Sauvigone for Good

by J. C. Eaton

  “Funny that they didn’t go to the Grey Egret first and in fact, skipped Gable Hill Winery since it’s on the way to yours.”

  “They probably couldn’t read a map. That’s the trouble these days. Everyone expects some computer voice from their car to tell them where to go. No common sense anymore.”

  I chuckled. “Let me know if you hear anything.”

  “The only thing I’ve heard is the official list of kitchen demands from that nincompoop at the wine association. When that chocolate prima donna arrives to do the demonstrations tomorrow, she better be happy with the kitchenware.”

  “She? Allete must be on your schedule. Holy cow. I’d better check my emails. Thanks Rosalee. I’ll be in touch.”

  I bit my lower lip and thought about that conversation I’d had with Catherine and Theo when our little WOW subcommittee met. I distinctly remembered us insisting Jules be assigned to Rosalee and Madeline due to his germophobia. Of course, it really didn’t matter now. Earvin couldn’t possibly be as picky as his uncle.

  It only took me a minute to boot up the office computer and check my emails. Sure enough, there was an official notice from the wine association. Blah blah…unfortunate incident…blah blah tourism…blah blah blah. There was an attachment that detailed the schedule for the chocolatiers as well as a complete inventory of the kitchen gadgetry they would need. Winery owners were asked to contact the association office if they couldn’t provide the necessary pots, pans, cutlery, etc.

  Terrific. One day to go and we better not need a trip to Geneva Restaurant Supply on Seneca Street.

  I studied the schedule and then printed it off. There were two demonstrations slated for each of the three days. One from eleven o’clock to noon, and the other from two thirty to four. Our winery had Earvin every morning and the Grey Egret got him in the afternoon. Allete would be starting off at Rosalee’s Terrace Wineries and then ending up at Billsburrow. That left her…her what? Boyfriend? Lover? Soon-to-be-business-partner Stanislav with Lake View in the mornings and Gable Hill in the afternoons. At least Stephanie would have some eye candy to watch, along with the actual confection making.

  While I was certain our kitchen would have all the necessities in place, I didn’t take a chance. I printed out the inventory list and marched it over to our chefs, Fred and Emma, in the bistro.

  “Gosh, Norrie,” Emma said when I handed her the paper, “we got that list weeks ago. Thank goodness the wine association rented chocolate tempering machines. Geneva Restaurant Supply delivered ours a few days ago, along with dipping utensils. That company must be the conduit for the demonstrations because they also brought the block and wafer chocolates from Puccini Zinest to Geneva on the Lake as well as delivered the ingredients like corn syrup and confectioner’s sugar to the wineries. The email explained it. Geneva on the Lake needed a bulk amount of chocolate for the competition and they agreed to deliver the smaller blocks to the wineries each day for the demonstrations.”

  I must have had a sheepish look on my face because the minute Emma said that, she added, “I’m sure with all of your screenplay deadlines, that email from Mr. Speltmore was easy to miss.”

  “I, um, er…”

  Then we both laughed.

  “I have no idea what a tempering machine is,” I said. “I have enough trouble learning about our own equipment in the winery.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry. Everything’s under control here.”

  Our tasting room was all set for the next three mornings of wine and chocolate pairings. According to the wine association brochure, the chocolatiers would demonstrate their techniques and then have the guests taste the confections paired with our wine. I was half-tempted to have Sam or Glenda pour me a sample of our Cab-Sav so I could see how it went with the Milky Way I had in the office, but I knew it wouldn’t have the same effect.

  Like it or not, I had to get back to my screenplay. I told Cammy I’d be in the tasting room first thing in the morning and then I darted out the front entrance. Alvin gave me a snort as I walked past his pen. The little hut was filled with fresh bedding or it would have been trampled on by now.

  “Why my brother-in-law thought you’d be good for business is anyone’s guess,” I muttered to the goat.

  He turned away and busied himself with a huge pile of hay that was off to the side. I wondered what lucky vineyard worker got to deal with the goat today as I headed to the house.

  It was twenty to seven when I finally closed my laptop and refilled Charlie’s food dish. I changed my top to a decent-looking sweater, fixed my hair, and grabbed the keys to my Toyota. Walking down the long driveway at night wasn’t something I cared to do in the dark, but I didn’t need to start up Francine’s all-weather Subaru for a two-minute jaunt my sedan could certainly handle.

  “It’s open,” Don shouted when I knocked on their door. No sooner did I turn the knob than Isolde, the Grey Egret’s long-haired Norwegian Forest Cat, greeted me. She rubbed against my jeans and then scurried off to the living room.

  “Those cats were bred to enjoy the snow, but Isolde abhors it,” he said. “The undersides of her paws have really long, thick fur so the cold won’t penetrate, but don’t tell her that. She won’t believe you.”

  “It’s probably best you’ve made her a house cat. Too many predators out there.”

  “And one on this wine trail. Only he or she doesn’t have four legs or wings. Have you heard anything more from Deputy Hickman?”

  “Zilch.”

  “Nothing on the news either. Come on. Theo’s in the kitchen setting the table.”

  “Oh my gosh. That brisket smells phenomenal.”

  “Wait till you taste the seasoned potatoes that go with it.”

  Theo gave me a wave and motioned for me to take a seat at their table. Like the Grey Egret Winery, Don and Theo’s home was warm and inviting with a style that reminded me of the Pacific Northwest. Beautiful beamed ceilings with teal and beige accent walls.

  “We’ve got flavored seltzers and Merlot to go along with the meal,” Theo said. “I kidded Don about trying out our Merlot with an old Nestlé’s Crunch bar we had in the pantry, but we never got the chance.”

  “Join the club. Milky Way and Cabernet Sauvignon. Only I chickened out, too.”

  “Well, tomorrow we’ll all get a taste of our wines with gourmet chocolates. That is if Earvin is up to the task.”

  “I know what you mean.” I helped myself to a second scoop of the potatoes. “He hardly said a word and acted like he was scared of the world.”

  Don groaned. “Just what we need. Showmanship is everything when it comes to these winery demonstrations. We had a cheesemaker two years ago who could have had his own act in Vegas.”

  “I doubt Earvin will come close.”

  “Norrie’s right,” Theo said. “We better hope the chocolate is spectacular because I’m not putting too much hope in Earvin’s presentation.”

  Dinner was followed by a marvelous lattice cherry pie, compliments of Wegmans’ bakery. When I finished my last sip of coffee, I insisted on helping with the dishes and cleaning up their kitchen. By then, the three of us were pooped and I was ready to head back up the hill. At that moment, their phone rang and Don took the call.

  “Theo! Turn on Channel 8 WROC. Hurry up!”

  Theo rushed out of the kitchen and into the living room while Don continued to yell. “It’s Stephanie. She tried calling Norrie’s cell but it went to voice mail. The lab report came in on the wineglass Jules had in his hand.”

  By now, Theo and I had cranked up the volume on the TV and situated ourselves on the couch directly in front.

  “Tell her we’ll call back,” Theo announced.

  Seconds later, the three of us were glued to the screen as Wade Gallagher, the nightly anchor, pontificated about Jules Leurant’s untimely demise. “The glass that Mr. Leurant was fou
nd holding had been sprayed with the prescription drug, Ambien. Ambien is a commonly used sleep aid, but it does come with a litany of side effects. It’s one of the few sleep aids that’s available in a spray. At this time, the authorities don’t believe the amount of the drug was sufficient to result in death, but its common side effects including dizziness, fainting, and lightheadedness may have contributed to Mr. Leurant falling in the snow where he was initially presumed to have suffocated.”

  I grabbed Theo’s wrist and shook it. “It wasn’t our wine. That’s a relief, I suppose. But the drug was sprayed on a wineglass. People will be petrified to drink from a Two Witches wineglass again.”

  “Think, Norrie, think,” he said. “Not Two Witches. Those wineglasses came from Geneva on the Lake. The problem, as I see it, is now theirs.”

  “Shh!” Don said. “There’s got to be more. The guy said, ‘initially presumed to have suffocated.’ Listen.”

  “One more caveat to the mysterious death of noted chocolatier Jules Leurant,” Wade added. “While authorities haven’t ruled out suffocation as a cause of death, a yet-to-be-determined substance was found at the back of his throat during the autopsy.”

  Don gave Theo a poke in the arm. “Ah-ha. Did I call it or what?”

  Theo and I shushed him. Then, out of nowhere, the co-anchor put in her two cents. “Wade, wasn’t there some prior footage about a winery owner’s comment regarding Mr. Leurant’s choking to death?”

  “There most certainly was, Latisha. We’ll see if we can dig up that video for our viewers.”

  I got up from the couch and fumbled in my bag for my cell phone. “Stephanie! She must be a basket case by now.”

  Don shook his head. “Pray to the gods it wasn’t a bonbon.”

  Chapter 10

  “Stephanie’s probably holding her cell phone and waiting for our call,” Theo said as I handed him my phone. “She’d better not shriek in my ear.”

  Don turned the volume down on the TV and the two of us watched Theo for any sign of reaction.

  A second later he said, “Calm down. Calm down. No, don’t wake up your husband. What? No! It’s not as if you shoved a piece of chocolate down his throat. What? Here, talk to Don.”

  Don flashed Theo a look and took the phone. “Hey, Stephanie, try to relax. What? Yeah, we all saw that video. Trust me when I tell you, it was an attention getting move on the part of the station. It doesn’t mean a thing. People say stuff like that all the time…Uh-huh. Hold on. Yeah, here’s Norrie.”

  Like a game of hot potato, the phone was now in my hands. “Stephanie, we’ve got bigger things to worry about. Whoever sprayed that wineglass with Ambien could very well try it again during one of the demos tomorrow. Who knows what kind of nutcase is running around here and if Jules was targeted or if he was merely the first person to succumb to a—”

  “Serial killer? A serial killer?”

  “NO! I wasn’t going to say, ‘serial killer.’ I was going to say ‘lunatic.’”

  Stephanie lowered her voice and said one word. “Oh.”

  “Look, it’s late right now, but first thing tomorrow, we need to call the other wineries and tell them to be extra vigilant about their wineglasses. Have one of their employees on the lookout at all times. I’ll call Rosalee and Madeline. Can you give Catherine a buzz?” Because I’ll get stuck listening to her talk about Steven.

  “Sure thing. You’re positive I don’t have anything to worry about?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Who am I kidding? We all have something to worry about, only it isn’t a bonbon blocking Jules Leurant’s windpipe.

  Isolde followed me to the front door as I said good night to Theo and Don. Both agreed we might have a problem on our hands if Jules’s death was only the beginning.

  “It’s funny,” Don said, “that they haven’t released the results of the preliminary toxicology report on Jules. Only what was found on the wineglass. I know full toxicology screenings can take weeks, but they should know something about what he ingested.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure they do, but maybe the sheriff’s department hasn’t released it yet. I know the drug was on the wineglass, but all people will hear is Two Witches Cabernet Sauvignon. I wish to heck they’d hurry up.”

  Theo handed me the scarf I had tossed on the little table by their entry. “You and the rest of the wine trail.”

  “Thanks for the great meal. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  The question of motive plagued me well into the night and when I woke up the next morning, I was groggy and miserable. I’d promised Cammy I’d be at the tasting room first thing in the morning, even though our entire tasting room staff would be there. I didn’t actually specify the time of my arrival, but I didn’t want to get there after everyone else had done all the set-up work. The crew would be on edge with the publicity and the onslaught of ticket-holding visitors. True, “Deck the Halls around the Lake,” was our showcase event, but this one was proving to be a close second.

  I opted to wear a dark turtleneck pullover so I could promote the winery by layering it with a Two Witches T-shirt and a colorful acrylic scarf. Usually I threw on a woolen hat and took my chances with my hair, but since I was promoting a major winery event, I didn’t want to ruin it with unruly hat-hair. I made sure Charlie had plenty of food and fresh water before putting on my boots and trekking over to the tasting room.

  The one piece of good news was the weather. Nothing that involved precipitation was on the forecast for the next four days. “Abundant sunshine,” according to the Weather Channel, “coupled with exceedingly low temperatures.” That meant clear roads and winter tourists who were apt to linger around the tasting rooms. Our huge gas fireplace with its semicircle of occasional chairs was bound to set the mood for the festivities.

  Unfortunately, Earvin Roels wasn’t.

  When I walked in, he was standing in front of the demonstration area Fred and Emma had set up in front of the bistro. At first, I didn’t recognize him. He directed our staff as if he was the conductor of the New York Philharmonic. Oddly, he looked taller. The Earvin I remembered from that first encounter slouched. This one didn’t.

  With sharp black trousers and a white collared chef’s jacket, complete with pearl buttons, Earvin seemed comfortable in his new role. Maybe too comfortable. He inspected the cookware and utensils, snapping his fingers every few seconds.

  Cammy tiptoed behind me and whispered, “Pompous ass.”

  I tried not to snicker. “I’d better give him the official welcome.”

  Just then, Glenda appeared out of nowhere and motioned for Cammy and me to step aside.

  “Do you feel that?” she said. “It’s a cold aura that’s permeating the room. I think it’s centered on the chocolatier.”

  “That’s not a cold aura,” I replied. “It’s the front door opening and closing.”

  Glenda shuddered. “I’m not talking physical cold. I’m sensing a spiritual one. That chocolatier, Earvin something or other, is altering the mood of the winery.”

  I put my hand on Glenda’s shoulder. “As long as he can produce stunning confections that augment our wine, we’ll deal with it. The demonstration and pairing are only for an hour and a half. Try to make the best of it.”

  In retrospect, I never should have told Glenda to “make the best of it,” because her interpretation and mine were eons apart. Within seconds, she rushed off, muttering something about needing a ritual cleansing.

  I wasted no time catching up. “Not now. We need you in the tasting room. Can’t you say a mantra or something?”

  Glenda shook her now pink, orange and blue hair until it fused into a greenish hue. “Do you think he’d mind if I touch his hands and infuse some positive energy into his being?”

  “Oh, he’ll mind all right! Don’t touch anything. Especially him. And don’t infuse anything either. Look arou
nd. Customers are lining up already. We need to hand out their festivity wineglass and usher them to the presentation area.”

  Glenda let out a long, dramatic sigh but not before touching my wrist. “I’ll give you the positive energy, Norrie. You’ll need it. Looks like Sam, Roger, and Cammy are all set at the tables. How about if I help distribute the souvenir wineglasses?”

  Terrific. Just what we need. Souvenir wineglasses.

  The wineries handed out event souvenirs to all ticket-holding patrons. Ornaments for the holidays, little cheese cutters for Wine & Cheese, and, up until this year, heart-shaped cookie cutters for the Chocolate and Wine. What imbecile on the wine trail decided on glassware this year was beyond me. We’d have to practically swear to the customers that their wineglass hadn’t been tampered with.

  Emma and Fred must have seen to it that everything met with Earvin’s approval because when I glanced over to the presentation area, he was standing calmly in front. I could smell the enticing aroma of chocolate emanating from the tempering machine, and I wondered what kind of confection he’d be demonstrating. Then I realized it was awfully rude of me not to welcome him.

  I immediately walked over to the large demo table, but before I could utter a word, Earvin held up his hands. “Please stay back. Everything has been sanitized, organized, and finalized.”

  “Fine.” I backed off. “We really didn’t get a chance to chat when you paid our winery a visit with your uncle a few days ago. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

  “My uncle was a self-centered narcissist who would walk over bodies to get what he wanted. Apparently, so did his killer.”

  “Uh, um, er…”

  “Don’t look so shocked. Those qualities of my uncle didn’t detract from his extraordinary talent as a master chocolatier. No doubt someone wanted him out of the way. But rest assured, it wasn’t me. I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that I owe my own edification to him. I wouldn’t be standing at this very spot today had it not been for his tutelage.”

  Or the fact Ambien comes in an easy-to-use spray. “Um, yes. Indeed. Anyway, welcome. I know your uncle was originally scheduled to give his presentations at two different wineries, but the committee seems to have changed the schedule.”