by J. C. Eaton
“That must’ve been horrible.”
“Not horrible, as in those gruesome things on Criminal Minds, but horrible as in dead. Absolutely lifeless and dead. At least I was prepared for it after Robbie and Travis woke me. Imagine their reaction.”
“So, Elsbeth, huh? I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but I doubt she’ll be missed much.”
“I kind of got that reaction from Madeline Martinez when I called her this morning. And Theo and Don from the Grey Egret, too.”
“Did the deputy think it was a homicide?”
“He wouldn’t say, but what else could it be? I figure I’ll know more later today when he returns. He’ll be questioning all of our employees. Did I tell you that before? I can’t seem to remember anything.”
“Take it easy. It’s okay. I figured as much and ran off a timesheet for you with everyone’s hours. Of course, that’s just the tasting room employees. You’ll have to check with John and Franz for their departments. Might as well meet here. The kitchen is separate from the tasting room and bistro. When they come to question employees, we’ll usher them in there. If anyone asks me why there’s a sheriff’s car in our parking lot, I’ll tell them it’s a routine visit.”
“Not very routine if they look up the hill and see the yellow crime tape.”
“From here it just looks like tape. Vineyards get taped off all the time for planting. I doubt anyone will even notice.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Just then we heard a voice from the other room. “Hey! Anyone working today? And what’s with the crime tape on the top of the hill?”
Chapter 8
“Sam,” Cammy said. “Didn’t you get my message? I left you a voice mail and I sent you a text.”
A young, stocky guy with reddish hair and slight reddish-brown stubble walked into the kitchen. “Sorry. I must’ve been in the shower and then I raced off to work.”
He paused for a second and looked at me. “Sam Kasten. You must be Francine’s sister. You look like her.”
“Really? Yeah, I’m Norrie. Nice to meet you.”
We shook hands and he helped himself to a cup of coffee. “So, what’s going on?”
Cammy looked at me and I gave her a slight nod before I spoke. “This morning, the vineyard workers found a dead body in the new area. It was a neighbor. Elsbeth Waters. The sheriff’s office is investigating and they’ll be questioning all of our employees.”
My response was beginning to sound automatic. Rehearsed and detached. Maybe that was a good thing.
“Cripes!” Sam said. “That’s pretty insane, huh? Any idea who wanted to do away with the old witch?”
“We don’t know if she was killed. It might’ve been something else.”
Sam cocked his head and took a sip of coffee. “Uh-huh. Protocol and all that. The deputy probably told you that they won’t know anything until the coroner’s through, huh? Was it Gary? Older guy with the personality of a backwoodsman?”
My eyes widened. “Maybe. Do you know him?”
“If it’s him, his nickname is Grizzly Gary. He’s been around forever.”
“Is he a decent investigator? I mean, we can’t have this death hanging over our winery all summer. It’ll be awful.”
Cammy made a slight groan. “This is Yates County. Small towns and wide-open spaces. Not many suspicious deaths here. In fact, I can’t think of the last time there was one. Now, Geneva, on the other hand, keeps their police department working all the time. But that’s a big city. It’s different.”
I took my last bite of the scone and washed it down with the coffee. “What you’re saying is this investigation could drag on and on. Is that so?”
They both answered. Almost in unison. “Oh yeah.”
“Well,” Sam said, “I’ll get the tasting room all set. Roger should be here any second. I’ll fill him in.”
Then he turned to me. “Don’t worry about it. The investigation, that is. I doubt they’ll get in our way. And again, it was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
The second he left the room, I leaned my elbows across the table to where Cammy was seated and whispered, “This winery can’t afford to wait while that sheriff’s department diddles around with its investigation.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think I’m going to do some sleuthing on my own.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ve written lots of screenplays. Mainly romance but sometimes mystery-romance. I know how investigations work. Lots of questioning. Picking up clues. Checking on people’s backgrounds…”
“I hate to break it to you, but isn’t that what the sheriff’s office is going to do?”
“Oh, sure. But if what Sam says is true, maybe it wouldn’t hurt if we got in on the act. After all, it is our winery and last thing we need is for some dark cloud to be hanging over it. I can hear it now, ‘Were the grapes in this wine near a corpse?’”
“You said we. What do you mean by we?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s the other thing. I’ve got a really tight deadline for the film company, so I’m going to need some help. I was thinking maybe you, Lizzie and Glenda can sort of pitch in.”
“Pitch in how?”
“Relax. Nothing you’re not already doing. I need you to listen carefully to the conversations the customers have while they’re tasting wine or paying for it. If anything sounds as if it might have to do with the Peaceful Pines or Elsbeth, jot it down. That simple. I don’t want it to go all hog-wild so it would only be you, Lizzie and Glenda, okay?”
“All right. I can broach it with them when I see them. Lizzie will be in later and I’ll catch Glenda on Tuesday when I’m back in.”
“Great. Meanwhile, I’d better get back to the house. If a deputy stops in here, call me.”
“Absolutely.”
I trudged back up the hill but not before stopping to check on Alvin. Someone had put new hay in his pen and filled a bucket with grain. His water bowls were full and he was busily chomping on some grass when I walked over to him.
“Too bad you can’t talk, big guy.” I gave him a pat on his head. Then, out of nowhere, he spat on my face. Icky green stuff that I wiped off with my hands.
“Hey! This craps stains,” I said. “Not to mention how gross it is.”
The goat bent down and resumed chomping. I looked up the hill and sighed.
Yep. The only one with a bird’s-eye view to murder spits like a llama.
The forensic crew was still in the vineyard, but John and Peter had left. I took a deep breath, used a tissue I had in my pocket to wipe the rest of that sticky, yucky goat spit off my face and then walked directly over to them. I was partially out of breath when I got there.
“Excuse me. I’m Norrie Ellington, the owner. Well, one of the owners. I was here earlier this morning when the, uh, discovery was made. I was wondering, do you know how much longer you’re going to be? Or how long this area’s going to be off-limits?”
I hadn’t gotten a good look at the men this morning so I was surprised when they swung their heads around and one of them was a woman. About my age with a ponytail tucked under her collar. I could’ve kicked myself for thinking in stereotypes.
“Not too much longer with the preliminaries. Mostly taking photos at this point. All of the hard evidence, soil and the like, was removed.”
Her partner nodded and continued snapping photos with his phone.
“Do you own those woods?” She pointed past the vineyard.
“Yeah, up to a certain point, then the Sandersons own them. I think we go a mile in. Oh. The Sandersons own the land, but there’s no house. They live in town. In Penn Yan. Do you think that’s how the victim got here? From the woods?”
“We’re really not at liberty to say,” the guy answered. “You should direct all of
your questions to the deputy in charge of the case.”
“The one from this morning?”
“Uh-huh,” the woman said. “That’s the one. Deputy Hickman.”
She turned away and took another look at the woods. I knew the Sandersons relied on those woods for their maple syrup production in early spring. We let them tap our maple trees, too, in exchange for syrup and candies. There were narrow logging roads all over the place. Francine and I used to cross-country ski in those woods and tromp through them when we were kids. I hadn’t been back there in over a decade, and I doubted she’d been there either. Our woods were off limits to hunters but, like the poachers, that didn’t mean they obeyed the No Trespassing signs.
I took a step back and stretched. “I’m not a detective, but what the heck, I can see rut marks coming out of the vineyard. Like from a wheelbarrow. Real easy to plop a body in a wheelbarrow and dump it facedown.”
The woman didn’t take the bait. “Like I said. You’d better speak with the lead deputy.”
“Okay. Fine. I’ll do that.”
I meandered back to the house to find Charlie asleep on the front porch. His ears perked up and he raced down the steps as soon as he heard the crunch of loose driveway stone underneath my feet. The road was paved up to the winery, but not the house.
“Looks like it’s going to be name, rank and serial number, boy. That’s all they’re willing to give.”
With that, I went inside the house and poured myself a glass of juice before grabbing my laptop. It was barely noon and I figured I might as well get some of my work done before the inevitable interrogation from Grizzly Gary. Oh my gosh. I needed the days and work hours for the winemaker’s crew and the vineyard guys.
Scattered. That’s what I was. Scattered. Sure, waking up to someone announcing there’s a dead body a few yards away would do that to anyone. I could always blame my lack of focus on delayed reaction or something but I didn’t feel as if I was in shock. I just felt, well…weird. I grabbed the phone and got hold of Herbert in the winery lab.
He expressed how sorry he was and proceeded to give me everyone’s days and hours. Then I called John on the cell number Francine had left. The vineyard workers were rarely in the barn, and the mobile phone was my best bet.
“You wouldn’t happen to know if they’re still up there?” he asked. “I checked about an hour and a half ago and they hadn’t budged.”
“Yeah. I just came from there. It won’t be too much longer, but I think that tape’s going to stay put for a while.”
“Crap” was his only response before giving me the hours and days for his workers.
“If the deputy sheriff lets me in on when he’s coming back to speak with everyone, I’ll give you a heads-up. If not, well, deal with it, I guess.”
“It’ll be fine. Sorry to be so grouchy. It’s just we can’t afford a slowdown. Um, any word from your sister or brother-in-law?”
Francine. Jason. I had completely forgotten to check my e-mails.
“Maybe. I’m getting around to opening my e-mails now.”
“I wouldn’t mention this if I were you. Not that I’m telling you what to do, but—”
“I know. Cammy in the tasting room had the same reaction. No reason to get my sister in a panic over something neither she nor Jason can do anything about. And I’d feel miserable if they had to cancel their bug expedition or whatever the heck you call it.”
“Okay, then. Thanks for calling.”
So much for my screenplay. I opened my laptop and spent the next hour answering e-mails. Including Francine’s. They arrived without a hitch and met up with the field advisor. She said they were inundated with preparations for their trek to Talamanca Mountain Range and Cerro Chirripó, where they’d be tracking down the elusive insect whose name was too difficult to spell in any language. Communications were going to be next to impossible and they’d be e-mailing or calling me whenever and wherever they could. Whew! She wouldn’t be watching the local news out of Rochester.
I e-mailed back and told her everything was running smoothly. Technically, I didn’t lie. The winemaker was doing his thing and the vineyard manager had lots of vines to keep his crew busy, even if one itty bitty area was roped off. As far as the tasting room went, it was a matter of keeping the customers happy and promoting the wine, not the grisly discovery.
My muscles began to relax and I didn’t feel as if I was going to hurl up anything I ate. Then, something dawned on me. My parents were in Myrtle Beach, along with half the retiree population from Geneva and Penn Yan. They’d be bound to hear the news. Only worse. Exaggerated. I couldn’t risk it. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
Fortunately, it was my dad who answered. My mom would’ve been hysterical, insisting they book the first flight back. I explained the entire sequence of events, including all of the support I got from the neighbors.
My dad’s voice was amazingly calm. “First of all, we don’t know if it’s a homicide or not, but even if it turns out to be murder, it most likely wasn’t random and wasn’t committed in the middle of our vineyards. Let the sheriff’s department conduct its investigation and cooperate. But listen, Norrie, stay out of their way. You don’t need to get yourself embroiled in all of this, understand?”
I said “uh-huh” but I had no intention of sitting back. The call ended with me agreeing to keep them posted and my dad telling me not to be surprised if I get a call later from Mom.
My iPhone read 1:43 and suddenly I was famished. I nuked two eggs with cheese and made myself a piece of toast. Charlie must’ve been close by because he raced inside from his doggie door and stood directly in front of me.
“I suppose a little egg on top your kibble won’t hurt,” I muttered.
The dog devoured it and went back outside. Good timing because the phone rang at that precise instant. It was someone from Channel 13 WHAM out of Rochester, asking if they could send a crew to interview the owner and workers who discovered the body. Word traveled fast. The last thing this winery needed was a sensationalized sideshow. I told them we were under a strict directive from the county sheriff’s department to not say a word. If they wanted information, they’d have to go through the lead deputy.
“Can we at least send a photographer to snap a picture of the vineyard where the body was found?” the woman at the other end of the phone asked.
“Uh, er, I think you’d better check with the Yates County Sheriff’s Department. I wouldn’t want us to do anything to jeopardize their investigation.”
My hands were sweating by the time the call ended and it wasn’t from the humidity. I poured myself another glass of juice and went into the den to tackle my own workload. About an hour later, I got another call. This one from the deputy himself.
“Miss Ellington? Deputy Hickman here. We met earlier today. I’m calling to let you know we’ll be sending two deputies out to your winery this afternoon to begin questioning the employees. Should I direct them to your house?”
“No. To the tasting room. It’s the large building that looks like a lodge. There’s a kitchen in there that’s separate from the rest of the area. You can talk to people there.”
“I’ll need a list of all your employees and anyone else associated with the winery.”
“Sure. Fine. What time will they be here?”
“Twenty minutes or so.”
That Costa Rican rainforest is beginning to look pretty darn good.
“Deputy Hickman,” I said. “Do you know a cause of death yet?” Because that body’s been with the coroner since morning.
“Blunt force trauma to the back of her head. We notified the niece.”
“To the head? Uh, I saw blood on her chin and shoulder.”
“Minor lacerations. Could’ve come from her attacker but not the cause of death. Someone must’ve hit the victim with a heavy object. We’ll know mo
re when the toxicology report comes in. It’s fair to say, at this point, it was a suspicious death.”
“Suspicious as in murdered?”
“We’ll leave it at suspicious.”
“Oh, one more thing. One of the Rochester news channels called me for an interview.”
“Figured as much. Surprised the other stations haven’t called. Don’t say anything to any of them. All that lip flapping mucks up an investigation. Direct them to our office.”
“I already did.”
“Thank you for your time, I—”
“Wait! One more question. How did the niece take the news?”
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”
“When you told her…was she hysterical? Crying? Sobbing? Or was she stoic? Calm and pensive?”
“All of the above,” he said, and hung up.
The twenty-minute warning that the deputies were on their way had now dwindled to ten. I placed a quick call to Cammy, followed by one to Franz at the winery, with Alan picking up the line, and one to John’s voice mail. So much for my screenplay. I rinsed off the dishes, made sure I looked presentable and walked downhill to the tasting room.
Chapter 9
The questioning went as well as could be expected, according to Cammy, who did her own unofficial debriefings while I kept trying to reach John or Peter. Finally, Peter answered and explained they were outside fixing some equipment and didn’t hear their phones.
“I think they’ll be interrogating our employees forever,” I said. “It’s not as if everyone works the same days and hours. We’ve got part-timers in the tasting room and I’m not sure about all of your workers.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll get taken care of. Hellish day, huh?”
“More like the day that will never end.”
But it did end. With the last of the tasting room customers walking to their cars with bottles in their hands. A few of them paused to visit with Alvin and I prayed he didn’t spit on them. I hung around the tasting room that afternoon, mainly because I wanted to make sure everything went okay with the questioning but, truthfully, I was too wired and twitchy to write any kind of script.
