by J. C. Eaton
“I was just about to ask the same thing,” Theo said.
He and Bradley returned from their impromptu role as traffic cops and walked toward us. By now the staff had gathered next to Cammy’s table and they were all looking at me.
“Everyone might as well hear this at once.” I wanted to be clear and succinct. Poised and direct. Instead, I rambled on like one of those recipients of an Academy Award who didn’t know when to stop talking.
“It was Erlene Spencer. Not an affair with Roy Wilkes. Blackmailing him. Don’t know why. Tried to kill me, too. It was her fudge. And her hairspray on my brakes. Oh, and she thought Bradley was Marvin Souza’s errand boy. And her cat is diabetic. She tried to jab me with his needle. The killer bees held her off. But they were ladybugs. Did I mention the fudge was laced with a laxative?”
Theo tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to calm down. “Maybe we should go over the events sequentially.”
We didn’t. But somehow, I was able to explain how Erlene’s own son outed her during the “Chicken Dance.”
“Whoa. Never saw that coming,” Cammy said.
“Me either. I wonder if she’ll give a full confession or try to squirm out of it. Either way, I’m hoping it’ll be enough to get Kelsey Payne released.”
Bradley gave a nod. “We’ll be working on it.”
“Oh my gosh,” I said. “I still have to tell the winemakers and the vineyard guys. They’re probably down by the tent cleaning up.”
Fred nodded. “Yeah, about that, we’ll still be another hour or so. We’ve got the grill to scrub as well as the tables in the tent area. According to John, the rental company will be back on Monday to take down the tent and pack up their furniture. We’ll put our own tables back in the barn. We had terrific sales, but I don’t want to see another sausage for a long, long time. Lucky for us, we won’t have to. Next year, the Federweisser will be someone else’s turn from that WOW group.”
I swear the color drained from Theo’s face. “I hope the Grey Egret’s last on the list. It’ll take me years to get over this one. Hey, everyone, it was great working with you today, but I’d better get back to my own winery before Don puts out an all-points bulletin.”
“Gotta run, too,” I announced. “I can’t believe I forgot about Franz and his crew, not to mention the vineyard guys.” I turned to Theo. “You’re the best. Call you later.”
I scurried out of there and was halfway across the parking lot when I heard Bradley’s voice. “Norrie! Hold up a second, will you?”
“What? What is it?” I turned and stood still as he approached.
“Hey, I know this has been, well, a frenetic day, to say the least, and I know I’ll be up to my neck with phone calls and paperwork tomorrow. Even if it is Sunday. But I was wondering, maybe you’d like to go out to dinner or something next weekend. We may have cause to celebrate if all goes well with Kelsey. May, not will.”
Kelsey. That was right. I should’ve been concerned about wrongful imprisonment and all that, but the only words that really sunk in were “dinner or something.”
“Uh, sure.”
“I’ll call you to let you know what happens regarding Erlene being charged for murder. Remember, she didn’t admit to it.”
“Aargh.” I brushed the loose strands of hair from my face. “Look, if Deputy Hickman can round up her missing husband, there’ll be a confession all right. Of course, that means getting the Geneva Police involved since Richard lives there.”
“That part of it shouldn’t be a problem. The tricky part is the motive. Why would she kill someone she was blackmailing? The old payola would come to an abrupt halt. And I don’t know about you, but I’m curious as all get-up-and-go to find out what that shrew had over Roy Wilkes.”
“Yeah, that makes two of us. I’ll bet you anything it had to do with those dealings at Beecher Rand.”
Bradley headed back to the tasting room, where Pam was waiting, and I rushed downhill to the Chardonnay barrel and our winery crew. The vineyard guys were a few feet away, cleaning off the tables in the tent.
“John left about an hour ago,” one of them said. “I’m surprised he stayed as long as he did. He hates these things.”
Small wonder.
I took a step closer to where they were working. “We may have caught the real killer.”
“Already?” they said in unison. “Herbert just found that blue windbreaker a few minutes ago. He’s over there with Alan by the Chardonnay barrel.”
“The what? He did? The windbreaker?”
I all but tripped over myself as I darted the few yards to the barrel that was adjacent to the back of the winery building.
“We were about to call the tasting room,” Alan said the second he saw me. “Herbert and I found this all crumpled up and stuffed in the bushes behind the barrel. Is this the evidence that goes with that hang-tab? I still have that photo you e-mailed us.”
It was evidence, all right, at least in my book. But it was also contaminated with everyone’s fingerprints from here to the Pennsylvania border. I figured what difference would a few more fingerprints make? Herbert handed me the jacket, and I immediately shook it out and held it upright to see the front pocket.
“It’s the very one we’ve been looking for,” I said. “See for yourselves, there’s a slight tear where the hang-tab was attached. Do you have any idea who was wearing it or how long it has been hidden?”
“It wasn’t there this morning,” Alan said. “I can tell you that much. I would’ve noticed it when I was setting up the napkins and glasses. And Franz most certainly would’ve said something before he left for the day.”
Herbert nodded in agreement. “Someone probably stashed it while we were inundated with tasters. By the way, what was that ruckus in the driveway? Was that a sheriff’s car?”
“Yes. Without the flashers or siren.”
I proceeded to tell Alan, Herbert, and the vineyard workers about the entire debacle with Erlene.
“Yahoo!” was the response I got, followed by someone saying how glad they were that Kelsey Payne wouldn’t have to take the heat for something he didn’t do.
“It’s not over yet,” I said. “Erlene Spencer hasn’t confessed.”
A series of groans followed as I shoved the jacket under my arm but, instead of traipsing back to the tasting room, I ran down the driveway straight to the Grey Egret.
“We’ve got it! We’ve got it!” I yelled as I ran toward Don and Theo. They were locking up their building and hadn’t made it past their front steps.
“Here! See for yourself!” I thrust the wadded-up jacket at Theo and let out a long sigh. “I know, I know. It’s laden with fingerprints. Too bad it doesn’t have someone’s name on it, like those little iron-on tags for campers.”
“Did you check any of the pockets?” Don asked.
I felt my face get warm. “Um, no.”
Theo was already ransacking the windbreaker, while Don and I held our breath.
“I believe we’ve just hit pay dirt and, if I’m not mistaken, we’ve cracked the case.”
“What? What did you find?” I was practically shrieking.
Theo unfolded a small piece of paper from the Eastside Veterinary Animal Clinic.
“It’s a receipt for Sir Puss-in-Boots Spencer’s special diet food. Wow! Fifty-eight dollars for ten cans. Looks like that cat’s out of the bag, huh?”
At that moment, I grabbed him by the arm and shouted, “What are you waiting for? Call the sheriff’s office!”
Chapter 31
I waited with Theo and Don at their place while Deputy Hickman sent over two young deputies to “secure the possible evidence in the Roy Wilkes case.” To be on the safe side, and because I was more than a little dubious of the outcome, I had Theo take a photo of the windbreaker, along with the cat food receipt.
“You know this would never hold up in court,” he said.
“I know, but it’s still a paper trail, more or less.”
* * * *
While I was anxious for some news about Erlene the following day, nothing came. No phone calls. No texts. No e-mails. Nothing. I tried calling Deputy Hickman’s extension, but all I got was his answering machine and a recorded message that said if I was calling about an emergency to “hang up and dial nine-one-one.”
If I thought our tasting room staff looked wiped out at the end of the day yesterday, they looked like the living dead today. Glenda told me she needed to take an herbal shower infusion, whatever the heck that was, in order to strengthen her inner soul for the day. Cammy and Sam were both commiserating about how many shots of espresso they’d need to stay awake, while Roger was so tired he didn’t even try to mention the French and Indian War. Not even once.
Lizzie had the day off but left a note for me the night before. It read, “You may need to re-read Chapter One in the Nancy Drew Handbook, especially the part about ‘staying poised in dire situations.’”
You stay poised with a lunatic woman at your heels, Nancy. And no amount of tap dancing Morse Code is going to help.
Everyone kept asking me if I’d heard anything from the sheriff’s department and after the fifth or sixth time of saying, “No, not yet,” I trudged back up the hill and spent the rest of the day drafting a new script. I had made all of the “thoughtful changes” my script analyst suggested for the prior one.
Charlie was like a wild dog that day, having been cooped up during the Federweisser. He took off as soon as it was dawn and literally ran circles around the house before coming back inside to gobble down his food.
I promised Cammy that if I heard anything about Erlene, I’d let her know. I called the tasting room at five ten to tell her, “No news is good news.”
Theo and Don checked in with me as well and informed me that there was “radio silence” as far as they knew.
It wasn’t until the next day that I learned the fate of Kelsey Payne and Erlene Spencer. And I learned it not from Deputy Hickman or any one of our news or radio stations, but from the voice of none other than Gladys Pipp. It was Monday morning and I was sitting at the kitchen table working on some dialogue for my new screenplay when the phone rang.
“Norrie! It’s me. Gladys. I have to speak fast. I’m on break and I have to be back at my desk by ten forty-five sharp. You didn’t hear this from me, but Kelsey Payne’s going to be released. A cadre of Geneva lawyers has been down here and at the courthouse all morning. Along with Rosalee Marbleton and her sister, Marilyn, although they left a little while ago. Lots of hubbub yesterday, and I missed it.”
“What did you miss? What happened?”
“First of all, the Geneva Police located the husband, David Whitaker, and brought him in for questioning. He was staying at his son’s apartment in Geneva. Can you imagine?”
“Yes, yes. Go on.”
“Well, when he found out that his wife accused him of stabbing Roy Wilkes to death, he went berserk. Took three deputies to hold him down.”
“So she really did it, huh? She was the one who killed Roy Wilkes.”
“No, she wasn’t. She didn’t. Not exactly, anyway.”
“What? What are you saying?”
“It’s kind of complicated. You see, oh phooey. I’ve got to hang up. Deputy Hickman’s headed this way.” Then she said, “That’s right, you can request a wellness check for your elderly aunt at any time. Please call the office number and not nine-one-one.”
I held the phone in my hand for a moment before putting it back in the receiver. This was worse than one of those cliff hanger dramas that end with “To Be Continued.”
Gladys had mentioned a cadre of lawyers, and I knew Bradley Jamison had to be one of them. I wasted no time calling his office.
“I’m sorry,” the secretary said. “He and Mr. Souza are out of the office right now. I don’t expect them back until after lunch. May I take a message?”
Suddenly, I realized something. I might not be able to get the details from Bradley, but Rosalee had been there, too. She had to know something. I tore off the grubby clothes I was wearing, washed up and put on something that didn’t make me look as if I was a street urchin from a Dickens novel. Then I drove straight to Rosalee’s house.
I recognized Marilyn’s car in the driveway and pulled up next to it. I got out and walked up the porch steps to the front door. The little flowerpot stakes were still lined up in their pots against the wall. One quick knock and the door opened.
“Come in, come in,” Rosalee said. “I take it you’ve heard the news. My sister is consoling herself with sugar cookies and a can of frosting.”
Marilyn gave me a wave as I stepped into the kitchen. “I had no idea. Honestly. No idea. To think I could’ve been an accomplice to murder.”
“Well, you weren’t,” Rosalee said. “So, let it go.”
Then Rosalee turned to me. “I suppose you’ve gotten all the details by now.”
“Um, actually, no. Not really. I know they arrested Erlene, but did she or didn’t she kill Roy Wilkes? Or was it her husband? Their son thought she did it but was going to save herself by accusing the husband. And what were she and her husband doing there in the first place?”
Marilyn popped a handful of small sugar cookies in her mouth and reached for a cup of coffee to wash them down.
Rosalee poured a cup for me and motioned for me to sit down. “This may take some time. Do you want to explain, Marilyn, or should I?”
Marilyn tore into another handful of cookies. I wondered how many Rosalee baked. “I’m too upset. You tell her.”
Rosalee groaned and leaned back. “Take notes. You might be able to use this for one of your screenplays. Roy Wilkes, David Whitaker, and Erlene Spencer all worked for Beecher Rand. Erlene was in personnel, so that should tell you something right there and then. She found out that Roy Wilkes lied on his résumé but did she report it? Of course not. She saved that tidbit of information to blackmail him when it came time for him to retire. He’d lose all of his pension and the company profit sharing, which was a substantial amount. Wasn’t that so, Marilyn?”
Marilyn looked up from her cookies and gave a nod.
“Anyway,” Rosalee went on, “she had to do a little woggie-doogling of her own when it came to the shady stuff her husband was involved in. But getting back to Roy Wilkes, it seems Erlene had a set time to meet with the guy behind the pump house to get payment for keeping her mouth shut. To compensate for the hush money he paid her, he raised our land use rent. That dirty rat!”
“You got that right,” Marilyn said.
“Shh. Let me finish. As I was saying, Erlene and Roy met at dawn so she could sneak out of her house unseen and unheard. I’d venture as far as to say separate bedrooms, but I’d be gossip mongering at that point.”
“Whoa. This is beginning to make sense,” I said. “What happened on the morning Roy was killed?”
“Apparently Erlene didn’t tiptoe out of her house and her husband pursued her in his car. He was convinced she was seeing someone. Which, of course, she was, but not for the reason he had in mind. Erlene parked by that vacant lake house on Route 14, so as not to be noticed, and her husband did the same when he followed her.”
Marilyn began to sniffle and Rosalee told her to “pull it together.”
“When Erlene met with Roy Wilkes, he refused to pay the money and they started arguing. That’s when the husband showed up. He thought it was a lovers’ spat and got into a physical altercation with Roy. Erlene was worried David would get hurt but had no way to stop the brawl. She said she tried to throw some rocks but that didn’t work. Then she remembered those re-purposed metal flowerpot stakes I had on my porch. Erlene and Marilyn had helped me replant some geraniums a while back and knew the stakes we
re like Roman weaponry. She ran back to my porch, grabbed one, and charged Roy Wilkes, intending to scare him off. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way.”
“So she stabbed him to death?”
“Not quite like that. She took jabs at him and succeeded in tearing his jacket, but it was her husband who finally wrestled the flowerpot stake away from her and, in a fit of anger, went straight for Roy Wilkes.”
“So he was the one who stabbed Roy to death.”
“More or less.”
“Huh?”
“He had the flowerpot stake in his hand and was aiming it at Roy when Erlene gave him a hard push from behind and he reacted without thinking. So hard, in fact, he hurt his arm. In a way, they both stabbed Roy to death.”
The hurt arm. The person who couldn’t open the car door. It’s all making sense.
“Yeesh. I should be taking screenplay notes.”
“Erlene and her husband panicked when they realized what they had done. David wasn’t sure what to do about the murder weapon. He still had it in his hand as they made their way back to their cars. Erlene pointed out our winery building’s porch and he stashed it there, on a window ledge. He managed to wipe off the prints.”
“But what about the blue windbreaker? It was hers, after all.”
“Yes indeed. Finding her windbreaker helped to get my handyman off the hook. Erlene figured it got torn a bit in the scuffle, but the hang-tab didn’t fall off until she was on her way back to the car. She hadn’t worn it again until the day of the Federweisser, and she took it off when she went to taste the Chardonnay. She said she put it over some bushes and forgot about it. Too bad she left an old cat food receipt in one of the pockets, huh?”
“I’m glad Roy’s killers were caught,” I said, “but one thing’s still plaguing me—the intruder on your porch that night. Was it—”
“The old bat herself,” Rosalee said. “Once Erlene started confessing, it was like a leak in a dam. She’d torn off a piece of Roy’s jacket during the altercation and was going to stash it in one of my potted plants, but my scream scared her off. Can you believe it? She tried to plant false evidence.”
