by J. C. Eaton
“Hope you enjoy the winery,” I said to them before making my way to the front door.
The tasting room and sales area were open a half hour before the actual tastings began. Cammy was busy setting up the stations when I pulled her aside. “I wasn’t going to bother you last night. I got in really late.”
“I figured as much when I got your e-mail. So you and Theo think that hang-tab belongs to the killer?”
“It’s quite possible. Of course, I can’t say a word to the sheriff’s deputies so we’ll have to be low-key about our sleuthing. Theo decided to join me. So, tell me more about the Roy Wilkes incident at your family’s bar.”
Cammy stepped behind one of the tasting room tables and moved one of the large pitchers we used for emptying wineglasses aside. “The incident happened on a Friday night. According to my aunt Luisa, he and another guy were really getting into it. It was the first time she’d seen Roy at the bar. Same for the other guy. That doesn’t mean it was the first time he was in there, only that it was the first time she saw him. Anyway, she doesn’t know what they were arguing about, but when they started to push and shove each other, that’s when two of the bartenders got them out of there.”
“Not your cousins, Marc and Enzo?”
Marc and Enzo had helped me out with a rather sticky situation two months ago and, even though I could’ve managed without their help, it was nice to know I had them on my side.
“No. They’re back at college.”
I nodded and she went on. “According to my aunt, the one guy paid cash, but Roy used a credit card. Whenever there’s an incident at the bar, they try to find out who was involved and make a note of it. If that person returns and has another problem, that’s when they tell him or her not to return. Everyone gets the first ride free, if you know what I’m saying.”
“I do.”
“My aunt wrote down Roy’s name on their ‘no-fly’ list. Oh, and before you ask if she remembers what they were wearing, she doesn’t. I called her this morning and told her about the hang-tab. Said she’d let the bartenders know and they’d be on the lookout.”
“Cammy, you’re the best!”
Just then, Lizzie motioned me over to the cash register. The tasting stations would be open in a few minutes, and I didn’t want to hold anyone up.
“Norrie,” she said, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses and patting down her perfectly styled grey hair, “I want you to know you did a splendid job finding that first clue. Cammy shared the hang-tab photo with everyone. That Nancy Drew handbook I gave you must’ve paid off. What’s your next move?”
Lizzie was a Nancy Drew aficionado and insistent that every good sleuth abided by Nancy’s standards. Too bad this wasn’t the 1930s. Fortunately for me, a customer approached the cash register and I told Lizzie I’d catch up with her another time.
I made a quick stop at the bistro and had our chef, Fred, make me a tuna salad sandwich to go. He said he’d be on the lookout for anyone wearing a blue windbreaker sans the hang-tab on one pocket. Word was getting out. I put the sandwich in the fridge when I got home and tackled the screenplay hanging over my head. At a little before noon I put the sandwich on a plate, grabbed a Coke, and plopped down on the couch. That was when the phone rang. Figuring it might be important, I returned both items to the fridge and picked up.
“It’s me, Norrie. Stephanie Ipswich. Remember when I told you I’d be willing to do some sleuthing on the Internet for you? It was right after our WOW meeting on Thursday.”
“Of course I remember. That was the day before yesterday.”
“Geez, I’m so used to the other ladies forgetting everything. Oops. Don’t tell them I said that.”
“No worries. I won’t. So, what’s up?”
“When I got your e-mail with that hang-tab, I started thinking. That Federweisser is going to draw a huge crowd. Huge. Maybe we should put together a posse, for lack of a better word, to wander around the event for the sole purpose of checking out who might be wearing that windbreaker. I was going to suggest doing it Labor Day Weekend as well, but the crowd moves too quickly in and out of the wineries. It’s a blur and our tasting room employees don’t have time to scrutinize. At the Federweisser everyone stays in one place but none of us can afford to loan you our own employees for surveillance because we’ll be swamped as well. But, what if we commandeer, let’s say…another group of interested and concerned citizens?”
“Um, who exactly did you have in mind?”
“I have a few possibilities. Now, keep in mind, I haven’t shared this with anyone.”
Thank God!
“My husband’s bowling team for starters, or the quilting group from my church. We can talk about this at the next WOW, but what if all of us chipped in and bought the bowlers or quilters a lunch coupon for the Federweisser? They’d get a free lunch and all they’d have to do is walk around and snoop. Listen, I’m friends with some of those quilters and they’d do that without being paid. What do you think?”
Disaster. Disaster. Disaster.
“I, um, er…”
“I know. I know. It’s ingenious, isn’t it?”
“It’s, uh, certainly that. Listen, let me think about it and I’ll call you back. Definitely before our next meeting.”
“Okay, sure. How’s Rosalee holding up? I really should call her, but I didn’t want to bother her.”
“She seemed all right yesterday. Her sister was over there.”
“Poor Rosalee. It’s been all over the news. They said it might have been a screwdriver or an ice pick. Who uses an ice pick? Now a turkey thermometer I can understand, but an ice pick?”
“Yeah, that is a bit much. Listen, I really need to—”
“Say no more. I’ve taken up enough of your time. Get back to me on that posse idea, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
I walked back to the fridge and retrieved my lunch for the second time. Maybe Stephanie’s hang-tab surveillance team wasn’t such a bad idea after all. We’d have lots of eyes on those Federweisser tourists. That meant a good chance of finding our suspect. But only if he or she decided to wear the windbreaker and attend the winery event. Still…it was better than nothing.
I picked up where I left off on my screenplay, but it was a struggle. One minute I was writing dialogue and the next I was thinking about Stephanie’s plan. What should have taken me two or three hours took closer to six. Of course, I didn’t spend all that time on task. I stopped to make an omelet and then got trapped on Facebook for longer than I wanted to admit. And when I wasn’t looking at someone’s pet or staring at what they ate for dinner, my thoughts went right back to Stephanie.
Since Theo and Don were as deep in this case as I was, I decided to run the idea by them. It was late evening but still plenty light outside. Charlie and I moseyed down to the Grey Egret and caught the men sitting on their porch enjoying the sunset.
“Hey there!” I called out as the dog and I walked up to their porch. “Stephanie Ipswich had an idea about us finding the owner of the windbreaker. She called me earlier today. Didn’t want to bother you on a Saturday.”
“Good thing,” Theo said. “It was like a sea of humanity in our tasting room. At this rate, I’ll be a basket case at the end of Labor Day Weekend.”
Don flashed him a look. “Don’t be so dramatic. You love it. You know you do.”
“I love it when I can talk with people, tell them about the wine and listen to their stories and reflections. But during the fall rush, it’s ‘fill my glass, fill my glass, fill my glass.’”
I laughed. “Now you know why I decided to leave and become a screenwriter.”
Charlie sniffed around the porch and finally settled on a place to lie down—the small rug in front of the door.
“Don’t worry about him blocking your door all night,” I said. “I’m only going to be here a minute
or so. I wanted to get your thoughts on Stephanie’s idea.”
I pulled up a chair, declined the offer for something to drink, and told them about Stephanie’s brainchild using the bowlers and/or the quilters. I couldn’t tell if Don and Theo were going to burst out laughing or what. They tried to look restrained, but it wasn’t working.
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Don finally gave a laugh and then laughed louder. “Sorry, love. All I can picture is that scene from the old Andy Griffith show. The one with Gomer Pyle making a citizen’s arrest. I can picture it now—one of those quilter ladies screaming ‘Citizen’s arrest! Citizen’s arrest!’”
“Really? You think it’ll go that badly?”
Theo shook his head. “Probably not. But you’d really have to spell out the ground rules for surveillance. Not to mention keeping tight-lipped about everything.”
Don sighed. “I suppose it would work. I mean, you’d get a lot of mileage in terms of scoping out the crowd. Look how fast word is spreading already.”
“Okay. I’ll let Stephanie know. She was going to bring it up at the next WOW. It’s a week from Thursday. Which one of you will be there?”
Don and Theo shouted out each other’s name in unison.
“Fine. The both of you. Well, I’d better head back up the hill before it gets really dark.”
“We can give you a lift, you know,” Theo said.
“Nah, the dog needs the exercise.”
Just then, we heard a piercing scream. The kind that made every single hair on one’s arms and the back of the neck stand up.
I was no exception. “Holy crap! Where’s it coming from?”
Charlie got up from his resting spot and stared across the road.
“Somewhere on the lake,” Don said. “On a quiet night, we can hear voices from across the lake. Whole conversations even. It’s a stretch to believe, but it’s true.”
I nodded. “I know. I grew up here, remember?”
Then, as if on cue, the scream repeated.
Don, who was standing between Theo and me, grabbed both our wrists. “It sounds closer than across the lake. Yikes, you don’t think it’s coming from Terrace Wineries? From Rosalee’s house?”
“Only one way to find out,” Theo answered. “Come on. We can all pile into my car. Charlie, too. Don, turn around and make sure the door’s locked. Don’t need whatever it is coming over here.”
I bit my lip for a moment, trying to remember if I had locked my house. It took me a second but I was sure I did.
The three of us raced to Theo’s car, with Charlie at my heels. He probably figured it was some sort of game. The sky was quickly changing from soft pink and blue hues to heavier darker ones. It would be totally dark in ten minutes. Fifteen if we were lucky.
Theo all but flew across Route 14 and into the Terrace Wineries’ driveway. Only the small nightlights were on in the winery building, but at Rosalee’s house, which was closer to the road, I could see the kitchen light on.
“Don’t go rushing in there.” I shoved Charlie off my chest and onto the backseat next to me. “This is always the scene in the Stephen King movies where something jumps out at the innocent victims.”
“Norrie’s got a point,” Don said. “Why don’t you honk your horn? The worst thing that can happen is Rosalee’s fine and annoyed with us.”
Theo blared the horn, but nothing happened.
“Maybe we should call the sheriff’s office.” I was about to make the call when the porch light came on and Rosalee opened the door. We piled out of the small Honda as if it was a clown car, complete with its own dog.
Rosalee waved her arms in the air and yelled, “Did you catch him? Did you grab him?”
“Who?” we all seemed to ask at once.
“The killer. He was on my porch. Victoria and Albert growled and Philip barked once. I got up to see what was going on and that’s when I saw someone in a hooded sweatshirt by the bottom of the steps. Next time, I’ll look out a window and not open the front door. I screamed as loud as I could and whoever it was ran behind the house. It took me a minute or two to catch my breath, but I screamed again. This time, to scare him off.”
Don elbowed me. “We really do need to call the sheriff’s office.”
As much as I would’ve preferred not to, Don was right. No way was I about to go after some maniac down by the lakefront in the dark.
“You make the call,” I said to him. “I want to remain anonymous as long as I can.”
“You mean until Deputy Hickman arrives, don’t you? Forget it, Norrie, you’ve already made it to his PITA list.”
“His what?”
Theo laughed. “Pain In The Ass.”
Rosalee had stepped onto the porch and was scanning it. All I noticed was the small line-up of flowerpots that were here yesterday—geraniums, asters and some sort of daisies. Rosalee had used decorative stakes to hold the larger plants up. Each stake had a cartoon version of an insect on it. A few ladybugs, a praying mantis and a dragonfly. Right up my brother-in-law’s alley. I glanced at the flowerpots again while Don called the sheriff’s office.
“Uh-oh. Looks like one of your insect heads fell off,” I said to Rosalee.
She leaned over and took a good look at the geranium, clearly visible under the porch light. “The head didn’t fall off. The whole darn thing’s missing. Drat! Why would someone snatch one of those things? Phooey. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. I don’t think I’ll be able to find another re-purposed metal stake. These are heavy duty and the tips can go through even the toughest soil, not bend and break off like the kind you get at a garden store. I bought mine years ago on a trip to Cape Cod. My late husband thought they were ridiculous, but I liked them.”
Suddenly I had this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Mind if I take a closer look at one of those?”
Before she could answer, I pulled up the ladybug and stared at the stake. A long round metal tube with one hell of a sharp prick at the end. Not exactly what one would find on Etsy. What was it Stephanie was saying about an ice pick?
“I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” I said, “but I think I know what killed Roy Wilkes.”
Rosalee took the ladybug from me and ran her finger across the tip. Then she glanced at the other flowerpot stakes. “Dear God. He was stabbed with the butterfly. The lovely Monarch Butterfly. That cinches it. It had to be the killer on my porch. Attempting to put the evidence back where he took it in the first place.”
Charlie began to paw and whine at the front door while Rosalee’s dogs returned the favor by barking.
She opened the door and motioned us to follow her. “We might as well go inside and wait for a sheriff’s deputy to arrive. That hound dog of yours will be fine with the Corgis.”
The second she said that, all four of her dogs converged around Charlie and sniffed him all over. He stood there stoically and, when they were done, made himself comfortable on a small throw rug under her coffee table.
Theo, Don, and I sat at the kitchen table, and waited for the inevitable visit from Grizzly Gary.
Rosalee manned the front window, muttering to herself about murder weapons, butterflies, and dead bodies. I must’ve mentally rolled my eyes a dozen times.
“I see headlights,” she shouted. “And those blue and red flashers. They’re pulling into my driveway. Thank goodness they don’t have that siren blaring.”
Rosalee immediately opened her front door. “Don’t just stand there lollygagging on the front lawn. There’s a murderer loose behind my house. Go! Chase him! Gun him down!”
Theo got up and tapped her on the shoulder. “We don’t know if it was the killer. It might’ve been a prowler or a burglar. Maybe even a homeless person looking to scrounge some food. Besides, he or she is long gone by now. Let the deputies inside
to take a statement and they’ll go from there.”
Two young men, who appeared to be my age, stepped inside the foyer. Both of them were blond and clean shaven. If it wasn’t for the difference in their heights, they might’ve passed as twins. Must be Deputy Hickman had the night off.
Charlie didn’t bother to get up, but the Corgis raced over only to be admonished by Rosalee, who told them to sit-stay. Then she focused her attention on the deputies.
“Well, don’t just stand there waiting for the next Ice Age, send for a S.W.A.T. team or something.”
Chapter 8
“Who wants to tell her this isn’t an invasion?” I whispered to Theo and Don.
Rosalee crossed her arms and refused to let the deputies go any farther than the hallway where we were all crammed in.
“We need a statement, ma’am,” the taller deputy said. “We can’t proceed without one.”
“Fine. Fine. But don’t come crying to me that your murderer escaped.”
The next five laborious minutes were spent in the kitchen, where Rosalee described the noise she and her dogs heard and the person she had seen leaving her porch. When she finally stopped for air, I broke in with the information about the flowerpot stake.
“So you see,” I said, “the murder weapon used to kill Roy Wilkes might very well have been Mrs. Marbleton’s re-purposed metal butterfly stake. The killer probably grabbed it on his way to meet with the victim. Or, to surprise the victim. Either way, the killer snatched the stake and was off to commit murder.”
Don and Theo looked at each other across the table from where they were seated. It was one of those looks where one person knew exactly what the other was thinking.
“Go on,” I said. “Spit it out.”
Meanwhile, the shorter deputy took copious notes on a similar pad that his counterpart, and my nemesis, Deputy Hickman, used.
Don’t these people know we have iPads today?
Don swallowed and pushed himself back from the table. “The only way someone would’ve known about the flowerpot stakes is if they were familiar with Rosalee’s porch. Or more specifically, her plants.” Then he turned to Rosalee.
