by J. C. Eaton
“Once Priscilla stormed off the set,” Skylar continued, “Gavin followed. Rikesh went in the van to check the sound feed and I joined him a few minutes later. Mickey was still toying around with the cameras when Stefan said something about calling it quits for the day. Frankly, I wasn’t paying attention to Devora’s whereabouts. I thought maybe Stefan drove her back but apparently that wasn’t the case. He thought she went to the winery to have it out with Priscilla and Gavin, but by then I was already in the van with Rikesh.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think Devora intended to go to the winery building but changed her mind and trekked up the hill instead. She wasn’t all that thrilled with the location we selected so maybe she thought she’d find a better spot. Anyway, that’s what I told the deputy.”
“What about at night? When you all went back to the hotel?”
“No one saw her and she wasn’t bunking with Priscilla anymore. Priscilla told us she didn’t have to put up with Devora Saturday night because another room opened up.”
“Thanks, Skylar. I was curious. That’s all. Have a good evening.”
“You, too.”
I watched as he made a beeline for the chilled six-packs and then headed for the checkout counter. It seemed odd that Devora slipped out of sight without anyone noticing. Then again, I’d been so engrossed in work from time to time that I hadn’t noticed what was going on around me either. Still, it didn’t add up.
With enough snack staples to get me through the next few days, I drove home, changed into comfy sweats and sacked out on the couch. Charlie took his usual spot at my feet and proceeded to scratch himself. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was biting himself. Exhausted from the craziness of the past few days, I sat mindlessly before booting up my laptop and scoping out Priscilla’s social media spots. Other than cutesy staged photos on Facebook and an endorsement for a skin product, there was nothing. Not on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr or Pinterest. Finally, the news came on at nine and I listened half-heartedly as I munched on Cheetos, pausing occasionally to give some to Charlie. The bag was almost empty and I debated whether or not I wanted to open another one when I heard a familiar voice on Channel 13. It was TV anchor Cara Oakland and she had just announced Devora’s preliminary cause of death. I grabbed the remote, turned up the volume and listened.
“Authorities are still waiting on the toxicology report but the coroner has determined the victim, movie director Devora Dobrowski, died of strangulation. The ligature marks were consistent with small yet substantial chains like the ones found on necklaces.”
Then Cara went on to tell viewers about Devora and the movies she had directed. If that wasn’t enough, she reiterated the fact Devora was at Two Witches filming a scene for a romance. Wonderful. The woman managed to name our winery, but not the movie title. The entire segment was probably less than a minute but it felt like thirty. When she finally moved on to the growing concern over potholes on city streets, I muted the volume and called the one person with whom I hadn’t shared my recent plan of action.
Godfrey answered after a few rings. “Is everything okay?”
“I suppose. Thanks to the news media the whole world knows Devora was strangled. Not only that, but Cara Oakland on Channel 13 reminded viewers where the movie was being filmed, so if they didn’t get to trample on our property over the weekend, they could make another attempt.”
“Catch a breath. I doubt any filming will be going on without a director. Essentially, that crew is in stasis, so to speak, while the investigation continues.”
“Oh, they’re in stasis all right. Deputy Hickman confiscated their passports. Well, not confiscated, but he had the Ramada lock them up until further notice.”
“You mean until they have a viable suspect?”
“Until they have the murderer.”
“That could take weeks. Longer maybe.”
The words cold case came to mind and I froze. “I know. That’s why I came up with a plan.”
“Not another plan. You got walloped with a beach bag in a locker room as a result of your last plan.”
“This is different. It involves internet searches. And maybe some background checks.”
I explained how I divided up the film crew so that Cammy, Stephanie, Don, Theo, and I could dig up information that might be useful in terms of ferreting out the killer.
“I suppose I should be relieved you didn’t hand me a name,” he said.
“Oh, I thought of it but I knew you’d be too busy reading all those boring dissertations and doing whatever it is you do with those insects.”
“Right now I’m looking into insect-borne diseases as they impact the agriculture in our area.”
“See? I knew you’d be too busy.”
Godfrey groaned and I continued to explain. “Devora was strangled with a small but heavy-duty chain, like the one Charlie dredged up on that cattail. And exactly like the one Priscilla said she lost. I give it two, three days max and Deputy Hickman will have her charged and arrested for murder.”
“Maybe she did it. We don’t know what goes on in people’s heads. She could have snapped from the pressure. As I recall, you wanted to examine her hands for scratch marks that would indicate signs of a struggle.”
“Uh, yeah. About that, she’s got them all right. I ran into Skylar at Wegmans this evening and he was buying Neosporin for her. She told him she backed up into some grapevines while they were filming and her hands got cut up.”
“Norrie, I hate to say it, but the evidence is pointing right at her.”
“Or maybe she’s telling the truth. That’s why we need to figure out who else could have a motive, other than Priscilla. Maybe Devora was blackmailing one of them and they got sick of it. Or, maybe it was her estranged husband who did her in. Did I mention Bradley cited a famous Canadian divorce case with one Devora Aileene Dobrowski? Long story short, if it is, I mean was her, the husband may have had good reason to knock her off. Greed and money are strong motivators.”
“I suppose you’ve already tracked down the husband?”
“Only by name. And reputation. It’s Gerard Dobrowski, the CEO of Brouse Candies. Bradley told me all about it.”
“Hmm, I seem to remember hearing that name while I was skimming through some department news from the agriculture and food sciences division. Usually I gloss over that stuff but this one caught my eye. It mentioned the possibility of a major candy manufacturing company moving one of its Mexican factories to the area. That means food consultants as well as entomology consultants.”
“Ew. Why would you be consulting on something like that?”
“Remember the overwintering pests from the convent? That was nothing. Think food pests. Flies, weevils, roaches. Not to mention the sawtooth grain beetle. And if we’re talking sugary confections, think ants. No candy manufacturing company wants to use heavy-duty pesticides, so we work together to find other, safer deterrents. The agricultural experiment station is a vital resource for area industries. It’s not only the wineries who call on us.”
And he complained about Skylar and Rikesh discussing digital imaging.
“Well, if the name turns out to be Gerard Dobrowski, it very well could be the husband. Which begs the question—Was he in the area during the time of her murder? Can you find out by going through those agricultural department notices?”
“Aargh. Really? You want me to sift through mindless memos and department tidbits to see if there’s any mention of the Brouse Candies CEO having a sojourn in Geneva?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Boy, will you owe me. And I’m not talking coffee at Dunkin’.”
“Fine. We can share a pizza at Uncle Joe’s. So you’ll do it?”
“Anything to get you to stop nagging.”
I thanked him profusely and turned my attention back to the TV. It was either late-night comedy, the weather station, HGTV, or some old Turner Classic movie. I opted to head upstairs and call it a night. Charlie appa
rently made that decision while I was on the phone. He was already sprawled on my bed when I turned on the bedroom light. Minutes later I joined him, and for once I didn’t toss or turn all night.
• • •
John Grishner’s phone call woke me the next morning, but surprisingly I wasn’t my usual early-morning comatose self.
“Hope I didn’t wake you, Norrie, but I wanted you to know your film crew is back in the vineyard. I thought things were on hold.”
“Uh, yeah. So did I.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ll work around them. Listen, while I’ve got you on the phone, I wanted to talk to you about developing those three acres on the east side for Concord. I meant to tell you this before but got blindsided with the filming. I purchased enough Concord root stock in December to get us started. Seems I was the last holdout. The other wineries made their purchases in October and November. I wanted to be sure the candy company was a done deal and not local scuttlebutt. My sources are pretty accurate so I’m confident it was the right move. That candy manufacturing company will want Concord grape juice for their sucking candies. They’ll either process it themselves or buy the extract from an existing juice company. Either way, it translates into a higher demand than we already have. Even if the deal doesn’t come to fruition, we’ll still wind up making a profit. Concord is one of the easiest, heartiest grapes to grow. It was here before we were.”
“I suppose you’re right. In fact, our little WOW group plans on discussing it Thursday, if we can get past the local gossip.”
John laughed. “The timing should work for us if we start now. It takes vines at least three years to produce consumable grapes. I figure it’s going to take that company at least a year to get the needed permits and licenses. Then, the actual construction process for their plant. Factor in hiring and training and we’ll be neck and neck with them.”
“Have you mentioned this to Franz and his crew?”
“Actually, he was the one who mentioned it to me. Since it only involves harvesting and crushing the grapes, he has no problem with it.”
“Good to know. I’d better go see what’s going on with the film crew. Like you, I thought everything was stalled.”
“If we get a crowd of lookie-loos I’ll let you know. We may have to provide some security.”
“Thanks, John.”
I had no idea why the film crew would be back in our vineyard, so after feeding Charlie I washed up, threw on a pair of well-worn jeans and a sweatshirt, and trekked over to the east side of our property.
Chapter 15
“Didn’t Renee tell you?” Skylar asked. He stepped away from the camera setup and took a step toward me. “She had no problem waking me up while it was still pitch-black outside. I thought she was going to tell me the production would be shelved indefinitely.”
“No, she didn’t call. Um, then again, she might have but I was on the phone. Maybe she left me a voicemail on my cell. Drat! It’s on the table in the house. What’s going on?”
“More like who. She was able to twist Gordon Wable’s arm and he agreed to catch a direct flight out of Vancouver later today so we can finish the shooting this week. Talk about timing. He just wrapped up one of the Lanna Linn mysteries a few days ago.”
Gordon Wable. That’s the director Priscilla enjoys working with. Or at least the one that doesn’t send her off the set in tears.
“Wow. That was sudden.”
“Expedient would be more like it. Renee made that perfectly clear this morning. She said, ‘None of you have been arrested so far but we can’t afford to waste time. Gordon Wable’s flying in. I booked a room for him at the Ramada. And have Stefan call me. He’s not answering his phone.’ Some wake-up call, huh?”
Must be the morning for it.
I glanced at the camera setup and then back to Skylar. “Uh, since the director won’t get here until tonight, why are you guys here?”
“It’s just Mickey and me and we’re taking footage of the vineyard in the early-morning light so Gordon can review it when he gets here. We’ll be doing the same thing at midmorning, afternoon, and dusk. He may have a totally different take than Devora did regarding the ambience he wants that scene to convey.”
“It’s the final reconciliation for the characters. Forgiveness and all that.”
“Hey, all I need to know is whether he wants the sun to come up, go down, or do something in between.”
“It’s the Finger Lakes. Good thing you can see the sun at all. But don’t hold your breath. That spring storm is supposed to make its way in a couple of days.”
Skylar pulled up the collar on the heavy cable sweater he was wearing. “Gordon will work fast. I’m not so sure about that deputy you’ve got.”
“None of us are. Good thing Priscilla made a fuss about losing that necklace of hers, otherwise she’d be behind bars. If those news guys are right, the necklace was the murder weapon. The thing is, who the heck got their hands on it?”
“You mean ‘Who had a motive?’” Skylar gave the sweater’s collar another tug. “None of us liked working with Devora but I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was a motive for murder. Heck, half the films produced would never hit the screen. There’s so much backstage squabbling, backstabbing, and downright orneriness that it would blow anyone’s mind. And I’m just talking the crew. Throw in the actors and a miserable situation can become toxic real quick. Good thing we’re all professionals. Or at least, I like to think we are.”
“Yeah, me too. Let me know if there’s anything you need. Although I’m sure Stefan will be the first one to do that.”
“When he wakes up and returns my call, I’ll tell him.”
“Is it like Stefan to sleep in? He didn’t strike me as one of those laid-back types.”
“He’s not,” Skylar said. “He’s about as OCD as they come, but he probably zonked out from all the tension. Frankly, our collective stress level hit the roof once Devora’s body was found.”
“Yeah, it didn’t help the wineries’ reputations much either.” I turned in the direction of Gable Hill and then back to Skylar. “I’m headed to our bistro for a cup of Fred’s coffee. Much shorter than hoofing it back to the house. Um, maybe I could meet the new director tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be plenty busy tonight catching him up.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
• • •
Fred and Emma were the only ones in the building since we didn’t open for another two hours. The aroma of chicory coffee and freshly baked hot cross buns got stronger the closer I moved to the bistro.
“Hey, guys, the film crew’s back in the vineyard, otherwise I’d still be sleeping. Any chance I can get some coffee?”
Fred poured me a cup and handed me a toasted hot cross bun. The white icing was still warm and melted in my mouth.
“I thought everything was on hold,” he said.
“The producer got ahold of another director. A guy by the name of Gordon Wable who’s flying in tonight from Vancouver. Priscilla’s worked with him before and likes him. That should save us some money on Kleenex.”
Emma removed more hot cross buns from the oven and walked over to where I was seated. “I thought the crew would have to remain under house arrest or something like that until the investigation was completed.”
“Nah,” I said. “They just can’t leave the state. I think Deputy Hickman may call them in for more questioning. Skylar told me he had a very unpleasant experience with Grizzly Gary when I ran into him last night at Wegmans. Guess our Canadian friends are becoming well acquainted with our supermarkets.”
Fred looked up from the cutting board, where assorted lettuces were being prepared for sandwiches. “Is that all he told you?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. Why? Do you think there’s more?”
Fred pushed the romaine off to the side. “I bet he was told to keep mum. Some people actually listen when they’re given those directives from the deputies.” Then he smiled and gave me a wink.
&
nbsp; “Very funny. If I didn’t share information, no one would know what was going on. It’s called communication. Which reminds me, don’t forget about tomorrow when Two Witches gets the third degree in our banquet room.”
“I’ll be sure to keep Grizzly Gary’s coffee warm and have an extra pastry on hand. Seriously, Norrie, I doubt it will take him that long. None of us had a reason to murder someone we didn’t know.”
I nodded. “True, but someone might have seen or noticed something.”
Fred grimaced. “With the Wine and Cheese event going on? All I noticed was the crowd.”
“Ditto,” Emma said, “and the noise.”
“Hmm, maybe that’s why the killer chose that particular time. Smack dab during a festival when no one would be paying attention to anything more than eating and drinking.”
“Does this mean you believe her murder was planned out as opposed to an act of passion or anger?” she asked.
“I don’t know what I believe, but unlike Deputy Hickman, my list of suspects is more of a tight-knit group than a sports arena packed with spectators.”
“Uh-oh,” Fred said. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
“Only on paper. Honest. Internet searches and all that. Last thing I need is to be trapped somewhere with a killer stalking me.”
“Good,” Emma said. “Keep it that way.”
I thanked them for my breakfast and went home to check my phone messages and my emails, making a mental note to carry my cell phone with me at all times.
Charlie was sacked out on the couch when I walked into the house. His food dish was empty and his water bowl half filled.
