Chardonnayed to Rest

by J. C. Eaton

  I was still in bed and nearly tumbled out of it trying to get untangled from the sheets. “Tampered? What do you mean ‘tampered’? Like sabotaged? Like in the movies where they cut your brakes? My God! Is that what happened? Someone cut my brakes?”

  “Take it easy. Calm down. No one cut your brakes. This seemed like something a juvenile delinquent would do, like putting sugar in the gas tank or slashing tires.”

  “What did they do? What did they do?” I was beginning to sound like one of my parents’ vinyl records when it got stuck.

  “They put something sticky on the brake cylinder. Real easy to do. They could’ve wiped it on, sprayed it, pressed it on if the gook came from a tube… Not rocket science. Heck, they didn’t even have to lift the hood or get under the car.”

  I took deep breaths in and out as I tried to focus on who could’ve done such a thing. Then my thoughts moved from who to why.

  “Norrie, are you all right? You’re not saying anything.”

  “Um, uh, yeah, I’m fine. Really I am. Fine.”

  When I got over the initial shock, I asked Hank a pivotal question. “When could this have happened? I mean, like when could they have put the gunk on the brake before I noticed it?”

  “Hmm, hard to say. Depends on what they used and that, I really couldn’t tell you. But if you want my best guess, I’d say maybe a two or three hour range. Makes a difference if you were driving it or not. Listen, the good news is the car didn’t need any parts and nothing was really broken. I took the brakes apart, used solvent to clean everything up, and put it all back together. Oh, and I used a decent lubricant for the calipers in case you were worried—Permatex Ultra Disk. You can pick up your car any time today.”

  I thanked him and told him I’d be there before one. Then, trying to remain as calm as possible, I fed Charlie, took a shower, and made myself a cup of coffee. When I sat down to drink it, I realized my hands were shaking. I thought back to the only times when the car wasn’t parked in front of the house and that left two places—the courthouse and Rosalee’s.

  I seriously doubted Marilyn and Erlene had time to pull off a little stunt like that, and, besides, why on earth would they? That left the courthouse. I took slow breaths and tried to think back to the moment when I pulled into the parking lot. There were lots of parking spaces and I chose one that was off to the side under a large tree. Living in Manhattan, I’d learned to park as far away from other cars as possible, even if it meant longer walks to wherever I was headed.

  There were no other cars coming or going when I walked into the courthouse. But there was one thing—Cal Payne and the four or five other people who were at the bail hearing all left before Bradley and I did. That meant it could’ve been any one of them. Hank Walden told me it only took a minute or two to do the nasty deed to my brakes. The thought of Cal Payne or one of his vineyard workers trying to sabotage me was ludicrous, but then again, was he trying to give me a not-so-subtle message to stay the hell away from the case? I had no clue.

  What I did have was a growing sense of dread. I couldn’t hang on to the information I had much longer. It was time to come clean, as far as Deputy Hickman was concerned. I pulled up the e-mail and printed out Bethany’s detailed description of the morning in question. Then I put it in an envelope and headed over to Walden’s Garage to pick up my car.

  “It’s only a labor charge,” Hank said. “Forty-nine dollars. Goes by the hourly rate, but I gave you a break.”

  “Whew. I was really worried this was going to cost me a fortune. Do you take checks, debit cards, credit, what?”

  “All of the above.”

  I handed him my debit card and eyeballed my car. “I can’t believe someone would do something like that.”

  “Sad to say, but this kind of stuff isn’t all that uncommon. I’ve seen worse, though. Mainly from ex-boyfriends, girlfriends, or spouses trying to get even. Look, it was probably a prank. You said you parked by the courthouse, right? The high school and the middle school are only a block or two away. Maybe some kid ditched a class and decided to mess around.”

  “Maybe, but the worst part is thinking it could be personal.”

  “You might want to report it to the sheriff’s office. Not that they can do anything, but they might consider putting some surveillance in that parking lot. Like a camera or something. Honestly, the place looks the same as it did when they built it.”

  “Yeah, I suppose that’s the charm of these quaint little towns.”

  “I’m sure it was a one-time thing, but if you notice anything strange about the way your car’s acting, park it and call me right away. No sense taking a chance. Okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I thanked him and plunked myself down in my comfortable old Toyota. As I tossed my bag on the passenger seat, I could see the tip of the envelope containing Bethany’s written statement. This whole mess had gone way too far, and I didn’t want to wind up as another statistic. Young screenwriter’s car veers off highway and plunges into lake. Hank Walden might’ve thought the damage to my brakes was vandalism, but I was convinced it was deliberate and personal. And, I had a gut feeling whoever did it wasn’t about to stop.

  Gladys Pipp was at the reception window when I walked into the public safety building.

  “Frieda must be at lunch again,” I said as I approached her.

  “Like clockwork. Nice to see you again, Norrie. Are you here for a visitor’s pass to see Kelsey Payne? Because, if you are, they’re only allowing relatives and his legal counsel.”

  “Um, no. Actually, I’d like to speak with Deputy Hickman if he’s in.”

  “You’re in luck. He got back a few minutes ago from the diner. Early lunch. You didn’t hear this from me, but if you have to speak with him, make sure it’s after he’s eaten. Hold on, I’ll phone his office.”

  I waited while she let the deputy know I was here.

  “All set,” Gladys announced. “Right through those doors and—that’s right, you know where he is.”

  “Sure do. Thanks.”

  I walked past the lineup of cubicles, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. The door to Deputy Hickman’s office was open and he leaned against the doorframe studying my every move.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Ellington. If you’re here about the Kelsey Payne case, you might as well turn around and go back.”

  “I’m here because someone tried to kill me.” If that doesn’t get me into his damn office, nothing will.

  “In that case, you’d better come in and take a seat.”

  I sat in the same uncomfortable chair as the last time I was in his office, only this time Marilyn Ansley wasn’t in the room and Deputy Hickman remained standing.

  “So, what’s this about someone trying to murder you?”

  I told the deputy what Hank Walden discovered about the brakes on my car and then backtracked to the courthouse, where I parked it for Kelsey’s bail hearing. Then, pulling what best could be described as a “bait and switch,” I got to the real reason for my visit.

  Deputy Hickman rubbed his chin and glowered. “I should’ve known nothing would be simple as far as you’re concerned. Suffice it to say you’re not really here to fill out a vandalism report.”

  “Not really. I needed to show you this.” Without wasting a second, I thrust Bethany’s statement at his chest and didn’t say a word.

  He walked around to the other side of his desk and sat down, his eyes not budging from the paper.

  Finally, he spoke. “Let me get this straight. Despite my directive for you to leave the investigation to the professionals, you decided to go off on your own little escapade to track down a killer. Is there anything I might have missed?”

  “Uh, no. Not really.”

  “Good, because I want to be perfectly clear. We have the suspect in custody. With indisputable evidence. Indisputable. Y
ou’re a writer. You know what that word means.”

  “I’m not disputing the fact that Kelsey Payne’s fingerprint was on the button to Roy Wilkes’ jacket. Kelsey admitted that. He explained why. It was after the fact. After he witnessed a murder, although he didn’t realize it was a murder at the time. He saw the real killers. And this note proves he wasn’t the only one.”

  “Miss Ellington, all this statement proves is that someone by the name of Bethany Montgomery saw two people come up from the lakefront and get into two cars that were parked on the pull-off near the house she was renting.”

  “But the timing—”

  “Doesn’t mean a thing. And even if it did, it’s not enough to erase the incriminating evidence we have. In fact, it was so convincing, a grand jury wasn’t needed for this case. Mr. Payne’s trial date will be set shortly and any new evidence that comes to light, I’m sure, will be presented by his defense attorney and shared with the prosecution. Now, for the umpteenth time, please go back to your writing or your winemaking, or whatever it is you do on Two Witches Hill, and leave the police work to those of us who have a degree and experience in criminal justice.”

  “Wait! I do have tangible evidence.”

  I handed him a Ziploc bag containing the Eddie Bauer hang-tab, complete with its blue threads. I had removed it from the potholder drawer in the kitchen and stuffed it into my oversized purse. “Theo Buchman and I found this behind the house where Bethany said she saw those two people. We found it the night of Roy Wilkes’ murder, when we kind of went snooping around the lakefront. Take a close look. It’s a new hang-tab. It isn’t coated in dirt or anything. That means it got there recently. And given the threads, it probably fell off one of the murderers during the scuffle.”

  “Miss Ellington, if I seriously thought this had any validity whatsoever, I’d have you arrested for withholding evidence. However, all you found was another piece of lake litter. That’s right, lake litter! Anyone walking up and down the lakefront is bound to find stuff like this—old buttons, shoelaces, keys. Good heavens, the list never ends and that doesn’t include the kinds of things I won’t mention in mixed company.”

  “But, but—”

  “I’ll hold on to the statement from Miss Montgomery, but you can keep your little trinket. Trust me, it would never stand up in a court of law. It wasn’t found at the scene of the crime or anywhere remotely close to it. A quarter mile down the lake hardly suffices. Now, getting back to the other matter at hand, your car brakes. I seriously suggest you do file a report in our office. This could be a pattern, you know. Disgruntled teenagers taking it out on private property.”

  “Yeah, all right. I’ll do that.”

  I started for the door. No amount of persuasion was going to get Grizzly Gary to change his mind about Kelsey Payne, still I couldn’t help but get in one final dig as I walked out. I spun my head around. “You’ve arrested the wrong man.” True, it was cliché, but I couldn’t come up with anything else at the moment.

  “How’d it go?” Gladys asked when I reached the outer office.

  “It didn’t. Or I should say, he didn’t. Believe me, that is. He wouldn’t even consider another possibility regarding Roy Wilkes’ murder.”

  Gladys motioned me closer to her window. “That’s how Deputy Hickman is. Once he believes a case is ready to go to court, he never waivers. He’s also compartmentalized, but not in a good sense. He has to finish one thing first before he tackles the next. At this juncture in time, my money is on David Whitaker’s disappearance.”

  At that moment her phone rang. “Sorry, hon. Got to take this. Try to have a nice day.”

  David Whitaker’s disappearance. That figured. A high-profile former school board member who suddenly vanished was bound to move to the top of the list. Meanwhile, Erlene Spencer could just take a number and stand in line. Or, rant and rave in his office for all it was worth.

  As much as I loved our bistro food, sometimes there was nothing quite as good as an authentic Italian sub with all the fixings. I made a quick stop at Morgans’ Market, a small neighborhood place that had been in the village of Penn Yan for decades, and ordered the giant size to go. That way, dinner would be covered as well. When I got home, there were two phone messages for me—Madeline Martinez and Stephanie Ipswich.

  As I tore into my sub and guzzled a Coke, I hoped they weren’t calling to fill me in on the latest winery disaster. At least it wasn’t Catherine. The only thing I feared from her was a pre-arranged date with her son.

  Chapter 24

  Madeline’s voice sounded chipper when I returned her call. “Thanks, Norrie, for getting back to me so soon. I’m phoning everyone in WOW about our next meeting. I hope you don’t mind, but I really need to postpone it until after the Federweisser. We’re absolutely swamped over here, not that it’s going to get any easier in October, but by then, my in-laws will be on their way to Pompano Beach for the winter and I’ll be able to pitch in.”

  “Sure. That’s fine.”

  “I’m so glad you understand. Besides, I already spoke to Rosalee and she said she wouldn’t be able to make it to the meeting anyway. Something about an appointment with her lawyer. She’s really quite distraught over that arrest. It’s not easy to find a capable and honest handyman.”

  “I think there’s more to it than that.” Geez! Why oh why did I open my big mouth?

  “What do you mean?”

  “The sheriff’s office might have reason to believe Rosalee put him up to it in order to prevent her winery from closing. With Roy Wilkes out of the picture, the land situation could’ve been revisited.”

  “Poppycock. I don’t care how devoted an employee may be, they’re not going to commit murder to save their employer’s rear end. Now, saving their own hide is quite a different story. If you ask me, Roy Wilkes’ killer had to be someone who was looking after himself. Could be there was something going on between Kelsey Payne and Roy Wilkes. Guess all of that will come up in the trial. It’s been all over the local news. You’d think they’d have something else to report on in the Finger Lakes.”

  “I’m not convinced it was Kelsey Payne.”

  “The article in yesterday’s newspaper said they found his fingerprint on the victim’s clothing. That would pretty much squash that evidence you mailed us a photo of—the little jacket tab. Stephanie says she’s got a regular crew all lined up to look for the jacket during the Federweisser. I told her I thought that was unnecessary at this point, but she was going to chat with you.”

  Oh no! She’s going to call it off. No bowlers. No quilters. No chance to scrutinize the guests. “Um, it was a blue Eddie Bauer windbreaker, and it might belong to the real killer.”

  “I hope for Rosalee’s sake you’re right. I’ll tell my staff to keep their eyes open, but if I were you, I wouldn’t be too optimistic.”

  By the time the call ended, not only wasn’t I optimistic, I was ready to throw myself off the Main Street Bridge over the Keuka Lake Outlet in the center of Penn Yan. It was awful. Someone tried to kill me. The sheriff’s deputy didn’t believe me about the murder. And now, the only plan I really had to catch the killer was about to implode, thanks to Madeline Martinez’s words of wisdom.

  The Italian sub that I inhaled was now pressing on my chest and no amount of Tums was going to make it get any better. I picked up the phone and returned Stephanie’s call.

  “Norrie! Good. You got my message.”

  “Um, I got a message that you called, but not a message, message.”

  “It’s the twins. I swear they’re making me so scatterbrained lately. I called you about the Federweisser and the folks I had lined up to, uh, well, you know. Anyway, there’s been a change. That’s why I called.”

  I knew it. Why did Madeline have to open her mouth? One lousy fingerprint does not constitute a conviction. “Stephanie, just because Kelsey Payne got arrested doesn’t make hi
m the killer. That’s why it’s so important we follow through with this plan. I admit, I wasn’t all gung ho at first, but now I really am. If we don’t, he’ll be railroaded and Rosalee might be the next one in line.”

  “Norrie, what are you talking about? Of course we’re going through with the plan. That’s why I called. Rosalee’s an absolute basket case, even if she covers it up pretty well. I called to tell you the stupendous news.”

  “I could use stupendous news. What is it?”

  “Okay, my husband’s bowling team only has four members. But, get this! He talked to the league and got a few more of them to sign up.”

  “Like how many more?”

  “Twelve. I think it’s twelve, and that’s not all. The quilters from my church belong to a quilting guild that takes in Seneca, Wayne and Schuyler counties, in addition to Yates and Ontario. Some of them offered to help out as well. Isn’t that fantastic?”

  Oh dear God! It’ll be like the cast from Star Wars—Stormtroopers and all. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but do you have any idea how many?”

  Stephanie paused for a moment and mumbled to herself before throwing out a number. “Twenty-three. I think it’s twenty-three. Plus the twelve bowlers. That’s thirty-five in all.”

  “Wow. Thirty-five.”

  “I know. I know. I don’t think they have that much surveillance at the state fair.”

  Or that many free lunches we’ll all be comping.

  I envisioned a smaller group of people that would virtually go unnoticed, but thirty-five was substantial. Especially if they weren’t exactly sure what their role would be, other than looking for a blue windbreaker and getting free food. I had planned on meeting with the original crew forty minutes before the Federweisser opened to the public so I could spell things out, but now it was even more paramount that I hold some sort of training or orientation or whatever-the-heck someone called what I was planning.