by J. C. Eaton
By now Cal had made his way to the kitchen and Rosalee motioned for him to grab a chair.
“Everyone, this is Cal Payne, our vineyard manager. Cal, you know my sister and these are our neighbors, Theo Buchman from the Grey Egret and Norrie Ellington from Two Witches.”
Cal gave a quick nod but remained standing. I estimated him to be in his late thirties or maybe even early forties. Well-built with reddish hair and matching red stubble. “Nice to meet you. I won’t be but a second.”
“No one drowned,” Rosalee said, “but I stumbled across Roy Wilkes’ dead body first thing this morning on my walk with the dogs. He might’ve been stabbed to death. I called Norrie and she came over with Theo.”
Marilyn grunted and cleared her throat. “Yes. And then she called me. I had to miss the monthly Pancake Day Breakfast at the diner.”
Rosalee shot her a look, but Cal didn’t appear to notice.
“Roy Wilkes? The guy who bought the Baxters’ land? I only spoke with him once and it wasn’t under the best circumstances. It was a week or two ago, and I noticed the water pressure had gone down. We weren’t getting as much water in our vineyard aisles. I called him to let him know I’d be checking the pump house. He said even if the lake dried up, he still wanted his rent money. What a piece of work. Anyway, it turned out to be a small clog in one of the lines. We got it fixed right away.”
“So, you never met him?” I asked.
“Nope. But some of my vineyard guys did. They saw him every now and then walking through the grapevine rows. Had to ask him not to. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call compliant. Still, we never had any trouble, and I seriously doubt any of our people are responsible for what happened to the guy.”
“If the sheriff’s department runs their investigation the same way they did Elsbeth Waters’ murder, they’ll be questioning everyone at Terrace Wineries,” I said.
Cal stretched his arms back, pinching his shoulder blades together. “No problem.”
I might’ve imagined it, but I thought I detected some hesitancy in his voice.
Rosalee got up from the table and walked to the sink. “I suppose I’d better inform our winemaker and our tasting room manager. This is going to be a veritable nightmare until that killer is apprehended.”
“Let’s hope not,” Cal said. “I’m on my way out. It’s the harvest and none of us can afford any lost time. Rosalee, if you need anything, let me know. Okay?”
She walked him to the front door but unfortunately, I couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation. Instead, Theo and I got to listen to Marilyn wailing once again because she had missed her morning with the ladies and the blueberry pancakes she had her heart set on.
When Rosalee got back to the kitchen, Theo and I excused ourselves and told her we’d be in touch.
Rosalee’s parting words were, “Let me know what you uncover, Norrie,” and I cringed.
“Hey, there’s one good thing,” Theo said as we got to my car. “Unlike your prior experience, Roy’s body was found on the lakefront, not in her vineyard. That means she won’t be besieged by crazy tourists. Cal said something about a news van. I imagine by five p.m., it’ll be all over the Rochester and Syracuse TV stations.”
“Yeah, nothing like a homicide to pick up viewers. Geez, up until this morning I thought the only thing you and I were going to do was conduct some background checks on the guy. Not tackle his murder.”
“It all boils down to the same thing. We have to learn who he was, what he was into and all that good stuff before we can figure out who wanted to do him in.”
“From what Cal and Rosalee told us, it sounds like anyone who’s come in contact with him. Look, I’ve got to get some work done for my producer but in between breaks, I’ll do some Google searches. What about you?”
“More of the same, only in between tastings, if I’m not too swamped today. How about we meet up after dinner and take a nice slow walk down that beach?”
“Theo Buchman, if I didn’t know you better, I’d take that as a romantic gesture.”
His face turned crimson, and I laughed. “Seriously, do you think we’ll find any clues?”
He shrugged. “If not, we’ll be sure to find lots of people out and about. Maybe one of them was an early riser who happened to see something.”
It was a quick drive back to the Grey Egret. I couldn’t believe it when I turned up the drive. Their parking lot was almost full.
“By God!” I said. “How long have we been gone?”
“Too long. Don’s probably having a conniption. I’ll catch you later. Hey, it wouldn’t hurt if we told our employees about this. That way they can keep their eyes and ears open for any leads.”
“Got it. Thanks, Theo. I know Rosalee appreciates it. I’m afraid she was right about being a prime suspect. And I can’t sit back and let that happen. She’s too nice a lady. Besides, it’ll put a blemish on all of our wineries.”
Chapter 5
I didn’t want to bother John and his crew since every vineyard manager was stressed this time of year and John Grishner, our man-in-charge, was no exception. I figured I’d tell him about Rosalee’s uninvited guest later in the day, or maybe I’d shoot off an e-mail. Much easier that way. I pulled the car over and made a quick stop into the winery building and informed our intern, Herbert, about “the situation across the road,” as I began to call it.
“Maybe it was one of those random things,” Herbert said. “Someone buzzed out on drugs looking for money.”
I stared at his large brown eyes that matched the color of his skin. “That’s more likely to happen in downtown Geneva, not the lakefront at dawn. Still, it’s anyone’s guess.”
“Did you notice the type of stab wound? I once watched a program where they were able to tell the difference between a personal vengeance stab wound and a run-of-the-mill attack.”
“I think that only happens on TV, but no, all I saw was blood.”
“Not to sound callous, but at least it happened there and not here. Otherwise, we’d have to change our name to Two Murders Winery.”
“Ha-ha. Let Franz and Alan know, okay?”
“Sure. Both of the winemakers have been going nonstop, preparing for the new harvest and monitoring what we have in the tanks. Not to mention making sure the Federweisser will be perfect. You do know what that entails. In fact—”
“I’m sure it’s all good.”
I got out of there as fast as I could before Herbert decided to give me another lesson on fermentation. It seemed whenever I got anywhere near those winemakers, that was the first thing they talked about. Sugar, yeast, bacteria, and a whole lot of other stuff that clogged up my mind and brought back awful memories of my eleventh grade chemistry class. Yeesh!
Our tasting room building was a few yards up the driveway and, like Theo and Don’s, it, too, was packed. I parked alongside the building and looked around. A handful of tourists were out in front, reaching into Alvin’s pen and petting him. Alvin, an enormous Nigerian Dwarf Goat, was my brother-in-law’s idea to bring family friendliness to the winery. In my mind, that was akin to bringing the Marx Brothers to a coronation.
Alvin spit. Not often. But often enough, if he didn’t like you. And, for some reason, I always seemed to wind up with his green slime somewhere on my clothing if I got too close.
Cammy waved to me the second I set foot in the door. Her auburn hair, although shorter than when I first met her two months ago, was pulled back from her face in a small, loose bun and tied with a bright orange ribbon that matched her Two Witches T-shirt. She had just finished a wine tasting with six or seven people and they headed to our wine racks and T-shirt bins.
“How’s it going? As you can see, we haven’t caught our breath yet.”
“Um, speaking of breath, Roy Wilkes who owned the land that Rosalee Marbleton rented for her water supply, that Roy Wilk
es, um…took his last breath a few hours ago.”
Cammy wiped her hands on a dishtowel and set out more glasses for tastings. “Huh?”
“Dead. Rosalee found his body this morning while she was walking her dogs.”
“On her property? Where?”
“Not exactly her property. On the lakefront. And get this, the guy was stabbed. I saw the blood on his jacket.”
“What were you doing over there?”
I looked around the room and figured Glenda, Roger, and Sam could handle the customers. Same for our part-time employees. The closer we got to Labor Day, the more staff we needed.
“Come on. I’ll tell you.”
Cammy and I went into the kitchen and I helped myself to a large glass of orange juice from the fridge. I told her everything that happened across the road.
“Holy cow, Norrie! If ever there was a motive for murder, Rosalee’s walking around with a capital M on her chest.”
“No kidding. And you want to hear the worst thing? Okay, maybe not the worst, but still…Rosalee thinks I should be investigating. Me. Of all people. She doesn’t trust the sheriff’s department and, frankly, between her and her sister, Marilyn, I’m afraid the both of them are going to dig themselves into a hole. She already told the women in our winery group about how things took a turn for the worst when the Baxters sold the land to that wretched Roy Wilkes. Too bad Rosalee didn’t snap it up. Guess she figured there was no reason to do so. Besides, lakefront land carries an outrageous price tag.”
“Not as much as bail money and legal fees.”
“Look, even if the motive does point to her, any deputy in his or her right mind would take one look at that little woman and realize she’s no match for a strapping Brutus like Roy. I saw the body. Believe me, she would’ve been outgunned.”
“True, but she could’ve hired someone.”
“Rosalee? No way. Anyhow, keep your eyes and ears open and let the others know, too. People tend to talk a lot around here, especially when they’ve sipped some wine. If Roy’s name comes up, try to get every last detail.”
“No problem. I’ll even let my aunts in Geneva know. They’ve taken over Rosinetti’s and, believe me, no one can beat mouth flapping better than the patrons at a city bar. If there’s something to be heard, they’ll let me know.”
“Thanks, Cammy. I’ve got to get going. I need to salvage at least part of the day for my writing.”
“How’s that going, by the way?”
“Not bad. I finished another round of revisions from my script analyst, and I’m waiting for the final review. Meantime, I’m working on another screenplay.”
“Well, good luck with that.”
* * * *
It was quarter to seven when I finished with my work. I got so engrossed with the tension between my two characters, I had completely forgotten about that Google search I was going to do on Roy Wilkes. Maybe Theo had had better luck. As planned, I walked down our driveway and we met in front of the Grey Egret. Don said he was too exhausted to go traipsing up and down the lake looking for nebulous clues, as he put it, and “engaging in banter with strangers on the beach.”
“It’s not banter,” I told him. “It’s calculated questioning. Maybe someone knows something.”
He shook his head at Theo and me. “Maybe someone should let the sheriff’s department deal with it. They already found Roy’s motorcycle. It was parked in a wooded area a few yards from the pump house.”
“How’d you find that out?” My voice was loud and squeaky at the same time.
“It was on the five o’clock news. Those reporters don’t waste any time. Listen, whoever killed Roy is still out there. Did either of you think of that?”
“I, um, er, well…”
“Never mind. Keep your cell phones close and get out of there if something doesn’t look right.”
Theo and I bobbed our heads up and down in unison.
“I hope Don’s not too mad at you,” I said when I got into his car, an older Honda Civic in dire need of a wash.
“Nah. He worries. That’s all.”
Theo took the Terrace Wineries’ driveway all the way down to the lakefront. No sense going the extra few miles to use the city access. The yellow crime scene tape surrounded the entire pump house and a good portion of the beach. It also beckoned every tourist and kid from here to Albuquerque.
“Holy cow! This is worse than when they cordoned off our vineyard. There must be at least fifteen people over there gawking. How long do you think the tape will stay up?”
“Anyone’s guess. At least we won’t have to walk far to get into the conversations. Let’s go.”
Theo was right. For the next hour, we watched the crowd intensify and dissipate, all the while trying to eke out information from anyone who might’ve been on the beach at dawn. It was frustrating as hell. First of all, I’d missed the evening news and so had Theo. It seemed everyone knew Roy Wilkes had been stabbed once in the chest with a long sharp object, but the investigators weren’t able to find it. According to one of the rubberneckers, the word “knife” was never used. I made it a point to let Theo know my theory.
“It had to be some kind of pocket tool, like a screwdriver or one of those Swiss army knives. They’ve got all sorts of things like tweezers or files. You name it. And real easy for the killer to tuck away and keep walking.”
“It’s a strong possibility. After all, if the murder weapon was found, those reporters would’ve gotten that information. They’re notorious for nagging the authorities to death. Look, we’ve got about another hour of daylight. What do you say we walk in the direction the killer used to make his or her exit? See if we can find anything of interest. Thanks to your encounter with those joggers this morning, we know our perpetrator left in the opposite direction. And, we know one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“They didn’t go up past the front of the winery because that’s the route Rosalee took with her dogs.”
I squinted my eyes and bit my lower lip. “Rosalee should’ve hired you. Are you sure you didn’t study criminal justice at one point in your career?”
“Positive. But I read all the Hardy Boys novels, if that’s a help.”
“Remind me to introduce you to Lizzie in our tasting room. She’s the Nancy Drew expert around these parts, but she’ll drive you nuts.”
Theo and I took a painstakingly slow walk up the lakefront toward Geneva, looking at all the lakefront houses and their driveways. Any one of them could’ve been the “getaway.” Suddenly, I realized something.
“We’re going about this all wrong. If our killer used one of those driveways to go from the lakefront back to his or her car, then the car would have to be parked by a house with a pull-off drive. You know. Where the road widens for a few yards so people can pull over. Only a few houses have those. The other homeowners have to pull directly into their own driveways. They can’t park on the county road. And they’d be crazy to even consider it. Not much room. They’d be sideswiped.”
“Now who’s the genius? Okay, let’s get back to my car, drive up the road, and jot down exactly which houses have pull-offs. Maybe we can come up with something and knock on some doors.”
“If Grizzly Gary, oops! I mean, Deputy Hickman, finds out, he’ll kill me. You heard him at Rosalee’s. Those warnings were meant for me.”
“How’s he going to find out?”
“It doesn’t matter. What’s that saying? In for a dime, in for a dollar? I can’t quit now.”
“Good,” he said. “Let’s get a move on. Wouldn’t want someone to steal my fabulous car while we’re moseying around the lake.”
“Ha! Ha!”
I was panting by the time I got into Theo’s old Honda and put on my seatbelt. “It’s a good thing I didn’t bring Charlie. I was seriously considering bringing him, but I d
idn’t want him to think he could leave our property, run across the road, and head for the lake. So far, that Plott Hound’s been pretty content checking out the woods and sleeping in the kitchen or my bed.”
“Yeah, he’s a pretty mellow dog, all right. What do you say we take a quick run-through up the lake and count the pull-offs?”
“Do it!”
There were three pull-offs between Terrace Wineries and the sign that read, “Welcome to Geneva, New York, Lake Trout Capital of the World.” Yep, the home of Hobart and William Smith Colleges, a world-renowned agricultural experiment station, an elegant opera house, wineries galore, and what did the city tout? Its fish. At least that was one step above Penn Yan, where we proudly showed off our buckwheat crop.
The house belonging to the first pull-off was a sprawling blue ranch in desperate need of a paint job. It had “rental property” written all over it. Its driveway and the pull-off had at least four parked cars. The next pull-off was a few yards down from an historic stone house with a carefully groomed garden in front. No visible cars. The house belonging to the last pull-off was a good ways back from the road. Thanks to the shrubs, bushes and trees, all that was visible was a white high-pitched roof with a red chimney.
“We’ve got time,” Theo said. “Want to have a chat with the chipped paint blue ranch? I’ll turn around at the next intersection and double back.”
“Good. By that time, I might be able to think of something.”
As it turned out, three women about my age were just getting into one of the cars when Theo pulled over. I jumped out and waved my arms. “Wait! Before you go, I need to—”
“If you’re looking for directions,” a petite blonde with short curly hair said, “we’re not from around here. We’re renting the place for the month and we keep getting lost every time we go out. In fact, maybe you know how to get to Uncle Joe’s Restaurant in Geneva.”
