by J. C. Eaton
“I can pretty much guarantee you’re not,” Theo said. “It’s that wild imagination of yours, that’s all. Anyway, let’s let Norrie bring us up to date.”
Francine and Jason had told me that Theo and Don could definitely be trusted. The four of them had been close friends for over five years and knew how to keep each other’s confidences.
“I’ll give you the abbreviated version,” I said. “Not in any particular order. Declan Roth, one of those unscrupulous developers, sent me flowers. Wants to have lunch with me this coming week. I met with Stephanie Ipswich. Elsbeth gave her the royal screw job and bought the Tyler place out from under her. I chatted with Catherine Trobert. She wants to fix me up with her son. Yuck. And I found out Madeline Martinez was playing hostess to Elsbeth on more than one occasion. Oh, and did I say I talked with the niece? Seems nice enough but I’m sure she’s hiding something.”
Theo took my wrist and gave it a slight squeeze. “Whoa, slow down. How did you meet Declan Roth to begin with?”
“Forget Declan Roth,” Don said, “I want to know more about Madeline and Elsbeth.”
Just then our waitress appeared with my soda and a tray of steaming appetizers. All conversation ceased as we stared at the feast in front of us.
“Can I get you something from our main menu?” she asked. “Or maybe a soup.”
“I’ll have a bowl of your Cajun clam chowder,” I said.
“Make that two,” Don added.
Theo opted for a shrimp Caesar salad and the waitress nodded before she took off.
For the next fifteen minutes, between bites of firecracker rolls and stuffed mushrooms, I went on and on about Glenda’s idea to smudge the tasting room and my latest conversation with Deputy Hickman. Theo and Don were kept apprised of every single thing. Except one. My theory to catch the killer.
“I’ve got to admit,” Don said, “that was pretty darn clever of you to list a Mercedes as one of the winery vehicles.”
I all but gleamed. “Yeah. I’m banking on the fact the tire prints will be a match with the kind of tires those cars have.”
Theo scrunched his nose and shook his head. “I hate to break it to both of you but, like any other car, that Mercedes coupe could have the same kind of tire—Michelin, Continental, Hankook…”
Don gave his partner a funny look. “How do you know so much about tires?”
“Because I’m the one who always gets stuck at the garage for repairs.”
“Hey, don’t look so dejected, Norrie,” Theo said. “The sheriff’s department wouldn’t be interested in tire tracks if they didn’t think it was a good start. But they could’ve saved themselves some time if they asked all of us to write down what kind of tires are on our cars.”
Don let out a laugh. “Hell. I don’t even know that.”
Theo groaned. “The name’s usually on the side, above the rim. And you’ve given me a terrific idea. I’m going to snoop around the parking lots and see just what kind of tires everyone’s got on their vehicles.”
I couldn’t believe it but we had scarfed up the appetizers and were now devouring our soups, or in Theo’s case, his salad.
“I don’t really feel like ordering a full meal at this point,” Don said, “but I sure could go for their fried clam strips.”
“My God. I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I said, “but me, too.”
“Fine. When the waitress comes back we’ll put in an order. You in, Theo?”
“Oh hell yes.”
By the time we had eaten the last morsel of our meal, I felt confident enough to let Don and Theo in on my plan to trap Declan Roth. True, I had skimpy evidence, only a shared floral arrangement with Elsbeth and my assumption his was the car that drove through our woods with her body, but still…I was certain he and his partner were the ones responsible for the murder.
“Are you nuts?” Theo said. “I can’t believe you’d even consider doing such a thing. It’s beyond dangerous. It’s, it’s—”
“Insane?” Don’s voice went one decibel louder. “You could lose everything. Listen, it’s one thing to go snooping around gathering information, but it’s another to put your winery at risk.”
“I wouldn’t exactly be putting it at risk. I’d be giving the impression I was willing to put it at risk. I wouldn’t actually go through with it.”
Don kept shaking his head. “It’s still dangerous. Besides, how do you know it wasn’t someone else who killed Elsbeth? Maybe you should give the county sheriff’s department some time to complete their investigation.”
“Come on. They didn’t even think about asking us for the brand of our tires. I don’t really have a whole lot of confidence in them.”
“I see your point, but I still think you should wait. At least about this. But nothing says you shouldn’t be looking into the other possibilities. In fact, Theo and I will poke around, too.”
“Huh?” Theo looked as if Don had suggested they join the Foreign Legion, if that sort of thing still existed.
Don must have noticed the expression on Theo’s face, too. “What I’m saying is, we’ll use our contacts to ask questions, look for connections, that’s all.”
“Oh,” Theo said. “For a minute you had me scared. You mean, do the usual busybody stuff you’re famous for.”
“Very funny. Hey, before I forget, I’ll have our vineyard manager give John a call to see if he needs any help roping off your vineyards. I’m sure we can spare a few guys. I couldn’t imagine what was going on the other day with all those cars.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. Is it my imagination or are people getting weirder each day? Like everyone’s fascination with crime scenes and dead bodies. I mean, I could understand if it was near Halloween, but it’s the end of June.”
“People have a morbid sense of curiosity,” Theo said. “Too bad they don’t respect boundaries. At least they didn’t wreak havoc on your vineyards traipsing about.”
“Thankfully, no.”
It was a quarter to nine and the sun was setting. Had we been on the east side of the lake, we would’ve been dazzled by it. As it was, the sky turned different hues of pinks, mauves, yellows and blues before calling it quits.
“Before we head out,” Don said, “I have to commend you. You’ve had one hell of a time since you got here and you’re still in one piece. I thought maybe Glenda’s smudging idea would put you over the edge, but from what you told us, you handled it well.”
“Actually, Theo handled it well. I used one of his lines and it worked. The tasting room staff at Two Witches is, well, unique. Lizzie’s a regular Nancy Drew buff, Glenda is a throwback to the nineteen-sixties and who knows what’s with Roger and Sam. At least Cammy seems normal.”
Theo and Don exchanged glances and I bit my lower lip. “What? What do you know that you aren’t telling me?”
“Have you had a chance to talk at any length with Roger?” Theo asked.
Please don’t tell me he’s got some bizarre habit like yodeling at dawn. “Only the usual formalities. Why?”
“Whatever you do, do not, and I repeat, do not get him started on the French and Indian War. He’ll never shut up. He did his dissertation on it long before either of us was born and it’s a passion of his.”
“I don’t think you have to worry. It’s not as if I’m going to bring that up.” Because History wasn’t one of my strong suits.
“You don’t have to bring it up. He’ll find a way to link it to anything you say. I’m right, aren’t I, Don?”
Don nodded and shuddered as Theo went on. “Our combined tasting room staffs were at a symposium at Cornell a few years ago and someone mentioned wineries in the Ohio River Valley. Next thing we knew, Roger shouted out, ‘Were you aware the French and Indian War began over the issue of whether or not the Ohio River Valley belonged to the French or the British?’ Before any
of us could catch a breath, Roger relived battles, troop strategies and God knows what else. None of us could think straight for the remainder of the day.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid the subject.”
Suddenly Don leaned into the table and whispered, “Speaking of avoidance, look who just walked in. Don’t stare. Act nonchalant.”
I saw a strikingly handsome man in his late forties or maybe even early fifties walk toward a table at the other end of the deck. It was getting darker and, in spite of the candle-lit sconces on our tables, I couldn’t make out who was seated there.
“Who am I looking at?”
“The other half of Vanna Enterprises,” Don said. “Lucas Stilton.”
In a flash I remembered everything Stephanie had told me about him and my face warmed thinking about it. Other than meandering over to the other side of the deck for no reason, there was nothing I could do to find out who he was seeing.
“He’s probably putting the screws to some poor unsuspecting winery owner,” Theo said.
The three of us sat almost motionless, with the exception of occasionally nursing our drinks.
“I wish there was a way to find out,” I said. And then, as if providence was on my side, a waiter lit the torch behind that table and I caught a glimpse of someone standing up to shake Lucas’s hand. It was a woman with short brown hair and a white shrug sweater over a sundress. No one else appeared to be at the table.
“I’ve got a bird’s eye view,” I said. “He’s meeting a woman. A brunette.”
“That narrows it down,” Don said before Theo shushed him. “What? I’m as curious as Norrie.”
We continued to sit for a few more minutes and I was reminded of James Stewart, Grace Kelly and Thelma Ritter in Rear Window. All we lacked was the binoculars.
“Well, this isn’t getting us anywhere,” I said, “because— Oh my gosh. He’s getting up to leave. Quick. Act natural. Laugh or something.”
Don and Theo made small talk as I kept my eyes glued to Lucas. He was only feet away from our table as he exited the deck and presumably, the restaurant.
I tried to keep my voice low. “What do you suppose that was all about?”
Theo whispered back. “Not what, who. Someone else is joining the woman at the table.”
All we could make out was a man’s silhouette. Shorter than Lucas and a wee bit stockier. The three of us tried to get a better look when we stood to leave but it was impossible. The man had his back to us and the woman’s face was in the shadows. Damn it. Why couldn’t she lean into that candle sconce like they did in all my screenplays?
Then my mind raced into gear. I’d seen that hairdo before. It was a wedge cut and if I wasn’t mistaken, Madeline Martinez wore the same style.
Chapter 16
“Are you one hundred percent sure it was Madeline?” Theo asked when we got to our cars.
“I wouldn’t swear to it in a court of law but honestly, it sure did look like her—slender brunette with a wedge haircut. That’s not a style everyone can pull off. I don’t know about you guys, but my suspicion meter is going up. Especially after what Stephanie told me.”
Don turned around and glanced at the restaurant. “I could always go back inside and pretend I forgot something.”
Theo shook his head. “What? What could you have possibly forgotten? Besides, it might look too obvious.”
“Theo’s right,” I said. “Since I’m the newbie around here, the ladies seem pretty amenable to having me over for coffee. I’ll get Madeline to do the same and go from there.”
“As long as you don’t do the other thing you mentioned. You know. That plan of yours to trap Declan Roth. Promise us you’ll let it ride for a while.”
I could sense the sincerity in Don’s voice. “All right. I’m not making any promises except this one—if I decide to go through with it, I’ll let you know ahead of time. Okay?”
“I suppose,” he said.
“Uh, before we call it a night, I have a question for you. Francine mentioned someone playing not so nice pranks on the wineries and I wondered if that was still going on. I haven’t noticed anything but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening elsewhere.”
Don and Theo looked at each other before Theo spoke. “Not in a while. It was really crazy a few months ago, but things seemed to have died down. To be honest, I’d rather put up with those idiotic shenanigans than having a dead body appear in one of our vineyards.”
“Ditto for me.”
We said good night and agreed to go out again soon. Don mentioned a really neat restaurant on Keuka Lake that served the best Jamaican jerk chicken and I told him I was in. When I got home, Charlie was curled up in his usual spot in the kitchen. The moment he saw me, he bumped me and walked to the pantry door where his food was stored.
“You’ve got my number, don’t you, buddy?”
His eyes got wide as he waited for me to pour some kibble in his bowl. That done, I headed upstairs to my comfy queen-size bed. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get to sleep. Usually when that happened I’d find something really boring to read and next thing I’d know, I was out like a light. I went downstairs into the den to see if Francine or Jason had anything that would fit the bill.
The two of them had stashed lots of novels on the bookshelves, but they all looked too interesting for what I wanted. I needed something that shouted “boredom personified.” Jason’s desk was in the far corner and I decided to see if he had anything that might suffice. Lots of reference books on insects but they seemed so creepy I knew I’d only succeed in keeping myself up all night. I’d attribute every itch, twitch or sensation that came my way to some bloodsucking insect that was lurking underneath the sheets. Nope, no entomology books for me.
I was about to call it quits when I noticed a copy of the Cornell Agricultural Experiment Station’s Annual Report. It screamed “deadly.” An initial perusal verified my assumption. I was about to walk off with it in tow when I saw another smaller booklet. It was entitled Applying for Federal Capacity Funds. Who needed Ambien when lots of financial figures and gobbledygook could render the same result?
Charlie was already nestled with his head on my pillow and I had to shove him off to the other side of the bed so I could get in. The dim light from the small lamp on my nightstand was fine for reading all about funding cycles, research and extension priorities, guidelines for applicants and eligibility requirements. Dear God. If I were Jason, I would’ve poked my eyes out with a fork.
Next, I picked up the annual report. Apparently there were layers and layers of donors. Corporations. Societies. Foundations. Individuals. Couples. I read through the list, hoping my eyes would blur over and I’d fall asleep. Some names were actually familiar like Leona Helmsley and Bill and Melinda Gates. Charlie snored and I was glad at least one of us was getting some sleep. I kept reading. Then, without warning, a name bounced out at me under the “individual male” designation—Lucas Stilton.
It had to be him. How many Lucas Stiltons were there? The footnote on the bottom of the page indicated readers could learn more by going to the university’s philanthropic website. I all but shoved the dog off the bed in my rush to run downstairs and boot up the laptop. An hour and a half later, after exhausting every possible search imaginable, I had the answer I needed. Well, one of them.
The generous donor, aka Lucas, had specified where his money was to go. In no uncertain terms, it was directed to the Experiment Station’s entomology department and specifically to the research of new insect strains in Costa Rica. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. When someone donated that kind of money, they were either extremely altruistic or they wanted something in return. In Lucas’s case, I was certain it was the latter. I was willing to bet money Lucas Stilton arranged for Jason Keane to land that stupid grant so he’d be out of the country for a year. Enoug
h time for Lucas and Declan to put the pressure on me.
It was no secret I had an undividable half interest in Two Witches Winery, along with my sister and brother-in-law, who shared the other half between them. In their absence, all financial and other decisions regarding the winery, its operation and wine distribution would go to me. Lucas and his partner must’ve known that all along. Thanks to social media, no one’s life could remain hidden.
I shut down the computer and trudged back upstairs. If all Vanna Enterprises wanted to do was coax me into selling them the winery, then why would they go to all of this trouble to get Francine and Jason out of the way? At least it was a temporary fix for them. Not like Elsbeth. More than ever, I needed to go through with my plan. But now, given the extent of what I had learned, I had to be absolutely, positively certain I could pull it off. Maybe Theo and Don were right. Maybe I needed to wait a few more days to see if the sheriff’s department could link Declan’s car to the murder.
In the meantime, I could concentrate on Madeline and whatever she was hiding when it came to Elsbeth. When I opened the door to my bedroom, Charlie was still sleeping but I nearly gagged on the smell. Cammy was right. The dog did pass gas. I went back downstairs and, oddly enough, fell asleep right away on the couch.
I awakened to sloppy, smelly dog kisses on my face and stumbled into the kitchen to feed the hound. Then it was my turn for food. I was about to pour myself some cereal when I realized I was out of milk. Not only that, but out of eggs, too. I splashed some water on my face, brushed my teeth, fixed my hair and changed into jeans and a top before getting into the car and driving to Wegmans.
The aroma of freshly baked breads and pastries hit my nostrils the second I walked into the supermarket. The heck with cereal. I made a beeline to their bakery, took the nearest bistro chair and ordered a large coffee with a giant chocolate muffin. Bite after bite, I was in ecstasy. So absorbed I didn’t hear the woman’s voice calling my name. Not at first anyway.
