by J. C. Eaton
By now I had passed the Watkins Glen Golf Course on my left and Route 14 became North Madison Avenue. I was now in the village of Watkins Glen, with streets full of tourists enjoying their early evening strolls. The blue truck adhered to the speed limits and I was able to get a better look at the guy who rode in the bed. They’d thrown a tarp over the Porsche engine and he rested one arm on top of it as if it was a settee in someone’s formal living room.
“Can either of you make out the license plate? I can barely read it,” I said.
Theo nudged Don’s head to the right. “That’s because it’s caked with dirt. Probably on purpose. Its reflective surface won’t show up even with your brights on.”
Bummer.
North Madison was now North Franklin Street, with Watkins Glen State Park on my left. I was a high school senior the last time I hiked the trails that overlooked its waterfalls and gorges. Funny, I meant to go there with Bradley but we never seemed to find the time.
“Norrie! He’s making a sharp left!” Don shouted.
I immediately did the same and held back on the tight curve of Old Corning Road, which branched into Routes 329 and 17. Once the road straightened, I lengthened the distance between my Toyota and their truck, but not to the extent that I’d let them out of my sight.
The truck veered left onto Route 329, and if it wasn’t for the lights emanating from the few farms scattered in the area, I would have thought we’d left civilization entirely. I followed the truck’s rear lights because it was now impossible to make out the vehicle in the dark.
Theo leaned forward again. “Where the heck do you think they’re going?”
“Probably to another old barn. That’s my guess. What about you, Don?”
“I stopped guessing five miles ago.”
It felt as if we’d never get off Route 329 but the truck turned south on Meads Hill Road and then left on Route 16.
“Shazam!” Theo bumped my shoulder. “They’re headed for the raceway. Watkins Glen International Raceway. That’s got to be it. A Porsche Carrera RS two-point-seven engine . . . Hmm, now it’s beginning to make sense. They’ve got some vintage car race going on this weekend. Whatever it is they’re up to, I doubt it’s kosher. By the way, I added a few more part-timers to our tasting room because those things bring in the crowds and Don and I have to leave early Saturday for the winemakers dinner.”
Not a single turnoff on Route 16 until we passed Grand Prix Road. “Yep, we’re near the race track,” I said. I expected the truck to make a right on Bronson Hill, but instead it vanished right in front of me.
“Where’d it go? I don’t see it. Did he turn on Bronson Hill or keep going on 16?”
“Whoa. It’s like something out of The Twilight Zone,” Don said. “I swear the truck just vanished in front of us. As if it had a cloaking device like those stealth planes.”
Theo leaned over Don’s shoulder. “Those things don’t have cloaking devices. Only in sci-fi movies. They’ve got some sort of detection system that delays identification. And, yes, before you or Norrie say anything, I happen to read more than the winery news. And for your information, what those thieves rigged up in their truck is probably nothing more than a toggle switch to their lights. They must have realized at some point Norrie was tailing them.”
“Or we lost them on that curve. I’m not so sure I buy that toggle switch idea of yours. So now what?” Don asked. “Pick a road and take a chance?”
I moaned. “We’d be wasting our time. If you ask me, the next time that engine surfaces will be at the raceway. But under whose car is anyone’s guess. I can’t believe we lost them. I suppose I’d better swing around and head back up the lake. I don’t know about either of you, but I’m starving and I saw an Italian restaurant smack dab in the middle of Watkins Glen.”
Theo gave my shoulder a poke. “Then what are you waiting for? Turn this sucker around and we can cry in our marinara sauce.”
• • •
A few hours later, I pulled up to Don and Theo’s house. The meatballs, sausage, and penne pasta settled in the bottom of my stomach and I felt logy. It was an uneventful drive home with the exception of Theo muttering about buying a comprehensive umbrella policy in the event of a catastrophic car accident.
I kept playing the car chase over and over in my mind but the outcome was always the same. I lost them. Somewhere on a stinking road less than a mile from the Watkins Glen International Raceway.
“That engine’s going into someone’s race car,” I announced the second Don unbuckled his seat belt. “When’s that race? Saturday?”
“The qualifying race is Saturday. The actual race is Sunday,” he said.
Theo reached over the back of my seat and put his arm on my shoulder. “Norrie, there’s no way you’re going to figure out who’s car is the new recipient of a Carrera RS two-point-seven engine. Those guys will have reinstalled it way before the qualifier on Saturday. Heck, the other car is probably sitting in a garage or barn near the raceway. What do you intend to do? Poke around every farm, junkyard, and country house off of Route 329?”
“Not when you put it that way. I just need to come up with another plan, that’s all.”
The minute I said plan, Don and Theo both groaned.
“Word of advice,” Don said. “Don’t! Don’t come up with another plan.”
I tried not to sound whiny but I couldn’t help it. “We were so close. So close. Ugh. I suppose the only recourse I have now is to call Deputy Hickman in the morning and show him the visible proof that it was Vance’s car under that tarp in the barn. Don’t worry. I’ll leave the two of you out of it.”
Don chuckled. “Grizzly Gary’s not that dense. He’ll figure out you couldn’t have done that kind of snooping on your own. No sense trying to cover up. What’s the worst they can get you and Theo for? Eavesdropping? And what’s the worst he can get me for? Cheating on my diet with ice cream?”
Or driving a getaway car to a scene of a crime.
Theo got out of the car and leaned into the driver’s side, where I had rolled down the window. “Don’s right. Call him and get it over with. Meanwhile, I intend to call my insurance agent about beefing up our policies.”
I elbowed him through the door. “Very funny.”
Chapter 31
At least Charlie had a good night’s sleep. Snoring, grunting, and passing gas as usual. Mine was fitful at best, so it was no surprise that I actually woke up before he did.
“I’m going to the public safety building as soon as I have my morning coffee,” I told the dog. “Might as well get this over with. At least it wasn’t a total bust. We found Vance’s car and a damn good motive for murder.”
The dog jumped from the bed, gave me a funny look with those big brown eyes of his, and then charged down the stairs to his doggie door. Forty-five minutes later, once he was fed and I was showered and dressed, I was off to see Deputy Hickman before I lost the nerve.
I literally bumped into Gladys Pipp on my way inside the building.
“Goodness, but you’re up early, Norrie. Don’t tell me Deputy Hickman made an appointment to see you and forgot to tell me. He does that, you know. Makes all sorts of appointments and then gets grouchy when they coincide with the ones I’ve made for him.”
She held the door for me and we both walked into the lobby.
“Um, no. I’ve got something really urgent to share with him and it couldn’t be done over the phone.”
“All right. Follow me. Once I stash my purse, I’ll buzz him. Keep your fingers crossed he’s had his coffee.”
Had his coffee? I’m keeping my fingers crossed he doesn’t lock me up.
The moment Grizzly Gary stepped out of his office and eyeballed me, a horrible pit formed in my stomach. I gave him a slight wave and swallowed. “Thanks for seeing me. I came by some information that’s pertinent to Vance Wexler’s murder.”
“Came by or did something illegal?”
I moved my palm up and down. “Maybe a
bit of both.”
Gladys looked up from her desk and widened her eyes. I was positive Deputy Hickman noticed because he motioned for me to go into his office. “No sense having this conversation out in the open, go inside and have a seat.”
The hard metal chair felt as if it came directly from the Spanish Inquisition. Deputy Hickman plunked himself at his desk, propped his elbows on it, and leaned forward. “Out with it. I’m anxious to see how my day is about to unfold.”
“Fine. And please keep in mind that old adage about the end justifying the means.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Miss Ellington, just tell me what you did.”
“I found Vance Wexler’s car and I can prove it.”
There was absolutely no expression on Grizzly Gary’s face and I thought perhaps he’d make one hell of a poker player. I took a breath and continued. “I tried to track down that Karmann Ghia by checking out the foreign car dealerships in the area. And, um, one old barn behind the dealership in Watkins Glen. That’s where I saw it.”
Deputy Hickman’s scowl was so intense I thought his eyebrows would touch. “You just happened to walk into someone’s barn?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Then suppose you give me the words.”
For the next two minutes his face fluctuated from scowl to frown as I explained exactly what Don, Theo, and I did. Then he crossed his arms and stood. “Help me understand, Miss Ellington, why you don’t simply work on those screenplays of yours or do something at your winery. Surely, you must have enough on your plate without adding amateur detective to the list.”
“Oh, trust me. I have lots to do. Lots. But I can’t sit by and watch someone I know get railroaded for a murder he didn’t commit.”
“What you did was breaking and entering. The second time you did that. You were lucky I didn’t say a word to anyone at the Geneva Police Department. And now what? The Schuyler County Sheriff’s Office? Good grief, Miss Ellington, how many law enforcement agencies do you plan to bring into this tangled mess?”
Yeesh. He’s beginning to sound like my parents when I was a kid. “How many times do I have to tell you?” I hope he’s not expecting me to give him a number.
“Um, I suppose as many as we need.”
Deputy Hickman sank back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “You said you had evidence. Show me the evidence.”
Finally!
I whipped out my phone and pulled up the pictures I had snapped. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to adjust the lighting, so what I was stuck with were three grainy photos of a car with a tarp draped over the front.
The scowl never left the deputy’s face. “It’s a car. I’ll give you that much.”
“It really is Vance’s car. Honestly,” I said. “The three men I told you about took out the engine and it was a Porsche engine. A Carrera 911 RS two-point-seven. We overheard them. A two-point-seven engine. That’s apparently a big deal. And one of them mentioned losing part of Vance’s key chain. Here, I’ve got it in my pocket.”
The tiny Karmann Ghia replica dangled at the end of the key chain as I handed it to Deputy Hickman. “Look at the fob. The initials V.W. are engraved on it.”
“V.W., huh? Did you ever stop to think those initials stood for Volkswagen?”
“You’ve got to believe me. It’s his car. Can’t you call the Schuyler County Sheriff’s Office and get them to get a search warrant or something and check?”
Deputy Hickman shook his head and handed me the fob. “Even if I wanted to, there’s not enough evidence to support it. But I will do this much. I know a few deputies in Schuyler County. I’ll give one of them a call and see if they can have an unofficial look-see into that barn as a follow up to a tip they got. Of course, it would be up to Glen Foreign Motors to let them inside, but it’s the best I can do. Now, before you tempt me to place you under arrest for interfering with an investigation, not to mention breaking and entering, I suggest you let the sheriff’s offices handle the investigation.”
“But what about Dr. Bollinger?”
“If other, credible evidence surfaces, it would be cause for us to drop the charges.”
“Oh, it exists all right or I wouldn’t be here. Uh, I suppose it’s too late to check for prints on that key chain, huh?”
“Only if you want yours to show up.”
I rolled my eyes and put the key chain, fob and all, in my pocket. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Consider my decision to not place you under arrest a gift. Have a good day, Miss Ellington.”
• • •
At least the morning wasn’t a total bust. I stopped at the Penn Yan Diner and ordered a giant stack of blueberry pancakes before returning to Two Witches Hill. The tasting room wouldn’t open for another twenty minutes, but I figured I’d bring Cammy up to date on the latest letdown I faced in my attempt to save Alex.
What I didn’t figure on was getting greeted by Glenda, who literally shrieked out my name the minute I stepped into the winery. “Nooorieee! Noooriee! Did you get my text? Did you get my voicemail? I even left a message on your landline a few seconds ago. Zenora’s ensconced with those murders. That’s right. Murders. Zenora’s positive Adeliza and Derella’s deaths weren’t accidental. And that’s not all, the solstice curse is worse than we originally thought. If I imagined for one single minute―”
“Whoa. Slow down. Calm down. You’re going too fast.”
She grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to the alcove where the restrooms were. “Shh! Act natural.”
“Shh! Act natural”? She’s the one bellowing like a banshee.
“Okay. Okay. Suppose you tell me all about this in my office. Lizzie’s on the phone and no one else noticed I came in.”
Glenda nodded and followed me into the office. I closed the door behind us and pulled my chair closer to the one on the other side of the desk. “Suppose you start with Zenora’s findings. Did she locate more letters in Uris Library?”
Glenda took a long, deep breath. “Once she deciphered the letters from the Benton residents, she learned Adeliza and Derella were threatened by Hestherlee Crackstone for allegedly strangling her chickens. Something about the name Crackstone bothered Zenora so she reached out to a friend of hers who works at Widener Library in Boston. The centerpiece of Harvard’s libraries or something like that. Zenora was mumbling when she told me.”
“Her friend is a research clerk, too?”
“Not exactly. More like part of the housekeeping staff.”
Terrific. The cleaning lady.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Glenda clasped her hands together and lowered her head for a moment. “Zenora and her friend are in the same spiritual circle.”
And here we go . . .
“Suffice to say, the name Crackstone is quite familiar to them. Painfully long history of witch-hating Crackstones in Salem, Marblehead, and Swampscott, Massachusetts. I’ll get to the point—Hestherlee also moved to the town of Benton to wreak havoc on the Marstens for what she believed was a spell they put on her husband so that he spurned her for another woman.”
“So the chicken thing was kind of an afterthought?”
“More like an excuse to burn down their house.”
“How does Zenora’s friend know this?”
“Because the original Crackstones came over on the Mayflower and someone took the time to track their family history. Let’s just say the position Zenora’s friend holds at Widener Library allows her access to all sorts of documents.”
“Holy crud!”
Glenda reached forward and grasped both my wrists. “Norrie, the Two Witches curse needs to be undone before it claims more victims. It’s an exponential curse.”
Exponential. I knew I hated math for a reason.
“Um, is that the kind of thing that’s in Zenora’s skill set? Eliminating curses?”
“Oh, heavens, no. Because the unwinding of the curse has to be directed at the last Crackstone descendant in th
e line.”
Let’s hope the expression “Live long and multiply” didn’t apply to Hestherlee’s prodigy.
“Um, not to sound obtuse, but how on earth is Zenora, or her friend, for that matter, going to find the last Crackstone descendant?”
“With your help.”
Suddenly, I wished I had another screenplay deadline, because that sounded a whole lot better than what, I’m sure, Glenda was about to propose.
Chapter 32
“Zenora can’t do this alone. She’s going to be focused on figuring out the best way to unravel a curse. It’s not like setting up a DVR or programming a sprinkler system.”
“What is it that she needs my help with?” I asked.
“Tracking down Hestherlee’s descendants.”
“Um, how many of them did she start with before the husband took off?”
“One, by the name of Degory Crackstone. That’s as much as I know. Or as far as Zenora got. She emailed me a copy of the family records up until eighteen eighty-nine. Those were the ones she found at Uris Library and I forwarded them to you. She thinks the more recent records must be housed with the Yates County Historical Society.”
Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going.
Glenda steepled her hands and smiled. “Once she deciphered the handwriting, she typed everything on her computer. It shouldn’t be too difficult to pore through those old ledgers and county records to bring it up to date.”
“That’s at least a century and a quarter.”
“I know. I know. You can thank her. She already did the hard work.”
Just then, Cammy knocked on my door. “Is Glenda with you? We need her out here.”
“Coming,” Glenda shouted. She stood and moved her chair back. “About that curse. I should have mentioned it earlier. According to Zenora’s friend, the second part of the curse is really, really powerful. Under no circumstances should anyone be served rosé at the winemakers dinner. Not until after midnight, when the curse vanishes until the next full moon summer solstice.”
