Divide and Concord

by J. C. Eaton

  Then, at a little past five when the last of our customers had finished tasting wine and were idling by the gift items, Don called from the Grey Egret.

  “Hey, Norrie. Theo was out shoveling the steps in front of our winery when he saw car lights that suddenly disappeared. He thinks maybe a car slid off the road into that long ditch on Route 14. Impossible to tell with the snow coming down so fast. Before we call the sheriff, we really need to be sure. Our snowplow guy left about a half hour ago but we were hoping yours was still there and could take a swing by the base of our driveway. If there is a car stuck in the ditch, it would be visible from the road.”

  “Hang on, I’ll check.”

  Sure enough, Casey Robson, who owned a trucking and plowing service in Penn Yan, was still working his way around our parking lot. I threw on my hat and coat and charged out the door without stopping to tell anyone what was going on. The minute I flagged Casey down, he rolled down the window of his Dodge Ram. “What’s up? Got a car stuck in this heavy muck?”

  “Not in our lot, no, but Theo and Don next door think one may have slid off the road just past Gable Hill Road before the turnoff to our driveway. Can you check?”

  “On my way. I’ll call nine-one-one if it looks like someone’s hurt or trapped in the car. Otherwise, I’ll get one of my men to come by with our tow truck.”

  “Good deal. Let me know, huh?”

  “You got it. Hey, you may want to send your crew home before this gets any worse. Geez. And this is only the warm-up.”

  I went back inside and let Cammy know what was going on. “Everything’s tidied up and anything else that needs to be done can be done in the morning. Let’s lock up and call it a night, unless you want to spend quality time with Charlie and me overnight,” I said.

  Cammy laughed. “Much as I adore that Plott hound, I’d like to sleep in my own bed. Yeah, it’s coming down for sure, but it’s those big, heavy flakes. Not the wind-driven icy ones. I’ll be fine. The trick is to go slow. The roads get slick. If Theo really did spot a car in the ditch, I’ll wager the driver was speeding.”

  Under normal circumstances, Cammy would have been right. Unfortunately, these weren’t normal circumstances and the last thing the driver was doing was speeding.

  Chapter 34

  I had barely turned the lock to the winery building when I heard sirens.

  “Uh-oh,” Cammy said. “That can’t be good.”

  Then my cell phone rang with Casey on the other end. “Good thing Theo noticed those lights. It was a car all right. Nearly flipped over. The driver’s conscious but I can’t get her out. The closest fire rescue is in Geneva and they’re on their way along with the Penn Yan sheriff’s deputies. I’ll stay on the scene until they arrive.”

  “Thanks, Casey. Anyone else in the car?”

  “Nope. Good thing, too. From the angle of the car, a passenger may have been killed. I hope for the driver’s sake she wasn’t texting or drinking.”

  I thanked him again and ended the call. Then I looked at Cammy. “Drive slow. Like really, really slow.”

  “How bad was the accident?”

  “Bad enough, I suppose. According to Casey, only one woman in the car and he doesn’t think it’s life-threatening.”

  Cammy tightened the scarf around her neck. “The spring storms are the worst. They start out like nothing with nothing and then boom! Next thing you know you’re putting your windshield wipers on high speed and hoping no one decides to pass you.”

  “That’s why I like Manhattan. Mass transit. It’s someone else’s problem. Anyway, I’ll call you later tonight. After I catch the forecast.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Have a relaxing evening.”

  The last thing I had was a relaxing evening. For the second time in one day I got to be visited by Deputy Hickman, only this time he didn’t stop by to show me photos.

  It was about an hour and a half past the time when Cammy and I locked up the winery. I had eaten a bowl of premade chili while staring at my suspect clock in the guest bathroom. I know. I know. Not the most inviting place to dine, but I was hungry and perplexed at the same time. I figured I could easily do two things at once—eat food and theorize about Devora’s killer.

  The sudden knock on the door caused me to drop the empty bowl on the floor and watch as the spoon rolled behind the toilet. Not wanting to keep someone waiting in the cold, I shut the door to the guest bathroom and made a mental note to return for my stuff.

  When I opened the kitchen door and found myself face-to-face with Grizzly Gary, I wasn’t quite sure what to think but I knew it wasn’t a social call.

  “I’m here on a matter of the utmost urgency,” he said when I motioned for him to come inside. “I’m sure you’re aware there was an accident on the road in front of your driveway.”

  “I know. One of the guys from the Grey Egret thought he saw a car going off the road and I asked my plow guy, who was clearing our parking lot, to go check on it. He was the one who called nine-one-one. Listen, if the driver was drinking, it wasn’t at our winery. The car hadn’t even gotten here yet. Casey, the plow serviceman, said the driver was a woman and she appeared to be okay. Please don’t tell me she died from shock or something.”

  “The driver only sustained minor injuries and a possible concussion. They’re keeping her overnight at the hospital as a precaution in case of internal bleeding. As for drinking and driving, those test results are still pending. The driver claimed she was run off the road by another vehicle; however, she could not provide a description. But that’s not the reason I’m here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The driver is Priscilla McCoy and she claims you called her hotel insisting she drive to your winery.”

  Priscilla? Holy cannoli!

  “What? That’s ridiculous. I’d never ask anyone to get behind the wheel of a car when there’s a boatload of snow falling. Maybe she had a concussion and she’s delirious.”

  “Actually, Miss Ellington, she had a note in her possession written by the desk clerk at the Ramada. It seems the phone call was made to her hotel, and when she didn’t answer, the caller, a female who identified herself as Norrie Ellington from Two Witches Winery, asked the desk clerk to take the message and give it to Miss McCoy.”

  My face felt warm and I swore my heart was beating faster than usual. “Well, I certainly didn’t call her. Do you have the note? What does it say?”

  By now, Deputy Hickman was leaning against the refrigerator and was less than a foot away. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. Then he proceeded to read what was on it.

  Priscilla, I know who Devora’s killer is. It’s urgent that we talk in person. Don’t call me. Don’t email me. And whatever you do, don’t tell anyone. Drive to the winery. I’ll wait inside for you. Norrie.

  “And that, Miss Ellington, I believe is the reason Miss McCoy was on the road in such hazardous driving conditions.”

  I felt like screaming but kept my voice low. “You’ve got to believe me. I’m not the one who called the Ramada.”

  Deputy Hickman put the note back in his pocket and clenched his teeth. “Miss Ellington, if I understand correctly, Miss McCoy is the only female member of that film crew. Am I correct?”

  I knew what he was getting at and it wasn’t pretty. “Um, yeah. I suppose. I mean, with Devora dead and all . . .”

  He cleared his throat and continued. “The desk clerk was certain it was a female voice and I have no reason to believe otherwise. Therefore, I can safely conclude the message was not sent by a member of the film crew.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me!”

  Suddenly, I had a horrible thought. The only other female who would be acquainted with Priscilla was Renee, and why on earth would Renee do a thing like that? It was ludicrous. Unless Renee wanted to prevent Priscilla from taking on that major motion picture role. Still, it didn’t sound like something Renee would do.

  I crossed my arms and huffed. “I d
on’t know what to tell you but I find this as disturbing as hell. Maybe the killer thinks he or she is about to be found out and is desperate to send the investigation in another direction. That happens in crime shows all the time.”

  As soon as I said that, I regretted it. For the next two or three minutes, Grizzly Gary kept reiterating this was a real investigation and not “an exaggerated screenplay.”

  “I don’t suppose one of your employees would have placed the call?” he asked when he finished his dissertation.

  “Absolutely not. Other than Cammy and me, everyone else had gone home for the day. And besides, none of them, including Cammy, would have had a motive to drag Priscilla McCoy from her hotel to our winery. It’s preposterous.”

  “I must admit, Miss Ellington, you make a point. No doubt, my office will need to pursue this matter further.”

  He stepped away from the refrigerator and walked toward the door.

  “Wait! Whoever left that message might have been the person who ran Priscilla off the road. My God! Maybe they were trying to kill her. Oh, no. Maybe they’ll try again. In the hospital. With a lethal dose of who knows what. I’ve seen all those movies where the killer pretends to be the nurse and administers something toxic in the patient’s IV tube. You need to call the hospital.”

  “Slow down, Miss Ellington. This isn’t an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. However, given Miss McCoy’s celebrity status, I spoke with Ontario County since she’s at Geneva Hospital and they have a deputy posted at the door to her room.”

  The muscles in my neck loosened and I let out a slow breath. “Good. Good.”

  By now, Deputy Hickman had his hand on the doorknob and was about to leave. “Whatever you do, Miss Ellington, do not call the desk clerk at the Ramada and badger her. Given the conversation between you and me, I intend to ask if perhaps the desk clerk might have heard background noises during the call. Anything to bring us closer to identifying the caller.”

  “If there’s anything I can—”

  “The answer’s no. And one more thing—Don’t badger the hospital either. Let us do our jobs.”

  I nodded and locked the door once he had left. It was still coming down in big wet flakes and I wondered if we’d get a reprieve before Neville actually made his appearance. When I was positively certain Deputy Hickman had made it down our driveway and onto Route 14, I called Don and Theo to let them know what I’d found out.

  “Priscilla McCoy?” I thought my eardrums would burst when Don shouted her name over the phone. “And Hickman thought you were responsible for calling her?”

  “He doesn’t know what to think. It was a woman’s voice on the phone, and face it, how many women are directly involved? And thank goodness I’m posing this question to you and not Glenda or she’d be convinced it was Devora’s evil spirit back from the dead.”

  “Hmm,” Don said. “You’ve got a point. Two points actually, if I count Glenda. Which reminds me, are we still on for Wednesday? Snow and all?”

  “Yeah, we’re on all right. I’m not sure if it was Cammy or Emma who told me, but there’s supposed to be a break in the snow for a day or so before it gets really bad. Besides, Zenora’s tied up with other things until Wednesday, and we can’t very well have an aura reading if Priscilla’s in the hospital.”

  “Penn Yan?”

  “No, Geneva. It was closer and their EMTs were the ones at the scene.”

  “Did Hickman tell you what happened?” he asked.

  “Priscilla told the EMTs she’d been run off the road. She thought it was deliberate. Too bad she couldn’t give the deputies a description of the other car. Anyway, Grizzly Gary also told me her car wasn’t badly damaged. Only dented a bit and scratched up. A deputy drove it back to the Ramada.” Add that repair bill to the production costs and this film will be in the red before it’s on-screen.

  “Hang on,” Don said. “Theo is clinging on my shoulder. I’m putting you on speaker phone. Okay, you can keep talking.”

  “Hi, Theo. Listen, Priscilla herself may have set the whole accident thing in motion when she lied to the camera crew. She told them she was cleared to return to Toronto and they were really ticked. I overheard that conversation from the mini-cam Godfrey and I put in Gordon Wable’s room. Maybe one of them wanted to prevent her from leaving.”

  “Mini-cam?”

  “Uh-oh. I might have forgotten to tell you about that.”

  Theo groaned. “Is there anything else you might have neglected to tell us about your widening investigation, Miss Marple?”

  “Nah. At least I hope not.”

  “Ditto on that!”

  Chapter 35

  The snow had slowed down considerably the next morning, and if I didn’t know for sure spring storm Neville was on his way, I would have sworn we’d see crocuses and daffodils by midafternoon.

  According to Deputy Hickman, the hospital was to keep Priscilla McCoy overnight for observation and then discharge her if she didn’t show any signs of a complication. Having been through similar situations in the past, I knew that hospital discharges take longer than the surgeries they perform. That meant I had enough time to get washed up, feed the dog, and drive to the hospital in order to offer Priscilla a ride back to the Ramada and find out what really happened.

  I introduced myself to the Ontario County Sheriff’s deputy who was seated by her door and explained that I was an acquaintance of Priscilla’s. He asked me to spell my name and checked it off a list he had on a clipboard. “I’d knock first if I were you. Miss McCoy is adamant the press not be allowed in her room.”

  As soon as he said that, I pictured the worst. Heavy bruises, a cut lip perhaps, swollen eyes, and mangled, tangled hair. What I saw instead was hardly cause for alarm. Priscilla’s ash-blond hair was fanned out on the pillow behind her head and gave me the impression I was looking at a celestial being instead of an actress.

  There were no cuts or bruises on her face, although one of her hands was bandaged and there was an ice pack on her shoulder.

  “Norrie,” she said the minute I entered. “You didn’t have to come here. That gruff-looking deputy told me the message I got yesterday didn’t come from you. I can’t believe I was such a fool as to get in my car and drive to your winery without calling you first. All of this could have been avoided. Now I’m saddled with a miserable headache and a bunch of bumps and bruises. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. It could have been so much worse.”

  “Do you have any idea who ran you off the road?” I moved closer to the bed and sat in the chair opposite the machinery that monitored her vital signs.

  “It was a blur. The car lights off to my right were blinding. Someone had their brights on and they aimed their car directly at mine. It was deliberate. Who drives with the bright lights on in a snowstorm? It makes the visibility a hundred times worse. What an idiot I was to get in that car, but when I got your message, well, the message, I simply had to find out for myself what you knew. Then to learn it was all a ruse . . . You can’t imagine what’s going on in my mind right now.”

  “I may have some idea.”

  “I doubt it. Want to hear the worst? Gordon came here late last night with Skylar and I heard them whisper to each other when they thought I was sleeping. Gordon was fit to be tied because Skylar and his two buddies were convinced I was the one who left the message with the desk clerk and . . . Can you believe it? That I fabricated the whole story about being run off the road in order to make it look as if I was the next victim in order to cover up my culpability.”

  “Uh, yeah. That does seem a bit extreme.”

  “Not if you follow their reasoning. Those camera guys are convinced I was the one who lured Devora to that pond, got into a tussle with her, and somehow managed to wrap my necklace around her neck, tug on it hard enough to kill her, and then give her a shove into the water. I’ll admit, I work out and I’m in good physical shape, but I’m no Holly Holm.”

  The vital sign monitor made a strange beep and I
jumped.

  “It does that all the time,” Priscilla said. “At least it lets me know I’m alive. For the time being anyhow. Listen, this is a horrible thing to say but I doubt Skylar, Mickey, and Rikesh are all that broken up over Devora’s death. So even if they think I killed her, I seriously doubt they’ll want to seek revenge on her behalf. But someone wants me out of the way. Or spooked at least. Well, they got the last part right.”

  “I don’t blame you. If they believe you killed her and you’re about to get away with it, they may be tempted to do whatever they can to make sure that doesn’t happen. Why? Because they’re suspects, too.”

  “Gee. I never thought of it that way. Oh, my God. This really is my fault. I led them to believe I was exonerated. I brought this on myself.”

  “Only if that other driver was one of them.”

  “Norrie, do you have any idea how the investigation is going? I know you speak with that deputy all the time.”

  “Oh, I speak all right. The trouble is, he doesn’t. I have no idea whatsoever.”

  “I need to be in LA by Friday. Light-Star Pictures starts filming and this is the break I’ve been waiting for. Shh. Don’t say anything. I was set to be released this morning but I told the doctor on duty that my headache was a real pounder and got him to extend my stay by another day. They’ll run more brain scans. Meanwhile, if someone is trying to kill me, at least I’ll be safe in here for another day. After that I intend to lock myself in my room at the Ramada. That’s why I asked you if you knew how close those deputies were to finding the killer. I’m down to the wire.”

  “It’s only Monday. You can always catch the red-eye to LA on Thursday night if the sheriff’s office returns your passport. The storm’s stalled for now but by then it will have done its damage and moved out of the area.”