From Port to Rigor Morte

by J. C. Eaton

  “That’s why you don’t mix business with pleasure. Always leaves a bad taste in someone’s mouth and they tend to get even.”

  “You think she’s the one responsible for his death?”

  The bartender looked around and shook his head. “No, she got even another way. I shouldn’t be telling you this but it’s no secret around here—she’s the one backing the new business. And to be clear, that was done long before Brewer turned up dead. Anyway, there’s enough need for more than one of those businesses.”

  “Would you mind giving me the name of the new cooperative? We’ll pass it along.”

  “Sure. It’s Kelsey Arnet. Hang on, I think your food’s about to come out.”

  When the bartender left, Theo gave me a nudge. “Not bad for an amateur sleuth.”

  “Okay. So Barbara’s obviously the ‘not anymore’ silent partner in Kelsey’s new operation, and according to the bartender, who, by the way, we should really tip well, she did it to get even with Brewer. I sort of threw it out there and voilà!”

  “You threw it out there, all right, but we thought she was a silent partner for Frank and Boyd. And their blackmail scheme about the wine. That would have explained what Eli and Stuart overheard.”

  “Maybe the woman’s a dabbler in more than one unscrupulous enterprise. You know. Like investments. People don’t just invest in one thing. Geez, I sincerely hope Grizzly Gary tracked her down. I made sure to tell him she was the owner of that rental house. For all we know, it could have been her car that Eli and Stuart jumped into. Those kids are on the small side. Really easy to duck down behind the driver and passenger seats.”

  “Wouldn’t she know once she got home?”

  “Not if those two snuck in the house once she got inside her garage. I wouldn’t put anything past them. But there’s another problem.”

  “What?”

  “Melissa told me she lives in Canandaigua. That means Grizzly Gary will need to work with the Ontario County Sheriff’s Office and all that paperwork takes time.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “That we pay her a visit as well.”

  “Now? Late at night?”

  “We have no choice. The woman could turn out to be a psychopath and who knows what she might have done to Eli and Stuart.”

  “If you want my honest opinion, I think it would be more like O. Henry’s short story ‘The Ransom of Red Chief.’ She would have paid their parents to get them out of there.”

  “Come on. Say you’ll go with me. We’ll drop off Don’s meal and drive to Canandaigua. I can find her address on the internet.”

  “Fine. After we eat. I’m starving.”

  Had we known how large the plates of meatballs and spaghetti would be, Theo and I could have shared one. The aroma was mouthwatering and the first bite of a savory meatball all but had me drooling. “We need to come back here for food,” I said, “instead of the gossip.”

  A few minutes later the bartender returned to ask how everything was. We gave him a generous tip, grabbed Don’s dinner and took off. I let Theo drive my car so that I could google Barbara’s information and pull up an address. It matched up to what Melissa told me about Barbara relocating to a pricy condo development on Canandaigua Lake.

  “It’s a straight run on Routes 5 and 20 from Geneva to Canandaigua,” I said. “And her condo development is on West Lake Road just south of the city. Piece of cake.”

  “I’m not worried about finding the place. I’m worried about what we’re going to do once we get there.”

  “You’re the one who said to wing it.”

  “In a conversation with a bartender. Not a search-and-rescue operation.”

  “Don’t worry. There are two of us.”

  • • •

  Don made it pretty clear that if Theo and I weren’t back in two hours, give or take ten or fifteen minutes, he’d call the Yates and Ontario Counties Sheriff’s Offices. Naturally we assured him that if we weren’t going to make it back “by curfew” (Theo’s words), we’d call or text him.

  Not much traffic on Routes 5 and 20. We breezed into Canandaigua in less than forty minutes, the time it took for the hazy sunset to turn into dark. It was a quick two-mile jaunt down the lake to the West Gale Condo Village, where upscale structures gave new meaning to monthly rentals.

  The lighting was nothing less than spectacular with a combination of fancy pole lights, coach lights and strands of fairy lights for ambience. The development consisted of separate casitas with wide porches, two-car garages and perfectly manicured landscapes.

  With the exception of a woman with a small dog in tow, there was no one out and about.

  “Her house number is 1611,” I said to Theo. “It’s directly across from us and it’s an end unit. That’s good. We can park the car and sneak around.”

  “This isn’t Dresden. I wager everyone here has a security camera, and the development itself must have one that’s state of the art. Gee, I’m surprised the place isn’t gated.”

  “If it were gated, the residents would have to pay for their own street maintenance and snow removal. This way the city gets to do it. When my parents looked into condos in Myrtle Beach, they didn’t want anything gated for fear of hidden costs.”

  “Forget the gates. Looks like this community shelled out for motion sensor lighting. See that lady over there with the dog? Her path is getting illuminated as she’s walking. There’s no way around this, Barbara will see us approach no matter what.”

  “Unless we get her out of the house. Look, it’s after dark and I’ll bet anything she’s got an alarm system. If it’s like the one I have back home in Manhattan, it’s got a glass breaker or two. Those things are super-sensitive. Drop a damn plate and it goes off. I’ll bang on a window, and when the alarm goes off, which it will, you and I can say we were out for a walk, heard the commotion and came over to see what happened.”

  “I don’t know, Norrie. This isn’t exactly your best plan.”

  “Who cares? It’s not up for an Oscar. Let’s just do it. Once we knock on her door and she opens it, you distract her and keep her talking. I’ll get inside and see if there’s any evidence indicating the boys had been there.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to go to all that trouble.”

  “Why?”

  “Because her garage door is opening, and if I’m not mistaken, that black car a few yards away is about to pull inside.”

  “Quick! Make a K-turn, block her driveway and pretend my car stalled. Hurry.”

  Theo didn’t wait to be asked twice. He spun the car around like Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit before turning off the ignition. For a second, I wondered if my old Toyota would stall after all. Moments later the black car pulled up behind us and I got to meet Barbara Stanowicz face-to-face. She slammed the door to her car and approached ours.

  Up close and personal, she was even classier-looking than through those dirty garage windows in Dresden. Stylish gold earrings, short dark hair perfectly styled, beige three-quarter-length silk top and dark slacks. “What’s going on?” she asked. “One minute I’m about to pull into my garage and the next you pulled a three-point turn and blocked my driveway.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Theo said, “I was in hurry to get out of here when I remembered I left something at a friend’s house so I went to spin around and the car stalled out. It just needs a few minutes and I’ll start it up again. Happens all the time.”

  Then I took a breath and leaned toward the driver’s-side door where she stood. “Um, I know this is really intrusive and you don’t know me, but I swear I’m perfectly harmless. Would you mind terribly if I used your restroom? That quick spin-around thanks to my friend isn’t sitting too well with my bladder. I can show you my driver’s license if you’d like. And my library card.” Both with New York City as my residence. What am I thinking?

  Barbara looked at Theo, then back at me. I bit my lower lip and grimaced. “I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t an e
mergency. And I’ll leave my bag in the car. Hands free. Honest, I’m not a dangerous looney.” Only a desperate sleuth with few options left.

  “You don’t look like an assailant,” she said. “And I’ve certainly been in your position before. Follow me. We’ll go through the garage and utility room. The guest bathroom is the third door on your left, past my office and the guest bedroom. It’s a split-design house with the master bedroom and kitchen off to one side. And it’s one story, thank goodness. I’m done with staircases.”

  I got out of the car before she had a chance to change her mind. Then I mouthed to Theo, “Bingo!”

  Chapter 36

  Barbara’s house was armed and she deactivated the alarm system with a key fob before unlocking the door to her utility room and switching on the light. “Follow the corridor to the third door. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Recessed LED lights illuminated the hallway and the series of framed photos she had on her walls. Family, it seemed. A younger version of her with a boy in some snapshots who turned into a gawky-looking teen in others. I rushed to the bathroom, flushed the toilet and turned on the water in the sink. Then, with the door still closed, I darted in and out of the rooms on that side of the house.

  No sign that Eli or Stuart had been there. Not as much as an empty candy wrapper in one of the trash baskets. But one thing was for sure: they were right about Barbara’s perfume. It was noticeable the second she approached Theo’s car and it all but permeated her house.

  I raced back to the bathroom, shut off the water and meandered down to the kitchen. The master bedroom was to my right and I peered in. Sterile as could be. I glanced at the photos on the opposite wall from where I looked before. Other than two formal graduate photos of the boy in prior pictures, the remaining ones were mostly beach and lake scenes.

  Then I spied the one wall hanging that changed everything. It was a group photo of twenty or thirty preteen boys taken in front of a traditional New England school—one that I recognized immediately since I had driven past it numerous times. It was a Pittsford prep school, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was the one Emerson Boyd attended. Rosalee mentioned it at that WOW meeting a while back but I glossed over the details.

  In that split second, a zillion random thoughts bombarded me, and the one person who could piece them together was Rosalee herself. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, snapped a picture of the school boys along with another photo of young Barbara with the awkward teen and walked toward the kitchen. Barbara was on the phone and I held my breath as I listened to her side of the conversation.

  “Slow down. You’re garbling your words. I just got in the door. How did they—? I see. You drove to your lake house on the Bluff first. And you had no idea? Yes, I’ll call him. He’s on my payroll, so to speak. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.”

  She ended the call and nearly collided with me in the hall. I smiled and pointed to the wall. “Nice family photos. I should get going. Thanks again.”

  “Can you see your way out? I need to make a phone call.”

  “No problem. Have a good evening.”

  I left the same way we entered, through the utility room and out the garage. No sooner had I made it to her driveway than I heard the garage door close behind me. Theo started up the car and I dove into the passenger’s seat.

  I was so pumped and nervous, I didn’t get the words out until he exited Barbara’s condo development. “I overheard Barbara on the phone. If I’m right, I know where those boys are. But they may be in trouble if we don’t move fast. It was in front of us all the time. Give me a second. I have to call Rosalee to be sure.”

  “Huh? Rosalee? You’ll be waking her up from a dead sleep. Heck, she’s ornery as hell if you call her after eight.”

  “This can’t wait. I’ll put the call on speaker so you can hear.”

  The phone rang four times before Rosalee picked up, and I didn’t give her a chance to say anything before I spoke. “Rosalee, it’s Norrie. Sorry if I woke you but this is a matter of life and death. Or close to it. When we mentioned Emerson Boyd at WOW, you said you knew his mother. Said she was hoity-toity and that Boyd was her first husband’s last name.”

  “What’s that got to do with life and death?”

  “If it’s who I think she is, she may be responsible for the whereabouts of those missing boys. Not to mention Davis Brewer and Frank Liguori’s deaths. Do you know what her maiden name was?”

  “What the heck time is it? Is it after midnight? I don’t even remember what I ate for dinner, let alone someone’s maiden name. Is it that important?”

  “Yes!”

  “Call me back in ten minutes. It will take me that long to get my hat box down from the closet.”

  Theo poked my elbow as he drove. “Hat box? She may still be sleeping.”

  “She’s probably got old files and letters in hat boxes. Cheaper than springing for file cabinets. Must be a thing around here. Holy geez, I hope I’m right. I don’t want to say it out loud or I may jinx it.”

  I really need to distance myself from Zenora . . .

  I tapped on the console, fiddled with the AC and readjusted my seat belt a few times. “Has it been ten minutes yet? I’m calling her back.”

  “More like six or seven minutes. I’d wait if I were you. Don’t want to risk her falling off a chair or something. She’s not a spring chicken.”

  “No kidding.”

  Two more seat belt adjustments and I phoned Rosalee. This time she spoke before I could utter a word. “Nearly knocked myself over the head getting the damn thing down from the closet. It’s one of the places where I keep my old taxes. Give me a minute to root through it.”

  Theo opened his mouth and then bit down. Presumably not to laugh. I put a finger over my lips and moved the phone closer to him so we could catch Rosalee’s every word.

  “I always keep the letters from my accountant along with the tax information. This box goes back thirty-seven years.”

  “You don’t have to keep them longer than seven years.”

  “Who was that?” Rosalee sounded annoyed.

  “Theo. He’s with me. He’s driving my car. Long story.”

  “Harrumph. I’m still looking.”

  The crunchy sound of paper shuffling followed by a few “drats” and “damnits” finally came to a halt. “Here it is. From the office of Virgil Perimann, CPA. It’s a long laundry list of crapola I had to send their way—insurance verifications, utility bills, and who knows what. Anyway, here’s the information you wanted. It’s signed by his secretary, Barbara Stanowicz. Guess that was the last name before she suckered Boyd’s father into marrying her.”

  Rosalee went on and on for a few seconds, but once I heard the name Stanowicz, it was like slipping the jigsaw puzzle pieces in place without forcing them to bend.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Rosalee! A lifesaver! Now you can get back to sleep.”

  “Fat chance. The corgis all woke up and I need to let them out. Call me tomorrow if it turns out that she-witch is responsible for murder.”

  “Stanowicz. Did you hear that, Theo? Stanowicz. It was right under our eyes all along but we never made the connection. No wonder the guy freaked out when I pretended to be from an insurance company and said his passenger wanted to sue him. Yikes! It was his mother! I feel like a royal idiot. Look, I’ve got one more call to make and we’ll be all set. But first I think you’d better phone Don and tell him we’re going to be very, very late.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we need to find a house on the bluff. Barbara said Boyd went their first. Most likely our two rascals slipped out.”

  • • •

  Unlike the long, narrow lakes in the rest of the Finger Lakes, Keuka Lake is Y-shaped, and in the center of that Y is an amazing bluff that overlooks both sides of the lake. Homes on that bluff are definitely HGTV material and their owners tend to be Rochester CEOs, politicians, or hospital administrators. In this case, I was looking for the home
of a snarky wine publicist whose next abode could very well turn out to be a state-run prison.

  “I’ve got to call Stephanie,” I said, “and see if she can narrow down the location of Boyd’s lake house or we’ll be driving around all night.”

  “Not we’ll. I’ll be driving around all night while you spout off theories.”

  “This isn’t a theory. It’s the connection that puts all the players together. Listen for a minute. Barbara had an affair with Brewer and he dumped her so she wanted to get even. Revenge! One of the oldest motives going. So, what did she do?”

  “Uh, kill him in our neighbor’s vineyard and dump the body in the woods?”

  “Not quite. Although someone did. I think she got even by financing Kelsey Arnet’s new seasonal worker business. That’s what Eli overheard. Her revenge was to put Brewer out of business.”

  “Where does Boyd fit in? You think he was the one who killed Brewer for giving his mother the brush-off?”

  “No, not Boyd. Not that murder, anyway. Think back to the events. Catherine said her husband got into a heated argument with Brewer. He then upped the ante by picking up the phone and calling a competitor—Kelsey Arnet. Then he stormed out of the office and into one of the vineyards to cool off. Only Brewer followed him. But that wasn’t all. I believe Kelsey showed up and saw the men, still arguing in the vineyard. That argument turned ugly and Kelsey wound up killing Brewer.”

  “What about Catherine’s husband? Think he just stood there and watched?”

  “I think he left before any of that happened. And he certainly didn’t say anything to the sheriff’s deputies because he didn’t want his winery to be implicated in a homicide.”

  “Go on.”

  “Kelsey panicked and called Barbara, who in turn got her son Emerson to deal with the body. She had no choice. If Kelsey got arrested for murder, her money would have gone straight down the drain. So, Boyd and Kelsey had to roll the body out of the vineyard and get it in Boyd’s car. That would explain why Brewer looked as if he was an accident victim. No one noticed the stab wound at first.”