far behind.

  “Everything okay?” Stephanie asked when I got back to our table. “We probably should get going.”

  I waited until we were in the car and on our way to Glen Foreign Motors before I
told her about my second encounter with the dark-haired man.

  Her usually soft voice had a tone I wasn’t accustomed to hearing. “I’m not telling you what to do, Norrie, but if I were you, I’d take the tongue-lashing from Grizzly Gary and tell him what happened.”

  “It may come to that, but not right away.”

  The ride to Glen Foreign Motors was a short one. Back down the winding street and a left on Franklin Street. The dealership was only a few miles from town on Route 14. It was a modest structure that looked like someone had converted an old clapboard house and added a few garage bays. A lineup of sparkling Audis, Beemers, and Mercedes faced the road.

  As soon as I shut the ignition off, I turned to Stephanie. “No test drives. Ask a lot of questions, that’s all. I won’t be long. Only a few bays to check out.”

  We immediately got to work as soon as I slammed the car door. Stephanie moseyed into the building while I made a beeline for the garages. Two doors were open but the cars inside were dark-colored. I moved on. The third door was closed but through its glass window I could see it was vacant.

  The fourth bay had a red Audi. No prizewinners here. I was about to turn back when I noticed the driveway behind the last bay circled around the building. Maybe there was another, smaller garage. Without hesitating I skirted around the building. The asphalt driveway slowly disintegrated into chucks until it finally became a dirt driveway.

  Old automobile parts in various stages of decay were scattered in the weeds, but that’s not what caught my attention. There was an old barn with faded red paint that stood on the top of a knoll and well-worn car tracks led directly to it. Not that I was an expert on car tracks, but the indentations on the tracks were still fresh.

  I crossed my fingers that Stephanie was able to keep the sales staff occupied and I even began to regret telling her not to take a test drive. I needed the time. With no one around, I crept quietly up the driveway until I reached the barn. The front door was secured with a heavy chain and a huge commercial Master lock. Maybe they were storing valuable auto parts, but I didn’t think so. Too cumbersome. Usually those things are stored near the garages.