by J. C. Eaton
We walked back to Bradley’s car like schoolchildren who got chastised for talking in class. I kicked a few pebbles that were in my way while Bradley muttered, “Could’ve been worse.”
“I’m on the right track, you know, or Grizzly Gary wouldn’t have made his grandstand entrance back there,” I said. “The sheriff’s office must think it was one of those gamblers who killed Brewer.”
Bradley clicked the key fob for his Mazda and we got in. He leaned back, reached over and rubbed my neck. “This could be a long wait.”
“As long as I’m getting a neck rub, I have all the time in the world.”
With a decent vantage point, we eyeballed the street and waited. A good fifteen or twenty minutes later, the deputies got into Hickman’s official vehicle and took off.
The neck rub changed abruptly to a nudge. “What did I tell you? No arrests. Oh, sure, he’s got all the info he needs and will probably bring them in for questioning, but he’s looking for answers, not a penny ante citation. No poker pun intended.”
“What if no one leaves? What if they pick up the game like nothing happened?” I asked.
“I doubt they’d risk it on the off chance those deputies swing back. Hold on a bit and let’s see if I’m right.”
A few customers exited the Dresden Hotel and were immediately replaced by a few more. Mostly couples and older women. Ten minutes had passed and still no movement from across the street. “I’d make a horrible detective,” I mumbled. “I’d never sit long enough for a stakeout.”
“Looks like you won’t have to. Three men rounded the side of the house and are headed this way. Good thing the sun went down and the only lighting is from the restaurant. They won’t notice us, and even if they do, it’s not as if they have any idea who we are.”
I sat upright and stared straight ahead. “Oh, no. One of them is veering off. His car must be parked around back. Wait a sec. The other two are walking this way.”
Bradley leaned over and looked to his right. “They parked a few cars down from us. I’m going to pull out and drive past them. Get the plate number.”
I always thought it was such a nuisance for New York State to require a front and back license plate, but at that moment I could have kissed the bureaucrat who came up with that idea. I pulled a pen from my bag and wrote the number on the back of an old bookmark as Bradley drove past the car and circled behind the hotel.
“Did you get it?”
“Yep. GNS 6934.”
“Great. Maybe we’ll get lucky with the others.”
He returned to our original parking spot and continued to wait it out.
“Wonder what’s taking the other three so long?” I grumbled.
“A car’s pulling up in front of the house. Looks like someone called for a lift. Too late to make a go of it and get a license.”
“We still have the other two. If they ever get out of there.”
“Sit tight. I doubt they’ll be much longer.”
I clasped my hands together and rolled my neck around. “If we weren’t doing this surveillance, I could suggest something much more fun.”
“Suggest it when we get back to your place.”
A group of five or six people walked into the restaurant, but other than that there was no movement whatsoever. Then, in a blink, I spied them—the classy-looking woman with one of the men from that poker ring. They had gotten as far as the oak tree and didn’t budge. “What the heck? Can’t they walk and talk?”
Bradley laughed. “Take a closer look. They’re not talking.”
Sure enough, they were silhouetted against the tree in one of those embraces I tend to overuse in my screenplays. “Hmm, this puts a whole new light on things,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Whoever they are, they could have plotted against Brewer. Worked in cahoots until something went sour. We absolutely have to find out who they are. The photos we snapped won’t be enough and the license plate thing might take too long. Rats. Even getting info from Gladys will be iffy. Quick! We’ve got about five minutes to come up with a better idea.”
“Short of holding them up and demand they give us their names, nothing springs to mind.”
“They’re not budging from that tree. Why don’t they get a room or something? Oh my gosh. One of them must be married. That’s why. Maybe Brewer threatened to blow their romance if they didn’t pay up so they made sure he wouldn’t get the chance. Now it’s four minutes. They can’t keep lip-locking all night. We need to do something.”
“Short of sneaking back around that garage from way over on the other side and listening in on their conversation, I can’t think of a thing.”
I leaned over and gave Bradley a peck on the cheek. “You just did.”
Chapter 21
Bradley returned the favor with a quick squeeze on my knee. “I’ll park down the street this time and we can make our way to that garage from the other side. Best bet is to go through the neighbors’ backyards.”
“Harrumph. Sounds like this isn’t the first time you’ve done something of this sort.”
He chuckled. “We had to make our own entertainment as kids. Not a heck of a lot going on when you live in a small town.”
“Tell me about it. Penn Yan’s about as small as they get.”
He pulled out of the hotel’s parking lot and drove to where the street all but collided with Seneca Lake. “Now we’ll backtrack. I’ll park a few houses down. Make sure your phone’s on mute.”
“It is. Don’t worry.”
The only sound was the soft scuttle our feet made as they moved from pavement to grass. Thankfully the yards weren’t fenced in or we would have needed to double back. In a matter of minutes, we were behind the garage, now with its lights off. I could hear the woman’s voice but I had to strain to figure out what she said. Something about keeping it cool, or was she cold? I couldn’t tell.
Bradley and I edged closer to where they stood but still remained a good foot or two from the corner of the garage so as not to be spotted. The few feet made a difference and the voices were clearer.
“Do you have any idea what running an exclusive would do to our profits?” the man asked. “It’s not as if tawny port is released every day. Talk about obstinate. Time for a little more arm-twisting.”
“I didn’t drive all this way for business. Why don’t you follow me back to my place? It’s not that far.”
“You know why. Another time.”
“And another place for our poker games. At least till things cool down.”
“You know they won’t cool down until an arrest is made.”
I elbowed Bradley and leaned into his ear. “They’ve got to be talking about Brewer. They know something.”
He put a finger to his lips and nodded.
The man continued. “I suppose we should—”
And like that, his voice was drowned out by the sound of the Finger Lakes Railway Freight Service making one of its night runs to Geneva. Thank you, CSX, for mucking this up.
Between the blare of the horn and the locomotive engine noise, it was impossible to hear anything else. Apparently the couple under the tree reached the same conclusion because they darted across the street and into the Dresden Hotel’s parking lot.
“Too late now,” I said. “By the time we get over there, those two will be long gone.”
“Gone maybe, but not without spewing off about Henry and Brewer. I’m thinking the guy who wanted an exclusive release must have a liquor distribution business or a store at the very least.”
I fought hard to keep my voice low. “Libations. That has to be it. That’s the call Eli must have overheard. When he got me the caller ID, I recognized it as the main number for that chain of liquor stores but it was impossible to figure out where it originated. They’ve got a zillion stores in the Finger Lakes. Must be they wanted to have the Speltmores’ port as an exclusive and Henry said no.”
Bradley bit his lower lip, making him look even sex
ier. “How does that factor in for Brewer?”
“I’m not sure. Henry sent out an email to the wine trail endorsing this new cooperative for seasonal workers. I figured they were the ones blackmailing him but now I’m wondering if maybe it was about the tawny port and not the workers. And if that’s true, Henry hasn’t anted up for that one, which means the guy who just took off will press him even harder. Darn that stupid train.”
“No sense speculating, or hanging around here, for that matter. That couple’s probably on the road by now. We can continue this conversation at your house but I suggest we grab a drink at the Dresden Hotel.”
“We’re hardly dressed for the hotel.”
“They don’t care how you dress when you sit at the bar. Come on.”
Bradley took my hand and we crossed the street. In the distance I could still hear the faint sounds of the locomotive engine.
He opened the Dresden’s weathered wooden door and gazed around as I stepped inside. “They certainly live up to their sign out front that says warm and homey. Reminds me of those lakeside restaurants on Oneida Lake. Only this one is packed to the gills.”
“It’s Friday night in Penn Yan. This is as exciting as it gets. At least for the older crowd. Look around, there’s no one in here younger than forty.”
“You may want to take that back. The blonde with the miniskirt can’t be older than twenty-two.”
I gave him a nudge. “She’s a waitress. But the bartender looks old enough to be her grandfather. If we move fast we can nab seats next to each other. Looks like three of them are free in the middle.” It was a horseshoe-shaped bar that all but screamed rustic and I wasted no time grabbing a spot. “Talk about luck. Looks like this other seat’s occupied since there’s a bottle of Coors on the bar. Thank goodness it wasn’t the spot in between us.”
Bradley slid his stool out and sat. “Chances are the person would have moved, but yeah, you never know. Some people are really territorial when it comes to seats.” He gazed around the room and in that second it occurred to me why he insisted we stop here for a drink.
“You want to listen in to some gossip, don’t you?” I whispered.
He winked. “Why leave Dresden with a half-baked job? Chances are those poker players are pretty well-known around here. And someone was bound to notice the sheriff’s car. I say we sit back, enjoy our drinks and pray another train doesn’t blow through here.”
We both ordered wines from our WOW group. Madeline’s Chardonnay for me and Rosalee’s merlot for Bradley. No sooner did the bartender place the drinks in front of us than the occupant to my left sat and picked up his bottle of Coors. The bartender leaned toward him and chuckled, “What happened? Lose all your money?”
“Nah. You know me better than that. I would’ve kept playing until my luck changed.”
“Then why so early? It’s nowhere close to midnight.”
“Damn sheriff’s office decided to pay us a visit. I swear, Gary gets ornerier by the minute.”
“What? They busted your game and handed out desk appearance tickets? That would be a first.”
I gave Bradley a slight kick on the ankle and he returned it with a quick nod. We continued to sip our wine, pausing every few seconds to make eye contact so as not to look too obvious in our attempt to listen in.
The guy with the Coors gave it a good gulp and continued. “No tickets. No arrests. Only a not-so-friendly invitation to drop by his office tomorrow morning to answer a few questions about Brewer.”
“Excuse me a minute. Got to get Chuck over there another beer before he jumps over the counter.”
The bartender turned away and I immediately leaned toward Bradley, my back to the man with the Coors. I remained face-to-face with Bradley, too hesitant to say anything for fear it would spook the Coors guy. It seemed like an inordinate amount of time for the bartender to return but in reality, it was probably less than a minute or two.
“Okay, looks like everyone’s got a drink in their hand so I can hang here for a bit. What about Brewer? Does the sheriff’s office think someone in your poker group had an axe to grind and killed the guy?”
The Coors man shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Brewer had his own problems managing his workers. Rumor had it he had a beef or two with some of the guys but it got straightened out. Anyway, he didn’t have any beefs with the usual gang of card sharks and I made sure to keep a low profile. Barbara’s a different story. Personally, I’ve never been one to mix business with pleasure, but what the hidey-ho. Guess when things went south, they really went south. But she’s a damn good poker player and no one can read what’s going on in that mind of hers. At the table and anywhere else.”
The bartender nodded. “Yep. Seen her here and there. Not a bad looker for a woman her age. By the way, how are they coming along on your office?”
“The painters finished up yesterday but the electrician still has a bit more work to do. I expect to be open for business by the end of the week. Advertising is all set. Hey, before I forget, have a pen. Got a boatload of ’em. I carry them in my pocket all the time now. Good for business. Neat logo, huh?”
The guy reached in his pocket and handed the bartender a pen.
“I’d say the timing for your new enterprise was pretty convenient.”
“Not convenient, good planning.”
“Hey!” someone shouted from the end of the bar past Bradley. “Can we get some service over here?”
“Catch you later,” the bartender said before walking past us.
Business with pleasure. Woman her age. I’ll burst if we don’t get out of here.
“I don’t know about you,” I whispered to Bradley, “but I’ve got all I need right at the moment.”
He looked past me at the man with the Coors. “You don’t think you’ll want another drink?”
I watched as the bartender moved from patron to patron. “I think one drink is as far as I’m going to get tonight.”
Bradley squeezed my knee, left money on the bar, and took my elbow as we made our way to the door. Once outside and a few feet from the entrance, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. “You’re pretty good with innuendo.”
“I tried. If it was one of my screenplays, I could have perfected it. It’s tough trying to think fast.” Then I returned the favor by brushing his lips with mine. “Boy, did you ever make the right call by having us go in there. What were the chances we’d wind up next to one of the men from that poker game?’
“Fair to good. For a few of them it’s most likely their last stop before driving home.”
“So what do you think? That woman had to be Barbara Stanowicz, Brewer’s former secretary. Melissa told me she was classy and clever. But Melissa never mentioned her having any issues with Brewer. Said she retired and moved to Canandaigua.”
“Melissa’s a new hire. She wouldn’t be privy to that kind of information.”
“Trust me, I’m not ruling out anyone. Better yet, you can see for yourself back at my place. I’ve got something to show you.”
“I’m not quite sure how to take that.”
“On face value. Take that statement on face value. Not innuendo this time. I want to show you my suspect notebook complete with transparency overlaps.”
“Boy, if that isn’t a tantalizing invitation, I don’t know what is.”
Chapter 22
Charlie jumped off the couch and ran straight toward Bradley when we got inside the house.
“You’ve got me trained, dog,” he said. “All right. I’ll give you ear rubs.”
“That Plott hound has all of us trained. Don, Theo, Godfrey, the winery crew, and me. Especially when it comes to food and sitting on the furniture. I’m afraid he’ll have a rude awakening when Francine and Jason get back.”
“He’ll adjust. I’m the one who’s going to go cold turkey without you here. But, hey, the Big Apple isn’t that far away and we’ll work something out. Meanwhile, show me this murder notebook of yours. The suspense is killing me.”
>
“Very funny. Grab a seat on the couch before the dog gets there. I’ll bring us some iced teas and the notebook. Unless you want something stronger.”
“Iced tea is fine.”
A few minutes later I returned with our drinks and my notebook. I also brought the folder that contained the connecting lines. Bradley studied everything as if he was about to draw up a will or living trust. As I sat a foot or so from him, I watched him furrow his brow every few seconds and it made me wonder if I had totally loused things up. Finally he spoke.
“This is the most intriguing set of notes I’ve ever seen. And believe me, I get to see tons of them. No doubt you’ve got two things going on and they may or may not be connected. But one thing’s nagging at me.”
“What’s that?”
“I can understand you wanting to find out what’s going on with Henry Speltmore, especially since his kid thinks the dad may be in danger. But Brewer? I’m not sure I get it. I mean, it’s not as if his homicide had anything to do with Two Witches, and the murder didn’t take place on any of the other wineries’ commercial property. What am I missing?”
I gulped. “Catherine Trobert, that’s what, or should I say who, is missing. She and her husband are suspects as far as Deputy Hickman is concerned because the husband was overheard having a blowout with Brewer. But if you must know the real reason, it’s because Catherine called her son, a criminal lawyer in Maine, and he’ll be here with his own investigator in a week.”
Bradley looked puzzled. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“No, no. It’s a terrible thing. An absolutely horrible, terrible thing. Oh, what the heck. You might as well know the truth. Catherine has been trying to fix me up with her son since the day I arrived in Penn Yan. Steven Trobert and I went to school together but he was in Francine’s class, not mine. And we never as much as said more than hello back then. The last person I want to be fixed up with is Steven Trobert!”
Bradley all but spit out the sip of tea he’d just taken. “That’s hysterical. Absolutely hysterical.”
