From Port to Rigor Morte

by J. C. Eaton

  “No, it isn’t. You don’t know Catherine. If Steven as much as steps an inch into this state, she’ll have a prenuptial agreement drawn up and a notary on his or her way to get my signature. Okay, fine. So maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but that woman is relentless.”

  “If he does show up, I’ll ward him off. But it does sound as if Catherine is really worried. Most likely Steven is mired in work in Maine, and the last thing he’ll want to do is trek down here. And you’re right about one thing—once those deputies get something in their heads, they don’t budge. In retrospect, maybe it’s not such a bad idea for you to keep prying as long as you don’t put yourself in any danger.”

  I moved closer to him and we hugged. Long, loving hugs that unfortunately were interrupted by Charlie whining.

  “Oh my gosh. His dinner. I need to feed him his dinner. I can’t remember if I poured kibble for him before you picked me up. Give me a second.”

  When I returned to the couch, Bradley was still studying my notes. “There are tentacles all over the place coupled with lots of salient information. Might want to go for the CliffsNotes version.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I’m working on someone’s legal case I usually draw three columns on a spreadsheet—What I know, what I want to know, and what I learned. It narrows down the thinking process.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” I jumped off the couch, walked to the pantry and returned with poster board and markers. “I’ve got a great spot on the kitchen wall. Come on.”

  Forty-five minutes later we had our answers—what we want to know was a much longer list than what we did know. Exhausted, we collapsed on the couch.

  “I have to be in the office tomorrow morning,” Bradley said, “and I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “Then don’t. I promise I’ll let you sleep. No sense getting on the road so late.”

  He didn’t argue, and twenty minutes later we were both out cold on my bed.

  • • •

  Bradley was already seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in his hand when I came downstairs the following morning. He had fed Charlie, changed the dog’s water, and opened the doggie door to let him outside.

  “Wow,” I said. “You should stay over more often.”

  “Don’t tempt me. Unfortunately, I’ve got to dash out of here. I need to get home, shower, and most definitely change my clothes. Last thing I need is to stroll into the office wearing what I’ve got on. Our secretary will badger me nonstop and Marvin, no doubt, will insist I get a laundry service if I don’t have clean clothes on hand. Anyway, I’ll give you a call later. Hope you’ve got tomorrow free.”

  I plunked a K-Cup into the Keurig and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. “Glenda is off tomorrow because she and Zenora will be attending some cockamamie healing with crystals thing in Branchport and Roger has a family reunion. I told Cammy I’d pitch in. But Sunday works for me.”

  “Okay, well figure it out. Meanwhile, I really do need to get going.” He put the coffee cup in the sink and started to rinse it out.

  “Leave it. It’s the least I can do.” I walked him to the door, where we hugged for a good ten or fifteen seconds. It was followed by a quick kiss and poof! He walked to his car, started it up, and drove off.

  It was hard to believe that it had only been a week since Eli and his buddy Stuart showed up to tell me they found a dead body. Now, I had a laundry list of possible suspects, two entirely different graphic organizers to help piece it together, and a ticking clock to let me know when Steven would make his appearance. Sure, Bradley could deal with it, but I really hate awkward, uncomfortable scenes. I drank my coffee, unwrapped a premade muffin from the pantry and went upstairs to shower and dress for the day. It seemed to me that Barbara Stanowicz wielded a certain amount of clout where those poker players were concerned, and coupled with the fact she ran Brewer’s office, I was itching to have a little chat with her.

  Unfortunately, my plans to track her down were thwarted the minute I got into the winery. It was a little after ten with everything running full force.

  “Norrie! Thank goodness you’re here. We really need you to open up the spare tasting room table,” Cammy said. She thundered toward me without stopping for a breath. “Don’t know where this crowd’s coming from but if this is what Saturdays are going to be like all summer, Two Witches will be swimming in the black.”

  “I, um, uh—”

  “Terrific. Glenda set up the wines in the little fridge yesterday and the wineglasses are off to the left. Table’s already got the dump bucket. All you need is the water pitcher and you’ll be all set.” With that, Cammy raced over to her own table, now completely full, and waved at her customers.

  With no choice in the matter, I walked to the kitchen, filled a water pitcher and took my place at the extra table. Within seconds, three women and one man joined me. For the next two hours it was customer after customer. Face after face. I honestly couldn’t describe any of them because everything had morphed into a big blur. My head spun and I prayed whatever garble spewed from my mouth made sense.

  Then, at precisely twelve fifteen, because I overheard Sam announce, “Hey, guys, it’s twelve fifteen already,” the unthinkable happened. Eli and Stuart showed up at my table. My first thought was that Glenda inadvertently added a new ingredient to our iced tea pitcher in the kitchen and I was hallucinating, but seconds later, I realized this was the real deal.

  “Eli and Stuart! What are you doing here? Do your parents know you’re here? Never mind, of course they don’t. What is going on?”

  The three women who were finishing up at my table downed their last sips of wine and stood, as if on cue. “That was wonderful,” one of them said. “We won’t keep you. Looks like you have other matters to contend with.” The group moved toward the wine racks and I heard one of them say, “That’s why I’m glad my children are the four-legged kind.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Eli asked me.

  “Nothing. She likes cats and dogs. Or maybe gerbils or lizards. It doesn’t matter. What matters is why the two of you are here.”

  “We sort of found something we probably shouldn’t’ve,” Stuart said. “But it was Eli’s big idea to show off those wines. Said there was real gold on the labels.”

  “Yeah, and look who fell for it.”

  “Boys, I don’t have a whole lot of time to waste. Look around. We’ve got customers practically crawling out of the walls. So, once and for all, what are you talking about? And get to the point.”

  Eli took a breath and puffed out his shoulders. “We got a new wine that won a gold medal somewhere. My father was all up in everyone’s face about it.”

  Has to be that tawny port. What about a gold medal? I really need to pay more attention to my emails.

  “I know. It’s the tawny port. The big release is next weekend. What were you saying about a gold medal?”

  “Not any old gold medal,” Stuart said, “a European gold medal.”

  The European gold medal? Holy cow! That’s practically impossible for domestic wines.

  Then Eli chimed in, “I told Stuart the bottles had real gold and he believed me.”

  “I did not. I was playing you, man.”

  I was now one second from losing it. “Enough. I get it. You went into the storage building where the wines are kept. Right?”

  Both boys nodded and I continued, “And you saw something.”

  Again they nodded. This time slower.

  “What was it? What did you see?”

  Eli looked down at his feet, then straight at me. “It’s still there. Behind the boxes.”

  “What?”

  “Another dead guy.”

  Chapter 23

  I don’t remember opening my mouth but I must have because a few seconds later Eli said, “My mom tells me if I keep my mouth open the way yours is, bugs are going to get in.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh. Listen, are you s
ure it was a person and not something else you saw?”

  “Yeah, it was. We should know. We saw the other dead guy, didn’t we?” Stuart remarked.

  I gave him a sideways glance. “You thought you saw something. I’m the one who had to go check it out.”

  I cannot believe I’m having this conversation with two eleven- or twelve-year-olds.

  “And why did you come here? You could’ve told someone at your own winery.”

  Stuart immediately piped up. “Eli’s not supposed to go in the storage area where the wines are. He’d get creamed.”

  “Yeah. That’s one of the places I’m not supposed to go.”

  I glared at him like my third-grade teacher used to do when she caught us cheating. “And yet you did.”

  “It’s not my fault there’s a dead guy in there. All I wanted to do was show Stuart the gold labels.”

  I looked around the tasting room and everyone was busy. I thought the only reason no one approached my table was because two grubby-looking preteens were leaning over it. Not the most inviting spot for a wine tasting.

  “Listen carefully,” I said. “I’m going to walk you over to our bistro and you’ll need to wait there.” This is like a déjà vu nightmare. “I need a few minutes to figure this out.”

  Eli gave my T-shirt a tug when I stepped forward. “Can we get cookies like last time?”

  “Cookies aren’t a reward for finding dead bodies.” What is? “Yes. Fine. I’ll make sure you get some cookies and water. And whatever you do, don’t move from the bistro. Understood?”

  “Not even to see Alvin?”

  “Especially not now. You can see Alvin some other time.” What the heck am I saying?

  “You need to remain right here. Okay?”

  Two “uh-huhs” followed and I plunked the boys in a corner, where I hoped they wouldn’t bother the paying customers. Then I raced to my office and called the Grey Egret.

  “Not again!” was Theo’s response when I got him on the phone. “What are you going to do? Call the Speltmores or the sheriff’s office?”

  “That’s just it, I really don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to say to Delia? ‘Hi there, you might want to check the palettes behind your tawny port because there’s a vintage that needs to be discarded’?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way, but yeah, you really should call her. They need to know as soon as possible. And she needs to pick her kid up. Not to mention his buddy.”

  “Poor Eli’s going to get shipped off to his aunt Doris.”

  “Poor Eli should have stayed out of their storage area.”

  “I know. I know. But he’s still a kid. Look, maybe they won’t go all ballistic on him if you and I soften the blow. Plus, aren’t you the least bit curious as to whose body those kids found? We can only do that if we drive Eli and Stuart back, bicycles and all. They can point to the spot where the body is once we get there.”

  “Fine. Call Delia. Then call me back. I’m curious, all right, especially if this new victim is somehow linked to Brewer.”

  Suddenly my mouth went dry. “Bradley and I scoped out Brewer’s illegal poker game last night in Dresden. For all we know, the latest body Eli found could belong to one of those men.” I then went on to fill in the details, including the classy woman who arrived late and the impromptu visit from Deputy Hickman. “He mentioned you, by the way,” I said. “But not exactly complimentary.”

  “Wonderful. This is all I need.”

  “John found out about the poker game and gave me the heads-up. He also found out that the two-story house in front of the garage is rented out to the seasonal workers but he wasn’t sure who owned it. My guess is Brewer, but I didn’t have time to do a property tax record search. Now I’ve got to deal with another unexplained death.”

  “Good luck dealing with Delia. And call me.”

  When I got off the phone with Theo, I practiced three different conversation openers. Then I gave up and dialed Delia’s home number. Surprisingly, she answered on the first ring. “Norrie, you’ll have to excuse me but things are in such a turmoil over here. Earlier this week Henry had a rather unpleasant dealing with the owner of that large liquor store chain, Libations. That, on top of the local sheriff’s office badgering him about his relationship with Davis Brewer. Word got out somehow that my husband and Brewer were at odds over the cooperative’s contract. Those things are commonplace in business. Harrumph! As if Henry had something to do with that man’s demise.”

  “I, uh, um . . .”

  “Oh, my, I shouldn’t be rambling like this. You must have had a good reason to call. Anyway, Henry has had a bear of a time tracking down his wine publicist, Emerson Boyd. Boyd and Frank—oh, dear, you don’t know who Frank is, do you? Goodness, I seem to be off on a tangent. Frank Liguori is the regional manager for Libations. Anyway, as I was saying, he and Boyd met here with Henry the other night. It was a few days after Frank and Henry had their little dustup. Henry didn’t say much but I don’t think the second meeting went well at all. Now, all of a sudden, we can’t get ahold of Boyd. It’s as if he vanished in plain sight.”

  Or he’s flattened out on a nice wooden palette.

  “As I was saying, Norrie, Henry wants me to make some calls so we need to be brief. What can I do for you?”

  I meant to be discreet and diplomatic but the words came out of my mouth like a break in a sewer line. “Speaking of Emerson Boyd, he may be lying dead behind your recently bottled cases of the new tawny port in your storage area.”

  “What?? Boyd dead? In our winery? How do you—? What makes you—?” And then, a yell that all but broke the sound barrier, “Eli! Eli Speltmore! You come downstairs this minute!”

  “Um, I don’t think Eli’s going to come downstairs because he’s sitting a few yards away from me at Two Witches. Uh, and his friend Stuart is here, too. I think they biked over. It seems they were in your wine storage area when—”

  “My God! I can only pray they saw some wadded-up old tarps or some holiday decorations someone stashed in there.”

  “I don’t think so. Both boys were pretty adamant they saw a man’s body. But I wouldn’t call the sheriff’s office right away. Um, just to be sure.”

  “I’m sure of one thing. As soon as I call Henry, the next call I make will be to my sister in Pittsford. Eli can spend the rest of the summer with his cousins.” Delia let out a few pants and then continued. “Eli. Heavens. And Stuart. I’ve got to drive to your place and get them. Can you keep them a bit longer? I’m shaking all over and I’ll be a menace on the road.”

  “No problem. Call your husband. Theo Buchman from the Grey Egret and I will drive the boys to your winery. Plenty of room for their bikes in my car.” This better not become a habit with me.

  “Thank you. I’ll be in the production building a few yards down from our tasting room. Oh, heavens. A body! Were the boys traumatized?”

  I don’t think anything could traumatize those two hellions.

  “They seemed fine.”

  “Good. Because once Henry finds out, Eli will be in enough trouble.”

  • • •

  Speltmore Winery was constructed to resemble a Romanesque church sans the religious stuff. It was built in the early 1980s, but from a distance it could have fooled anyone. Located past Billsburrow Winery, it commanded a view of the west side’s wineries and a distant diagonal peek across the lake at the now-defunct Seneca Army Depot and Sampson State Park.

  Like our WOW wineries, their production lab was a separate building along with their barns; however, the spectacular castle-like building itself also included the Speltmores’ private residence.

  “You’re gonna be dead meat when they drop us off,” Stuart said to Eli from the backseat of my car.

  Eli leaned forward and jabbed my shoulder. “You can’t just drop us off and leave. If you’re there my father won’t be able to go off on me.”

  Theo turned and faced the boys. “If what you said was true about finding a
body, Mr. Speltmore will have other, more pressing issues on his mind.”

  “Yeah,” Eli said to Stuart. “Like calling that jerky deputy who wanted to know if someone told us about that guy in the woods before we got there.”

  “That deputy will need to speak with you two again. He may even ask if you’d been in that storage area before and if you heard anything out of the ordinary,” I said.

  “Just some yelling. But that was days ago.”

  “Yelling?” I wanted to turn and face him but had to keep my eyes on the road. “Who was yelling? Employees from your father’s winery?”

  “Nope. Guys who dressed like my principal.”

  “Businessmen? In suits?”

  “One was. I only got a quick look before I took off.”

  “What about the other man? What did he look like?”

  “A white shirt and black pants. Boring.”

  “What else did they look like? Tall? Short? Heavy? White? Black? Asian?”

  “No one was fat if that’s what you meant, and they were white guys. But I didn’t get a good look at their faces.”

  Then Stuart poked Eli. “Hey, maybe one of them was your principal.”

  “Doofus. Was not.”

  I am never having children.

  “Do you know what they were yelling about?”

  “Yeah. Some dude named Marshall Faash and a partner who was supposed to keep quiet.”

  “A silent partner?”

  Eli gave me the eye roll. “That’s what I said.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Coca-Cola”

  “Never mind. If the deputy asks, tell him what you heard and saw. Don’t add anything else.”

  A collective “geez” was the last thing Theo and I heard from the backseat until I pulled up the long driveway that led to the production building. “This is the place, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Eli replied. “It’s where they bottle the wine and store it.”

  Only one car was parked out front and I assumed it was Henry’s. That, or it belonged to one of the workers. I pulled up next to it and turned off the engine. “Try not to get your parents upset,” I said to Eli as we walked toward the building. Then I heard voices. Loud voices. “Um, on second thought, they may already be upset. I think that’s them.”