by J. C. Eaton
“No, one of the historical society volunteers did. Told everyone there was no outward sign of blood or a struggle, but the person didn’t pull back the covers to see if maybe Vance had been stabbed or shot.”
“Is the body still there?”
“No. It, I mean Vance, was placed on a gurney and loaded into the coroner’s van. Alex said he felt numb watching the whole thing. Look, I don’t know if they’ll let anyone near the scene but I’m hoping I can wield some clout and talk with Alex. Feel like taking a ride?”
I slammed my laptop shut and shoved Renee’s notes to the corner of the couch. “I’m ready to go. See you when you get here. Um, drive to the winery building. I’ll meet you out front.”
“On my way. Give me fifteen to twenty minutes.”
Charlie, who was asleep near the couch, looked up as I gathered Renee’s notes and stuck them under a large bowl on the kitchen table. “You’ve got plenty of fresh water and some more kibble. Be a good boy.”
With that, I grabbed my bag, locked the door behind me and literally power-walked my way down the hill to the winery. It wouldn’t open for another few minutes but cars were already in the parking lot. I took a deep breath, stepped inside, and took in the scene.
Cammy, Glenda, Sam, and Roger were all making minor adjustments to their tasting room tables and Lizzie was hunched over by the computer/cash register. Across the room, at the bistro, I could make out Fred and Emma behind the counter.
“Hey, Norrie,” Cammy shouted. “Looks like everyone survived the night.”
I walked toward her and in my softest voice possible replied, “Not everyone.”
Apparently my voice wasn’t soft enough because next thing I knew, Sam called out, “Don’t tell me the Two Witches curse returned for another season.”
In that instant, Glenda grabbed the table as if she was about to swoon but managed to steady herself instead. “What are you saying?”
“Vance Wexler from the Geneva Historical Society was found dead in his tent at Kashong Point. I’m going there now with Godfrey. He was the one who called me. Their department is conducting an insect study there.”
Sam scratched his head and chuckled. “And Godfrey thinks those bugs might have killed the guy?”
“Don’t be absurd. It was the solstice curse. The full moon solstice curse,” Glenda said. “Mark my words. There’ll be no sign of foul play. Zenora predicted this would happen. She’s very attuned to the occult.”
Wonderful. Let’s have the Yates County Sheriff’s Office add her to their payroll. “I’ll let you know what I find out. Meanwhile, don’t mention this to our guests.”
Who was I kidding? It’ll be all over social media before Godfrey and I even get down the driveway.
Chapter 8
I’d seen Kashong Point on busy days—picnics, parties, camp events, and even weddings. But I’d never seen it as harried and frenetic as it looked when Godfrey and I turned off of Route 14 and approached the circular drive that opened up to the area. Cars were parked everywhere and people were milling all about. I imagine the owners of the homes that faced the driveway weren’t all that thrilled with the traffic.
Godfrey continued past the driveway and down the road to the left where Alex’s field station was set up. It was adjacent to the shoreline and a few yards away from private residences according to Godfrey.
“Holy hell,” he said. “Look straight ahead. They’ve got everything cordoned off except for the lake itself.”
Sure enough, there was enough crime scene tape to stretch from here to Idaho. Just past the tape, at least two dozen people were moving about, forming small clusters that grew and then disappeared in seconds as the crowd shifted.
About twenty feet away I spied two Yates County Sheriff’s Office vehicles. Parked without the lights flashing. Godfrey pulled the car off to the side, carefully wedging it between two other cars that lined the road.
“I’m taking my chances,” he said, “and ducking under the tape. I need to find Alex. What’s the worst they can do to me? Tell me to go home?”
“Or arrest you for interfering with a crime scene. Been there before. Come on, let’s do it. There are so many people here, those deputies won’t know the difference.”
We moved quickly, skirting the crowd that had now shifted closer to the smaller tents that comprised the historical society’s campsite. At least I was fairly certain it was their campsite because Godfrey told me Alex’s crew was staying in a large, modern structure.
Just then, Godfrey caught sight of Alex and waved. “Over here!”
Within seconds, Alex charged toward us, pausing once to look behind. “I’m supposed to remain with my students and―” He pointed to a small group of people who were seated on some picnic benches and then reached his hand out to shake mine. “Godfrey drag you into this?”
I nodded. “I wouldn’t exactly call it dragging. I kind of have a vested interest.”
“Forget the vested interest for a minute,” Godfrey said. Then he faced Alex. “What’s with Cassie? I thought Arvin Pincus was the admin assistant for this project.”
Alex looked behind again and then turned back. “He was. Until he wound up with a bad case of poison oak from that spider mite study in Watkins Glen. He talked Cassie into taking his place.”
“Yeesh. I’ve never seen her outside the lab. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
“Yeah, including an unexplained death right under our noses. So help me, if they find he was stabbed, shot, or choked to death, I may be spending the night in the county lockup. Vance and I got into one doozy of an argument yesterday afternoon, and worse yet, we had a major verbal altercation last night. Everyone must have heard us.”
I brushed a strand of hair from my brow and stepped closer to Alex. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Tell that to Deputy Hickman. I gave him my preliminary statement, along with the rest of my crew. After that, we were directed to sit and wait while they question the members of Vance’s team and the other campers in the area who happened to pick the wrong weekend for a vacation.”
“Look, until they know anything substantial, it’s all speculation. Did you notify the department head?”
“I sent a text. It’s Saturday. He probably won’t read it until Monday morning. Maybe that’s just as well.”
“You’ve got an alibi. You were in your field tent all night with your crew.”
Alex shook his head. “Not much of an alibi. Everyone was sleeping. No one can say for certain if any of us snuck out and did away with Vance Wexler.”
I was about to say something when Deputy Hickman thundered across the open field and moved like a bulldozer in our direction. None of us were facing the area where the sheriff vehicles were parked so we didn’t see him coming. Not that it mattered. He saw us and that was enough.
The deep-set lines on his face, coupled with a steely look, were not a welcoming sight. “Miss Ellington! What are you doing at this crime scene?”
“I’m with the Cornell Entomology Department from the Experiment Station. They’re conducting a study on the Swedish Midget Fly.”
As soon as I said that, I thought Godfrey and Alex were going to choke, but that didn’t stop me. “Very detrimental to broccoli.”
The deputy rolled his eyes and turned to Godfrey. “And you are?”
“Dr. Godfrey Klein, entomologist. Dr. Bollinger is my colleague and I came to check on the field study. It’s a very sensitive study.” Then Godfrey looked around as if he was taking in the crime tape for the first time. “Dr. Bollinger isn’t in any sort of trouble, is he? I only just arrived.”
“If you must know, we’re investigating an unexplained death that occurred sometime last night, according to the coroner. But I suppose you’ve already been informed.” He stared directly at Alex. “We’ll know more once an autopsy’s been performed and toxicology results are in. Meantime, we’re questioning Dr. Bollinger and his crew, along with the victim’s associates.”
Then he looked directly at me. “If I didn’t know better, Miss Ellington, I would swear you have a sheriff’s scanner in your kitchen and one at your bedside. You seem to be drawn to crime scenes like moths to a candle.”
I swallowed and shrugged. “Dr. Klein works with my brother-in-law, Jason Keane, who’s still in Costa Rica, as you know.”
“Harrumph. Only too well.”
“If you don’t mind,” I asked, “you said ‘crime scene.’ Why is this a crime scene?”
Deputy Hickman stretched his arms back and for a minute I thought the buttons on his shirt would pop. “Unexplained deaths are always treated as such until lab results and medical history prove otherwise.” Then he rubbed his chin and sighed. “I know why you’re really here, Miss Ellington. Don’t think for one minute I’ve been living under a rock. Correct me if I’m wrong. Insect study or not, and heaven knows what that has to do with your winery, but nonetheless, as soon as you found out about this death, you couldn’t wait to pry.”
Then he shot looks at Alex and Godfrey and mumbled, “Everyone’s got a damn cell phone these days,” before turning back to me. “You came here to find out for yourself if the death we’re investigating has anything to do with that full moon solstice curse that emanated from your winery’s folklore. Does that about sum it up?”
“Well, to be honest—”
Just then, he looked past me toward the road. “Oh, hell’s bells!” he shouted. “This is all I need.”
I turned to face the circular drive and widened my eyes as Channel 13 WHAM’s van pulled directly up to the cordoned-off area. It was immediately followed by Channel 8’s van and Channel 10’s.
“Um, I guess we’d better get going,” I said, but Deputy Hickman didn’t hear me. He was already three or four yards in front of me charging toward those vans like a bull moose after a female in heat.
Godfrey gave Alex a tap on the shoulder and told him to “hang in there.” “They don’t know anything right now, so until they do, I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said. “By tonight, that historical society team will have taken down its tents and returned to Geneva. At least you’ll be able to conduct your study in peace.”
“Let’s hope so,” Alex said. “At least I got my chuckle for the day. Swedish Midget Flies. Good going, Norrie.”
I grimaced. “I was close, wasn’t I?”
Alex walked back to the bench, where his students and Cassie were waiting. I elbowed Godfrey and pointed to the road. “Looks like Deputy Hickman’s having a face-off with those reporters. Guess we’d better get out of here before one of them recognizes me from the winery and shoves a microphone in my face.”
“Good idea.”
• • •
“Keep me posted about Alex,” I said when Godfrey dropped me off in front of the winery. “I don’t think he has anything to worry about but you never know. Maybe Vance had some sort of a medical condition and that’s why he died in his sleep. If he died in his sleep. Guess we really don’t know that either. But one thing I do know, those TV stations want viewers and nothing brings them in like an old death curse.”
The minute I stepped foot in the door, I was besieged with questions. Unfortunately, they were all flung at me in the form of hushed whispers as I passed by the tasting room tables on my way to the bistro to grab something to eat.
“How did he die?”
“Was anyone arrested?”
“Did you see the body?”
“Don’t know, no, and no,” I managed to whisper back. I didn’t want the customers, who were engrossed in wine tasting, to lose interest.
When I had taken my last bite of the brisket on brioche bun, I pulled Cammy aside and gave her the rundown. I would have shared the info with Fred and Emma but the bistro was packed.
“I ran into Deputy Hickman when we got there,” I told her. “They don’t have a clue what happened, but according to the scuttlebutt, there was no visible blood or signs of a struggle. Of course, Vance had a blanket on him so if he was shot or stabbed, only the coroner would know.”
Cammy pulled on the dark green ribbon that secured her bun. “It won’t matter. A man was found dead on the night of the full moon summer solstice. If that’s not enough to get the rumors flying, nothing will.”
“Oh, it’ll be more than rumors. Three news vans were on the scene.”
“Look on the bright side. Maybe we’ll sell more Two Witches T-shirts.”
Chapter 9
By six ten, every TV station in the Greater Rochester and Syracuse areas had homed in on “the spooky death of Geneva Historical Society’s president.” It didn’t matter that the forensic report hadn’t been issued, the postmortem kept under lock and key, and the toxicology report in limbo for the next two weeks. What mattered was attracting viewers, and nothing lured them in like the premise of a suspicious death with paranormal overtones.
Truth is, I expected as much from those reporters. Bradley all but said the same thing when I spoke with him earlier in the afternoon. “It’s all about ratings. Once an official determination about the cause of death has been made, it will die down.”
“Maybe the cause of death, but not the suspects if it was foul play. Face it, those deputies take the easy way out, and what’s easier than pointing a finger at Alex Bollinger. He certainly had the opportunity. Not to mention motive. Vance’s team of lakeshore-tromping amateur archeologists were wreaking havoc on his insect study. And as for means, if Vance was a sound sleeper it wouldn’t have been all that difficult to suffocate him with a pillow.”
“Hmm, now that you mention it, Alex really should seek legal counsel. I’m sure the Experiment Station has someone on retainer.”
“There’s also Madeline Martinez. She sort of made a veiled threat to Vance regarding his denial of their porch expansion. Who the heck knows if that bugger didn’t write it down somewhere. Along with every other threat he’s gotten as a result of his obtuse attitude regarding improvements to homes in the historical district.”
“I’m sure the Yates County Sheriff’s Office will look into it along with Ontario’s since Vance was employed in Geneva.”
“Oh, they’ll look into it all right, but the little ball on the roulette wheel is headed straight for Alex and I can’t sit back and twiddle my thumbs.”
“Uh, what exactly did you have in mind?”
“Only the usual snooping around. Relax. Nothing that would violate state or federal laws. I got all my edits done on that screenplay, so until it comes bouncing back from the script analyst, I’ve got some time to look into Vance’s unfortunate demise.”
“Be careful. I don’t want to be looking into your unfortunate demise. Okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So we’re still on for dinner next weekend?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it. And this time it will just be a table for two.”
When the news anchors finally finished their bantering about Vance Wexler, I called Theo and Don, hoping they had finished up at their winery and had gone home for the night.
Sure enough, Theo picked up. “Hey, Norrie, talk about good timing. Don and I just got in the door. Got your earlier text about Vance but we were too busy in the tasting room to get back to you. I imagine it was quite the scene at Kashong Point given all those emergency response vehicles.”
“Listen, I wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t think it was really, really important. I need you to reprise your role as one of the Hardy Boys. Take your pick.”
“Uh-oh. I’m afraid to ask.”
“One of Jason and Godfrey’s coworkers, Alex Bollinger, might be taken in as a suspect. A bunch of historical society amateurs were collecting arrowheads at Kashong Point and interfering with Alex’s field study on some sort of crane fly. He and Vance got into a big brouhaha that everyone overheard. Next morning Vance is dead in his tent.”
“Yeesh. I see where this is going. What is it exactly that you want me to do?”
“Alex wasn’t the only one who got into it with
Vance. Madeline did, too. I even overheard her in his office when I went to check out those archives for nineteen forty-eight deaths. He gave her a hard time about her porch extension request and she kind of went ballistic on him.”
“Okay, okay, but what does this have to do with me? Or should I say my help?”
“Yeah, about that. Look, from what I’ve seen of Vance Wexler, the guy was a meticulous, prissy fussbudget who most likely kept track of every single dealing he had with the residents in the historical district. We’ve got to get our hands on his notes before the sheriff’s deputies do. It’s the only way we can find out if there were other, more viable, suspects than Alex or Madeline.”
“First off, wouldn’t the deputies be doing that? Second, and more importantly, how do you propose we accomplish that little feat?”
Just then I heard Don’s voice in the background. “What do you want me to nuke? The gnocchi and asparagus or the mushroom ravioli?”
“Whatever you want. Be right there!”
Then Theo was back on the phone. “Sorry, Don’s getting dinner on.”
“I know, I heard. Listen, I’ll wager Deputy Hickman and whatever crew of deputies he called in are still at Kashong Point interviewing campers and residents. By now they’ve finished up with the entomology crew and those amateur archeologists. In order for him to review Vance’s notes and check his computer, he would need to work with Ontario County’s Sheriff Office and they would need a warrant.”
“Oh, dear God, no. Do not tell me you want me to break into Vance’s office and steal his notes.”
“Not steal. Make copies with my iPhone.”
“But break in, right? It may be a misdemeanor but you can still go to jail.”
“A misdemeanor, huh? Not a felony? Hmm, that’s better than what I thought.”
“It’s only a felony if the breaking and entering resulted in burglary. Oh, for heaven’s sake. What am I saying? It’s all bad. Bad! Bad! Bad!”
“Theo, I’ll never live with myself if Alex gets arrested. Or Madeline gets pulled in on some trumped-up charges. Look, it’ll be light out for at least another hour and a half. The sun won’t set till almost nine. Once we’re inside, we can use a flashlight.”