Sauvigone for Good

by J. C. Eaton

  “Hey, Norrie! I left you a voice mail on your cell. I’ve missed you like crazy. Marvin’s driving me nuts with this latest legal matter of his. No sooner do I finish one thing with the client and he decides something else needs to be added, deleted, or changed altogether. If I never set foot in Yonkers again, it will be too soon. And the attorney on the other side of this settlement case is just as bad, if not worse. She keeps changing the wording around so we practically have to start from the beginning. Ugh. Oh, I’m sorry. Here I am rambling when I should be asking about you. How’s the chocolate festival going? Bet you’re having the time of your life with this one. Call me.”

  “Time of my life?” Is he insane? Don’t they get the news in Yonkers? Then I remembered that upstate New York and the city area were two different entities entirely. I plopped myself on the couch, took my cell phone from my bag, and pushed speed dial for Bradley.

  His voice was immediate. “Whew. Glad you’re okay. I know we haven’t had any storms in our area recently, but those roads get awfully slick with the slightest temperature change.”

  “Bradley Jamison, are you telling me you were worried about me?”

  “Yeah, well, um…”

  “The roads are the least of my concerns. Have you followed any of the news up here?”

  “I haven’t even followed the news down here. Why? Please don’t tell me another body cropped up at your winery.”

  “No, at Geneva on the Lake. But holding a wineglass with our Cabernet Sauvignon in it.”

  “Poisoned?”

  “Not the wine, a bonbon. But it was the Ambien spray that did him in.”

  “What Ambien spray? And who? Who are we talking about?”

  For the next fifteen minutes, all Bradley could utter were words like “wow,” “uh-oh,” and “no way,” as I gave him the complete epic poetry version of the events preceding, encompassing, and following the discovery of master chocolatier Jules Leurant face down in the snow. By the time I finished, Bradley was left with one word—“damn.”

  “So, you’re telling me there might be three killers out there?” he asked.

  “That’s kind of the worst-case scenario Cammy, Theo, and I kicked around, but it could be one very clever, very diabolical murderer.”

  “Then let the sheriffs’ department deal with it. Heck, let both county sheriff’s departments deal with it. Please? I’m hoping to finish things up by Friday and get back there. That grand competition’s Saturday night, right?”

  Oh no. Godfrey’s my “plus one.” Now what? “Uh, um, that would be swell. Absolutely swell.”

  Who the heck uses the word “swell?” That’s something a ten-year-old says when he gets tickets to a ball game.

  “Sounds good,” he said. “We’ll talk soon. And remember, let the sheriff’s department handle the investigation. Miss you!”

  “Miss you, too.”

  When I got off the phone, I felt worse than I did back in ninth grade when I told two boys I’d go bowling with them. Keeping dates straight wasn’t exactly my forte. When they both showed up at the house at the same time, it was a disaster. Especially the yelling. Not the boys. My mother. She offered them cookies and hot chocolate while I was forced to apologize for my “inconsiderate behavior.” I glanced at the cupboard and wondered how much hot chocolate Francine had purchased.

  “Saturday night is two days away,” Theo said when I called him the next morning. “Anything can happen between now and then. Maybe Bradley’s case will take longer, maybe a Nor’easter will pull up on the coast or—”

  “Maybe I’ll be super humiliated. Bradley is, after all, my boyfriend. More or less. Well, sort of. I should have just invited Godfrey to the opening reception and not the big hoop-de-dah.”

  “Bradley knows Godfrey’s your brother-in-law’s coworker and a friend of yours. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “Trouble is, I don’t understand. Hanging out with Godfrey comes easy to me. When I’m with Bradley, I’m always on my best behavior.”

  “Hey, as much as I’d like to play Dr. Phil with you, I really need to get over to the winery. Don’s already there. Thank God this is the last day of those demonstrations.”

  “My sentiments exactly. Last thing we need is another Earvin Roels disaster. Travis felt awful about the incident with Alvin, but that could have happened to anyone. I have the tasting room staff on high alert so we don’t run into another fiasco. The marijuana was bad enough.”

  “Yeah, speaking of that, did anyone on your staff notice anything strange with the guests who were in attendance for the wine and chocolate pairing?”

  “Nothing that anyone brought up, but I’ll check. It was a large crowd. Anyone could have spiked Earvin’s herbal tea.”

  “Yeah, the wine trail certainly draws in its fair share of loonies. Catch you later.”

  It was only a little past eight, so I decided to make the most of my morning and pick up where I left off with my screenplay. Too bad I kept rethinking the Bradley-Godfrey dilemma because I wound up inadvertently inserting their names instead of the ones I’d assigned to my male protagonists. By nine thirty-eight, I gave up and closed the stupid laptop.

  Earvin was slated to arrive at Two Witches by ten, so I changed out of my sweats, washed up quickly, and slipped into a decent outfit—turtleneck and fairly new black jeans.

  With ample kibble in Charlie’s bowl and fresh water, I locked the front door and took a brisk walk to the tasting room. That was when it hit me. Hortensia Vermeulen was supposed to give a lecture on Friday at Hobart and William Smith Colleges. What better way to find out if she was indeed the auburn-haired mystery woman than to attend that event. So what if the study of growing fruits, vegetables, and plants was about as interesting to me as one of Godfrey’s mind-numbing seminars on insects. I absolutely had to be in that audience if I was ever going to get anywhere with my hunches.

  Without wasting a second, my fingers were frantically dialing Godfrey’s office. Thankfully, I’d mastered walking and talking a long time ago.

  “Godfrey! Thank God it’s you and not your voice mail. Tell me, can just anyone pop into that lecture Hortensia is giving on Friday or do they need tickets or something?”

  “Whoa. Not even a hello? This must be important, so here goes. According to the email our department received, she’s speaking on special techniques and methods for soil conditioning. You can’t possibly be interested in—duh! I should have known. You want to find out if she’s the auburn-haired woman.”

  “Bingo! So, do I need to get on a list? Get a ticket? What?”

  “Actually, tickets were sent to the vineyard managers on Seneca Lake. Cornell and the colleges in Geneva always do that when one of their speakers can offer the community an opportunity to hear firsthand from a noted academic expert.”

  “John! I’ve got to find John Grishner. Thanks, Godfrey. Good talking to you.”

  I pressed the “end call” button before he could say a word. Then I pulled up John’s cell phone number and dialed.

  He answered right away. “Norrie? Is everything all right?”

  “Fine. Wonderful. Well, sort of. Listen, did you get tickets to attend Hortensia Vermeulen’s soil lecture at Hobart and William Smith this Friday? She’s a horticulturalist from Belgium.”

  “Saw ’em. Tossed ’em. None of us have time. We’ve got to get the winter pruning done and, with the weather being so unpredictable, we’ve got to make use of every decent day we have. Why? Was there something pressing about soil maximization you wanted us to be aware of?”

  “Heck no. I need to find out if Hortensia is somehow involved with the chocolatiers. Long story. Where did you toss the tickets? And please don’t tell me they’re in the landfill by now.”

  “Nope. Still in my overflowing trash basket next to the overflowing stuff on my desk. How about if I dig them up and drop them off at
the tasting room before I leave today? They sent two tickets.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thanks a million, John.”

  I was in the tasting room and only a few feet away from Lizzie and the cash register when I ended the call. Earvin was at the demonstration table with Emma, and things appeared to be going smoothly. We had a moderate number of tasters at the different tables, and I presumed they were mostly event ticket holders who arrived early.

  “Keep your fingers crossed we don’t have another fracas in here today. I don’t think my nerves can stand it,” Lizzie said. “Tell me, have you gotten any further tracking down Jules’s killer? Nancy Drew would have this solved by now.”

  Only if her publisher pushed up the manuscript due date. “Um, I’m working on it. Handbook and all.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “Say, Lizzie, did you happen to notice anyone going near the demo table where Earvin had his tea yesterday?”

  “The demonstration table, no. But a woman with an ugly woolen hat went into the kitchen by mistake. Said she was looking for the restroom.”

  “Red or auburn hair?”

  “The hat covered every last strand. She must have been having a very bad hair day to wear that thing. Why? You think she might have been the one who put the—” Then Lizzie lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “The marijuana in his tea?”

  “You can say it out loud. The word’s not illegal. And I’m not sure. I have some hunches, but I’m not sure.”

  “Nancy Drew always went with her hunches. You’d be wise to follow her example.”

  I stifled a scream and forced myself to smile. “Right.”

  Before I let Lizzie launch into one of her spiels about Nancy Drew, I walked over to Earvin and Emma and asked them how things were going.

  Earvin glared at me as if I’d asked him to taste-test a toad. “The milk chocolate with caramelized centers and bittersweet drizzle will be magnificent, pending any unforeseen circumstances at your winery.”

  “Terrific.” You obnoxious little snob. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  Earvin turned his attention to the tempering machine and, in that instant, Emma stuck her tongue out in his direction. I tried not to burst out laughing.

  By now, the tasting room was filling up and Cammy directed the ticket holders to the circular seating we arranged in front of the demonstration area. Within minutes, our patrons filled the area. With Sam, Glenda, Roger, and Cammy all standing in the rear of the room, I figured it would be a good time to ask if any of them noticed anything unusual prior to Earvin drinking the loco tea.

  They shook their heads in unison. Apparently only Lizzie’s observation was notable. Then again, maybe the woman with the bad hair day simply made a mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time someone went into the wrong restroom. Only this wasn’t a restroom. It was our kitchen.

  All eyes were on Earvin as he pontificated about tempering machines and chocolate consistency. A little water added gloss, too much water turned the stuff into unappetizing blobs. My God, it was like listening to our winemaker Franz or worse yet, his assistants Alan and Herbert, drone on and on about fermentation. I had one word for the whole shooting match—fussy! To wind up with a quality product, whether it was gourmet chocolate or award-winning wine, the mastermind behind the creation had to have far more patience than I could ever imagine.

  I scanned the room and there were no obvious signs of impending doom, so I headed for my office. That was when Lizzie flagged me down and pointed to the phone.

  Now what?

  “Norrie, it’s Rosalee. She said you didn’t answer your cell phone. Here. Take the phone.”

  She handed me the receiver to our ancient wall phone—which had, quite possibly, the longest cord in creation. I moved out of earshot and lowered my voice. “Rosalee? Is everything all right?”

  “Hell no. Why do you think I called you? You’re better at dealing with these things than the sheriff’s department.”

  “Things? What things?”

  Rosalee groaned into the phone. “A death threat in the chocolate.”

  “Come again?”

  “Oh, you heard me, all right. A damn death threat. Allete unwrapped one of those blocks of chocolate from the manufacturer and it was doing whatever it was supposed to do in that machine. Then she unwrapped the other block and that’s when she saw it—someone had carved ‘You Die, Allete’ in the chocolate. Hard to miss.”

  “Um, probably a ridiculous question, but is Allete a basket case by now?”

  “I wouldn’t know. She locked herself in one of the bathroom stalls and refuses to come out. I’ve got a room full of people expecting to see a demonstration, not listen to someone wailing in the john.”

  I glanced at Earvin and he seemed calm and composed. “Hold on a sec. I’ll call you right back.”

  There was no subtle way for me to sneak up and whisper in Earvin’s ear, so I did the next best thing. I stepped in front of his demonstration table and announced, “I must pull Mr. Roels aside for a second. Don’t worry, his competent assistant has everything under control.”

  Emma muttered, “Like hell I do,” under her breath and I prayed no one heard her.

  Without giving Earvin a moment to protest, I grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to the doorway by the kitchen.

  “We have an emergency,” I said. “Well, not us. Terrace Wineries. Allete got a death threat. Well, a message that could be taken as a death threat in her chocolate and now she’s in the restroom and won’t come out. I have to send Emma over there to pinch-hit.”

  “Pinch what? I do not understand.”

  “Baseball. Never mind. I’ll assign one of our tasting room employees to assist you.”

  “They must understand the basics of chocolate preparation.”

  “Earvin, I’m lucky if they understand the basics of pouring a drink at this point. Come on, back to the demonstration. You’ll love working with Glenda.”

  Five minutes later, a dazzled Emma was on her way to Rosalee’s winery and Glenda was trying desperately to assist Earvin as he drizzled a dark chocolate design on top of the coated caramel-infused candies.

  It was a temporary fix because, as far as I knew, Allete was still sequestered in the ladies’ room and Rosalee hadn’t notified the sheriff’s department. Maybe things had changed in the six or seven minutes since I’d spoken with her. I took the cell phone from my pocket, walked to the foyer, and called her back.

  “I’m sending Emma from our bistro to take over. She knows what to do. Plus, the chocolates for the wine pairing were pre-made. You should be all set. Catherine, on the other hand, is going to have a conniption if Allete isn’t at Lake View this afternoon. Rosalee, you have to call Deputy Hickman and tell him what happened.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened. Someone’s toying with that girl so she becomes a bundle of nerves. I don’t think it’s a real death threat.”

  “Um, that’s not up to you to decide. Call Grizzly Gary, for crying out loud, because if something bad really does happen to Allete, we’ll have hell to pay.”

  “Oh, I suppose you’re right. I’ll make the call. Oh, Emma just walked in. Good. The audience is getting restless.”

  “Once our demo is over, I’ll head to your place.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “Maybe I can talk Allete into leaving the restroom.”

  “Won’t the sheriff’s deputies do that?”

  “From what I’ve seen, they may convince her to stay longer. Talk to you later.”

  Chapter 24

  I was so flustered about the so-called death threat Allete received that I forgot, momentarily, about Hortensia Vermeulen’s lectures at the colleges. Only one person would be able to identify her absolutely as the auburn-haired woman—and that was Stephanie. A woman fitting that description, accordi
ng to Stephanie, was responsible for breaking up the chocolate-flinging melee that involved Stanislav and a man in a black overcoat. A man who knew how to hurl insults in German, Dutch, and Russian, according to Stephanie. When I asked her how she knew they were insults, she told me, “He wouldn’t very well be complimenting Stanislav’s chocolate-making skills while flinging chocolate sauce at him.” Point well taken.

  Without stopping to catch my breath, I called Gable Hill Winery’s tasting room and asked for Stephanie.

  “Oh my gosh, Norrie. Did anything horrific happen? When my worker said it was you on the phone, I panicked.”

  Terrific. Now I’m getting a reputation of being the disaster queen. “Not anything that would involve Stanislav directly. Madeline would have called you if there was a problem with his demo at her place. She’d want to give you fair warning before Stanislav shows up at your place this afternoon.”

  I could hear Stephanie exhaling. “Oh, that’s good.”

  “Um, yeah. For now. Wish I could say the same about Allete.”

  “Why? What happened with Allete?”

  “She got a death threat in her chocolate. It was carved into one of those large blocks from the manufacturer that the chocolatiers use for tempering. Rosalee thinks it’s a bunch of hooey, but I told her to call the sheriff.”

  “It just happened? Right now?”

  “Uh-huh. But that’s not why I called. Do you have any pressing plans for tomorrow? The chocolatiers will be back at Geneva on the Lake prepping for the shindig on Saturday, so the foot traffic shouldn’t be too bad in our tasting rooms.”

  “I can’t think about tomorrow if some maniac is out there sending death threats to our wineries.”

  “Not our wineries. The chocolatiers. And not the chocolatiers. Only Allete, as far as I know. And I’ll know more once I head over there, but right now, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “What favor?”

  “Go to Hortensia Vermeulen’s lecture on soil utilization or something along those lines. She’ll be speaking tomorrow at Hobart and William Smith Colleges.”

  “Hortensia Vermeulen? Never heard of her. And soil management? That’s why we have vineyard managers. That’s the stuff they study in college.”