by J. C. Eaton
The real bummer was I’d been counting on Earvin to be taking part in the competition, but that wouldn’t prevent me from going through with my little plan to expose Jules’s killer. Henry’s email did state that Earvin would have a seat of honor next to the other wine trail bigwigs at tonight’s event and, knowing Earvin, he’d be there.
The entire extravaganza had disaster written all over it, but it was too late to do anything about it.
I was about to phone Theo when the phone rang and I grabbed it.
“Norrie, it’s Stephanie. Sorry I didn’t get back to you the other night about Hortensia but the truth is, I got nowhere. If she’s hiding anything, it would take a team of archeologists to uncover it. On the other hand, I did find some rather interesting information about Puccini Zinest.”
“What?”
“Well, you probably know their CEO’s death is still under investigation in the Netherlands, but are you aware it was only after he was dead and buried that talks of a merger with another company were all over the news?”
“That doesn’t seem so unusual.”
“Unless it was the only way to get a merger on the table.”
“Gosh, Stephanie, you’re beginning to think the way I do. That’s pretty scary. Anyway, we’ve got our own murder to contend with. And Deputy Hickman’s placed Stanislav in the county lock up. It happened last night. Right in front of me at Port of Call.”
“Does Henry know?”
“He should by now, but his latest email was about replacing Earvin with Anika. I’m not even sure the judges are aware of the situation with Stanislav. When I left Port of Call, Hortensia, who just so happened to be there, made a mad dash for Allete.”
“Yeesh. Looks like old Henry is going to eat crow and welcome Earvin back to the competition after all. Guess we can all look forward to some surprises tonight, huh?”
“Um, you might say that.”
“Okay. See you tonight. Oh, and Norrie, I wouldn’t be too worried about having people think your Cabernet Sauvignon had anything to do with Jules’s death. The media made it pretty clear it was the wineglass.”
“True, but people don’t remember wineglasses. They remember wine.”
When I got off the phone, I checked the bell jar to make sure those spiders were still crawling around. They only had to last another ten hours or so. Then it would be too late for me to prove anything.
I spent the rest of the morning opening and closing my laptop, deciding which of Francine’s winter cocktail dresses to wear, and revisiting my loosely plotted plan for tonight’s gala competition event. At least I didn’t have to spring for a fancy dress I’d never wear again. Unlike Francine, who was forced to attend numerous formal events that involved the entomology department, I could live on urban chic in Manhattan.
In addition to my ticket to the event and my “plus one,” the wine association had also given us a ticket for our winemaker and one for our tasting room manager. Cammy spent the past month clothes shopping for “the occasion of the century,” and as for Franz, I didn’t think he’d have to look any farther than his closet for appropriate formalwear.
If I was really serious about pulling off my plan tonight, I needed to sneak a peek at the set-up for the competition. I knew where the side entrance to Geneva on the Lake’s kitchen was located and the last time I was there, the door wasn’t locked. I crossed my fingers I’d find the same deal today.
With my stomach grumbling, I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before jumping into my car and making the quick drive up the lake. The soft snow that had fallen earlier gave the hotel grounds a fairy tale look. I parked out back, took a deep breath, and walked to the side door that led to the kitchen. Sure enough, the door opened without any trouble and I stepped inside the building. The kitchen was straight ahead and the aroma of seared beef and garlic made me wish I’d never eaten that peanut butter sandwich.
At least five chefs were bustling around the place, and I was mesmerized as I watched them season all sorts of meats. It had to be the preparation for tonight’s event. I figured we’d be dining in one of the ballrooms, but I wasn’t sure where the competition would take place. Surely, it wouldn’t be in such close proximity as to compromise the flavors from our meal.
I studied the movement from the chefs and a thought hit me. Whenever I was in a hurry with work and someone asked me a question, I answered quickly to get it over with so as not to waste time. I hoped the chef I was about to disturb held the same philosophy.
“Excuse me,” I said to a burly-looking gentleman. “I’m with the wine trail and I need to check out the room where the chocolate competition will be held. I seem to have made a wrong turn somewhere.”
Without even bothering to look up, the man replied, “Second floor reserve ballroom. Across from the main elevator. It should still be open, but I’d put a move on if I were you or you’ll need to have someone at the concierge desk secure the key.”
“Thanks. The food smells amazing. What are you serving tonight?”
“Everything. It’s a Brazilian steakhouse event.”
No wonder Gladys said she couldn’t afford it.
Thankfully I remembered my way around the building from the last time I was here. And, like the last time, I took the stairwell. Sure enough, the reserve ballroom was open and set up for the competition.
Four long tables, complete with every accoutrement of the trade, were positioned horizontally so the audience would be able to watch the chocolatiers as they worked. I eyeballed the scenario because it looked so familiar. Then I realized why. It virtually paralleled the set-up from MasterChef, a show that literally gave me the willies every time one of the actual chefs approached a terrified contestant.
The audience chairs were arranged in a series of rows and I imagined the front row was reserved for winery dignitaries, magazine mavens, and the media. The three judges had their own table, set on a platform adjacent to the horizontal tables. Huge placards spelled out their names and their positions.
Looking at the horizontal tables, a pit formed in my stomach. Unlike the three judges’ seats that were clearly marked, there was no indication of which chocolatier was going to be at which table. Crap! How was I ever going to pull off my plan without knowing where my suspect was going to be working?
I crossed my arms, tapped the floor with my foot, and stood there. I hadn’t come all this way just to have my little scheme fizzle in front of me. I’d improvise. That was all there was to it. It would be a small adjustment in the overall scheme of things, but I reasoned the plan would still work. But only if I could sneak into the room prior to the actual event.
Chapter 32
There was no doubt in my mind that the main door would be locked until it was time to let the audience inside. However, most ballrooms had side exits that lead to who knew where and that was exactly what I was about to find out.
You’re not the only one climbing into bell towers, Nancy.
In the case of this ballroom, there were three exit doors. One directly in the back and two off to the sides. I walked to the nearest one on my left and realized it was a small kitchen area with no visible egress. I moved to the door directly in the rear, where a small foyer led to a narrow stairwell that only went one way from where I stood–down. I took my chances and walked down the single flight of stairs. Hallelujah! It ended in a large utility room that opened to a hallway. I figured I could easily access that stairwell tonight but only if the door was unlocked and that wasn’t likely. Unless I could do something about it.
I’d only seen this done in movies, but what other choice did I have? Without wasting a second, I opened every single drawer in that utility room until I found a roll of duct tape and used enough of it on the door lock to prevent it from doing its job. And, I had completed the task in such a way that the duct tape wasn’t obvious. Move over, MacGyver. Satisfied I’d be able
to pull off my grand plan, I walked down the hallway as if I was taking a midday stroll on a beach.
That was when my phone rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Norrie. It’s Cammy. We thought you’d be stopping by the tasting room.”
“Um, oh, I didn’t think it would be that busy today.”
“It’s busy all right. But that’s not why I called. There are rumors floating all over the place that Stanislav Vetro is being charged with murder.”
“Geez. I should have left you a message or something. He was escorted out of Port of Call last night by Deputy Hickman and, according to Gladys, he’s only being held for questioning.” I hope. “Between you and me, I think someone’s setting him up.”
“Too bad Bradley Jamison can’t help him out. Which brings me to the next reason I called. Bradley’s been trying to reach you. He left you a message on your landline and on your cell. He’ll get to the event tonight, but he’ll be late. He’s stuck in a meeting and doesn’t expect to get out of Yonkers much before two thirty.”
“It’s a five-hour drive under perfect conditions and Route 17 is anything but. Thanks, Cammy. I’ll call him back.”
Now it was my turn to leave a message on Bradley’s cell. I told him I’d save a plate of food for him and to drive safe. I sounded like my mother.
The first thing I did when I got home was check the status of those spiders. Still vertical. At least that was a relief. The three earwigs were still dead. In case I’d been mistaken about them.
With a few hours of uninterrupted work time in front of me, I grabbed an apple from the fridge, a few Oreo cookies, and a Coke. I told myself that this time, no matter what, I’d get moving on Beguiled into Love. There was literally nothing I could do for Stanislav and, besides, didn’t Allete say she was going to call the Russian embassy?
At least we wouldn’t have to witness God knew what kind of display Earvin would put on if indeed Stanislav got released. Earvin was all but guaranteed a spot between the two women chocolatiers.
At a little past six, I called Don and Theo to see if they’d heard anything since last night but like me, they were only privy to rumors.
“Guess we’ll have to get to Geneva on the Lake to find out who’s on first, huh?” Theo said. “I just hope Allete doesn’t start sobbing into the tempering machine. Water ruins the chocolate, you know. Hey, weren’t you going to tell me about evidence pointing to another suspect? Other than Anika or Hortensia?”
“It can wait. I might be off.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.”
Last thing I needed was to second guess myself and that was exactly what I would have done if Theo heard my plan and ixnayed it. I needed to stay focused. Even if it meant keeping something from the people I trusted the most.
The chocolate event dinner at Geneva on the Lake was to begin promptly at seven thirty, with a wine bar in the ballroom lobby at seven. By six forty, I was dressed and ready to go, with one exception—the bell jar. It would be impossible to carry something so cumbersome in a small handbag and the thought of walking into the place with something that resembled a satchel was out of the question. I had to improvise.
The only thing I could think of was a Ziploc bag large enough to accommodate my menagerie. Like I’d done with the bell jar lid, I poked tiny holes in the plastic bag, and then folded it into my purse, hoping I wouldn’t crush the ammunition I needed for tonight.
When I arrived at the hotel, I was astonished at how far out I had to park. It might as well have been in the next county. To make matters worse, the front driveway was totally blocked by a long row of limousines and the area adjacent to that was taken up by news vans from the local stations.
I clutched my purse and headed to the entrance. Once inside, I was asked to show my ticket at the reception desk and then directed to the corridor where the ballroom was situated.
“Um, I need to leave two other tickets for guests who haven’t arrived yet. Dr. Godfrey Klein and Mr. Bradley Jamison.”
Without hesitation, the gentleman took the tickets and wrote down the names. “There’s a bank of coat racks in the corridor by the foyer. Please feel free to put your wrap there.”
Is that his way of telling me to take off that hideous coat of mine?
“Dr. Klein should be here any minute,” I said, “but Mr. Jamison may be an hour or so late. He’s driving from Yonkers.”
“He may be later than that,” the man said. “My sister lives in Roscoe on Route 17 and they’re getting some icy rain that’s expected to move farther west.”
Drivers could prepare for most anything in upstate New York with the right snow tires and studs, but there was no remedy for icy rain, except to wait it out. I figured if Bradley didn’t show in the next hour or so, I’d call or text him.
I thanked the receptionist and walked toward the ballroom. The large foyer that opened into the dining area was filled to capacity. Two wine bars were set up against the walls, and the hotel had added a few bistro tables. I recognized several attendees, including a few of the women from WOW and their spouses, as well as Leandre, Rosalee’s winemaker.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Rachael Ray with a man who looked surprisingly like Guy Fieri. Yep, the place was teeming with culinary bigshots. I’d better start milling around and making conversation or I’d look like a star-struck teenager on a movie set.
Just as I started to approach the bistro table where Henry Speltmore was seated, Stephanie tapped me on the shoulder. “Can you believe this crowd? The tension is almost palpable. Looks like the contenders are going to be Allete, Anika, and Earvin. I overheard one of the judges speaking with Henry. Stanislav is still in the Yates County Public Safety Building, even though no charges were made.”
“By the time they let him out, it’ll be too late for him to compete.”
“That certainly changes the odds for Allete. She and Stanislav had a two-thirds advantage. If one of them won, they’d be sharing the windfall with the other to start their own company. Now, he’s probably facing trumped-up charges and she’s got a one-third chance of winning. If she can concentrate.”
“So, you don’t think Stanislav’s the killer, either. The man’s got decoy written all over him. I think I can flush out the real murderer tonight.”
Stephanie widened her eyes and took a step back. “You’re not thinking Hortensia, are you? She’s over by the wine bar on the left.”
I looked over my shoulder and caught sight of Hortensia chatting with someone. “There’s definitely something off about her, that’s for sure.”
No sooner did I finish my thought than an announcement was made to enter the ballroom for the gala dinner event preceding the chocolate competition.
“Come on, Norrie,” Stephanie said. “We’d better find our tables.”
“Our tables? We have assigned tables?”
“Yes. Check your ticket.”
Sure enough, Godfrey and I were assigned to table twelve. I had no idea who we’d be seated with, but I had to make sure that no matter what, Bradley Jamison would also be at my table. Awkward or not.
“Thanks Stephanie. I need to find Rosalee. Right now.”
Before Stephanie could answer, I elbowed my way through the oncoming crowd to find out what table the wine trail assigned to Rosalee. I didn’t think quarterbacks worked as hard as I did.
“Rosalee!” I shouted the moment I spotted her. “What table are you at?”
Rosalee looked at the ticket in her hand. “Twelve. They better not have seated me with a bunch of boring old coots or worse yet, one of those celebrities who’s always talking about themselves.”
For once I understood the expression “flooded with relief.”
“I’m at your table. With Godfrey and Bradley. I don’t know who else we’ve got.” I peered into the ballroom. Fancy white tablecloths, red and
white floral centerpieces, and more stemware than the wedding department at Macys. “Looks like the tables are meant for six.”
“Might as well get this fiasco over with,” Rosalee grumbled as she made her way into the ballroom.
Godfrey waved from across the room, and I waved back. He was the only one seated at our table and, like Rosalee, I, too, hoped we wouldn’t be saddled with anyone boring or self-involved. As it turned out, we were joined by Don and Theo, so all of us could relax.
“What’s with these cards?” Rosalee seated herself next to Don and flipped a small card over. “They’ve got a green dot on one side and a red one on the other. Don’t tell me we’re going to be forced to play some idiotic game.”
Don laughed. “It’s a Brazilian steakhouse-themed event. In a few minutes, servers are going to approach the tables with all sorts of meats and poultry. Keep your green dot face up if you want more, turn it to red if you need a break. Theo and I went to one of those restaurants last year when we were in Toronto.”
“Good,” Rosalee said. “Then maybe you’ll know what the stuff sitting in front of me is.”
“Polenta,” Don and Godfrey replied simultaneously.
“And caramelized bananas,” Theo added.
And a price tag the wineries will be paying well into the next century.
“I don’t see the chocolatiers anywhere in the ballroom,” I said. And please don’t tell me they’re already at their prep tables on the second floor.
Theo picked up a piece of the polenta and took a bite. “According to the contest rules, which were sent to us weeks ago but only recently read in our household, the chocolatiers aren’t allowed in the contest area until the competition begins. Their names will be announced and they’ll walk to their tables. I imagine none of them are in the mood to stuff up on assorted meats and poultry. By the way, where’s Bradley Jamison? Isn’t he supposed to be joining you, Norrie?”
I smiled at Godfrey and my cheeks got warm. “Um, yeah. He was. I mean, he is. But he’s in Yonkers. He’s on his way.”
