From Port to Rigor Morte

by J. C. Eaton

  “Goodness, Norrie, you’re going to put this office to shame.”

  Or get myself in trouble.

  “The reason I’m calling is to find out about a fender bender that took place in front of Lake View Winery two days before I happened upon Brewer’s body.”

  “Don’t tell me you think that fender bender had anything to do with it? I sent the information to the Chronicle Express for their police-beat section. It’ll be public knowledge on Wednesday, but if you hold on, I’ll pull it up. Deputy Hickman hasn’t come in yet but he’s bound to arrive any second.”

  “No problem.”

  I waited a minute until Gladys was back on the line. “Here goes: Mrs. Ursula Penny, age seventy-six, from Milo, New York, was driving to her garden club meeting at Belhurst Castle in Geneva when a bird landed on the road. She stopped short so as not to hit the bird and that’s when Mr. Emerson Boyd, age thirty-three from Brighton, New York, rear-ended her. Neither of the drivers, nor the passenger in Mr. Boyd’s car, sustained any injuries. Mrs. Penny’s nineteen ninety-nine Cadillac had minor damage to the rear bumper, while Mr. Boyd’s two thousand seventeen Dodge Charger had a few minor dents and scratches along with a broken headlight on the driver’s side of the vehicle. There were no passengers in Mrs. Penny’s car and no one required medical treatment.”

  “Does your report give the name of the passenger?”

  “I don’t see it. But I can hear Deputy Hickman’s voice in the outer office.” Then she lowered her voice. “I doubt the accident had anything to do with that body. However, my brother owns a two thousand seventeen Dodge Charger and they have trunks, not hatchbacks, if you were wondering.”

  “Thanks, Gladys.”

  I had to admit, that woman was beginning to read my mind regarding the possibility of a body in the trunk. And while I dismissed Ursula Penny, I wasn’t too sure about Emerson Boyd or his unnamed passenger. I mean, what are the chances someone would select that particular spot off the road to dump a body unless for some reason he was already there, given the fender bender. Both cars would have had to pull off to the side of the road, and who’s to say Brewer’s body wasn’t in the trunk when Boyd and his passenger decided to dump it rather than find another spot.

  Theo and Don would tell me it was a far-fetched theory, but as of right now, it was the only one I had. As soon as I got off the phone with Gladys, I poured Charlie a heaping cup of kibble and popped a K-Cup into the Keurig. Monday mornings were notoriously slow at the winery, and even though I promised myself I’d work on that screenplay, I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in learning more about Emerson Boyd.

  Brighton was a suburb of Rochester and chances were the guy wasn’t the only E. Boyd in the directory. Therefore, I turned to my usual source—Facebook. That came up as empty as my stomach and I paused my search to finish my coffee and nuke a frozen corn muffin. Then I tried other sites with equally dismal results. Whoever Boyd was, he wasn’t connected on social media.

  Rather than monkey around with Google’s phone book sites, I pulled out Francine’s Rochester directory, which weighed more than Charlie’s bag of kibble. There were four E. Boyds, but that was a doable number if it ever got to point where I’d call him. That being done, I picked up where I left off on my screenplay, then showered and walked to the winery.

  “Does the name Emerson Boyd ring a bell to you?” I asked Lizzie when I stepped inside.

  She shook her head. “Is he one of our customers? Were we supposed to ship wine to him?”

  “No, but he may know something about that body Theo and I found. It’s a long shot, really, but the guy was in our area and he may have visited our winery.”

  I wasn’t about to tell Lizzie he might be the responsible party for fear she’d grill me on the Nancy Drew protocol for establishing a viable theory.

  “Cammy and Glenda are setting up wineglass trays in the kitchen. Maybe one of them knows. And Roger’s almost done at his tasting table. He might have an idea.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check.”

  I knew Sam wouldn’t be in until Wednesday but I seriously doubted any of our crew had an inkling of who Boyd was. Still, I asked, beginning with Cammy and Glenda. Both of them shook their heads and Cammy asked why.

  When I told her, she didn’t seem too surprised. “The killer, huh? Hmm, that’s kind of an interesting thought, come to think of it.”

  “Yeah. According to Catherine, both of those cars were only yards away from where the body had been dumped.”

  Cammy furrowed her brow. “I’m not sure about one of those drivers being responsible for dragging that poor guy into the woods, but maybe he or she noticed something odd.”

  I moved closer to the dishwasher. “I think the only thing Ursula noticed was a bird. But Boyd might be a different story entirely. I’m going to grab something to eat and see if Fred or Emma have any idea. Then I’ll touch base with Roger.”

  “Wait a minute, Norrie,” Glenda said. “A few of my friends are joining me this evening for an herb-gathering party. I’ll run the name by them and see if anyone recognizes it.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  And thank you even more for not inviting me.

  Fred and Emma had no idea who Boyd was and neither did Roger. But like Glenda, they offered to ask around. That left Sam, and the chances were slim to none he’d have an idea. My best gossip source was the WOW women but we weren’t going to meet until Thursday. Still, nothing prevented me from shooting out a group email to them. I finished off my roasted beef on brioche with caramelized onions and went into my office to send that email. I kept it short and to the point—“Hi, everyone. Do any of you know an Emerson Boyd from Brighton? Call, email, or message me. Thanks, Norrie.”

  I wasn’t holding out any hope that anyone would have a clue, but less than twenty minutes later there were two responses on my email feed—the first one from Madeline and the second from Stephanie.

  “If it’s the same Emerson Boyd,” Madeline’s email read, “he’s a wine publicist out of Rochester and Brighton’s one of the suburbs. He’s got a few clients in the area, including the Speltmores. Do you have some juicy gossip on him? Tell us on Thursday.” Then the one from Stephanie read, “He’s a pompous wine publicist out of Rochester. Derek and I thought about using his services but decided not to. Why? What did the SOB do?”

  It was a good question. In fact, it was the very question I was trying to figure out. If indeed the guy had done anything wrong other than getting too close to bird-loving Ursula. I wrote back to Madeline and Stephanie, “Thanks. I’ll explain on Thursday.”

  Since it was a quiet afternoon at Two Witches, I returned home and concentrated on my own work until early evening, when I took Charlie for a long walk in the upper vineyards and made myself a tuna salad for dinner. With at least two more hours of daylight and a nagging thought, I called Theo and Don, only to find they had gone to Walmart in Geneva to “stock up.” That left only one other person since Bradley was at some sort of legal symposium in Syracuse.

  “Godfrey! I was hoping you’d answer,” I chirped. “How’d you like to take a nice walk by the lake with me?”

  “Nice walk by the lake my foot! You want to go back to the crime scene and snoop around.”

  “I, um, uh . . .”

  “The place will be cordoned off, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Aha! I was right all along.”

  “Come on, it’s a nice evening and you have nothing to lose. Heck, I’ll even spring for ice cream cones at one of the lake stands near Geneva. What do you say?”

  “Tell me what you hope to find.”

  “I’m not sure. But I need to take a closer look at the spot where Brewer’s body was and the entry point from where he got dragged in.”

  “I suppose a walk would do me some good. I’ve been cooped up in the office all day. Alex Bollinger sent me a fascinating study from France on the phylloxera. That microscopic aphid can destroy an entire vineyard by devouring grapevin
e roots.”

  “Is this something I need to lose sleep over? Because the thought of Steven Trobert showing up here has cut into my zzz’s already.”

  “No. The wineries around here have hybrid resistant rootstock.”

  “Good. Good to know.”

  “Yes, unfortunately, that vineyard louse destroyed the European wine industry in the eighteen hundreds and was nearly responsible for doing the same thing in Washington and Oregon not too long ago.”

  “You can tell me all about it once you get here.” Or not.

  “Fine. I’ll head out in ten minutes.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in front of the winery, so you don’t have to drive all the way up the hill unless you’d rather have me drive.”

  “Not on your life.”

  Chapter 10

  Godfrey pulled his car off to the side of the road across from Lake View Winery. While it wasn’t a designated pull-off area, there was ample space between the road and the vehicle so that no one would ram into it. Unless Ursula decided to take another drive. It was past normal winery hours so I wasn’t worried about Catherine looking out the window and spying us. Or worse yet, phoning the sheriff’s office.

  “Let’s look for drag marks,” I said, “and follow them into the woods.”

  “You mean the bush. These low bushes are so thick it’s a wonder someone got the body through here in the first place.”

  “Emerson Boyd might have. With help from the other passenger in his car.”

  “Who?”

  “That was one of the people in that little fender bender two days before the body was discovered. Gladys from the sheriff’s office told me. And get this—Boyd is a wine publicist who’s familiar with the area.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Two links on the WOW gossip chain.”

  “Doesn’t mean the guy was the responsible party.”

  “True, but the timing’s right. And one of the big three is practically waving a red flag at us—opportunity!”

  “Not opportunity. Conjecture. Come on, let’s trample through here and see if anything turns up. Although I have to say, those forensic teams scour the area.”

  We moved a few feet into the woods and I stopped short. “They may not be done. Take a look. The yellow tape is still up.”

  “I’m not sure what you expect to find. Woods are usually a magnet for all sorts of road debris. People can be so careless with their trash.”

  “Let’s hope our killer, or killers, was one of them.”

  Without using the footpath that Theo and I took before, the trek meant watching our footing for branches, rocks, and decaying logs. And while we could see where some leaves had been crushed and the ground appeared to be softer, it didn’t necessarily translate into drag marks. Godfrey paused every now and then to point out one disgusting insect after another, and after five minutes I was itchy and scratchy.

  When we were two or three feet from the area where I’d first seen the body, Godfrey crossed his arms and sighed. “At least we enjoyed a nice nature walk. What do you say we top it off with ice cream sundaes?”

  “Not so fast. We took the direct route from the road, but what if Brewer’s killers didn’t go back the way they came?”

  Godfrey swatted something on the back of his neck. “Annoying no-see-ums. And what would be the point of taking a different path back?”

  “Not intentionally. But look around, we can’t tell where we came in. Everything looks the same. What do you say we split up a few yards but keep each other in sight. Maybe we’ll find some evidence after all.”

  “Let’s be quick about it. It’s dusk and no-see-ums will be the least of our worries. The mosquitos will.”

  “Ugh. Let’s get going.”

  At that moment I stepped on something that felt round and somewhat soft. “A snake! Ouch! Yuck!” I didn’t bother to look down. I moved a few yards back and stared at the ground. “I think I might have squashed a snake. At least it didn’t bite me.” Then I took a step closer to it. “It’s a snake, all right. A brown and yellow one. What kind of snakes are brown and yellow?”

  “Most likely a garter snake. Odd that it didn’t slither away.”

  “I’m going to slither away. Right now.”

  “Stay where you are. I want to take a closer look.”

  I moved back at least another two or three feet and watched as he bent over the injured or possibly dead snake.

  “Unless there’s a new variety of snake in New York with a plastic hook on the end, you stepped on a bungie cord. A brown and yellow bungie cord. Oh, and what’s this?”

  “What’s what?”

  “Looks like a bracelet.”

  “Hold on. I’ve got a Ziploc bag in my pocket. With a paper towel. We don’t need any of our fingerprints to get on the cord or the bracelet.”

  “You really are becoming quite the sleuth, aren’t you?”

  “It’s a matter of necessity around here.”

  Relieved that I hadn’t stomped on a snake, I hurried back to Godfrey and bent down to retrieve the items. “Hey, this is a scarab bracelet. Little beetles. Right up your alley. Looks like the clasp broke.” I put it in the bag and added the bungie cord. “Think these came off the same person or persons?”

  “Probably. I mean, given their proximity and all.”

  “I can understand a woman helping to drag a body and having her bracelet come loose, but I don’t get the bungie cord.”

  “If your wackadoodle theory about a dead body in the truck holds any weight, then maybe there was already a bungie cord in there and the hook got attached to the body. It would make sense that it would fall off while being dragged.”

  “So you believe my theory?” I asked.

  “I didn’t say that. I said— Shh! Hear that?”

  I didn’t make a move and held my breath. Somewhere in the woods I heard a crunching sound like shoes or boots on the dried leaves and branches. “Someone else is in here. Crap. It’s probably the person or persons who killed Brewer. They say the murderer always returns to the scene of the crime.”

  Godfrey, who was now less than a foot from me, whispered, “Who says that? Which mystery writer?”

  “Very funny. Shush. That crunching sound is getting louder. It’s off to the left and it’s too dense over there to see anything. Plus, it’s getting dark.”

  “Take slow and careful steps so as not to make too much noise. Then once we get into the clear, we’ll run like hell to my car.”

  I followed Godfrey and moved as quietly as I could. Every few seconds he’d turn to make sure I was there. Then, out of nowhere we heard voices.

  Terrific. It’s about to get dark and we’re in the woods with two depraved killers.

  “We’ll have to come back and look for it when it’s daylight. That’s what we should have done in the first place.” It was a man’s voice. Deep and loud.

  “I told you. I had to work. And no one wants people around a crime scene.”

  “You shouldn’t have worn it in the first place.”

  “How was I supposed to know it would come loose?”

  “Never mind. Let’s get going.”

  I grabbed Godfrey by the elbow and leaned into his ear. “Can you see where they are? All I can see is the back of your shirt.”

  “Shh. No. Keep walking.”

  Then the woman’s voice again. “Is that a car parked by the road? Don’t tell me it’s a car. That’s the last thing we need. Good thing you brought your . . .”

  I strained to hear but it was useless. “Your what? Your what? I couldn’t make out what she said. Did you hear her? Did she say gun? It had to be gun. Damn. It really is the killers.”

  “Keep moving and don’t stop. We’re almost out of here. Take longer steps.”

  How can I take longer steps with shorter legs?

  I don’t even remember breathing. That’s how intent I was on getting the heck out of there. I tightened my grip on the Ziploc bag and stayed as close to Godf
rey as I could get. By now dusk had turned from soft pinks to darker blues, and by the time we raced to his car, the only light was from headlight beams on Route 14.

  “Hurry. Get in!” he shouted.

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. My fingers flew to the seat belt as he turned the key in the ignition. “We’re out of here,” he said.

  With that, he drove north in the direction of Geneva but signaled left onto Armstrong Road before going south on Route 14.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m about to pull into Lake View Winery and eyeball the road. Specifically those woods. Let’s see who’s about to emerge and how they plan to get home. There isn’t a car in sight. And I didn’t see one when we got there.”

  I reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Harry Bosch would be proud.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  Godfrey turned off the engine and we kept our eyes on the woods directly across from Catherine’s parking lot. A few seconds later a car pulled off to the side, but it was impossible to determine make, model, or color, for that matter. Two or three seconds after that, it went north toward Geneva.

  “Now it’s your turn to make Steve McQueen proud,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Follow that car, Godfrey! That’s what.”

  Chapter 11

  The driver followed the maneuver Godfrey pulled a few minutes ago. He or she made a left onto Armstrong Road before going south.

  “Maybe they’re headed to Penn Yan,” I said.

  “Or anywhere else in the southern tier. I’ll tail them for a few minutes but that’s it.”

  No sooner did Godfrey finish his sentence than the driver signaled left and turned into a wide pull-out about a mile down from the woods. A white SUV was parked off to the side and the dark sedan drove up alongside it.

  “That has to be their car. Can you pull in behind them? But not too close. Try to be inconspicuous.”

  Godfrey turned and shot me a look. “Seriously? Inconspicuous?”

  “They have no idea who we are or why you pulled over. Look, I know it’s dark, but maybe we can see who gets out of the car. Oh, and it wouldn’t hurt to get the license. Although it’s virtually impossible to track it down unless you’ve got a connection in law enforcement, which none of us do.”