by J. C. Eaton
“Norrie! It’s me. Cammy.”
“My God! What’s happened?”
“Nothing. Nothing like that. And I’m sorry it’s so darn late, but you won’t mind once I tell you what I found out. I’m at Rosinetti’s. Long story. One of my idiot cousins, Nico, dropped a bottle and cut his hand so they were short a bartender for the rest of the night. Family, you know. I couldn’t say no.”
“Is he—”
“He’ll be fine. Forget about Nico. I called you because I found out what Roy Wilkes and David Whitaker were fighting about that night and you won’t believe it.”
I was now sitting bolt upright on the edge of my bed and taking in her every word.
“Two women, on and off again regulars, were talking about it tonight. They were reminiscing about bar fights they’d seen. Anyway, they were more than happy to include me in their conversation. Are you ready for this? Roy Wilkes was already at the bar when David Whitaker came in. The women were a few seats away. David took the seat next to Roy and said something like, ‘I’ve been asking around and I knew I’d find you here.’”
“Oh my gosh. Go on. Go on.”
“So then Roy said something like, ‘So, what’s the big deal?’ Then the bartender took David’s order and walked away. David then gave Roy a poke in the arm and said, ‘What’s the big deal? What’s going on with you and my wife?’”
“Whoa.”
“I know. I know. So then Roy said, ‘Ask your wife if you want to know.’”
“Then what? Then what did they say?”
“They stopped talking and got physical. So, was it worth me calling you so late?”
“Oh hell yes! We can put the puzzle together. Roy Wilkes was having an affair with David Whitaker’s wife, and that’s what got him killed. I still don’t understand who the second person was. Kelsey Payne said there were two of them.”
“The wife? Maybe Roy and the wife were getting it on behind the pump house and got caught in the act by the husband.”
“At dawn? It’s downright chilly in the mornings. Doesn’t sound like a place for a rendezvous.”
“No, it sure doesn’t.”
“Maybe David Whitaker and some strong-armed buddy of his knew about the pump house and threatened to do some serious damage to it if Roy Wilkes didn’t show up. It’s a possibility, isn’t it?”
“Heck, anything’s a possibility, but now we have something ironclad—a motive. David Whitaker had a damn good motive for murdering Roy Wilkes. Cammy, I could give you a hug right over this phone line!”
“Thought you’d appreciate the call. Get some sleep.”
Was she nuts? After a call like that, Cal Payne slid into second place. My mind bounced around with more scenarios for love triangle murders than Danielle Steel and Jackie Collins combined. I finally managed to slip into a light sleep around three, only to be awakened at five by the sound of the harvester, fast at work. Another glorious day in the wineries.
Chapter 26
As much as I wanted to call Deputy Hickman and tell him I found the real motive for murder and that it had nothing to do with Rosalee’s winery, I knew I’d be wasting my time. Instead, I focused on my writing, with occasional trips to the tasting room each day in order to give the crew some breaks.
Theo and Don both agreed with Cammy that David Whitaker was the likely killer. Instead of penning a country western song about his cheating spouse, he could’ve gotten straight to the point and eliminated the competition. That being said, why was someone going through a heck of a lot of trouble to mess with me? It couldn’t be David, since he’d been AWOL for over a week. As far as I was concerned, Cal Payne wasn’t out of the picture.
I poured myself a Coke and watched the bubbles rise to the surface. One popped. Another one appeared. Then it hit me—Kelsey said there were two people behind the pump house. Sure, one of them disappeared, but the other one, the partner in crime, might very well have been Cal. And he had his own reasons to loathe Roy Wilkes.
It was a longshot, but if Cal Payne were to show up at the Federweisser wearing the blue windbreaker, it would be “game over.” Too bad Rosalee never mentioned him owning one when I sent that e-mail around about the hang-tab. Then again, I didn’t pay attention to what our vineyard crew wore.
The grim mood I was in lifted slightly. At least there were no more attempts on my life. I credited that to the fact I rarely left the house. It was Thursday afternoon and I seriously considered updating my Facebook profile to read “Homebody.” Thankfully the phone rang before I went any further with my idea.
“Norrie? It’s me. Godfrey Klein. Listen, I don’t want to alarm you, but you were right. That fudge was tampered with. Sorry it took so long for the analysis, but, like I told you, those processes take a great deal of time. Michael e-mailed me the report and I can forward it to you. I know Jason left your e-mail address with his contact information.”
“What was it? Arsenic? They always use arsenic. Rat poisoning? Cyanide? What?”
“Ex-lax. Well, not exactly Ex-lax, Dulcolax. I don’t think Ex-lax is still on the market.”
“A laxative? That’s what was in there? That sounds like a middle school prank. Who would pull such a sophomoric stunt?”
“Um, it wasn’t a stunt. Not according to Michael. There was enough bisacodyl in there to cause some serious damage, anything ranging from dehydration to—”
“Just spit it out and say it! Death! It could cause death!”
“Um, that isn’t exactly where I was going with this, still…it’s a concern.”
I tightened my grip on the receiver and didn’t say a word.
“Norrie? Are you still there? Are you all right?”
“What? Yeah, sure. It’s sinking in, that’s all.”
“What’s sinking in?”
“Remember that murder at Terrace Wineries a couple of weeks ago? Well, I might have stumbled upon the real killer, even though they’ve arrested someone else. What’s worse is that the lead deputy on the case refuses to look farther than his nose.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You’ve already helped, and I really appreciate it. In fact, why don’t you come to the Federweisser this Saturday? Bring some of your colleagues. Lunch will be on me.”
“This Saturday, huh? I’ve got to release some ladybird beetles into the community gardens that day, but I should have enough time.”
“Great. Catch you then. And thank your friend Michael for me, will you?”
“Sure thing. Oh, and by the way, he’s secured the evidence if you decide to call the sheriff’s department.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Sheriff’s department, my you-know-what.
Sticky stuff on my brakes and now Dulcolax. Whoever tried to harm, or worse yet, kill me, had to be an absolute amateur or a blithering idiot. Still, it didn’t make them any less dangerous. I’d ruled out David Whitaker because it was tough to pull a vanishing act and attempt to kill someone at the same time. Even Penn and Teller would be hard-pressed. I tried to tell myself that whoever did those dastardly things to me was only trying to scare me. Got news for you. It worked. I was scared. And not just for me, for the entire winery. I tried not to dwell on it, turning my thoughts instead to Kelsey Payne. Well, not exactly Kelsey Payne. His legal counsel—Bradley Jamison.
Bradley had no idea about the brakes or the fudge. Maybe it was time he did. If nothing else, it would substantiate the fact that that there was someone “out there” who wanted to prevent me from snooping around. And that someone couldn’t possibly be Kelsey.
It was four fifty-six when I made the call, informing the secretary who I was and that the matter was extremely important.
“Hold on for just a moment, would you?” she asked. “I thought Mr. Jamison was on his way out. Our office closes at five.”
Terrific. Banker’s hours. I tapped
on the floor and took a breath while I waited for him to pick up.
“Hi, Norrie! The secretary said it was urgent. Is everything all right?”
“For now, anyway. Hey, I’m sorry I caught you on your way out, but I’m more convinced than ever that Kelsey Payne isn’t our guy.”
Before Bradley could say a word, I told him about the gooey stuff on my brakes and the Dulcolax poisoning.
“Really? The stuff is that lethal? I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard. I don’t suppose you’re willing to notify the sheriff’s department. One incident could be a prank, but two…they have to listen to you.”
Again with the sheriff’s department. “Um, yeah. I suppose you’re right. But I don’t think it’ll do anything to further our cause as far as Kelsey’s innocence is concerned.”
“It’s a starting point. I’ll be sure to convey it to his criminal attorney once he or she is officially hired.”
“Okay, then. Um, have a nice evening.”
“Norrie, wait a sec. What time did you tell me that big event of yours starts? I know it’s the day after tomorrow.”
“The Federweisser? At ten in the morning. Goes on all day, with food and entertainment. Not to mention wine tours. Are you, um, planning on coming?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I thought I’d bring my—”
And like that, he stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, sorry. Marvin needs to catch me for a minute. See you on Saturday.”
Bring your what? Girlfriend? Fiancée? Who? Like I don’t already know. I saw her cute smiley face on your cell phone. Pam. That’s who.
Pam. With the tussled blond hair. At least she gave me something to think about other than another possible attempt on my life. I knew Godfrey and Bradley were right about calling the sheriff’s department, but I really wasn’t ready for another lecture from my favorite deputy. Besides, he’d have to pick up the evidence and the Experiment Station would be closed until morning. I figured it could wait.
I took a sip of my Coke and went back to my laptop when I realized something—Bradley Jamison didn’t sound the least bit concerned about Kelsey’s predicament. Almost as if he resigned himself to the fact that nothing, short of a miracle, was going to get that guy out of a full-blown trial. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was beginning to feel the same way.
The term “snowball’s chance in hell” bounced around my head every time I thought about the one paltry little clue we had. If it was a clue at all. I prayed to the gods the Federweisser wouldn’t turn out to be a colossal bust as far as catching the killer was concerned. If it did, I could always ask Glenda to contact Roy Wilkes’ deceased spirit.
I went to bed that night with a slight pounding in my head, but it was real pounding that woke me up at a little past five. A rhythmic thud that wouldn’t stop. I knew it wasn’t the sound of our harvester or any other machinery for that matter. Those sounds I had gotten used to. Even the dog looked up from the foot of the bed every few minutes. The sound woke him, too, but obviously didn’t concern him.
Pulling the curtains back, I squinted at the hazy dawn and scanned the vineyards. A huge blue and white striped tent had appeared out of nowhere, connecting the tasting room building to the winery. Oh my God! The Federweisser tent! John told me he’d made arrangements with Carter’s Canopies to put up the tent Friday morning, but somehow it slipped my mind.
“Carter’s crew should have the tent and the stage areas ready to go by midday,” he had said. “Then our vineyard guys will bring in the folding tables and chairs from the back of the barn, as well as the large propane grill. We should be all set way before closing time.”
I must’ve glossed over that conversation, but I did remember Cammy telling me something about tablecloths and centerpieces. Was I supposed to do something? It was early enough in the day, an obscene time, really, that I didn’t have to worry about it. I fed the dog, ate an early breakfast and took a long shower before venturing down to the tasting room.
With the fall rush, Cammy had arrived an hour earlier to restock and setup. She was already at work when I walked into the tasting room.
“Did you catch the forecast for tomorrow?” she asked as soon as I waved.
“Oh no. Please don’t tell me it’s going to pour. That’s the last thing we need.”
“Partially sunny and breezy. Highs in the low seventies, with winds picking up, and a forty percent chance of rain in the late afternoon.”
“Late? How late? How do they define late?”
“I’m hoping their definition of late is any time after we close. Hey, don’t get all worked up. It’s the Finger Lakes. Those forecasts change every hour. Besides, we’ve got the tent, and the grill’s located under the overhang by the winery building. We’ll be fine.”
“Except for the turnout. Any mention of rain and people stay home. You’d think they were afraid of melting.”
“Relax, Norrie. It’ll be okay.”
“If you say so. Um, was I supposed to help out with centerpieces or anything like that because I can’t remember.”
“Nope. We’re all set. Fred and Emma have got the food under control and their assistants are topnotch, according to Fred.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Oh, before I forget, the reporter from the Finger Lakes Times called to let us know they’ll be sending a photographer over sometime tomorrow. They couldn’t be more specific than that.”
“Great. The reporter can take a picture of Bradley Jamison and his girlfriend enjoying our wine.”
“Huh?” Cammy raised her eyebrows. “He has a girlfriend? Did he tell you that?”
“He started to but got interrupted. I called to tell him about my brakes and the fudge being poisoned when—”
“WHAT? You didn’t say anything about the fudge being poisoned. So I was right after all. Was it arsenic? That seems to be a popular poison. Agatha Christie and all that. And how’d you find out, anyway?”
“From one of Jason’s scientist friends at the Experiment Station. And no, it wasn’t arsenic. It was Dulcolax. And before you start laughing, it was serious. Apparently too much of that stuff can do serious damage.”
“Ugh. Remind me to stick to prunes if I have to. Did you let the sheriff’s office know?”
Great! The third person insisting I call the sheriff. “Um, not yet. I’m not exactly Deputy Hickman’s person of the year. And it’s not as if he can do anything about these threats. He’ll only tell me to be careful. Duh. What I really need to do…what we all really need to do…is to be on the lookout for anyone wearing that Eddie Bauer jacket without its hang-tab. I doubt David Whitaker will be waltzing through the door, but Cal Payne might, and if it’s not him, then maybe we’ll get lucky and find out who it really is. One way or the other, it’s got to be the accomplice or the killer.”
“And to think of it, up until a few weeks ago, the highpoint of the occasion would’ve been the wine,” she said.
“Very funny.”
“So you’re all set with your never-ending cadre of spies?”
I steepled my fingers and gave her a smile. “If you’re referring to the bowlers and the quilters, the answer is yes. I spoke with Stephanie last night, and our volunteers agreed to be in the tasting room at eight thirty for the briefing.”
“The briefing? As in Pentagon and White House briefings?”
“It sounded better than breakfast meeting. Especially since we’re not giving them breakfast, only coffee and donuts. And Fred’s got that covered.”
Cammy shook her head and smiled. “I’ll give you this much, you certainly know how to persevere.”
Yeah. Too bad I don’t know how to catch a killer.
Chapter 27
The first clue that the covert operation I had loosely planned for the Federweisser might not go down as I expected came when two elderly women pulled me aside the moment I s
tepped into the tasting room at precisely eight fifteen the following morning—Federweisser morning.
“You must be Norrie,” the first woman said. “You look exactly the way that lady over there described you.”
She pointed to Cammy, who was refilling some of the T-shirt bins.
I gave a quick nod.
“I’m Eunice and this is Cecile. We’re from the Schoolhouse Quilters in Seneca Falls. We brought our binoculars with us and told the other three ladies from our guild to do the same. Did you want us to station ourselves in a particular place and scan the area? We got here especially early to be sure. Of course, we’ll need a description of the suspect. We are on the lookout for a murderer, aren’t we?”
Then she poked Cecile in the arm. “Isn’t this the most exciting thing we’ve ever done? And aren’t you glad I told you to bring your seam ripper with you in case you got attacked?”
If my jaw had dropped any lower, it would’ve hit my chest. I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but Eunice’s enthusiasm really scared me. “Well, thanks. And welcome. Coffee and donuts will be served right over there in the bistro.” I pointed across the room to where Fred and Emma were setting up. “You won’t need binoculars and certainly not seam rippers. All you’ll be doing is mingling around and keeping an eye open for anyone wearing a blue windbreaker that’s missing its front pocket hang-tab. I’ll explain more when everyone gets here.”
In the next fifteen minutes, bowlers and quilters streamed into the tasting room. I welcomed them and ushered them over to the food.
One hefty guy, who looked as if he bench pressed on a daily basis, grabbed me by the wrist. “I’ve got a concealed weapon permit and my Glock is locked up in my car, but I can get it if you’d like.”
I assured him it wasn’t necessary. Then it got worse. Another man told me he had a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and was itching to put it to good use. Three women informed me they were knitters and had stashed their knitting needles in their handbags “just in case.”
