Death, Dismay and Rosé

by J. C. Eaton

  “It’s all right, but it’ll take time to explain.”

  The alarm in Bradley’s voice turned to concern. “I’ve got all night. Start talking.”

  Start talking I did. And I didn’t stop for a solid twenty minutes.

  “Okay. The sheriff’s office is trying to make a theory stick even if they have to reinvent one. Won’t be the first time. Look, you can figure this out. I know you, Norrie. Think of the smallest details. The ones you might have thought didn’t matter at the time. Mull it over in your mind and don’t force it. The connections will come.”

  “Yeah, when they put Alex on death row.”

  “Not in New York for second-degree murder.”

  “That’s not encouraging.”

  “You can do this. I have faith in you.”

  “Wish you were here.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Bradley wouldn’t be back for a few days so I was on my own. Unless of course I wanted to drag Don, Theo, Godfrey, and my tasting room crew into the mire with me.

  Exhausted from fatigue, it took me over an hour to finally conk out. Unfortunately, sleep was short-lived. At exactly five thirty the next morning the landline rang and it was Zenora.

  My voice was hoarse and low. “Do you have any idea what time it is? This better be important because I lost some decent REM sleep.”

  “I have news for you that can’t wait! Norrie, my friend in Boston tracked down the last surviving member of Hestherlee’s family tree and you’ll never believe it! And here’s the best news of all—we don’t have to kill him to end the curse. He’s already dead.”

  “He’s already dead? Who’s already dead? You mean to tell me all that hullabaloo I went through at the winemakers dinner was for nothing? Nothing! We could have drunk that rosé without dropping dead? That’s what you called to tell me?”

  “I thought you’d be ecstatic. I know Glenda and I are. And my spiritualist said the dark aura I experienced was from stress, not the uninvited curse. You should be jumping for joy.”

  “I’m sorry, Zenora, really I am. I just get grumpy when I’m woken out of a deep sleep. Um, I don’t suppose you know who this surviving Crackstone is? Did your friend tell you?”

  “Oh, she told me, all right. And here’s the astonishing thing—remember when she said Abigail Crackstone Exner?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, there was so much static on the line I didn’t hear her right. She confirmed the name later. It wasn’t Exner. It was Wexler. The last survivor was Vance Wexler from Tennessee.”

  For the first, and hopefully last time in my life, words couldn’t form in my mouth.

  “Norrie? Are you okay? Norrie?”

  I don’t think I’ll be okay for a long, long time.

  “Um, yeah. But I’m confused. If the curse ended when he was smothered to death that night, wouldn’t we have known? Like a giant thunderstorm? Or hail falling from the skies? Or maybe a wild comet? Or better yet, plumes of smoke emanating from his tent?”

  “Darn those Disney movies. It doesn’t work like that. It’s much more subtle. In this case, the way you’ll know is to check the land where the house once stood. By now, it should start to fill in with fresh green grass.”

  “That’s it? Green grass?”

  “Uh-huh. Hope you don’t mind but I asked Glenda to scope it out for me once she gets out of work today.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s more.”

  I knew it wouldn’t be this easy.

  “What? What more?”

  “Since the ground is no longer cursed, Glenda and I thought perhaps we could hold a purifying celebration on it. I have a friend who plays lovely lyrical music on the lute and that, in combination with the burning of lavender and sage, would be the perfect ending to that centuries-old damnation.”

  The last time Glenda and her crew performed a ritualistic chant, Alvin went berserk and broke out of his pen. I didn’t need to repeat that nightmare. Still, I couldn’t very well refuse Zenora’s request. Not after all the trouble she and her friend in Boston went to. I figured I’d ask John to have one or two of the vineyard workers keep an eye on the goat while the wackadoodle crew sanctified the plot of land.

  “Sure. Fine. Just let me know when. I’ll need at least a two- or three-day notice. And again, thanks, Zenora. I mean it.”

  I was wide awake when we ended the call and anxious to let Don and Theo know what Zenora found out. Boy, talk about poetic justice. Vance rubbed me the wrong way when I met him, but I had no idea that little weasel was generations down the line that murdered the two witches from our hill. Well, at least Adeliza and Derella Marsten can rest in peace.

  It was still too early to bother the guys so I made myself some coffee, fed the dog, and took a quick shower. Then I broke the news to Theo, who answered the phone.

  “Are you kidding me? I can’t believe it. You mean to tell me I made an absolute fool of myself at the winemakers dinner for no reason?”

  “Uh, um, er, well, not really. People were really impressed about how much you knew about the history of rosé.”

  “Give me a break. All they wanted was to eat the dessert and get out of there.”

  “Forget about the winemakers dinner for a minute, and the curse. Which, thankfully, is now gone. It was too late to call you last night but Deputy Hickman paid me a visit and you’re never going to believe what he told me. He said―”

  Theo didn’t wait. “Hang on. I’m putting you on speakerphone.”

  I recounted every word Deputy Hickman said, including some that I added for emphasis. By the time I finished, both of the guys were astonished. I could hear Theo spouting off in the background as Don spoke. “They still want to keep Alex locked up, but for second-degree murder this time? They’re crazy.”

  Then Theo spoke. “Hey, it’s bad, but it’s not all that bad. It’s like that Meat Loaf song. You know, ‘Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad.’ You got to the bottom of the car theft and ended the curse.”

  “Tell that to Alex.”

  “Look, we’ll figure something out. We’ve got to get ready for work but we’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Uh-huh. Later.”

  I knew the tasting room crew would be anxious to hear about the arrest at the raceway, not to mention the end of the curse, so I made sure to get into the tasting room a good forty minutes before we opened.

  “Glenda told us about Vance,” Lizzie said the minute I got in the door. “Imagine that. Now all your worries are over.”

  I sighed. “Not all of them. We still don’t know who murdered him.”

  She gave me a funny look. “I thought some arrests were made. It was on the early-morning news.”

  “Yeah. Car theft and whatever charge they give you for knocking someone out with chloroform. But not murder.”

  “Tsk-tsk. It had to be someone who was threatened by him. Or someone who owed him money and couldn’t pay up. Hmm, maybe he was about to put something on social media. They do that nowadays. Put horrid things on the computer. Too bad he didn’t run a business or it could have been someone who was dipping into the till and afraid they’d be found out.”

  Dipping into the till. The oldest motive in the book.

  “Oh, my gosh, Lizzie. You may be on to something.”

  Chapter 47

  I held my breath and prayed Deputy Hickman had left his office. Then I dialed Gladys Pipp from my office. After the usual banter about calling 911 if it was an emergency, she finally said hello.

  “Gladys, it’s me. Norrie Ellington. Please tell me Deputy Hickman is nowhere in sight.”

  “The coast is clear. He’s out on a call. What’s going on?”

  “Listen, I know there are all sorts of confidentiality laws involved when someone shares information with the sheriff’s office, but I really need a name. Only a name. And I swear I won’t ever divulge where I got it.”

  “A name? What name?”

  “Remember when Agnes Merryweather went t
o the police station in Geneva with a volunteer from the Geneva Historical Society? And that volunteer told the police he saw Alex leaving Vance’s tent? I know the police shared that information with your office and Ontario’s because they’re working the case together. Can you tell me who that volunteer was?”

  “You know I can’t do that, Norrie. Hmm, hold on a moment, will you? I have to rearrange some notes in alphabetical order and it can’t wait. Excuse me for a moment while I do that. Just stay on the line.”

  The next thing I heard was Gladys humming to herself. Then I heard her mumble, “Hmm, Appleton . . . Appleworth . . . Toby Belcher, yes, that belongs with the B’s,” before she got back on the line with me.

  “So sorry, I can’t help you, dear, but I do hope you understand.”

  “Perfectly. And thanks, Gladys. Have a great day!”

  Belcher! I knew where I’d heard that name. It was the night Theo and I broke into the Geneva Historical Society. Curtis Bloor, one of the board members, complained about their office secretary, Doris Belcher. Could it be that simple?

  By now I could feel my pulse quicken. The list of Geneva Historical Society members that Theo and I found was tucked in the top drawer of my desk. Thank goodness he thought to make a copy. My fingers fumbled as I scanned it. Sure enough, Toby Belcher’s name all but exploded from the page. Complete with an email address, a college dorm address, and cell phone number.

  I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and phoned. Miraculously, he answered on the second ring.

  “Toby Belcher?”

  “Uh-huh. Who’s this?”

  “I’m Norrie Ellington and I’m calling to inform you that providing a false statement to the police is punishable under the law. It’s a felony.”

  Or maybe a misdemeanor. Or maybe even nothing, but what the heck.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m the person who’s going to see that you’re locked up for the next decade unless you tell me the truth about what and who you saw or didn’t see at Kashong Point the night Vance Wexler was killed. Meet me at the Dunkin’ on Hamilton Street in half an hour. And don’t be late. Oh, and you’ll recognize me. I’ll be wearing a Two Witches T-shirt and a scowl on my face. If you don’t show up, I will see to it a warrant is issued for your arrest.”

  “I, um, I’m, uh . . .”

  “Just be there. Your dorm is walking distance.”

  I ended the call before I lost the nerve. Then I took off for Geneva like the proverbial bat out of hell.

  Toby Belcher was all of five feet tall with curly brown hair and a mild case of acne. His Hobart College T-shirt looked as if it hadn’t seen a washing machine in weeks and his khaki shorts were rumpled. He jumped up from his seat at a rear table the second he spied me walk in the door.

  “Sit down,” I said. “And tell me the truth.”

  “Are you with the police department?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “True, but you’ll wish you did. Listen, there’s an innocent man sitting in jail because of a lie you helped fabricate. I need the truth. Why did you tell the police you saw that entomologist leaving Vance’s tent?”

  Toby made two fists and pounded them together. “Because if I didn’t, Agnes Merryweather would’ve made sure my mom lost her job at the historical society. It’s only my mom and me. My dad died last year. Heart attack. If she can’t keep her job, I’ll have to drop out of college.”

  I looked at the kid and tried not to show any emotion. “Tell me, what did you see the night Vance was killed? If you saw anything at all.”

  “Oh, I did. But like I said, my mom will lose her job.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen, but you need to tell the truth. Again, what did you see?”

  Toby reached for an old napkin that someone had left on the table and tore the corners off. “I camped out with the rest of the crew on that archeological expedition. And I told the truth about getting up to take a leak.”

  “But it wasn’t Alex Bollinger you saw, was it?”

  “No. It was Mrs. Merryweather. She came out of the tent, saw me a few feet away and grabbed me by my nightshirt. Said to keep my mouth shut about what I saw inside the tent or she’d see to it my mother was fired. I think she thought I was in the tent and she didn’t give me a chance to tell her I wasn’t. Honestly, I had no idea Vance was killed. Not until the next day when we all found out. Later on, Mrs. Merryweather contacted me and insisted I tell the police it was Alex I saw leaving the tent. I’m sorry. Really sorry, but my mom needs that job.”

  “Did she say anything else? Did you see anything else?”

  “Um, yeah. Sort of. I watched her get into her car, and even though it was dark, it wasn’t pitch-black. There was plenty of moonlight. Enough for me to see her take off the scarf she had around her neck and stuff it under the driver’s seat. Weird, huh? I don’t suppose that means anything.”

  It sure does to me. That scarf is the murder weapon. Why else does someone stuff a scarf under the driver’s seat?

  “It means everything! Come on. We’re heading right to the police station, where you’re going to make a full confession if you know what’s good for you. And you’re coming with me. In my car. I’ll drop you off when we’re done.” Because the last thing I need is for you to slip away.

  The second we were both buckled up in my car, I phoned the Yates County Sheriff’s Office and all but shrieked in Gladys’s ear.

  “Gladys! It’s me again. Norrie. This time I need Deputy Hickman. Please tell me he’s back in the office.”

  “I’m afraid not, but I can call him if it’s an emergency.”

  “Tell him to meet me at the Geneva police station. Tell him I can prove Alex didn’t kill Vance. And I know who the real killer is.”

  An hour and twenty-six minutes later, the Geneva Police Department brought Agnes in for questioning. Too bad when someone is brought in for questioning they’re not handcuffed. As the officer walked alongside Agnes, she immediately saw Toby and me seated against a wall where we were asked to wait, and dove at him like a ravenous seagull at a picnic.

  “What did you tell them, you rotten miscreant?” she yelled.

  Toby turned ashen. “I, I, um, uh . . .”

  She grabbed the collar of his T-shirt before the officer could stop her. “So help me I’ll deny everything.” Then she shook poor Toby by his shoulders until the officer pulled her away. As he led her to another room, I heard her say, “That jackass had it coming,” but I wasn’t sure if she meant Toby or Vance.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Toby.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Geez, she’s really unhinged, isn’t she?”

  I nodded. “Unhinged and hopefully under arrest.”

  We sat for another twenty minutes before Deputy Hickman arrived. Apparently, he was on the other side of Yates County dealing with a hit-and-run on a back road. When he walked inside the police station, his only words were, “Stay right where you are until I get back.”

  From that point on, Grizzly Gary was behind closed doors with some officers but did come out once to let me know that a search warrant had been issued to check Agnes’s car. He was accompanied by a police officer who informed Toby and me that we were free to go, having given our statements.

  I dropped a stunned Toby off at his dorm and told him he’d done the right thing. I even offered to give him a Two Witches T-shirt to replace the one that Agnes apparently ripped when she accosted him.

  It wasn’t until much later in the day when I learned the scarf was under the driver’s seat and on its way to the forensic lab. And I learned that from Gladys. In the interim, I left messages for Don, Theo, Bradley, and Godfrey.

  I had to wait until the next day for confirmation, but sure enough, it came. Her scarf was permeated with the chloroform Augie Lennox’s crew used on Vance. Agnes merely took advantage of the situation once she overheard the plans to steal Vance’s car while
she traipsed about Kashong Point earlier in the day. Working at the historical society, she knew about the 1948 smothering death of Eldridge McComb and used it to her advantage by suffocating an unconscious Vance with her scarf.

  According to Gladys, Agnes made a full confession in exchange for leniency when it came to sentencing.

  “So what did she do?” I asked. “Embezzle money? Steal some valuable artifact from the historical society? What? What?”

  “She stole donation monies. And we’re not talking petty cash. She feared Mr. Wexler would discover the truth and either blackmail her or turn her over to the authorities. He kept impeccable financial records so it was only a matter of time.”

  That explains the paper I saw her stuff into her blouse the night Theo and I broke into the historical society.

  The good news was that Alex was released the same day the forensic report came back, even though Agnes pretty much admitted to killing Vance. A few days later, the entomology department held a celebration at Uncle Joe’s restaurant and all of us went—Don, Theo, Cammy, Godfrey, and even Stephanie. The only one missing was Bradley, and that was because he got tied up with paperwork for Marvin.

  Before I left Uncle Joe’s that night, I made it a point to reiterate what I had told Godfrey earlier. “Francine and Jason had better darn well get back here before Bastille Day and that’s coming up pretty soon.”

  Epilogue

  “It’s the darnedest thing,” John said to me as we stared at the plot of land where the two witches’ house had once stood. “The grass looks like green fuzz. Bright green fuzz and it’s growing like mad. We didn’t seed it or anything.”

  It was a full week after our night at Uncle Joe’s and the news of Agnes’s confession had already peaked in the media.

  I scratched my arm where a mosquito had just bitten me. “Think there’s any validity to that curse?”

  John crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don’t believe in that mumbo-jumbo, but still . . . makes you wonder, huh?”

  I let Zenora and Glenda hold their purifying celebration even though the music from the lute annoyed Alvin to the point where he rammed part of his fence and it had to be repaired. I also kept the promise I made to myself about the petition. By week’s end, I had over ninety-six signatures.