by J. C. Eaton
“Relax,” she said when I asked her. “Fred has an assortment of lovely finger foods lined up, plus muffins in every conceivable variety with flavored butters and cheeses. Not to mention jams. We also have fruit cups, sherbet cups, and three different flavors of mousse. We’ll have our wine, of course, plus juices and coffee/tea service. It’ll be fine, Norrie. Take a breath.”
Cammy tidied up her tasting room table and didn’t notice Glenda rushing toward us. She practically ran into Cammy’s backside.
“Norrie! I wasn’t going to tell you this because I thought it might upset you. Then I realized I would be doing you a disservice if I didn’t.”
“Didn’t tell me what?”
Glenda took a long, deep breath and when she let out the air, it sounded like a moan. “I had the most dreadful premonition about Saturday night. So throat-clutching I called my friend Zenora. You know, the one who works for Essential Oils like Lavettia does. I mean, did. Anyway, Zenora suggested I have dinner at her place on Saturday and we could conduct aura cleansings on each other. That way, when I arrive for the will reading, my body and mind will be clear of all unwanted outside influences.”
“Um, sure.” Personally, I plan to take a quick shower and the hell with it.
Glenda grabbed my wrist and gave it a slight squeeze. “If you’d care to join us, you are more than welcome.”
“Gee, thanks. That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll be fine. I think we’ll all be fine.”
“I’ll be sure to recite a protective earth, air, and water spell on the winery just in case.”
“Good. Good idea. As long as it doesn’t involve lighting anything.”
“Wonderful.” Glenda gave my wrist another squeeze and went back to her table in time to greet three women who walked in while we were talking.
Cammy, who’d been pretty quiet up until then, whispered, “She’s a dear soul but, frankly, some of her stuff scares the daylights out of me. By the way, did you want the banquet room set up in any particular fashion? I figured we’d use one of our long rectangular tables for the attorneys and arrange the chairs in a semi-circle around them. The outlets would be right behind the table if they wanted to go all high-tech.”
“That sounds about right. I’ll shoot off an email to Bradley and if they want anything different, he’ll let me know.”
“We’ll have rectangular tables set up against the long wall. That’s where the food and drinks will be. Sam and Roger will pour the wines and take care of coffee/tea service. Am I missing anything?”
“If you are, we’ll figure it out when they get here. By the way, the banquet room looked pretty good with all the lights and holiday decorations.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too. You can thank Lizzie for all that. She really went overboard this year.”
“I appreciate it. I mean, even though everyone’s getting paid, it’s a major inconvenience—midnight of all times. At least that storm they keep talking about won’t get here until Sunday. If it’s really bad, the county will close the roads and we can all stay home.”
Cammy shook her head. “I don’t think it’ll be that bad. Those news stations love getting us hyped up only to disappoint us later. Fred and Emma will be here before ten. They’ll get the food ready. The rest of us will arrive between ten-thirty and eleven.”
“I’m good with whatever you worked out. Oh, and one more thing—if you see a man with a wretched comb-over and chubby cheeks suddenly get up before the will is read and race for the nearest exit, call the sheriff’s office and yell for me.”
“Huh? What did I miss?”
While Cammy knew all about my suspicions regarding Clayton, I hadn’t had the time to fill her in on the little drama Don and Theo planned to stage. She listened wordlessly until I was done. Then she clasped her hands together and stretched them out in front of her. “And you think Glenda is wacky? Why don’t you just tell someone at the sheriff’s department?”
“Because, if you haven’t noticed, I’m on their ‘Do Not Believe’ call list.”
Just then, the phone in my pocket buzzed. I took it out to answer.
“Catch you later,” Cammy said.
I walked toward a quiet corner of the room, so I could hear whoever was on the line.
“Norrie? It’s Bradley. Listen, there’s been a change of plans. Well, not plans exactly, more like attendees. You can add one more to your list—the CEO of Seneca Lake Communities Bank. He’s out on bail and will be attending the reading of Arnold’s will, along with everyone else. Hope that doesn’t put a dent in your food and drink menu.”
“No, unless there’s something about his appetite you’re not telling me. But why invite a bank CEO who’s being charged with a crime? What was his relationship with Arnold? Was he the reason Arnold switched to another bank?”
“He was the reason Arnold had money to put in a bank in the first place. Long story. No time to get into it right now. Marvin’s driving all of us crazy. Got to run. See you Saturday. If I make it through the rest of this afternoon and tomorrow.”
“That bad?”
“Times ten!”
The next day was as uneventful as could be. Weather-wise, the air was cold and still. Winery-wise, based on what I could see when I looked through the window to the tasting room parking lot, there was a steady stream of shoppers. Storm predictions do that in the Finger Lakes. People either rush off to the nearest supermarket and stock up on goods, as if they were facing Armageddon, or they flock to the wineries and buy wine as if Armageddon awaited them at home in the form of cooped-up family members.
For me, Armageddon meant a blissful day spent finalizing my screenplay. Another read through and I’d be able to send it to Renee. Charlie was having a decent day, too—trips in and out of the doggie door, followed by hours-long naps. I phoned Cammy in the afternoon to make sure she didn’t need anything last minute, although we had a full day ahead of us before midnight tomorrow rolled around.
Henderson’s Funeral Home called to inform me that Lavettia had been cremated as per her wishes and, in lieu of any memorial service, she simply requested the placement of her obituary, which she herself had penned, in the local newspapers.
“Uh, did she leave any instructions for her ashes?” I asked. “Some people want them scattered all over or they have a burial spot.”
“Lavettia requested that hers be scattered into Seneca Lake next spring. We arranged to store them until then. You might want to hold a small gathering of her friends. It’s up to you.”
Gathering of her friends? I didn’t know she had any. After all, why am I doing this? “Um, yeah. Of course.”
It was one of those creepy phone calls that left me feeling numb. I nuked a frozen cheese and kale lasagna that Francine had made and defrosted a bagel to go with it. Not the most exciting meal I’d eaten, but it got stars for being convenient.
By four thirty I was getting twitchy, so I rustled Charlie out of his doggie bed and forced him to take a brisk walk around the place. We snaked through the vineyard rows, crisscrossed the property a few times, and semi-jogged back to the house. When we got home, I pulled up the file for my screenplay one more time for a “quick look.”
The “quick look” lasted over two hours. I made tiny, yet significant dialogue changes. Satisfied it was ready for Renee’s eyes, I sent it to her as an email attachment, even though I knew she wouldn’t get to it until Monday. At least it was off my plate for the time being.
Paramour Productions had given Renee a wish list of movie themes they were interested in acquiring and she, naturally, had passed it to me, along with a brief note that made me laugh—“Same you-know-what, different day.”
I did, however, notice a subtle shift from contemporary and modern romance to Victorian and post-World War I romance. I’d give Renee a call next week to talk about it.
Finally, I settled on the couch w
ith a bowl of nachos and a Coke. I caught the end of a sitcom and the nine o’clock news. Nothing exciting to report. The storm wouldn’t make it here until Sunday, if it showed up at all…something about a discrepancy between the United States and European computer models.
My eyes closed as the news anchors talked about possible wind shift directions. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to find Charlie licking nacho crumbs from my chest.
“Guess that’s my hint, huh boy?”
We traipsed upstairs. I knew I’d fall asleep in minutes. I didn’t. For some inexplicable reason, my mind latched on to Saturday’s reading of the will. All sorts of hideous scenarios came to mind, including, but not limited to, Miller and Clayton getting into a brawl and the nuns threatening everyone with eternal damnation if they weren’t named the beneficiaries.
Finally, I gave up and decided to focus on a new tactic. Instead of counting sheep, I’d count attendees, beginning with Arnold’s employees and branching out from there. Over and over again, I said the names in my mind—Miller Holtz, Clayton LeVine, Sister Mary Katherine, Sister Gloria Mae, Sister Celeste, the CEO who had dealings with Arnold…I also added our employees to the mix, followed by Theo, Don, and Godfrey.
It must have worked because I didn’t wake up until the next morning.
Chapter 24
Bradley had assured me the reading of the will would be conducted in a formal, businesslike manner, despite any interruptions that may or may not emanate from the audience. I pictured something entirely different—something more akin to a piñata party. Instead of waving a giant stick, Marvin would be holding Arnold’s will, waving it in the air. Suddenly the term “midnight madness” took on a new meaning for me.
I was downright twitchy all day, stopping in and out of the tasting room so often I was making everyone nervous. At one point, Cammy approached me and begged me to go home and “write something mushy.”
The colorless sky gave no indication a storm would be heading our way the next day. It was downright frigid and void of any moisture. I figured that had to be a good thing. At a little before three, Theo called to ask if there were any last minute things we needed since he had to make a run to Wegmans for some bottled water and batteries.
“I’m playing it safe,” he said. “If I stock up on emergency supplies, the storm will bypass us. Happens all the time. Sure you don’t want anything?”
“Nah. Thanks anyway. We’re all set. John even made sure to put lots of extra hay in Alvin’s little house in case it gets brutal out there. Are you and Don prepared to launch into your dialogue as planned?”
“Geez, I don’t think Cecile B. DeMille prepped as much when he filmed Cleopatra.”
“Only checking. Honestly, my mind keeps flitting from one thing to the next. Weird stuff, too, like how are those nuns going to get here? Sister Gloria told me they have a sedan at their disposal, but none of them drive at night.”
“They probably made arrangements for one of their delivery guys to bring them.”
“Unless they’ve been arrested for stashing stolen wine in Miller Holtz’s apartment building. Remember, they had cheesecake deliveries in that area. If Miller wasn’t behind the thefts, one of those two men could have been responsible.”
“We would have heard about it by now. Try to relax. Showtime begins in less than nine hours, and I’m not counting the prep time. See you around midnight.”
With my screenplay sitting in Renee’s inbox and everything under control at the winery, I did something I probably should have done weeks ago, and I did it with such determination and attention to detail, I felt as if I deserved a commendation. I cleaned the house. Not just a simple dust and sweep but a genuine deep cleaning or whatever the heck it was called. I even crawled on my hands and knees to get some stubborn dust bunnies (more like full-grown rabbits) out from under the beds. Ew! I also cleaned the gunky sink drains.
My music teacher, Mr. Howard, once told the class that the true sign of being an adult was when you were the person who cleaned the gunk in the sink drain. Ugh! No wonder Peter Pan refused to grow up.
It was a little past eight when I took a shower and made myself an egg salad sandwich. Charlie went out the doggie door for a quick turnaround before settling in his bed. I pulled the plastic cover over the door because the last thing I needed was for him to go outside and howl.
“I’m driving down there,” I said to the dog, who barely lifted his head, “because it’s cold and it’s dark.” My God! I’m now justifying my moves to the dog.
When I stepped into the tasting room foyer, Cammy was already there, along with Fred and Emma. The huge gas fireplace was blazing, giving the place a homey, ski lodge look. The holiday tea lights that we had strung in the main and banquet rooms looked welcoming and tasteful, although I wasn’t quite sure if they were appropriate for the reading of a person’s final wishes.
“Something smells fantastic,” I said.
“It’s the braised pork loin Fred and Emma marinated in honey and soy sauce. I sampled that as well as the bacon-wrapped shrimp skewers. The banquet room’s all set. Make sure the chairs are where you want them.”
“Um, think we should assign seats?”
Cammy gave her head a shake. “That might make people uncomfortable.”
“Theo and Don absolutely have to be seated behind Clayton.”
“They’ll figure it out. Stop worrying.”
At that moment, Sam came through the doorway, followed by Lizzie and Glenda. “Roger’s parking his car,” he said, “When we saw him pull in, we made a mad dive for the door. Guy’s been on a roll all day about pivotal moments in the French and Indian War. Lizzie got him started when she mentioned tonight being a pivotal moment regarding the direction the lake’s wine distribution is about to go.” Then he turned to Lizzie. “Thanks a heap. Roger will be citing battles all night. Maybe if we’re lucky, Arnold’s spirit will rise from the dead and shut him up.”
At that point, Glenda gasped. “Don’t even go there! This place hasn’t been appropriately cleansed for that sort of thing.”
“Yeesh,” I groaned. “Enough with spirits and war stories. If things go poorly with Arnold’s will, our banquet room could turn out to be the next battlefield. Come on, let’s get set-up. The attorneys should be here any minute.”
As if on cue, the front door opened and Marvin Souza walked in, a large briefcase tucked under his arm. He was tall and had a medium build, and a full head of white hair. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn I was looking at a younger Hal Holbrook sans the Mark Twain mustache. Bradley stood a few feet behind him, also carrying a briefcase and looking as serious and pokerfaced as I’d ever seen him. I immediately walked over to introduce myself to Marvin, but Bradley did it for me.
“Mr. Souza, I’d like you to meet our hostess for this evening, Norrie Ellington. She’s one of the owners of Two Witches Winery.”
He held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Ellington. We genuinely appreciate you opening your winery at such a peculiar hour to accommodate the wishes of the late Arnold Mowen.”
“Glad we could help out,” I said.
Another gentleman, whom I hadn’t noticed at first, barreled toward us. He was tall, like Marvin, but that was where the similarities ended. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with broad shoulders, thick eyebrows, and wavy brown hair. This time, Marvin Souza made the introduction.
“We’ve brought another attendee for tonight’s reading of the will. Allow me to introduce Thane Eldridge, the CEO of Seneca Lakes Communities Bank.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Eldridge.” I extended my hand once again.
“Likewise.”
Thane Eldridge’s voice was really deep, and I could have sworn I’d heard it before.
“We’ve got a table set up for you, Mr. Souza.” I pointed in the direction of the banquet room. “Will you ne
ed a computer set up as well?”
“If the late Mr. Mowen had his way, we would have needed a film-screening room, but as it stands, all I’ll require is additional table space for some framed photos of him that he wanted on display tonight.”
“No problem. I’ll get one of our employees to set one up. Meanwhile, make yourselves comfortable. We’ll have coffee service and drinks available in a few minutes. Everything will be ready to go by midnight.” Including myself.
“Good. Good. I’d like to be done with this affair by one thirty—two at the latest. It’s starting to get nasty out there, and I don’t trust the forecast. A late Sunday storm could very well turn out to be an early morning surprise.”
“Yeeks. Let’s hope not.”
The last thing I needed was for a gaggle of money-hungry vultures to be snowed in.
Bradley led his boss and Thane Eldridge into the banquet room while I rushed off to find Sam or Roger to move that table.
“No problem,” Sam said when I told him what I needed. “I’ve got it covered.”
White skirted tables hugged the walls and Cammy had already set up three large carafes with hot beverages. Pitchers of juice and ice water were visible too. It was a little past eleven and the countdown was on. Out of nowhere, I developed an annoying twitch in my right eye, and it felt as if my entire face contorted every few seconds.
I rushed over to the wall mirror by the main doors to get a better look just as Theo and Don walked in. Their coats were covered with white specks, and I hoped it was only a light snow and not “Brutus” making an early entrance.
“Look at my face, will you?” I said. “What do you see?”
Don and Theo moved their heads closer and stared.
“What are we supposed to see?” Don asked. “If this is one of those questions about ‘how do you like my new eye shadow or lipstick,’ you can forget it. I’m terrible with those things.”
