by J. C. Eaton
Theo turned ashen. “What am I supposed to talk about?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just bore them. Tell them about the malolactic process in wine. That’s always a snoozer.”
“I, I, um, er―”
“Just do it!”
As I stood and headed for the rear of the tent, adjacent to the winery kitchen, I could hear Stephanie, Derek, Rosalee, and Don ask each other if they had a clue what was going on. Then I heard the familiar tap of Madeline’s fork on a wineglass.
“And now, everyone, a very special treat from Franz Johannes, the esteemed winemaker from Two Witches Winery. He saved this as a special surprise for all of us, including the winery’s owner, Norrie Ellington. We are about to taste their newest addition—a robust rosé that’s bound to be unforgettable.
Unforgettable, hell. It’ll be regrettable if I don’t stop Franz in his tracks.
Chapter 40
I ran from the tent like a madwoman. When I glanced back at the dais, Franz was no longer seated there. I figured he had to be in their kitchen making sure the waitstaff was poised and ready to serve his latest blend.
Not if I can help it.
Granted, while I didn’t actually believe in curses, or cursed wine, for that matter, I wasn’t about to take a chance. The thought of festivity-goers falling down dead after consuming one of our wines was enough to get my adrenaline pumping. Besides, I’d have a heck of a time explaining this to Deputy Hickman.
The tent flap swung open with a swish from my hand and I started for the kitchen. In the background, I heard Theo’s voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, before we taste the Two Witches Rosé, I thought it would be interesting to provide you with some background on that particular wine.”
Boy, am I going to owe him big-time.
Beads of sweat poured down my cheeks as I thundered toward Billsburrow Winery’s kitchen. Inside, the master chef was examining the desserts and snapping his fingers. Franz stood over two large carboys that contained a lovely pinkish liquid.
“You can’t serve this!” I shouted. Then I literally threw myself on top of one of the carboys and flung my arm out to block anyone from approaching the other one.
Franz looked stricken. “Did someone tamper with the carboy?” Then he continued to spout in German. “Mist! Ich glaub mich knutscht ein Elch!”
“No, the wine is fine. I’m sure the rosé is lovely. We just can’t drink it. Not now. Not for at least―” I looked around the kitchen and spied a wall clock. “Ten minutes. At least ten minutes.”
“I’m not sure I understand, but Herbert brought the other carboy into the tent a few minutes ago. From the side flap nearest to the caterer’s van.”
“Oh, no! We have to wait at least ten minutes.”
Franz furrowed his brow and shuddered. “It’s wine, not beer. We don’t have to wait for foam to settle.”
By now I was halfway out the door and on my way back to the tent. “Not foam,” I shouted. “A witch’s curse.”
I stormed back inside the tent and watched, horrified, as the servers began to fill wineglasses from one of the carboys and deliver the trays to the tables. Meanwhile, I could hear Theo droning on.
“And so, we can thank the ancient Greeks, who had the foresight to bring wine and vines to southern France when they founded the city of Marseilles . . .”
Without wasting a second, I rushed to the front of the dais and said, “Yes, the ancient Greeks. And together we will toast them and our hosts at Billsburrow Winery.” Then I whispered to Theo, “Keep talking for five more minutes.”
I worried that Theo might run out of things to say, but I had my own problems. I had to prevent the servers from placing the filled wineglasses on the tables. Like an owl after a field mouse, I moved my head in every which direction to locate the servers.
The first one was a few tables to my left and I all but tackled her. The tray fell, the wineglasses broke, and I sheepishly muttered, “Oops.” Then I was off to the only other wine server I saw in the tent—a tall, lanky young man who reminded me of an English butler.
Look out! This ain’t Downton Abbey.
Making a mad dive to extricate the tray from his hand, my dress caught on the bottom of one of the chairs, and when the guest pulled the chair closer to the table, I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric being ripped apart.
Oh, no. Francine’s dress. Francine’s dress with the price tag still on it because I didn’t remove it after all. I am so dead.
There was no time to look down and assess the damage. I took hold of the tray and said, “I insist.” The server didn’t try to stop me, but instead backed off and held his hands as if in surrender once I got hold of the tray.
“And so you see,” Theo continued, “the color of the rosé can range from onion-skin orange to deeper pink hues. Transparent to mulled.”
Suddenly, I heard Rosalee’s voice. “Enough, Theo! Quit describing it and start serving it. We could all be dead by the time you stop talking. This isn’t a filibuster.”
It had to be past midnight but I wasn’t sure. Not without checking my iPhone, but unfortunately that was in my bag at the table. Then I realized it would take a few minutes to get the wineglasses on the table and inform Franz we needed those other carboys. The guests were safe.
“Thank you, Mr. Buchman,” I shouted as I motioned for the lanky server to take hold of the tray again. He approached me slowly, almost as if he expected me to snap at him or something.
“It’s okay,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Serve the rosé.”
By now, Franz had arrived back at the tent followed by two servers with trays of our wine. Madeline, who looked somewhat shell-shocked, returned to the dais. “And now, the culminating event of the evening, Two Witches Rosé complemented by our heavenly dessert medley—assorted seasonal berries, fruit tarts, mini-strawberry cheesecakes, and of course, our signature chocolate cake. Thank you, everyone, for making this event such a success.”
I returned to our table with the hem of Francine’s dress in shreds and took my seat.
“Were you trying to impersonate one of the Marx Brothers?” Derek asked. “Because for a while, you gave Harpo and Groucho a run for their money.”
“Just a little snafu with the rosé but everything’s fine.” I lifted my head and glanced around the tent. No one keeled over. “I wanted to be sure it was served at the right temperature.”
“Well, it’s perfect,” Stephanie said. “Absolutely perfect.” She took the tiniest piece of cake and a few of the summer berries. “I need to compliment Madeline. Care to join me, Norrie?”
Stephanie stood and I immediately followed. Madeline was seated on the dais but Stephanie walked to a less crowded corner of the tent.
“I wanted to ask you what you found out about that car engine but Derek overhears everything and overreacts.”
I gave her the abridged version and added, “If we don’t mess things up, Godfrey and I will finagle our way into one of the bays at the raceway tomorrow. I think I know where Vance’s engine wound up.”
“You mean who killed him and stole it?”
“Not sure about the murder part, but the theft, maybe.”
“You’d better be really careful, Norrie. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“I’ll have Godfrey with me. Maybe he can bring along a tarantula or something.”
Stephanie blanched.
“Relax, I’m only kidding. Look, we should go over to Madeline so we don’t raise any suspicions as far as your husband is concerned. He’s probably furious you went with me to those car dealers.”
“Actually, he was relieved I didn’t purchase anything. By the way, what was that hubbub with the wine? Room temperature my butt.”
“Long story. The curse was a two-parter but we circumvented it.”
“You really believe that stuff? You’re as bad as my twins.”
“Oh, I don’t believe it, but why take the chance?”
When we got back to our table, everyone was
finishing up. Rosalee announced that if she stayed seated any longer, she’d need to soak her hemorrhoids in a sitz bath. Her comment resulted in the fastest exit any table made from a wine trail gala.
As Don, Theo, and I strolled to the parking lot we kept our voices low. There were wine patrons all over the place, and the last thing we needed was for some stray comment to wind up on a Twitter feed. It wasn’t until we neared our cars that Don said, “Remember that guy I said looked familiar at Port of Call? The one who told Vance to watch his back?”
I moved closer to Don. “Ruddy complexion? Outdoorsy?”
“Uh-huh. Don’t make a scene, but that’s him to your right. Thanks to Madeline’s outdoor lighting, I can see every detail of his face. I finally remembered why he looked familiar. He was in front of me at the DMV last month. Had a conniption fit about having to pay the extra twenty-five bucks for the enhanced travel license. I thought he was going to lean over and punch the man behind the desk.”
“Yeesh. I only saw him that once, when we were all at Port of Call and he got into it with Vance. Over his request to build a swimming pool. Oh, my gosh! That guy could be Russell Sweetly. You know, one of the three people I had to track down. He wasn’t home but there was a backhoe in his backyard and the layout for the pool was spray-painted on the ground.”
“Looks like whoever he is, he’s a loose cannon. Best to keep away.”
“You don’t suppose he’s our killer, do you?”
Don shook his head. “Nah. These explosive types don’t wait until the middle of the night. And they don’t come prepared with chloroform.”
Chapter 41
“I wish we could find out if Vance stiffed him over the swimming pool permit, but if he’s that unhinged, I’m not so sure I want to get into a conversation with him on Monday.”
“Then don’t,” Don said. “I’m sure we can think of another way to find out if Vance pulled a quick one over him.”
“I suppose. Anyway, we might as well call it a night. Godfrey’s picking me up really early tomorrow. Maybe we’ll have better luck if Robert Kurtis Sherry turns out to be our guy.”
“You mean your murderer?”
“Engine thief, murderer . . .”
Theo looked at Don. Then back to me. “You know we’re both really uncomfortable with this. At the very least, you’re dealing with a sophisticated car thief who had the wherewithal to swap out a rare and expensive Porsche engine. Wait. Not car thief. Thieves. As I recall, there were three of them. And if those guys were responsible for killing Vance, who knows what they’ll do if someone rats them out tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” Don said. “Do you and Godfrey have a calculated plan of action in the event you discover the truth?”
In the past, whenever Godfrey came to my rescue, it was by the seat of his pants. Like pretending he had a container of dangerous bees when he was merely transporting ladybird beetles for relocation.
I gulped. “More like an ever-developing, malleable plan.”
“That’s reassuring. Look, just make sure your cell phones are charged, okay?”
“Don’t worry. No one’s going to do anything to us in front of a zillion people. It’s not like we’re going to snoop around in some dark alley.” It’ll be in some garage bay where no one can hear me scream with all that engine noise.
Theo put his arm on my shoulder. “Sure you want to do this?”
“Uh-huh. I think Godfrey and I are Alex’s only hope.”
When I turned in for the night, my mind was on overdrive. Little snippets of information bounced back and forth as I tried to pull them all together. Too bad I wasn’t writing a mystery, or worse yet, a horror screenplay. Russell Sweetly’s temper, Jerome’s flimsy explanation about the dock incident, and Agnes’s false accusation. Throw in that engine swap and I’d have fodder for a few screenplays.
At least I managed to stave off that curse thanks to Glenda, Zenora, and Theo. Frankly, I was fine letting it ride until 2062. I didn’t want to end the curse by killing off the last Crackstone descendant. The mere thought of it gave me the willies. Still, I was curious to learn who was at the end of the family line.
No wonder I couldn’t fall asleep. I was too tired to read and too exhausted to do anything physical like clean the house or bake cookies. Instead, I tossed from side to side to the extent that Charlie got annoyed and slept on the floor. Sometime after three, I fell asleep. I know it was after three because the last time I looked at the alarm clock it read 2:41.
At precisely 4:48, the alarm went off. Dazed, I dragged myself into the shower and brushed my teeth. It was such an obscene hour that even the dog refused to get up. By five thirty I was dressed and fumbling to make my first cup of coffee. Charlie finally made his way out the doggie door, returned a few minutes later, and devoured the kibble I poured for him.
• • •
Godfrey and I agreed that if we were going to pull off this impersonation stunt, we’d have to look the part—professional and all business. That meant no jeans or T-shirts. I’d chosen a white button-down top that went nicely with my dark gray linen slacks, but I still opted to wear ankle boots since Watkins Glen Raceway was notorious for muddy surfaces. As I glanced down at my top, I wondered if I would have been better off with a darker color. Too late—Godfrey was at the door.
I ushered him in and motioned to the table. “Want a cup of coffee? It’s early. We’ve got plenty of time. I’ve got a box of Entenmann’s donuts, too.”
“Can’t refuse that. Tell me, how did the dinner go? Spectacular, I bet.”
“We circumvented the latter part of that curse and the food was amazing, so yeah, overall it was a good evening.”
Godfrey bit into a chocolate donut and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. “You don’t sound convincing.”
“Oh, no. That part was fine. It’s just all the other stuff.”
Then I told him about Russell and what Don had said about the guy’s short fuse.
“Yeah, best to keep a distance. This whole thing’s a tangled mess, that’s for sure. Maybe we can unravel some of it today. Might as well get going, huh?”
I rinsed out our coffee cups, put them in the drainer and stashed the donut box back in the pantry. Last thing I needed was Charlie getting into them.
“If you don’t mind,” Godfrey said, “I’d rather drive. I’ve seen you behind the wheel before.”
You don’t know the half of it.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
The sun was at the horizon, providing enough light for me to get a good look at the car—a dark four-door sedan with a metallic banner on the side that read New York State Agricultural Department.
“An official state vehicle? You’re driving an official state vehicle?”
“I always take the state vehicle when I’m on business.”
“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”
“I have to. We’re running out of options.”
“Geez, I just hope they’ll believe you when we get to the gate.”
Godfrey smiled. “They won’t have to. I’ve got us another way into the raceway. Come on, get in the car and I’ll tell you about it.”
No sooner had I buckled my seat belt than Godfrey explained he was in possession of campground passes and three-day tickets to the event.
“Huh?” I was flabbergasted. “How’d you manage that?”
“Remember Arvin Pincus? He was supposed to oversee the Kashong Point project along with Alex but got poison oak from that spider mite study.”
“Um, yeah. What about Arvin?”
“Turns out he bought three-day passes to the raceway as well as a campground permit. I had no idea. I called him yesterday to ask about his schedule for the week and he moaned and groaned about his poison oak and how he had to lose out on his weekend at the raceway. Long story short, he gave me the passes.”
“Passes? As in plural?”
“Yeah. His fiancée wasn’t about to go without him. I offered to com
pensate him but he refused when I explained what we were up to. Said he’d do anything to get Alex off the hook.”
“That’s fantastic. We can get in without a hitch.”
“Into the raceway and the campground, yeah. But the bays where the drivers work on their cars are a different story. To be honest, I’d rather take my chances climbing fences and skirting under those track tunnels than giving false information at the gate.”
Climbing fences and skirting under tunnels? Now he tells me. There’s no way around it, I’m going to ruin another one of Francine’s outfits.
Chapter 42
Godfrey handed me the lanyard with my three-day pass on it. I put it around my neck and watched him do the same as we approached the attendant at the gate. I looked down at the ticket and saw the notation that read “Reserved Camping Area G.”
“Need another map or are you okay?” the attendant asked Godfrey.
“Might as well grab another map. These things have a way of disappearing.”
“Sure thing.”
As soon as we pulled away from the gate, Godfrey reached over and I took the map. “Guess I’d better figure out where the bays are located, huh?”
“Good idea, Norrie. I’ll park in the general admission area and we can go from there.”
“Hold on. Don’t park in general admission. We’ve got tickets to a reserve area that’s near the paddocks where the bays are located. I can see it clearly on the map. All we need to do is take the pedestrian tunnel and we’ll be within a stone’s throw of those bays.”
“Got it.”
The tunnel was located between raceway turns three and four, also known as the esses, and although it looked like a short distance on the map, it wasn’t. At least Godfrey had the foresight to carry bottled water in an over-the-shoulder specimen bag. It was one of those summer days that started out with mild humidity but I knew what was coming. I’d be sticky, sweaty, and smelly in no time. Thankfully it wasn’t raining. From what I’ve been told, it wasn’t a race at Watkins Glen without at least one downpour.
“Hey, there’s a restroom off to the left. I’m going to use it because who knows when the next opportunity will come along.”
