by J. C. Eaton
“Was it that bad?”
“After he sent his obnoxious assistant in to make sure the place was safe and no assassins were lurking around, he came inside and sniffed around our tasting room like a bloodhound. He informed us chocolate cannot be placed near anything with an odor or it would pick up that odor. My God, Norrie! I can’t do away with everything that smells. And I can’t hose down our customers if they’re wearing perfume.”
I was in the middle of writing a heartwarming scene and, thanks to Stephanie’s phone call, all I could think of were those commercials for Febreze. I thanked her, threw on a heavy sweatshirt, grabbed the parka I had thrown over a chair in the kitchen, and raced down to our tasting room. It was blustery with a few wisps of light snow—but nothing that called for boots. No need to start the car. I needed the fresh, albeit frigid, air.
The aroma of grapes and freshly baked bread wafted through the air. One of the things I really liked about Fred, our bistro chef, and Emma, his wife, was the fact that they cooked everything from scratch. I inhaled the aroma and paused. Were aromas synonymous with smells? If so, we were doomed.
There were at least twelve or thirteen customers milling around the tasting tables or checking out the wine bins and gift racks. No need to panic anyone. I looked around for Cammy, but she wasn’t in sight. Lizzie was at the cash register, and Glenda and Sam had full tables. I rushed into the kitchen and threw open the cabinet below the sink where we kept the baking soda.
Immediately, I poured it into every conceivable bowl I could get my hands on and started placing those bowls all over the winery. Cammy finally appeared from the bistro—where she had stopped to grab a bite for lunch.
“What’s going on? What’s with those bowls and what on earth’s in them?”
I told her about Stephanie’s call and she groaned. “It takes hours for baking soda to absorb odors and that’s for small odors in tiny places. I say we take our chances. I mean, what do they expect? This is a winery. It’s supposed to smell like wine.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’m overthinking this.”
Just then my cell phone buzzed and it was Theo. “Brace yourself. And if I were you, I’d make sure the men’s room is gleaming like a fourth of July sparkler or you’ll never hear the end of it. Gotta go.”
“Cammy, take over for Sam and send him into the men’s room now. Theo called. Disaster awaits. Tell Sam to make sure everything in there is spic and span. And tell him not to use air freshener. It smells.”
Spic and span? Air freshener? Yikes! I’m beginning to sound like my mother.
I imagined Cammy saw the look of fear in my eyes because she darted off to Sam’s table, leaving me standing with a bowl of baking soda in each hand.
I cannot let this get to me. They’re only chocolate confectioners…chocolate confectioners whose reputations can make or break our wines.
At that instant, a short balding man entered the building and loosened the scarf from his neck. He was wearing a dark sweater, dark jacket, and dark pants. Lizzie called out a welcome greeting to him, and he gave her a cursory nod before taking out a pen and a small notebook.
Within seconds, he flitted around the tasting room like a fly at a picnic, pausing occasionally to jot down a few things. I watched as he made a beeline for the men’s room, missing Sam by a matter of seconds.
“Makes you wish the food inspector was visiting instead, huh?” Cammy straightened the glasses on Sam’s table.
“Shh! He’s coming out of the men’s room. Smile at him. Act natural.”
I gave the man a wave and was about to introduce myself when he marched straight out of the building.
“Maybe that was too natural,” Cammy chuckled.
Before I could respond, the man returned, only this time he was followed by a slightly taller gentleman who appeared to be in his late forties or maybe even early fifties. Unlike his counterpart, the other man had a full head of thick, dark hair, a dark moustache, and an equally dark goatee. His overcoat was trimmed in what I hoped was faux fur and his shoes were practically gleaming.
I took a deep breath and approached the men. “Hi! I’m Norrie Ellington and this is my family’s winery, Two Witches. You must be the chocolatiers we’ve heard so much about.”
The taller man unbuttoned his coat. “I am one of the chocolatiers. Jules Leurant from Brussels, and this is Earvin Roels, my nephew and assistant.”
Jean-Claude Van Damme is from Brussels. Why can’t he be in the chocolate industry?
“We’re pleased you’re visiting us today. Would you care to sample some of our wines?”
I motioned to Sam’s table, where he and Cammy were now both stationed.
Jules glanced at the table and then at me. “The only wine I care to sample is the variety that will be paired with my chocolate confections during the demonstrations.”
“Um, well, actually, I believe your demonstrations will be taking place at Billsburrow and Terrace Wineries. Because there are six participating wineries, we divided up the tastings.”
Jules turned to Earvin and stomped his foot. “Why wasn’t I made aware of this? I told you to keep me apprised of everything.” Then he said something in either Dutch or German, but I wasn’t sure.
I gave Earvin one of those been-there-know-how-it-feels looks when I thought Jules wasn’t paying attention.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not your assistant’s fault. Our organizing committee should have done a better job at conveying the information.”
Jules immediately buttoned his coat and pulled the fur collar closer to his neck. “I see no reason to remain. I can only hope there are no other surprises awaiting me during this exposition. Good day.”
With that, he and Earvin walked directly to the door and out into the cold.
“Whoa!” I said. “That was more chilling than the weather. I wanted to tell him that all of the chocolates were going to be paired with all of the wines during the opening reception, but he didn’t give me a chance.”
Cammy stepped away from the tasting table and walked toward me. “Guess he’ll have to get used to surprises.”
Chapter 4
As the chocolate saga continued, it wasn’t only Jules who would have to get used to surprises. It was me. No sooner did I return to the house for a few hours of writing when Godfrey Klein called. Godfrey was the young entomologist I kissed a while back. Long complicated story, but it wasn’t so much of a passion kiss than an emotional I-don’t-know-what kiss. Anyway, Godfrey was also one of Jason’s colleagues at the Experiment Station and he kept me updated on my sister and brother-in-law’s exploits in the Costa Rican rain forests. Cornell could afford a satellite phone. I couldn’t. That was probably a good thing, considering my sister had no idea about the murders. At least up until today.
“Hi Norrie. Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, but there’s something you should know.”
“If it has anything to do with insects inhabiting the house in winter, I don’t want to know.”
“Uh, it’s worse.”
After my miserable encounter with Jules Leurant, I didn’t know what could be worse. “What do you mean?”
“Francine and Jason know about the murders, but there’s good news.”
“What? She’s probably chewing her fingernails off and demanding they return to Penn Yan. His grant will go up in smoke.”
“They only found out about the last two murders, not the one in your Riesling section. So far, that’s been kept pretty hush-hush.”
“How did they find out? And more importantly, did my sister freak out?”
“Another group of entomologists from UC Davis’ Department of Entomology and Nematology joined up to work on the Global Invasive Species Database. One of them had recently returned from a family wedding in Geneva and found out about the murders.”
“Oh brother.”
“I met one of the chocolatiers earlier today. If that’s any indication, it will be a nightmare.”
I went on to tell him about my encounter with Jules and the frenetic schedule the six participating wineries had to deal with. I didn’t know why, but it was easy to talk to Godfrey and pour out all my frustrations. Unlike Bradley Jamison, the super cute lawyer I was dating but not yet ready to call my boyfriend. I was always on my best behavior with Bradley. Maybe I was, in some way, intimidated by his amazingly good looks. Those cobalt blue eyes and that sandy blond hair reminded me of an old poster of one of the Beach Boys that my mother had stashed away.
Bradley was one of Rosalee’s attorneys, and he and I dated on and off—usually dinners and long, languishing kisses. He was supposed to attend the grand finale Chocolate and Wine Extravaganza with me but called to tell me his boss, Marvin Souza, was sending him to Yonkers, of all places, to handle a complex settlement case in conjunction with another law firm.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Norrie,” Godfrey said. “But look at it this way. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“The same could be said for Typhoid Fever, but it doesn’t help at the moment. Say, what are you doing this week? You could come as my plus one to the opening reception and the competition. Come on. You have nothing to lose. It’s not like they’re pairing up those chocolates with some awful insect from your lab.”
“For your information, many cultures dine on chocolate-covered insects. Ants, crickets, locusts—”
“Ew! Yes or no. Will you do it? Attend the events?”
“Sure. From what I’ve heard, this will be the most entertainment I’ve had in a long time.”
Relieved I had someone to commiserate with during the festivities, I went back to my writing, only to be interrupted again at a little past six—this time by Theo, who called the landline.
“Are you watching the news? Stanislav and Allete are being interviewed by 13 WHAM TV out of Rochester. They’re both at the airport. They caught the same flight from JFK. No coincidence there, I’ll bet.”
“Hold on. Let me turn on the TV.”
I walked into the living room and grabbed the remote. “Geez! Look at that crowd. Whoever thought chocolatiers would be so popular?”
“It’s all that tabloid media coverage. Whoever thought the Kardashians would be so popular? Anyway, it’s great news for us. Think of all those visitors who are going to show up at our wineries. Someone at the Seneca Lake Wine Trail Association knew what they were doing.”
“Hold on. I want to hear what Stanislav and Allete are saying.”
Except for interrupting to ask, “Are you still on the line?” Theo and I kept still for the two- or three-minute interview.
When the segment moved to school bus safety in winter, Theo spoke. “Those magazine photos of Stanislav don’t do the guy justice. He’s beyond ‘striking good looks,’ and don’t you dare tell Don we had this conversation.”
I laughed. “Allete’s quite the looker, too. No wonder Sam was so enamored. Guess it’s those delicate features of hers and that upturned nose.”
“The strawberry blond hair and those cherubic cheeks don’t hurt either.”
“Oh my gosh. Would you listen to the two of us? We’re worse than the WOW women.”
“I guess there’s no love lost between Stanislav and Jules. Did you catch what Stanislav said about Jules accusing him of stealing his technique for piping the chocolate?”
“Was that what the ruckus in Munich was all about? Garnishing the chocolate? I thought it had something to do with their personal lives.”
“I think chocolate is their personal life,” Theo said. “And speaking of which, I can’t believe Allete told that reporter about her and Stanislav’s plan to start their own chocolate manufacturing company in Luxemburg if either of them wins the competition. They’d certainly have enough start-up monies, not to mention all the money they’d earn from advertisement contracts.”
“Was it my imagination or did they both appear kind of smug about that deal? True, they’ll be competing against each other, but it really won’t matter in the end since they plan on starting a business together.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about them stopping by tomorrow. They told that reporter they intend to give themselves a day of rest before visiting a few wineries on the trail that weren’t part of the festival pairings.”
“Good. Means we’re off the hook for another day. Guess I’ll see you Sunday night at Geneva on the Lake. I invited Godfrey.”
“Not Bradley? I thought you two were dating.”
“We are, but he’s going to be out of town. Godfrey’s just a good friend.”
“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”
“Bite me.” I laughed and then hung up the phone.
* * * *
Geneva on the Lake was an old, elegant resort designed in Italian Renaissance style. It sat on the outskirts of the city and, with its meticulously sculpted gardens, sloped down to the lake. Built at the beginning of the twentieth century, it was a private estate that later became a monastery at the end of World War II. I wasn’t sure what happened, but in the early 1970s, the monks left and the building fell apart. Literally. Dilapidated and a regular eyesore on Route 14. Then it was purchased by a developer and completely remodeled with the purpose of serving as a resort. It changed hands once again in the mid-1990s and was embellished to the point of rivaling the most prestigious Italian villas. Figured. It was the perfect place for the Chocolate and Wine Festival—not to mention the three egos that would be housed there.
The Sunday weather forecast in our part of the Finger Lakes called for five or six inches of snow by nightfall. Nothing to worry about. Then, seven to eight inches. Still not a problem. However, when I arrived at Geneva on the Lake and the road looked like a holiday snow globe, I was concerned. At least I was smart enough to use Francine’s Subaru with the studded snow tires and all-wheel drive. I was also smart enough to choose one of Francine’s special outfits—a dark A-line dress that looked phenomenal with my black knee-high boots.
I figured if the press planned on hovering around the chocolatiers, I might wind up in one of the photos. The way things were with social media, I didn’t want to look as if I planned to stomp on the grapes instead of presenting them via our fine wines.
My instincts were right. The Channel 13 WHAM van was in the parking lot, along with 8 WROC and 10 WHEC. Thank you, Francine.
Don, Theo, and Godfrey had the same idea. They arrived in shirts and ties, all set to impress. The only thing casual about the Chocolate and Wine opening reception was the fact it wasn’t a sit-down dinner. Instead, it was a classy buffet in one of the ballrooms, and if that wasn’t enough, they had scads of wait staff making the rounds with all sorts of canapes. White and red wines were on a separate buffet, and both tables had staff to assist the attendees.
I immediately spotted Madeline Martinez chatting with Stephanie Ipswich near the wine table and Rosalee Marbleton chewing off someone’s ear by the bistro tables that were set up for the guests. Franz, our winemaker, was conversing with three or four men whom I presumed were our neighbors’ winemakers. I hoped Cammy would attend, but unfortunately, she had to take over for one of her aunts and help out at their family bar and restaurant in Geneva.
Godfrey gave me a wave from across the room, but just as I headed toward him, Catherine Trobert grabbed me by the wrist. “The forecast is calling for nonstop snow. Something about lake effect. We always have lake effect. Why couldn’t they have predicted this earlier?”
I shrugged. “It should
n’t matter. The chocolatiers are all staying here at the resort and those news crews probably have super studded tires. The rest of us are only a few miles away and Route 14 is always plowed.”
Catherine wrung her hands together. “I suppose you’re right. Even if we get two feet of snow, they’ll have everything cleared off by morning. I don’t know why I’m so worried about snow. Maybe it’s my nerves. I’ve been a wreck ever since Jules Leurant came into our winery.”
“Your winery? I thought Stephanie, Rosalee, Don, Theo, and I were the only lucky ones who had to endure his visit.”
“Don’t I wish. That dreadful man stopped by Lake View before he set foot in Gable Hill. It was horrible. Simply horrible. He didn’t have one nice thing to say. No wonder he got that death threat. Or was it more than one?”
Just then, Stephanie joined us. “What a piece of work that Jules is. I hope he chokes on his own bonbons or whatever he plans to make.”
Suddenly, we heard a man’s voice and both of us spun around to face a reporter and his cameraman. “Can we quote you on that? Wade Gallagher, 8 WROC. We’re covering this event.”
Guess snow isn’t going to be the only thing to worry about.
Chapter 5
“That was a private conversation, Mr. Gallagher,” I said, “and if you quote anything, you’ll have to deal with the wine association’s attorneys.”
Wade Gallagher put his hands in the air and took a step back. “Whoa. No need to get in an uproar. Guess I was being a little over-zealous covering this event. It’s always a matter of having the best eye- and ear-catching stuff for our viewers.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I said, “Take a look behind you.”
Allete entered the ballroom wearing a black sheath dress with slits that practically came up to her waist. I later realized it was backless as well as side-less, if there is such a word for a dress. But that wasn’t the eye-catching part. I was positive it was the plunging neckline that made everyone in the room stand at attention. True, she was wearing a lovely single strand of pearls, but I seriously doubted that was what caught everyone’s eye.
