by J. C. Eaton
“A minor inconvenience. Nothing in comparison with…what do you call it? Oh yes. The red tape involving the release of my uncle’s body from the county morgue.”
“That’s pretty usual in an investigation involving suspicious death. Did the sheriff’s department liaison give you any idea of their progress?”
“None whatsoever. I was asked, or should I say, told, to remain in the area until they reach a conclusive resolution to the matter.”
“That’s what you were told? Those words? ‘Conclusive resolution?’”
“Yes. Those were the very words that disagreeable deputy from Yates County used after badgering me well into the night. And the other deputy, the one from Ontario County, was equally abrasive. Bothering me at my hotel, no less. It’s a wonder I had any sleep. And when I yawned in front of them, they immediately demanded to know if I used or was in possession of any sleep aids.”
“I’m sure they explained why.”
“The cause of my uncle’s death, yes. I told them that if I had any desire to end my uncle’s life, which I didn’t, I certainly wouldn’t resort to such a cowardly means.”
For some reason, the expression “Death by Chocolate” popped into my head, and I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. Fortunately, Cammy appeared and pointed to her watch. “I hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the demonstration to begin. I’ve got the Seneca Lake Wine Trail chocolatier introduction sheet to read, unless, of course, you want to do it. Henry Speltmore emailed it when he sent the schedules.”
Earvin pushed his shoulders back and gave his head a shake. “I would rather neither of you read it. I shall make my own introduction.”
“Um, sure. If that’s what you’d prefer,” I said. “For that matter, your assistant for today, Emma, can also introduce herself.”
With that, I tugged Cammy’s sleeve and we retreated to the back of the tasting room. In the few minutes that I’d chatted with Earvin, the room had filled up completely. Our staff arranged the chairs so everyone would have a clear view of the demonstration. Immediately following, the individual tasting tables were all set to pair Earvin’s chocolate delicacies with our Cabernet Sauvignon.
Then I realized something. There was no way on earth Earvin Roels would be able to make enough chocolate so everyone in the room would have a sufficient sample to taste with our wine. An hour and a half wasn’t nearly enough time. Heck, even when we made chocolate-covered marshmallows in my Girl Scout troop, we only had to create twenty-five or so, not quadruple that number.
Cammy must have seen the strange look on my face because she gave me a nudge. “What? What’s the matter?”
When I told her, she broke out laughing. “Earvin’s chocolates were pre-made this morning. Same deal for the other two chocolatiers. They were up at the crack of dawn using the facilities at Geneva on the Lake. The chocolates are in coolers, in our kitchen.”
Theo was right. I really needed to pay more attention to my emails. Lately, if the subject line wasn’t marked urgent or didn’t have the word “screenplay” in it, I tended to gloss over it with the intent of returning. Unfortunately, intent and time management never seemed to coincide.
I stationed myself in the rear of the tasting room and watched closely as Earvin demonstrated his craft. I was mesmerized. He had poise, he had style, and most of all he had confidence. Today’s confection was a variation of butter cream patties, only his looked rounder and more complex than any I’d ever seen.
At first, I didn’t notice the tall auburn-haired woman with the calf-length winter coat as she glided past me. It was only when Earvin stopped talking to the audience and looked directly at her that I stopped thinking about butter cream patties altogether.
It was only a few seconds, but the tension was palpable. Earvin stood perfectly still, the melted chocolate slowly dripping from the dipping fork he held. Then, as if he’d been in a trance, he re-emerged. “It’s imperative to dip deep down into the chocolate or your confection won’t be completely submerged and will be most unsuitable.”
I turned to see the reaction from the auburn-haired woman, but she had left. I all but collided with a few of our visitors as I rushed to the front entrance. Lizzie was at the cash register/computer and I all but accosted her. “Did a woman with auburn hair just leave?”
“The door opened and closed but I wasn’t looking. I heard it, and, of course, I felt the gust of cold air. Sorry, Norrie. I’ve been busy tallying the tickets. Were we supposed to be on the lookout for someone?”
“Now we are. If a woman fitting that description comes back in, find me.”
“Tsk-tsk. You need to be more explicit. Like Nancy Drew. Hair color isn’t a description.”
And Nancy Drew isn’t a real detective! “Okay. Okay. She was fortyish. Wearing a dark calf-length coat. Material, not fur. No hat, but a light brown plaid scarf. It could have been wool.”
“Much better,” Lizzie replied. “I’ll be on the lookout. Is she dangerous?”
“I have no idea. She might not even be who I think she is, but I need to find out.”
Cold air or not, I threw open the front door and scanned the parking lot. No sign of her. And no vehicles heading down the driveway. My next stop was the restroom, but that didn’t pan out either. No one could have driven off that quickly. Then it occurred to me she could have been a passenger in someone else’s car and they had already made their way down the drive before I even opened the door.
I walked back to the demonstration in time to watch Earvin dazzle the crowd as he created a latticework of white and dark chocolate on top of the butter cream patties. Then, immediately following the applause, he excused himself and disappeared.
Chapter 11
“I thought he walked into the kitchen.” Cammy was overseeing one of the wine pairing tables and had her hands full with anxious customers.
Apparently, Earvin’s butter cream patties were a big hit. So much so that a few of the people at the table asked Cammy if they could pay an additional fee for more samples.
I overheard her tell them, “The wine, yes, but we only have a small allotment of chocolates for the event. Each guest is allowed five pieces.”
“If you’re looking for the chocolatier,” one of the guests said, “he left the building a few minutes ago. I’m pretty sure that was him. Short, balding man with a fur-lined jacket?”
“That’s him. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be at the Grey Egret this afternoon and back to our winery tomorrow morning. I was just hoping to catch him, that’s all.”
“When you do,” she said, “tell him these butter cream chocolates are to die for.”
Yep. Just the words I’m sure he’ll want to hear.
I turned back to the demo table in time to see a frustrated Emma shaking her head. “I have no idea how to clean a tempering machine. It’s not as if I expected Mr. Roels to be doing the clean-up, but I did expect some direction.”
The chocolatey mess inside the machine was heavenly and my first thought was to grab a spoon and have a field day. It would serve Earvin right. Then again, the machine was the property of Seneca Restaurant Supply.
“Give Seneca Restaurant Supply a call,” I told her. “They should be able to help you out.”
Emma sighed. “These perfectionists are something else, aren’t they?”
I gave her a pat on the shoulder and perused the room. Every table was full and it looked as if our guests were enjoying themselves. No one asked about the safety of our wineglasses and no one seemed the least bit perturbed about the recent death of Jules Leurant or the sudden disappearance of his nephew. However, that changed in a matter of minutes.
A tall, blond man in a chauffeur’s uniform walked over to me. “I was told by the gray-haired lady at the cash register you’re the owner of the winery.”
“Uh-huh. I’m Norrie Ellington. Can I help you?”
; “I’m with Round-About-Seneca tours, and I seem to be missing my passenger. Our company was hired to take some chefs around the lake for demonstrations.”
“Not chefs. Chocolatiers. Oh, never mind. You must be referring to Earvin Roels.”
“That’s the name on my list. Earvin Roels. I have his schedule in front of me. I’m supposed to pick him up at twelve forty-five and drive him to Port of Call on the lake for a very brief respite. Then I’m to take him directly to the Grey Egret and ensure he arrives no later than one fifty for his demonstration. I haven’t met Mr. Roels. Another driver brought him to your winery earlier today.”
I was somewhat familiar with the arrangements for the chocolatiers but I wouldn’t exactly bet money on it, even though I did read Henry Speltmore’s email. Round-About-Seneca Limousine Company was hired to drive the chocolatiers to their destinations and back to the hotel. That much, I knew. So, where the heck was Earvin? Maybe that customer was mistaken and it wasn’t Earvin she saw leaving our winery.
“Would you hold on for a moment, please? We’ll look around for him. There’s complimentary coffee for drivers at the bistro to your right. Help yourself. I’m sure Mr. Roels can’t be too far.”
What the heck am I saying? For all I know, Mr. Roels could very well have hightailed it to Calcutta!
I smiled and tried to remain calm while a tight knot began to form in my stomach. Without wasting a second, I charged over to Cammy’s table and whispered, “Earvin is AWOL. We’ve got to find him.”
She moved out from behind the table and scanned the room. “Has anyone checked the restroom? Sam or Roger can go in.”
“Good idea. Be right back.”
Five minutes later, our winery staff had checked the restroom, the kitchen, the bistro, and the entire tasting room. No sign of Earvin. Sam even went outside and reported back that “There’s no one dumb enough to be hanging out by Alvin’s pen. Too damn cold.”
By now, not only was my stomach doing flip-flops, but it was as if my entire body had developed a tremor. This would be a disaster for the Grey Egret, not to mention The Seneca Lake Wine Trail. People had paid good money to watch master chocolatiers demonstrate their art and without Earvin at his designated location, we’d have at least a hundred angry customers. A veritable nightmare.
The chauffeur was now standing by the front door, paper coffee cup in hand. “Any sign of him?”
“Not yet. Can you give us a few more minutes?”
“Sure. He’s my only customer. I’ll wait in the limo. Here’s my card with my number. Call or text me when he shows up. Okay?”
“Sure. Same deal here. You’ve got the winery numbers, so call us if he appears out of nowhere. You know, you’re welcome to wait here or in our bistro.”
“That’s all right. I’ll be fine. Besides, I like to make sure the car’s safe. We’ve had problems in the past.”
Problems in the past didn’t surprise me. Large party groups were notorious for leaning against the vehicles and scratching them. Not to mention spilling wine or, worse yet, heaving from too much wine.
I thanked the driver and returned to the tasting room. By now it would be too late for Earvin to enjoy his little respite at Port of Call. He’d be lucky to have enough set-up time at the Grey Egret. At least Don was no stranger to food preparation, so I was positive all the preliminaries were in place.
“Any luck?” Cammy asked.
Her group of tasters had just exited the table and were now looking at the wine bins.
I shook my head. “Nope. The guy with the fur-lined jacket must have been Earvin. Geez, I’d better give Theo and Don a heads-up.”
“We’ll keep looking,” Cammy said.
I plunked myself down at the desk in the office and used our winery phone to call theirs.
After a few rings, Theo picked up. “How was it? Did it go well? What was the customer reaction like?”
“Great demonstration. Lots of style. Delicious butter cream patties and yes, it went well until, oh my gosh, I hate to tell you this, but Earvin’s missing. He literally split without even telling Emma how to clean the tempering machine.”
“I’m sure he just wanted to give himself a sufficient break time between presentations. Don’t worry. The limo company will get him here on time.”
“Yeah, about that, Earvin never got into the limo. The driver came inside to look for him, and as of this very minute, the poor guy is sitting in his vehicle waiting. Earvin’s a no-show. AWOL.”
“Oh no. OH NO! This is a disaster. Ticketed customers are already lining up. Did he say anything? Give any indication he wasn’t going to be here?”
“Not directly.”
“What do you mean ‘not directly?’”
“Maybe I’m making too much of this, but a classy-looking auburn-haired woman came in to the winery during Earvin’s presentation and he froze for an instant. As if he knew her. Then it was business as usual. Except for one thing, the woman left almost immediately.”
“That could have been coincidental. Earvin Roels wouldn’t be the first man to succumb to the charms of a classy-looking woman.”
“Theo, I don’t think it was that at all. It’s too coincidental that this Hortensia Vermeulen woman arrived from Belgium a few days ago and is staying at the same hotel as the chocolatiers. That woman might very well be her. Plus, I’ll bet money she and Earvin have a history. Or at least an acquaintance. Cammy’s friend Barb, who handles the reservations at Geneva on the Lake, told her the sheriff’s department demanded a list of the guests. They should be vetting that woman instead of willow-wallowing around.”
“We don’t know that they’re not, but right now, I’ve got a major problem on my hands if Earvin doesn’t walk through our doors in the next ten seconds.”
“I’m so sorry. I probably should call our sheriff’s office and let them know.”
“Good idea. If he shows up, I’ll get back to you.”
Before I called the sheriff’s office, I had another thought and raced to find Emma. She was in the kitchen using hot water to clean the tempering machine.
“Emma! How closely did you watch what Earvin did?”
“Close enough, why?”
“Because I think you’ve just become the next chocolatier.”
“Huh? What are you saying?”
“I don’t have a whole lot of time to explain, but Earvin is still missing and his presentation begins at 2:30 at the Grey Egret.”
“That’s less than an hour. Norrie, I don’t think I can pull off something like that.”
“Do you know how to work the tempering machine?”
“Uh-huh. And at this point, I’m an expert on cleaning it.”
“Dipping the chocolate shouldn’t be all that hard. Did you see what stuff Earvin put in the mix for the butter cream?”
“I know the basics, but it’s the technique.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get a topnotch assistant. Hurry! You need to get down the driveway and into the Grey Egret right away.”
The look on Emma’s face was a combination of shock and terror. “I’ll do what I can, but that’s not saying much.”
“Hurry! And remember to dazzle the audience with your smile.”
“Smile? I’ll be lucky if I don’t burst out in tears.”
As Emma scurried out of the winery, I made two phone calls. The first to tell Theo I had found a replacement for Earvin and the second to Deputy Hickman.
“Emma knows what’s she’s doing,” I told Theo, “but she’ll need Don right next to her so she doesn’t fall apart.”
“Wonderful. And who are you going to send so Don doesn’t flip out? Seriously, Norrie, we’ll muster through. Of course, the wine trail will need to comp today’s ticket holders since they’re not really seeing a world-class chocolatier.”
“No, they’re seei
ng a class act without the ego.”
Chapter 12
Gladys Pipp answered the phone when I called the Yates County Public Safety Building. She was the secretary/receptionist and the only pleasant person I’d come across in that building. She was also a good friend of Catherine Trobert and, as a result, more than willing to share information with me. Of course, it helped that I brought her lots of homemade jams and jellies my sister had prepared before venturing off to Costa Rica.
“Gladys,” I said. “It’s Norrie Ellington from Two Witches. I really need to speak with Deputy Hickman.”
“You’re in luck. He finished eating about ten minutes ago. Without food in his stomach, I wouldn’t approach him even if I was wielding a big stick. Is everything all right?”
“Not exactly. The chocolatier who did the demonstration at our winery sort of disappeared.”
“I can dispatch nine-one-one quicker.”
“No. Better not do that. I mean, it’s not as if he’s been kidnapped or anything.” I hope. “But it’s important Deputy Hickman knows what’s going on.”
“Sure. I’ll transfer the call.”
The next voice I heard was becoming way too familiar. “Miss Ellington, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Jules Leurant’s nephew is missing. Earvin Roels. He gave his presentation at our winery and then poof! It was like he disappeared into thin air.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Um, maybe about thirty or forty minutes.”
“Minutes? Thirty or forty minutes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s hardly a reason to send up a flare. Have you checked the men’s room?”
“We’ve checked everywhere. He’s got another presentation at the Grey Egret, but they haven’t seen him either. I think his disappearance may have something to do with a woman who came into our winery.”
