Death, Dismay and Rosé

by J. C. Eaton

  “Consider it a gift from the entomology department. We’ve got a stockpile. So, what did you mean about Vance’s notes?”

  I told him everything from Theo and me getting inside the Geneva Historical Society’s building to Deputy Hickman catching up with me. The whole time Alex’s eyes got wider and wider, and so did his smile.

  “Godfrey told me about you but I thought he was exaggerating. The campsites are at the other end of Kashong Point but I’ll see if my students and I can keep an eye out for the two guys fitting that description. Maybe during our breaks or something. Too bad you didn’t get a look at their car.”

  “By the time I got out of the water, they were long gone.”

  At that moment, the student with the tight blond curls and the wire-rimmed glasses ran over to us. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Bollinger,” she said, “but all of us got to talking and well, if your friend fell headfirst into the water, there’s a chance the Naegleria fowleri, or brain-eating amoeba, could have gone up her nostrils to her brain.”

  Thank you, Little Mary Sunshine, for that.

  “Um, I fell in feetfirst,” I said. “I’ll live. But, um, thanks for the heads-up.” As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.

  Alex tried not to laugh. “Tell everyone it’s okay, Larissa. I’ll be back in a few minutes. And the Naegleria fowleri are found in warm water lakes, not cold ones like Seneca.”

  The girl nodded a few times and took off.

  “Believe it or not,” Alex said, “she’s the most levelheaded of the group. That’s why it’s so important for me to demonstrate the correct protocols for a field study.”

  “How much longer will you be here?”

  “If all goes well we should finish up in a few days. Say, I heard the terrific news about Jason’s study. Imagine that—he’s one step closer to having his name on that new Haemagogus epithet.”

  “As long as he and my sister are back here before Bastille Day I don’t care where they put his name.”

  “You’re a good sport. Even if you deny it. Listen, I would feel horrible if anything happened to you, so let those two sheriff’s offices conduct their investigation. I’ll be okay. Today was a warning. You’re lucky those two men didn’t whop you over the head or worse.”

  “I think they wanted to give me a message, that’s all.”

  “Maybe this time. Be careful who you speak with.”

  Alex made a good point. There wasn’t anyone here at Kashong Point I could really trust as far as finding out what happened to that Karmann Ghia. But maybe I wasn’t looking in the right place.

  I thanked Alex again for the change of clothes and drove back to the house, where I threw my mud-soaked jeans and top into the wash. Charlie, who was in the side yard, followed me inside in lieu of using his doggie door and plopped himself on the kitchen floor, adjacent to the pantry door.

  “I’d better let Cammy know I’m back,” I said, “before she sends for the militia.”

  When I told her what had happened, I thought the line went dead. Finally she spoke. “I hope that teaches you a lesson. You could’ve been the next victim.”

  “Nah, I don’t think anyone’s after my old Toyota, although why they would want an old Karmann Ghia is beyond me. Anyway, I’ve decided to pick up my search from a different perspective.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Relax. I’m going to drop by the foreign auto dealers in the area to see if they have any classic Karmann Ghias for sale. And while I’m there, I’ll sort of snoop around. You know, see if they’ve got that yellow car stashed somewhere. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

  “I really hate to say this, but I think you’re better off having Glenda and that wacky Zenora do one of their séances to contact Vance and get his opinion.”

  “Very funny. I already did my homework on foreign auto dealers when I first saw that photo in Vance’s office. There are only three in the entire Finger Lakes—Watkins Glen, Geneva, and Ithaca. The farthest one is an hour from here. Big deal.”

  “It will be a big deal if it turns out you’re right and they’re on to you. At least hold off for a while. Until the official cause of death is determined. You could be wasting your time.”

  “Maybe. But cars don’t vanish overnight and people don’t get the breath sucked out of them while they sleep. My money’s on murder. Plain and simple.”

  Chapter 19

  My money may have been on murder but the headline that appeared in the Finger Lakes Times the following morning pointed directly to that stupid curse. It read “Two Witches Curse Looms as Investigation Stalls.”

  It went on to say that the preliminary toxicology screen did not yield any notable results, thus stymieing the coroner’s office while they wait for the in-depth analysis to be completed. I wondered if Deputy Hickman knew about that report yesterday when he showed up at my office with that search warrant. One would think he would have shared it with me as gratitude for giving him the password to Vance’s computer. Then again, not placing me under arrest was all the gratitude I was going to get.

  The remainder of the article reiterated what everyone knew by now—those two herb-concocting witches from our hill came up with a summer solstice curse because, heaven knows, things must’ve been awfully boring back in the early 1800s.

  I glanced at the article and was about to hand it to Lizzie at the cash register when something a few paragraphs down caught my eye. It was one sentence but it was one sentence too many. “The two witches curse is rumored to have a second part.” Oh, joy of joys. Now everyone knows.

  If that wasn’t enough to ruin my morning, it read, “Witch hunters, folklore aficionados, and curiosity seekers, now’s your time to find out for yourself.”

  Were these people insane? They all but invited every lunatic in Western New York to descend on our winery like locusts. Not to mention the Yates County Historical Society. Heck, I don’t think their budget can afford all those white gloves. And where’d they get the idea about the second half of the curse? Unless Gladys just had to tell someone.

  Curse or no curse, I was convinced Vance succumbed to a flesh-and-blood killer and that I needed to follow through with my original plan to find that car of his. Only I couldn’t do it alone. I needed someone to distract the salespeople and mechanics at those foreign auto dealers. That way I could sneak around the garage and bays without anyone noticing.

  True, I told myself I would never, under any circumstance, involve Stephanie Ipswich in my sleuthing after my last experience with her at the Albright Auditorium at Hobart and William Smith Colleges, but this time it was different. No one else had the looks, sex appeal and come-hither charm that she exuded. The woman was a virtual male magnet. Like Christy Brinkley at the height of her career, Stephanie could turn heads like nobody’s business. Maybe it was that back-length blond hair of hers. Or maybe those long shapely legs that made mine look like Mrs. Toad when I was standing next to her. It didn’t matter. Whatever she had, I needed.

  Wasting no time, I called Gable Hill Winery and asked for her. It was a little before ten and I knew she was bound to be working.

  “Hi, Norrie! What’s up? Everything okay? I mean, other than today’s headline and all that.”

  “Yeah, the ‘all that’ is my reason for this call. I need your help. At some point those deputy sheriffs are going to make an arrest in Vance Wexler’s death. True, it’s inconclusive right now, but trust me, they’ll find something and when they do, they’ll be after Madeline and a friend of mine from the Experiment Station.”

  “Not that nice Godfrey Klein?”

  “No, one of his coworkers. Another entomologist. Alex Bollinger. Dr. Bollinger. Long story. He’s on Kashong Point doing an insect study and he and Vance got into a major brouhaha when Vance showed up with a group of amateur arrowhead hunters and all but wreaked havoc on the insect study. So now, Alex has a motive for murder. And then there’s Madeline.”

  “Madeline has a motive for murder, too?”

  “Som
e snoopy, gossipy board member from the Geneva Historical Society overheard her threatening Vance.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Because I overheard the snoopy board member. Listen, Stephanie, we don’t have much time. I need you to go with me to three foreign automobile dealers in the Finger Lakes. Not far. Geneva, Ithaca, and Watkins Glen.”

  “I’m totally lost. You’d better slow down.”

  I took a deep breath and explained about the Karmann Ghia as well as my summer indoctrination into Seneca Lake.

  Stephanie all but shrilled her words. “And you want me to go with you into garages to find a killer?”

  “Well, not if you put it that way. What I’m trying to do is find that car. Whoever took it did it the night of Vance’s death, and that can only mean one thing as far as I’m concerned. Whoever took the car―”

  “I know. So what do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing that doesn’t come natural. I need you to chitchat with the salesmen or mechanics at these places while I sneak around to see if that car is stashed in one of their garages or bays. Use that hair-flipping move of yours.”

  “My gosh, Norrie, I’m not a femme fatale.”

  “You’re the closest one that I know.”

  “And what if it’s saleswomen and female mechanics? You of all people should be aware of gender equality.”

  “If that’s the case, improvise. Pretend you’re interested in buying a foreign car. Ask about the features. And speed. It’s always a big deal about speed when it comes to foreign cars.”

  “When did you say you wanted to do this?”

  “Tomorrow if possible. If not, Monday.”

  “Hmm. I can’t do it tomorrow. Even with my mother-in-law watching the boys, I have to work in the tasting room. But I can go with you on Monday as long as it’s between nine and two. My mother-in-law can only stay till two.”

  “Fine. I’ll pick you up at nine and we’ll start in Ithaca, then work our way back through Watkins Glen and then Geneva. Lunch is on me.”

  “Good. I’m picking someplace expensive.”

  Thanks to the Finger Lakes Times, the next two days saw more foot traffic in our tasting room than we usually have in late June and early July. That was the good part. The not-so-good part was the foot traffic in our vineyards. John Grishner nearly had a conniption fit.

  “I’m making up some signs that read Verboten,” he told me on Sunday. Vine-tromping tourists had compelled him to stop by on his day off. “If the signs work for Franz in the winery lab, then I can’t go wrong. Apparently no one seems to understand Keep out.”

  I stood with him at the midpoint of our hill and glanced at the vineyards. “I hope we didn’t have any damage to the vines.”

  “Not yet.”

  “What is it these tourists are looking for? Those witches have been dead for two centuries.”

  John took off his baseball cap and wiped his forehead with a bandana. “You don’t know?”

  “I’m clueless.”

  “They’re looking for the site of the house where those two women lived. The building was long gone by the time the property changed hands. The farmhouse your family owns isn’t it. Your house was built in the late eighteen hundreds and modernized when electricity was introduced to our area.”

  “Yeah, I knew that. But I have no idea where the original structure is, I mean was. Do you?”

  “Roughly. When the previous winery owners put in the first rows of vineyards they had to complete all sorts of soil analysis. Those results were included as part of the land sales. It’s not a definitive conclusion but, if you take a good look at the property to the far left of your house, you’ll notice that no vineyards were established there. The soil analysis had shown nutrient losses. Mainly nitrogen and phosphorous.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Those nutrients are lost during fires. That’s why there are so many protocols to follow after a forest fire if the land is going to be reused effectively.”

  “Forest fire? Our woods are way back.”

  Suddenly I realized what John was getting at and I nearly jumped out of my skin. “You mean to tell me that Adeliza and Derella’s house burned down? I always thought it had, well, you know, crumbled and fell apart over the years.”

  “It might have,” he said, “but the soil points to something else. If, indeed, that was the spot where their house was located.”

  “I wish I knew more about those two but there wasn’t all that much to go on in the Yates County archives at the historical society.”

  “Did you try looking at old survey maps?”

  I shook my head.

  “It might be a fun thing to do if you’ve got the time.”

  I wanted to tell him that the only fun thing I planned to do was track down a car that might have been stolen by a murderer but I decided to keep mum.

  “Um, thanks. It’s an idea.”

  As John headed back down the hill toward his truck, I had the strangest thought. What if someone deliberately set fire to that house? That would mean there were two other murders on our property. And while I didn’t have the time to find out, I knew someone who’d chomp at the bit to bring justice to a couple of old witches.

  Chapter 20

  Glenda was arranging wine bottles in our racks when I walked into the tasting room. With her hair tucked behind her ears, I got a good look at her latest earrings—dangling crystal balls that picked up the highlights from her pink and silver hair. She gave each wine bottle a quick wipe down with a cloth before setting it in its place. Behind her, Cammy, Sam, and Roger had customers at their tables while Lizzie was buried under a stack of papers up front.

  I walked over to Glenda and whispered, “What do you know about the two witches who used to live on our hill?”

  She put a bottle of Cauldron Caper on the rack and tapped her teeth. “Probably the same stuff you do, why? Is there really a second part to that curse? The Finger Lakes Times thinks so.”

  There was no reason to keep the information from Glenda so I told her what Gladys had told me. Then I explained what John had said about soil nutrients and a possible fire. Before I finished, she cut in. “Fire won’t destroy a curse. What were they thinking?”

  “Huh?” What did I miss?

  Glenda took a step back from the wine rack and looked directly at me. “People have the misguided notion that setting a witch on fire will end her curses. Is that what happened to the two witches on this hill? They were murdered?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I need you to find out. I mean, you’ve got all sorts of connections that, well, most of us don’t.”

  “Zenora told me you’d be seeking my help. Her premonitions are unequaled.”

  And vague, to say the least. For all she knows, I could be asking Glenda to wipe down the kitchen counter.

  “The Yates County Historical Society has anecdotal information in its archives but it’s not much. I also checked the Town of Benton records, too. Same deal. I don’t think you’ll find anything in the conventional places,” I said.

  “I never do. Hmm, if someone did indeed murder Adeliza and Derella, then their black cloud of death will linger over this hill for an eternity. Unless of course―”

  “Unless what? What?”

  Glenda took a breath and spoke in a slow, soft voice. “We expose the murderers and make them pay the price.”

  “Um, you do realize that whoever may or may not have killed the Marsten sisters has been dead himself or herself for over two centuries.”

  “Physically, yes, but not ephemerally.”

  Suddenly, all moisture had left my mouth and I wondered if I had made the right decision to ask for Glenda’s help. I pictured smudgings, séances, and hypnotic trances resulting in problems the likes of which this winery had never seen.

  “Begin with a paper search. Okay? Just the information. Then we can figure out how justice can best be served.”

  My God, that sounds like a line f
rom a bad Western.

  “You can trust me, Norrie. If those witches were murdered, I’ll find out.”

  With Glenda on the hunt to see if there was any validity to what John had told me, I was able to finalize my screenplay proposal and come up with a rough distraction scenario that Stephanie and I could put into play the next day. Needless to say, with the exception of picking Stephanie up at nine, nothing went as planned.

  Stephanie breezed out of her house the next morning wearing one of those long flowing summer dresses that clung to all of her best features. “Can we start in Geneva first and then take Routes 96A and 96 into Ithaca?” she asked. “I know you wanted to start in Ithaca but I really need to pick up Derek’s dry cleaning on Hamilton Street. The shop will be closed by the time we get back. It’ll only take a minute.”

  Her minute turned out to be fifteen. I waited in the car out front while I watched her through the window. Tilting her head back and laughing, flipping her hair, and waving her hand as if she was casting a spell. The man behind the counter certainly got the full Stephanie Ipswich treatment. I only prayed she’d pull off half as good a job at those car dealers.

  When she finally got in the car and we hung Derek’s shirts over the backseat, I headed to Geneva Auto Sports on Routes 5 & 20. They specialized in European models including Porsche, Bentley, Audi, and BMW, as well as other unnamed vintage European cars. I figured that had to include Volkswagens.

  The dealership resembled an oversized Swiss chalet complete with showroom, a bank of ten bays and a separate body shop and collision center. The new car inventory was housed directly in front of the main building, and unlike the tacky parking lots with balloons and air-filled floaties that waved, this one was tastefully decorated with sculpted trees and bushes.

  Thankfully, most of the bays were wide open and the ones that were closed had large glass-paned windows, so looking inside wouldn’t pose a problem. I parked directly in front of the main building and waited for Stephanie to go inside before making my move to check out the bays.