by Kris Calvert
“That’s Winter Haven. It’s been that way around here for as long as I can remember.”
“You’re saying someone is a kleptomaniac?” I asked, trying to hold my smile at bay while thinking of Lena’s goodie drawer next to her bed.
“I’m saying items disappear. Nothing too important, but still—I didn’t want my umbrella to fall victim. So I came back to the house to fetch it from the library.”
“Walk me through hearing Lena.”
“She screamed. I don’t think it was any particular word, but it was enough to startle me. I hurried into the front entrance where I saw Robert. Dead.”
Magnus paused, looking out the picture window showing off the back of Winter Haven like a portrait. I could tell he was trying to gather himself before continuing.
“How long had you known Robert Holloway?”
“Oh goodness,” he said, bringing his attention back to me. “I knew him when we were young boys. Back when booze was something we stole from his father’s liquor cabinet and Mary Winterbourne was the girl every boy wanted to be with.”
“So you knew Mary as well?”
He looked away from me again. “It was one of my greatest privileges in life to know Mary Winterbourne—Mary and Robert.”
“And you were here when Mary was also murdered, back in ninety-three?”
He nodded.
“Do you recall answering questions from another Agent Grace back then? Agent Galen Grace?”
I expected Magnus Page to show surprise. I was wrong. Cold as ice, he replied, staring at me without as much as blinking once. “I do not.”
He didn’t ask if I was related, he didn’t ask anything. He was completely focused on me, waiting for me to continue. “What is your role in the family business—at Winter Bourbon?”
“I’m the Chief Operating Officer as well as Chief Counsel.”
“So you, for all intents and purposes, run Winter Bourbon?”
“I don’t know anyone can or ever will run Winter Bourbon. A place that’s been around this long—through Indian attacks, when they tried to kill us; wars, when we tried to kill each other; prohibition, when they tried to shut us down and the depression when everyone needed us the most—a place like this is almost a living, breathing body. I would simply say I oversee the general day to day operation and production of the product.”
Even though his name wasn’t Winterbourne, the man had an ardent connection to Winter Haven. “You act as though it’s more than just alcohol aging in a barrel, Mr. Page.”
“It’s so much more, Miss Grace. Do you know the story of how your friend Win got his name?”
“I believe so. His great-great-grandfathers were best friends. One saved the other and in turn he named his first son Winterbourne Holloway.”
“Well that’s the short version. There’s a lot more to the story, but mostly it’s an indicator of the type of people who built this business, worked this land and kept a dream alive for a hundred and forty-three years,” he said, taking his gaze back to the window.
“They are a special family for sure,” I agreed. “What about your family, Magnus? Are you from this area as well?”
A switch seemed to go off in his head and he blinked only once, before turning to meet my question. “I am.”
I waited for him to weave another tale of dramatic familial history. Surely someone as passionate about yesteryear and legacy would be ripe to tell his own story. He wasn’t.
“What’s your family history?” I asked.
“Well, it’s not as shiny. My father was a coal miner, my mother a cook. He died of black lung disease, she died of cancer. I am, as they say, a self-made man. I worked hard, went to college and law school on a scholarship and did everything I could to be the southern gentleman my parents raised me to be. They gave up everything, so I could have it all.”
“That’s nice.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to digress,” I apologized with a sigh.
“No apology needed. I doubt I will ever tire of the stories of Winter Haven. They’re part of my life too.”
I nodded and looked back to my notes. “When you found Robert Holloway, where was he?”
“At the bottom of the grand staircase of course. His body was twisted and his—well his head was nearly severed from his neck for God’s sake.”
I nodded. “Walk me through what happened after that.”
“I did my best to console Lena. I took her away from Robert’s body and put her in the library, calling for Vernon to come sit with her.”
I wrote in my notes that his story matched Lena’s.
“Then what?”
“I called 911.”
“From in here? In the Library?”
“No. I waited with Lena for Vernon to arrive, trying to calm her. Robert was dead. It wasn’t as if calling 911 was going to bring an ambulance to the house to save his life. I was essentially calling for the coroner. When Vernon got here, I excused myself and called from my cell phone. I’m sure you have a record of that number on the 911 transcript.”
“I have to ask. You know.”
“I do,” he replied.
I paused for a moment. “How long did it take for the EMS unit to arrive?”
Magnus cocked his head in thought. “Probably a good thirty minutes. It’s hard to have an emergency this far out in the middle of nowhere. When it’s dark or foggy—”
“Stormy,” I offered up. “And you needed your umbrella. Right?”
“Yes. Stormy—like it was that night, it can take a little while for them to arrive. It’s one of the reasons Winter Haven and the bourbon business has its own self-contained fire station. Our volunteer firemen live very close—mostly local farmers—we need to be prepared. Fire and alcohol don’t exactly mix.”
“What happened when they arrived?”
“The boys from the local police department got here about the same time. They were good about not allowing anyone to touch anything. The FBI was on the scene I suppose an hour after.”
“Did Mr. Holloway have any enemies you knew of, Magnus?”
“Well darlin’, if you live a life as long and successful as Robert Holloway, you’re bound to make some enemies along the way. Did I ever think his life was in danger? Absolutely not. These people are like family to me. My heart breaks every time tragedy befalls them.”
I wrote the word family in the margin and circled it, asking my next question before I had a chance to think it through completely. “And you’re dating Robert’s daughter, Lena. Correct? Or is that just a sexual thing?”
He paused but didn’t flinch. “I am in love with Karolena Holloway if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It is,” I replied with a smile, bringing my sweet tea back to my lips for a drink. “She’s just lovely. I’d never met her before, but Win always spoke affectionately of her. I know she’s worked through some difficult times of her own.”
“Yes,” he said, straightening his tie. “So you are dating Winnie? Or is that just a sexual thing?”
I did a double take. “Winnie?” I asked, snickering at his nickname “No. We both work at the New York office.”
“But you used to be together. Am I wrong?”
I took a pause. “You’re not wrong.” Placing the notepad in my lap, I nervously pulled at the hem of my skirt.
“Must be difficult being here,” Magnus said. “Working this case, trying to segregate business from personal.”
I didn’t want to come off as rattled. “Not at all, but if I did have a problem separating business from personal, I have a feeling you would be the man to come to for advice. Your personal life is pretty tightly woven to the business of Winter Bourbon, no?”
He paused, remaining silent. If he was searching for a weakness in me when it came to Win, he was barking up the wrong tree. I calmly resumed my questioning. “Was Robert aware of your relationship with Lena?”
Magnus nodded slowly. “We never spoke of
it directly, but I’m sure he was aware.”
“And it didn’t bother him? His daughter,” I paused, wanting to say banging but refrained. “With an older man. His best friend?”
“Robert knew I would take care of Lena. I’ve always taken care of Win and Lena.”
“Sure,” I contested. “But there’s a distinct difference between being her lover and a godfather of sorts.”
“I think we’re getting off topic here, Ms. Grace. Is there anything else you’d like to ask me?”
“Actually, yes. Has Winter Bourbon had any kind of financial difficulties as of late?”
“Of course not.” His words were slightly hostile, the delivery mundane.
“No thoughts of selling out or changing the business in any way?” I asked the question as if it was routine. Frankly, I didn’t care how long he’d been screwing Lena, I cared if he was setting up a sell off.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Are there business matters that go on you are unaware of?”
“I’m saying,” Magnus said, uncrossing his legs to lean into his knees. “There are no plans for a sell off.”
“May I have a copy of the company’s latest financial statement?”
“Winter Bourbon is a closely held private corporation. We have no stock holders and subsequently no public records, but I suppose you could get a subpoena to obtain that information.”
I left his answer alone, hoping if I needed to see the records, Win would only be too eager to share them. “Is there any chance Robert would make that kind of decision without—?”
“Never.”
“—you?”
A now frustrated Magnus Page was finished with my questions and stood to let me know it in no uncertain terms.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, looking to his watch once more. “It’s been a delight speaking with you, Ginny. If you have any other questions or if I think of anything I believe you should know, I’ll contact you immediately. You’re staying at Winter Haven?”
I stood to meet him. “I am, and I can assure you I will have more questions as the investigation unfolds.”
“Well then, we shall see each other again I suspect.”
“Thank you Magnus,” I said extending my hand. I wanted him to be my ally, not my enemy. “I know this was difficult and I know you have more important things to do than sit around and answer questions for me.”
“My dear,” he said, his lips curling into a gracious, but forced smile. “What could be more important than bringing my best friend’s killer to justice?”
“Nothing sir,” I replied, handing him back his pen. “Nothing.”
Magnus left the room a bit dingier than it was when he was present. Something about the charismatic charm of the man made me believe he got everything he wanted in life. He was a master manipulator. To me, that meant a personality like Lena’s was the perfect type to fall victim to his wily charm. Magnus was the kind of man who made people feel important. It was a quality I’m sure he used to lure in the unsuspecting. He championed it well.
“Ginny Grace.”
The voice was raspy and deep and I turned to find Cecil Winterbourne standing in the doorway of the library. “Mr. Winterbourne,” I replied, picking up my notepad and giving a momentary glance to my watch. I needed to put together my report and call into the office.
“If you’re finished workin’ ole Magnus over, I wondered if you had time for a stroll?” he asked, sliding his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.
I couldn’t hold in my grin. “Of course I have time for a stroll. Do you mind if I put my bag up in my room and change into some more comfortable shoes?” I asked, pointing to the heels on my feet.
“You’ve got five minutes.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or funny. Either way it didn’t matter. I needed to hurry. “Okay,” I said picking up my messenger bag and breezing past him. “I can do it in three.”
“Humph,” Cecil scoffed, taking an old pocket watch from his trousers. “You best get a move on. I’m timing you.”
13
GINNY
Bounding down the stairs in my dress shirt, jeans and tennis shoes, I found Cecil Winterbourne waiting patiently for me in the kitchen at the back entrance.
“How’d I do?” I asked, still out of breath.
“Not bad. Not bad at all,” he replied, looking to his pocket watch. “Are you ready? Do you need a jacket?”
I shook my head and he didn’t waste a beat opening the door for me to exit in front of him.
Two steps onto the pavement and I stopped in my tracks to fill my lungs with fresh air—something I missed living in the city. The warmth on my skin and the smell of freshly baled hay awakened my soul in a way only a southern girl raised on sunshine could understand.
“Where are we off to Mr. Winterbourne?”
“First things first, call me Cee Cee or Cecil. Mr. Winterbourne is my dad or my grandfather. I’m only ninety-four, so for gawd’s sake don’t be puttin’ me in the grave just yet.”
“If you’re ninety-four, how old are they?”
“Oooo, I’d say they were both about bones to dust by now.” He paused to laugh at his own words. “I thought you might like a tour around the place by someone who really knows it—not Win and not Magnus—they’re amateurs.”
“You thought right,” I replied. “I only want a professional.”
“Here,” he said, pointing to a golf cart with his initials emblazed on the front. “That one with the CW on the top is mine. Stupid thing Magnus did, but he was tired of people always taking his cart. Ha,” he scoffed under his breath. “His cart.”
I looked back to the bank of charging carts and saw the one marked with a MP for Magnus Page and walked to give it a closer inspection while Cee Cee pulled his from the station. In the front console was a long dark object. I forced my hand inside and slid it along the smooth surface only to come up with a black telescoping umbrella.
“Left your umbrella at the house, did you?” I whispered under my breath.
“Hop in and hang on.” Cecil shouted.
“Coming!”
Climbing aboard, I smiled at him. “Ready.”
Once we hit full speed on the the paved roads that wound through the back of the property and distillery, I knew I was in for more than just a quick trip around the rickhouses. “Win says you watch over the bourbon making business every day—rain or shine, summer or winter.”
“I do indeed,” he said, taking his eyes off the path and back to me. “There are a few things in life you have to guard carefully.”
“Such as?”
“Your livelihood, your money, your children and your heart.”
I nodded. “I think that’s pretty sound advice.”
“I’d hope so. It only took me ninety-four years to figure it out. I’m telling you so you won’t have to learn the hard way. That’s what old people do,” he said turning a corner on nearly two wheels.
“What do you mean?” I asked, hanging on for dear life.
“We screw things up in our own life so we can pass on important information to the next generation in hopes they don’t make the same birdbrain decisions we did.”
“Does it work?” I asked.
“Not so far.”
It felt good to let out a loud belly laugh. I needed it. “Cee Cee, you are rapidly becoming one of my favorite people ever.”
“Well, I guess I got that goin’ for me.”
The sun was beginning to sink in the sky and my stomach grumbled. I realized for the first time, I’d not eaten today.
“Hungry?”
“I rushed through so many interviews, I didn’t stop to eat.”
“No wonder you look like you just wandered out of a prison camp,” he deadpanned.
“What?” I asked, laughter lacing my response.
“You heard me. You’re too skinny. If you and my grandson are ever going to keep the bloodline going, you’re gonna need a
little more meat on your bones.”
I was stunned. I was beyond stunned.
“Yeah, I know all about you two. I even know you’ve been here before. It doesn’t take a PhD in Chemistry—although I have one—to see you have chemistry. Y’all are stupid for each other.”
“Stupid?”
“Now don’t act coy. You can save that nonsense for tangling with the likes of Magnus,” Cecil said as we passed the last barrel house, taking a smaller paved path into a wooded area.
“I wasn’t trying to be coy. I promise. I’m just a little shocked. That’s all.”
“Well don’t be. You’re too smart to be shocked and too doggone pretty to be bashful.”
The wooded area seemed to make the sun go down faster and a cool mist moved in covering the ground. The damp soil around us smelled of Mother Earth. It was a smell I loved—a smell I missed. There was nothing like it—and certainly nothing like it in the city. A breeze blew across the trees and suddenly I wished I followed Cee Cee’s advice and worn a jacket.
“May I ask where we’re going?” I wanted to change the subject from babies with Win Holloway to anything—anything at all. “I thought you were going to show me the distillery.”
He didn’t say anything, but merely kept driving the whisper quiet golf cart down the path. When I saw light at the end of the tree lined lane, I hoped we were at our destination.
I shielded my eyes as the setting sun hit us strong out of the clearing—like a flashlight in the face.
Adjusting my eyes, I thought I might know where we were. Win had spoken of the place—once. A small chapel sat on a perfectly manicured lawn surrounded by an old rock wall. Behind the old stone building, complete with steeple, I could see headstones.
Cee Cee locked the brake, stopping the cart and climbing out before it came to a full halt. I followed him without saying a word. Rounding the tiny chapel, the structure and stained glass reminded me of what churches always looked like in a Bible School coloring book. The Winterbourne Chapel was just like the rest of Winter Haven, perfectly preserved in time.
“Five generations of Winterbournes are buried here,” he said as we made it to the cemetery. “All were blessed with a beautiful life—some blessed more than others.”
