Sauvigone for Good

by J. C. Eaton

  “Ah, Miss Ellington. No doubt you’re aware of the reason for my impromptu visit.”

  I did a mental eye roll. “No doubt. But let me begin by saying the presumed marijuana in Mr. Roels’s tea didn’t come from our winery. Honestly. We sell wine. That can make people high if they consume too much. Why on earth would we introduce an illegal substance?”

  Deputy Hickman put his hands on his hips and groaned. “Miss Ellington, if you’d let me get a word in edgewise I would appreciate it.”

  Edgewise…sidewise…whatever.

  I closed my mouth and widened my eyes as Deputy Hickman spoke. “This is the third winery this morning that reported a similar incident. Not with tea, mind you, but in the coffee Mr. Vetrov was drinking while at Billsburrow Winery, and in some sort of a horchata drink Miss Barrineau had set down next to her demonstration table at Terrace Wineries.”

  “Holy cow!”

  “Indeed. Holy cow. It would appear, Miss Ellington, we have a prankster in our midst who seems to be deriving some sort of sick pleasure from monkeying with people’s drinks.”

  “Not people. Chocolatiers. Esteemed world-famous chocolatiers.” Except maybe for Earvin, but by the time he’s done, who knows.

  “We are aware of that. I’ll need to pour the remains of Mr. Roels’ tea into a sterilized plastic bottle from our lab, and, along with the cup, bring it in for testing. I’ve already done the same with Miss Barrineau’s sample. Unfortunately, Mr. Vetrov dumped his coffee down the sink and rinsed the glass so we only have his word about the matter.”

  “No problem. Did you, uh, want to speak with Mr. Roels? He’s in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll take a statement from him, yes. I’m afraid that’s all I can do at this point.”

  I escorted Deputy Hickman to the kitchen and showed him where we had set the cup of tampered tea. Then I left him alone with Earvin and returned to the tasting room.

  The wine and chocolate pairing was still going strong, so I left things as they were and darted back to my office to call Theo and Don at their winery.

  Don picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Norrie. Thanks for calling. Is everything going okay with Earvin?”

  “Not exactly. Alvin spat on him, he freaked out, Glenda gave him some calming tea, someone laced it with marijuana, I think, and anyway, the EMTs arrived. Then Deputy Hickman.”

  “Oh …the siren. Theo was convinced it was on the road and not our shared driveway. We were too busy to look out the windows. Is Earvin going to be all right?”

  “Yeah. He’s fine. Hungry as hell but fine. Funky mood, too. I thought people were supposed to be happy on that stuff.”

  “Usually. Do you think he’ll make it to our winery or do we need to call in another favor from Emma?”

  “He should be fine. He doesn’t have to give his demo until two thirty. But that’s only part of why I called. Two Witches was the third winery where someone spiked the chocolatiers’ drinks. Deputy Hickman told me Rosalee’s place and Madeline’s had similar experiences. Except for the goat.”

  Don chuckled. “I shouldn’t be laughing but picturing Alvin was too much. What was Hickman’s take on the marijuana?”

  “A prankster. But I don’t think so. I think someone is trying to unnerve those chocolatiers. But why?”

  “I could see it if it was only one. That would make sense. To get him or her out of the game. But all of them? Maybe Hickman’s right. Maybe we’ve got a kook and nutcase floating around the lake. Wouldn’t be the first time. Anyway, I’ll let Theo and our employees know. We’ll keep a good eye on anything that goes near Earvin’s mouth.”

  “Good idea. Catch you later.”

  When I stepped back into the tasting room, Lizzie informed me that Mr. Roels’ driver had arrived and was taking him back to the hotel for a short respite.

  “Someone better tell the hotel’s front desk to make sure Earvin gets a wake-up call or he may not make it to his afternoon demonstration.”

  “Someone?” Lizzie asked.

  “Okay, fine. Me. I’ll call Geneva on the Lake.”

  Chapter 22

  This time there was a man at the front desk who took my call. I explained it was paramount Mr. Roels be given a wake-up call. The receptionist told me only the guest could request such a thing. I then told him if he didn’t notify Mr. Roels of the time and he missed his demonstration at the Grey Egret, the fault would rest with Geneva on the Lake. So much for tourism promotion from the Seneca Lake Wine Association.

  The receptionist agreed to make an exception in my case. I thanked him and went on to my next call. Given what Deputy Hickman had told me, I had to find out from Rosalee exactly what transpired with Allete.

  “I have no idea,” Rosalee said when I got her on the phone. “All I knew was that Miss Barrineau held the glass out and told my tasting room staff it ‘didn’t taste right.’ Once a few of my employees took a whiff, they were convinced someone added marijuana to the mixture.”

  “Um, who mixed it? Is it something your winery serves?”

  “No. It’s that bottled stuff we sell along with sodas and juices. Still, I doubt it came that way from the company. Miss Barrineau placed the glass on one of our counters while she prepped at her demonstration table.”

  “Hmm. Plenty of time for someone to add a secret ingredient.”

  Rosalee made a grumbling sound and cleared her throat. “That’s what we thought, too. To be on the safe side, I called the sheriff’s department. Deputy Hickman arrived and took it for testing.”

  “I know. He was probably at your winery right before coming to ours.”

  I then went on to tell her about Earvin’s bout with marijuana and the fact that there was a similar incident at Madeline’s winery.

  “You think someone’s trying to sabotage this damn event?” she asked.

  “That or get one of those chocolatiers so anxious he or she won’t be able to compete.”

  “Oh brother. By the way, was that siren headed to your place? We couldn’t be sure.”

  “Yeah. When Earvin got dizzy, one of our guests immediately dialed nine-one-one.”

  “Just what we need. More drama at our wineries. At least the news crews didn’t show up.”

  “Bite your tongue. We still have one more day. And an afternoon.”

  As it turned out, we were on the news after all. Well, Stephanie was and she wasn’t any too happy about it. It was the early evening news and it followed an afternoon of nail biting on my part, wondering what other “fresh horror” awaited us with this chocolate festival.

  As things turned out, a rather groggy, according to Theo, Earvin showed up on time for his presentation at the Grey Egret and somehow pulled off an extraordinary demonstration of fillings and infusions. I put in a quick call to Madeline between my call with Rosalee and eating my lunch. I gave her the rundown on Earvin, as well as what Rosalee told me about Allete’s latest incident.

  Madeline’s explanation of the tainted coffee in Stanislav’s cup was similar to the other incidents. “One of our employees handed Mr. Vetrov a cup of dark roast she had made. Black. He said he preferred it that way. Anyhow, Mr. Vetrov took it with him to the demonstration table in our tasting room. He set it down on the small counter adjacent to the table as he set-up for the presentation. When he finally took a sip of coffee, he shouted something about someone trying to drug him with marijuana and stormed into our kitchen and dumped the cup in the sink before any of us could smell it. Then he rinsed the cup and put it in the strainer.”

  “What about the rest of the coffee? Was anyone else’s coffee tampered with?”

  “No. Only his. I called the sheriff’s department to report the incident, seeing as how these were high-profile celebrities and what with one of them turning up dead, I didn’t want to take any chances.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Deputy Hi
ckman wasn’t too pleased about the lack of evidence but said it was probably a prank and not to worry about it.”

  “Yeah. He told me the same thing. But I’m worried. True, a bit of marijuana in someone’s drink isn’t going to render them unconscious, but what if it’s more than that?”

  “What do you mean, Norrie?”

  “Maybe today’s little episodes were just that. Little episodes meant to throw the chocolatiers off course. What if whoever is behind this tries something worse tomorrow?”

  Madeline gasped. “My God! I never thought of a possible repeat. I’ll have to assign at least two employees to keep an eye on anything Stanislav Vetrov goes near. I’m also going to email Henry Speltmore about this. I doubt he’ll be much help. He’ll probably send all of us another one of his longwinded emails about tourism and professionalism. Still, he is the president of the wine association.”

  We agreed to keep each other, and everyone else in WOW, up-to-date with anything out of the ordinary. I just didn’t expect it to be about the nightly news at seven, featuring Wade Gallagher on 8 WROC.

  It was Catherine who called me, insisting I stop whatever it was I was doing and turn on the TV. “I’ve got to call poor Stephanie. You and I can chat later.”

  Why she called me prior to dialing Stephanie was anyone’s guess, but Catherine was known to be a bit flighty at times. I closed my laptop, got up from the couch, and hunted around for the remote. It was wedged between the cushions and, by the time I located it, I had missed most of the story. Most, but not all. I did manage to catch a rerun of that dreadful video from the opening reception when Stephanie said she wished Jules would choke on a bonbon. My God. The bonbon. The poisoned bonbon. Was that what this was about?

  Without wasting a second, I phoned Don and Theo.

  “Guess you saw it, too,” Theo said. “Antifreeze. The lab released the results from the substance found in Jules’s throat. Said it was chocolate with antifreeze in it, but it wasn’t the cause of death. Not enough time. They’re still going with the Ambien spray on the wineglass causing the guy to get woozy and pass out in the snow. Then, of course, someone made sure he was face down.”

  “Why run that awful footage of Stephanie?”

  “Ratings.”

  “Ugh. I better give Stephanie a call. That is, if Catherine finally got off the phone with her. Catherine was the one who told me about the news story in the first place. At least she didn’t mention her son, Steven, but give it time.”

  “Stephanie has nothing to worry about,” Theo said. “It was a flip remark. Over and done. Tell her to let it slide when you talk to her.”

  “Theo, do you think there’s really one murderer out there and he or she used multiple methods to get the job done? Or do you think we’ve got a regular murder club going on?”

  “I think more than one person wanted Jules Leurant dead, but only one killer got lucky.”

  “Did the news anchors explain how the antifreeze got into the chocolate? I missed that whole part of the broadcast.”

  “They sure did. Even held up a sample piece of chocolate and zeroed in on a tiny pinprick on the bottom of the chocolate. Once the internal mixture has cooled and the chocolate is hardened, the chocolatiers can use a flavor marinator to inject whatever they want. In this case, it was poison.”

  “I saw one of those things today. Earvin had it for the demo. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how to inject something toxic. And antifreeze is real easy to come by. Heck, every convenience store and gas station from here to Buffalo sells it. Walmart, too, for that matter. Especially in the dead of winter.”

  “It’s a clever killer, all right,” Theo said. “The stuff tastes sweet, that’s why there are warnings to keep it away from pets.”

  “I wish this miserable event would be over with already. I can’t help but feel as if whoever’s behind it may be planning something worse.”

  “What’s worse than murdering someone?”

  “Murdering more people.”

  “Look, make sure your staff is extra vigilant tomorrow. We’ll get through this, Norrie.”

  “If you say so.”

  I tried to get back to my screenplay, but I was way too antsy to concentrate. Unlike my sister, who would use an opportunity like this to bake a quiche or maybe even a loaf of lemon-zucchini bread, I decided to see if Godfrey might be in the mood to grab a pizza or something. After all, it was only a few minutes before eight and, in a college town like Geneva, the restaurants and pizzerias wouldn’t be filling up until well after nine.

  Godfrey answered on the second ring and didn’t sound at all surprised to hear from me. “I had a mental bet with myself as to whether you’d call me tonight or wait until I was at the Experiment Station tomorrow. I figured you’d be too busy during the day with those chocolate pairings.”

  “Huh? I called to see if you wanted to grab a pizza. What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you read the fax I sent this morning?”

  “Come to think of it, Cammy mentioned a fax, but I was pretty sure it was meant for our vineyard manager, so I told her to put it in his box. The staff mailboxes are in an alcove adjacent to our entrance. Usually John Grishner sends over one of his crew to get the mail. The fax is probably sitting on John’s desk. He’s been inundated with the winter trimming. Once he leaves his office, he’s outdoors most of day. He’ll probably read it tomorrow morning first thing. Why? Is there some horrible godforsaken winery pest that’s about to wreak havoc on us?”

  “Not as yet, but John will be shaking his head when he reads that fax.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it has to do with that auburn-haired woman we saw when we went to talk with Allete about the spider incident.”

  “You found out something? You know something? What? What? Who is she?”

  “Whoa. Hold your horses. First of all, I’m not saying it was her, but there sure is a likeness.”

  “To what? Come on, tell me.”

  “You know how I gloss over all the department emails unless something is really directed my way?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, for some reason, I clicked on to a recent email about a noted horticulturalist from Belgium, who’s here to deliver a lecture at Barton Hall in Ithaca the Monday following the chocolate extravaganza. The woman we spotted chatting with Allete sure resembles the one in the photo from my email. And get this, her name is Hortensia Vermeulen. Wasn’t that the name you found on that boarding pass when you routed through hotel trash? That is what you told me a few days ago, right?”

  I all but choked. “Horticulturalist? What on earth would she be doing with Allete? And Stanislav. Remember, they were all having a little tête-à-tête when we left the bar at Geneva on the Lake.”

  “Maybe it’s what Allete told us. Just that. Guests having a conversation.”

  “If she’s delivering a lecture in Ithaca, why is she staying in Geneva?”

  “Oops. Forgot to mention, she’s also conducting a lecture at Hobart and William Smith Colleges on Friday for the department of environmental studies.”

  “Hortensia sure gets around, huh?”

  “Sometimes neighboring universities work together when visiting academic dignitaries are in the area. They share the travel costs and other expenditures. Look, pizza sounds really good. How about we continue this conversation at Uncle Joe’s in say, a half hour?”

  “You got it!”

  One heaping order of wings and a large sausage and olive pizza later, Godfrey and I were still ruminating about Hortensia Vermeulen and whether she had any connection with the chocolatiers. We were tucked in a small corner at Uncle Joe’s restaurant on Genesee Street. A street that featured more than one family-friendly Italian restaurant. What I liked about Uncle Joe’s was its ambience, in addition to the ethnic food. An eclectic collection of memora
bilia and framed photos filled the plaid wallpapered walls and offset the colorful checkered tablecloths.

  “You mean to tell me that all this time I’ve been chasing after some horticulturalist from Belgium?” I whined. “This doesn’t make sense. And what about that note? It was written on Puccini Zinest stationery. Why would Hortensia write a note like that to someone?”

  “Norrie, are you sure she’s the one who wrote it? Maybe she’s the recipient.”

  “Holy Crap! I never thought of that. It kind of changes things, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 23

  When we left Uncle Joe’s Restaurant, I had more questions than answers. If Hortensia was a world-famous horticulturalist, then how was she connected to the chocolate industry? That was, if she even had a connection. Maybe it was what Godfrey said. Coincidental. That note could have meant anything. Still, I wasn’t buying it. The note was written on Puccini Zinest stationery and that stuff wasn’t readily available for purchase like the chocolate they made.

  And what about that altercation with Earvin? Didn’t that involve an auburn-haired woman? In fact, so did the unfortunate chocolate smearing incident with Stanislav that Stephanie told me about. The one that sent Deputy Hickman to Gable Hill Winery. Nope, this was no coincidence. Horticulturist or not, I was positive Hortensia was the auburn-haired woman.

  Charlie was pushing around his dog dish when I got into the house, and I immediately filled it with kibble before I even bothered to take off my jacket. Too tired to hang it in the closet, I rationalized I’d be wearing it in the morning so it might as well stay put over the back of a kitchen chair. That’s right, Francine. I neglected to hang up my coat. And I may have neglected to feed the dog, but I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter. He shoves that food dish at me whether he’s eaten or not.

  I was about to head upstairs when I noticed the light blinking on the landline. Uh-oh. Whoever left me a message probably tried my cell phone but it was on mute at the bottom of my bag. I walked to the phone and tapped the “play button.”