by J. C. Eaton
Priscilla dusted off her coat, even though it was spotless, and reached into one of the pockets, pulling out a perfectly folded pink tissue. “Damn it. I never had any problem working with Gordon Wable. But Devora? I don’t think I can last another day. The filming has been horrendous. And you have no idea what that woman can do to ruin an actor’s career. Just ask Lori Lynnwood or Bailey Wagner. Lucky for them they were able to recoup. ”
Just then I heard shrieking and yelling from the tasting room. My first thought was that Alvin had managed to break through his pen and had come inside. He did that once and the cleanup from broken bottles was extensive. Not to mention the cost.
“Um, stay here for a minute, will you? There’s bottled water on the small table by the window. Help yourself.”
Without waiting for a response, I opened the door slowly and peered into the room. No Alvin, but throngs of women pushing, shoving, and shouting as they charged to the door. It took me a few seconds to realize what was going on and when I did, it was accompanied by stomach pangs.
Gavin Chase had made his grand entrance as well. I remembered my mother telling me about how my grandmother and some of her friends went to New York City to see the Beatles in 1964 and how they had stormed the Plaza Hotel. Now, in my own winery, I watched another version, only instead of John, Paul, George, and Ringo, it was Gavin Chase in all his masculine glory.
Broad-shouldered and tall, with light brown hair and a cleft chin, Gavin looked every bit the part of a movie star hero. No wonder the women were going berserk. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and wove my way into the crowd. Gavin stood a few feet from Lizzie at the counter and it appeared as if he was trying to speak with her.
I stood on my tiptoes and shouted, “This way! This way to the office!” I motioned for him to get through the crowd but no one was going anywhere anytime soon. The tasting room resembled a football field and Gavin was in the middle of a huddle. At that instant, I seriously thought of bringing Alvin inside.
Then I heard Ralphie’s voice from the entranceway. “Make room! Make room!” He and another burly EMT elbowed through the crowd, outstretched their huge, muscular arms, and honestly, like Moses parting the Red Sea, made a clear path for Gavin to hightail it into my office.
“Boy, do I owe you one,” I said to Ralphie as he opened my office door and all but shoved Gavin inside.
“No problem. You should’ve seen the crowd last year when a couple of NASCAR drivers who were racing in Watkins Glen stopped in to one of the bars in Penn Yan. We’re used to this. I’ll stay right here in case those two need to be escorted back to the vineyard. Guess there was quite a brouhaha up there according to Chad, one of my EMTs. He was only a few yards away and could hear everything.”
“Brouhaha?”
“Yep. That’s what Chad said. He heard Gavin tell that prissy director that this would be the last film he ever made with her. And that’s not all. Chad heard him say he’d see to it that it was the last film she ever directed.”
I gulped. It better not be the last screenplay Renee wants from me.
“Thanks, Ralphie. Help yourself to our mac and cheese, and yeah, stick around with Chad.”
As things turned out, Priscilla and Gavin had no intention of returning to the vineyard to complete the filming.
“We’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Gavin said. “Devora can just deal with it.”
Priscilla sniffled a bit and kept dabbing her eyes. “I’ll force myself to get through it. It doesn’t say much for me as a professional if I walk off the film. Maybe someone can get word to Stefan and he can drive us back to the hotel. Devora can hitch a ride back with one of the cameramen, or maybe our video guy, Rikesh, can stick her in the back of the van. I don’t care. She can walk, fly, or swim as far as I’m concerned.”
It was tricky but somehow we managed to get Priscilla and Gavin out of Two Witches without another crowd scene. Ralphie, along with a few EMTs, as well as Marc and Enzo, escorted the actors out of there like a seasoned security detail.
About a half hour from closing time, Bradley sent me a text. He apologized profusely for not stopping by but Marvin had given him enough paperwork “to last until the next century.” He also said he’d call me later tonight.
With the exception of Sam, who was in a world of his own having met and chatted with Priscilla when he delivered the sandwiches, the rest of our crew looked as if they had walked off a battlefield. Even Cammy, who usually has an abundance of energy, was worn out.
“So help me,” she said. “If one of those bartenders calls in sick tonight, my aunts will have to find someone else to work at Rosinetti’s. I’m way too pooped.”
“Tomorrow should be a much easier day,” Lizzie said as we finished clearing the tasting room tables and stacking the dishes in the washer. “The first day of an event is always the hardest. Why, I all but guarantee tomorrow will be a walk in the park.”
Uh-huh. That’s what she said. “A walk in the park.” Good thing for her she was a bookkeeper and not a fortune-teller or she’d be out of business.
• • •
Bradley kept his word and called me at a little past eight. We agreed to grab a pizza during the week because there was no way he could make it to the winery tomorrow. Then I got another call, this one from Godfrey Klein at the Experiment Station in Geneva. Like my brother-in-law, Godfrey was an entomologist whose passion for insects was downright disturbing. Godfrey kept tabs on Francine and Jason via a satellite phone in Costa Rica and he shared information with me as best he could. We’d also shared a kiss a few months ago and haven’t said a word about it since.
“Hey, Norrie, thought you’d like to know, Jason has spotted the Mansonia titillans in its resting place. And, are you ready for this? He was able to document a number of blood-engorged females. Do you know what that means?”
“Uh-huh. Stay the hell out of Costa Rica. They’re still coming back in June, aren’t they? Please tell me they’re coming back in June.”
“Uh, as far as I know. The grant only runs for a year. Of course, grants get extended all the time, especially when—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. I don’t care if he discovers an insect that can speak seven languages fluently. They need to get back to Two Witches.”
For the next five minutes, I went on and on about my producer and how I got duped into letting her send a self-serving narcissist to our winery in order to direct a scene in our vineyard.
“Wow. Sounds like you’ve got real issues with this one,” Godfrey said. “If you want, we can meet over coffee and you can spew out all the details. I promised Jason I’d be there if you needed anything. I suppose having someone to vent to meets that criteria.”
“Great. I’ll take you up on the offer and I’ll call you back this week.”
At that point, I was totally wiped out. Too tired to even nuke an egg, I ate pretzel rods dipped in cream cheese and slices of apples dipped in Hershey syrup. Then I collapsed in bed and didn’t wake up until the following morning. I was so tired I forgot to close up Charlie’s doggie door and paid the price the next morning.
• • •
That annoying Plott hound bounced on my bed at sunrise, shaking water and mud all over me. If that wasn’t disgusting enough, he dropped a slippery, slimy cattail on my chest. His wake-up call worked better than an alarm clock. I tossed the blanket to the side of the bed and got up.
“What am I going to do to keep you out of the Gable Hill’s irrigation pond?”
He looked at me with those deep, loving brown eyes and I bent down to pet his head. Then I reached over to the bed to grab the cattail and throw it out. That’s when I noticed something shiny wrapped up around it, and when I took a closer look, my heart started to pound.
It was a five-cent Canadian coin necklace on a double-wound silver chain. A necklace I’d seen the day before, and it wasn’t entwined on a waterweed then. It hung gracefully from the wearer’s neck.
“Holy crap, Charli
e,” I said. “This better not mean what I think it does.”
Not knowing what to do first, I left the cattail and the necklace on the floor by my bed. I was so freaked out by his latest find that I washed quickly and threw on some clothes. I didn’t even stop to brush my teeth. In a series of quick motions, I emptied some kibble from the bag, grabbed my coat, stuffed my cell phone in my jeans pocket and put on my L.L. Bean Wellies. Where I was headed, I needed something that was meant for tromping in mud and gunk as well as wet snow.
“You’re staying in the house,” I told the dog. Then I secured his doggie door and charged across the field that separates our property from Stephanie Ipswich’s. The sun hadn’t yet broken over the horizon but the sky had lightened and it was easy for me to see where I was going.
“Please tell me I’m wrong,” I muttered to myself as I made my way over to the pond that Charlie had taken a liking to. Like most vineyard ponds, it wasn’t huge but it was deep, at least eight or nine feet. Clumps of cattails framed part of the pond with smaller weeds around the remainder of the circumference.
Careful not to slip on the wet snow and mud, I walked slowly to the edge and stared at the surface. At first I didn’t notice anything unusual but the water was murky. Then I caught sight of what appeared to be a large branch that surfaced and then slipped beneath the water. I held still for a moment, refusing to even take a breath. That’s when the branch reappeared. Only it wasn’t a branch. It was someone’s arm.
At that moment my body felt as if it had been zapped with a Taser. I jumped back and forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. Then I pulled out my cell phone and called Stephanie. The second she answered I said, “There’s a dead body in your pond and I think I know who it is.”
Chapter 6
“Did you hear me, Stephanie?” I asked. “It’s Norrie and I’m standing in front of your irrigation pond.”
“I know it’s you, Norrie. It’s the rest of what you said that I didn’t hear correctly. The boys are making too much noise with their model train set. They’ve been up for hours. On a school day I can’t wake them, but on Sunday, they get up with the roosters.”
“Forget the roosters and the train. I’m telling you, there’s a dead body in your pond. Maybe you should call the sheriff. Maybe I should. Holy crap. This is a nightmare.”
“A dead body? In our pond? Are you sure?”
“Unless the arm I saw is floating on its own, I’m sure.”
“Oh, my God! Don’t do anything. Don’t call anyone yet until Derek and I get there. Thank goodness my mother-in-law is here for Wine and Cheese weekend to watch the boys. Give me a few minutes, I’ll wake Derek up and we’ll both head to the pond. Stay where you are.”
I eyeballed the rutted dirt road that used to be a footpath that bordered their property. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I recognized their dark green pickup truck. Derek stepped out and thundered over to where I stood. His dark hair was unkempt, and coupled with the day-old stubble on his face, he looked as if he’d spent the night in the Bowery and not a comfortable bed.
“There had better be a dead body floating around, Norrie, because I lost a good two hours of sleep.”
“There is. And I lost sleep, too.” Of course, I was probably responsible for the dead body in an offhanded way, but still . . .
“Holy hell!” Stephanie shrieked from the truck. “Is there really a body in there? Can you see it? I’m not getting out of the truck if there is.”
Derek turned to her and shouted, “Give me a second, will you?”
Then he walked back to the pickup, grabbed a hoe from the bed of the truck and returned to the pond. “I don’t see anything,” he said.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and sighed. “Wait a second and watch the surface of the water.”
The two of us stood there without saying a word. Finally, the arm surfaced again and Derek rushed over with the hoe. One lift and we knew it wasn’t a branch. Branches don’t have nail polish or cuff bracelets.
“What the hell,” Derek said. Then he shot me a look. “On the way over here, Stephanie told me you might know who this is. What’s going on?”
“Well, as you may or may not know, because everyone seems to know at this point, a movie is being filmed in our vineyard. A scene, actually. One scene.” Then I sort of got a bit incoherent. “One long scene that I wrote and the Niagara corridor can’t be used for the filming because of the snow and ice so the producer—”
“Give me the short version, huh?”
“I think it’s Priscilla McCoy, the lead actress. Charlie came back from your pond with a necklace wrapped around a cattail. I saw Priscilla wearing that necklace yesterday when she took off her coat at the winery. She kind of had a meltdown because the director, Devora Dobrowski, is a she-witch.”
Derek clasped his hands and let out a breath. “Guess I’ll need to phone the sheriff.”
“I’m the last person Deputy Hickman’s going to want to see. Maybe you could speak with him first while I go home to brush my teeth and wash up.”
“Norrie, Gary Hickman will want to know how I happened upon a dead body in our irrigation pond at the crack of dawn. What am I supposed to tell him? That I got up and said, ‘Gee, maybe there’s a body in our pond. I’ll go take a look.’ Damn it. Why couldn’t they have dropped the body off at the other side of our hill by that bed-and-breakfast?”
“Okay, okay. You call him while I run home to get changed. I’ll be back in a jiff. Besides, it’ll take them a few minutes to get here.”
Derek glanced at the truck where Stephanie was sitting. “Look, I’ll drive my wife back to our house and make the call from there. Then I’ll meet you back here. All right?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
I waved to Stephanie and shot out of there as fast as I could considering the ground was damp and muddy and Wellies weren’t exactly running shoes. The minute I got in the door, I raced upstairs, brushed my teeth and jumped into the shower. I figured it would be a horrendous day and who knew when I’d get the chance to wash. Minutes later, I was in clean jeans and a Two Witches sweatshirt with a cauldron on it that read Stir Up Some Magic With Our Wine.
Then I gave Charlie some more kibble and stepped outside to lock the fence that we normally keep open. No sense risking Grizzly Gary’s temper if Charlie got out and messed with a crime scene. No sooner had I latched the mechanism than I heard sirens. At least they wouldn’t be headed up our road. Unfortunately, something worse was already there.
By the time I put on my coat and locked the door, our driveway had three TV vans lined up near the winery. I recognized them from the last time they covered the “breaking news” at Two Witches.
“Idiots,” I mumbled to myself. “The crime scene is next door.”
I was positive news of a dead body surfacing at one of the wineries had hit the scanners once Derek called the sheriff. I was also positive those news crews had Two Witches on speed dial, so to speak, and drove directly here. Not wanting them to take up space in our driveway, I hustled over to where they were parked with the intention of directing them to Gable Hill Winery. That’s when I found out they had no idea about a dead body.
“Norrie Ellington, right?” the reporter from Channel 13 WHAM asked as soon as I approached his van. “We got word they’re shooting a movie in your vineyard with Priscilla McCoy and Gavin Chase. Talk about increasing our ratings. One quick interview and viewers will be glued to the news.”
“Um, yeah, about that . . . I don’t think the actors can give interviews while they’re filming.” Especially since one of them might be dead.
The guy was undaunted. “Hey, even if we get some good shots, it’ll interest viewers. Too bad the competition is right behind us.”
I turned and faced the other two vans. Channels 8 and 10. Yep, all the networks were accounted for. “Stay here,” I said. “I don’t even know if the film crew has arrived.”
The guy laughed. “Look in your parking lot. That’s the
film company’s van, isn’t it? I can read the logo from here.”
“That’s the sound and video equipment. I doubt viewers will be mesmerized by it. Stay here. We’ll keep you posted.”
Terrific. Derek expected me back at the pond but someone had to let Fred and Emma know what was going on. And in less than an hour the rest of the tasting room crew would be there. Not to mention the vineyard workers, who were there seven days a week. Rats! They’re probably up in some vineyard removing feeler roots or tying up the canes. I motioned for the reporter to stay put and walked toward the winery building. When I got to the door, I pulled out my cell phone and called John Grishner. He answered immediately.
“John, thank goodness you’re there,” I said. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Don’t tell me the tourists are already there. It’s only eight thirty. It’s Sunday. The event starts an hour later today, doesn’t it? I’ve got the guys down below in the Chardonnay section and I’m in the barn. What’s up?”
“You mean besides the three news vans from Rochester who got wind of the filming?”
Before he could answer, I went on. “That’s not why I called you. Priscilla McCoy’s dead body is floating around the Ipswiches’ irrigation pond. I think she may have drowned. Charlie got out early this morning and came back home with her necklace entwined in a cattail. I raced over to the pond and saw her arm in the water. I’m sure it’s her arm.”
“Take it easy. Slow down. One thing at a time. Did you call the sheriff?”
“Derek Ipswich did. I’m supposed to go back to the pond. He’s waiting for the sheriff. I was there but had to go home to brush my teeth. Didn’t you hear the sirens? They must be there already. But right now, the news crews don’t know a thing about it.”
No sooner had I said that than the Fox News van made a three-point turn in our driveway and flew down to Route 14. Channel 8 followed and seconds later, WHAM 13.
