by J. C. Eaton
“No worries. I checked with the WOW ladies and it’s summer blends. Plus, our rosé isn’t even bottled yet.”
“Good. Because last thing we need is another dead body.”
Glenda was right about Zenora doing all the legwork. I really did owe her, but how I would repay her was anyone’s guess. The woman had bizarre eating habits, so that left out most foods. In addition, she had an equally strange aversion to certain plants and flowers. So much for a nice bouquet.
I stood and rubbed my forehead for a minute before venturing out to the tasting room. No wonder Cammy knocked on the door. All the tables were full and at least six or seven new customers came through the door. For the next two hours, I went from table to table providing relief for our employees so they could grab lunch or take a break.
By a little after one, I moseyed to the bistro and had Fred make me a tuna on rye with extra dill. Our part-time college students arrived shortly after and I took off, once again for the Yates County Historical Society. I hadn’t planned on an afternoon poring through their archives, but there was little else I could do to help Alex, or anyone else, for that matter.
It was a tedious and boring process and at one point I almost considered shelling out whatever monies it took to have ancestry.com or one of those places dig into Hestherlee’s family tree. It wasn’t as if all the Benton records were in one place. Oh, no. That would’ve been too easy. Instead, I had to sift through the civil records that recorded marriages performed by local clergy.
At a quarter to five, the docent tapped me on my shoulder and informed me that the building would be closed in fifteen minutes. Her voice was low, and for the life of me I couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t as if anyone else was in the same basement room with me.
I turned my head and looked up. “What time do you open in the morning?”
“At nine. You’re welcome to resume your search at that time. In fact, I can lock those books in our safe and you can ask for them when you get here. That way there won’t be any time wasted with reshelving them, only to take them out again.”
“Um, that’s really nice of you, but can I just finish up? I’m almost done. Looks like these records only go as far as nineteen thirty-five.”
The docent leaned over my shoulder and looked. “All right. Another twenty minutes and that’s about it. I really do need to lock up. By the way, anything after that date is filed with the town clerk or under vital records with the U.S. government. Up until certain dates, certificates for birth, death and marriage are public information. Usually, but not always, for seventy-five years. It really depends upon the state.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“College study?”
“Family history.”
“I’m impressed. We don’t get many diehards in here. Those genealogy sites make it way too easy to pay the money to let someone else do the work.”
Oh, yeah.
I thanked her, finished up, and drove straight home. Charlie immediately pushed his dog dish toward me the second I got in the door.
“Yikes. I’m sorry, buddy. The day kind of crept away from me.” I immediately poured him a cup of kibble and then added an extra half cup. He devoured the meal in less time than it took me to pour it.
“You can have some of my eggs, too,” I said, reaching for a bowl. “I’m about as hungry as you are so these are getting beaten and microwaved.”
I added butter, provolone cheese, and some fake bacon bits to the mix and nuked my dinner, setting aside a heaping spoonful for the dog once it was done. I was so busy writing down names and dates from those old Benton records that I didn’t take the time to actually absorb what I had written. In fact, I hadn’t even looked at the email Glenda forwarded to me. All I remembered was that Zenora got as far as 1889 before tossing the ball in my court. Thankfully she was right about one thing, the Yates County Historical Society did have early marriage records for its Benton residents, but anything after the Great Depression was now part of the Town of Benton records, or worse yet, the federal government.
“I’d better set my alarm clock,” I said to Charlie. “If I can’t solve Vance’s murder, I can at least track down the last Crackstone.”
• • •
It was a noble plan for Friday, but not only couldn’t I solve Vance’s murder, I wasn’t able to track down the last Crackstone either. And believe me, I tried. At an ungodly hour of the morning—well, nine-ish, but still early—I drove to the Town of Benton office on the corner of Havens Corners and State Route 14. I was energized and ready to put a stop to the full moon solstice curse. When I left that building, I was worn out, defeated, and cranky. I got as far as 1950, when the records fanned out to a zillion other states because Hestherlee’s prodigy wasn’t about to live and die in the town of Benton.
Sure, if I was willing to cough up enough money, I probably could have located some of the surviving generations from the Mayflower, but who has those kinds of resources? Grumbling and miserable, I returned home to find my landline blinking and the dog shoving his food dish at me. It wasn’t even two in the afternoon but Charlie had picked up a habit that I hoped Francine wouldn’t notice. He had gotten used to being fed the minute I came through the door. Even if I left for only an hour or two.
“As soon as I listen to this message,” I told him, “I’m going over to the winery for a very late lunch.”
The dog chomped on his kibble, oblivious to anything I said. I pushed the Play button and groaned the second I heard Deputy Hickman’s voice.
“This is a courtesy call, Miss Ellington. The Schuyler County Sheriff’s Office sent someone to follow up on your observation. The staff at Glen Foreign Motors insisted there was no car housed in that barn, and in fact, told the deputy that the barn hadn’t been used in months. It was for excess storage. Nonetheless, they opened the barn, and indeed, it was empty. I repeat—empty. Devoid of any vehicles. And yes, before you have a tantrum, I do recall seeing that grainy photo you showed me of a car under a tarp. Unfortunately, it’s not enough evidence for a search warrant. No judge in his or her right mind would ever issue one. At this juncture, I daresay your so-called lead is a dead end. I suggest you concentrate on your paying job and leave it at that. Have a good day.”
Paying job? Leave it at that? He has got to be kidding.
I played the message a second time. Heaven knows why. It wasn’t as if it was about to change. Maybe I simply needed to have it sink in. And sink in, it did. I was doomed. Worse yet, so was Alex Bollinger.
The combination of having everything crash down on me coupled with intense hunger pangs made for a pounding headache. I took a Tylenol, gave Charlie a pat on the head, and walked directly to the winery.
Lizzie was on the phone with someone but Cammy spied me immediately. She had just stepped out of the kitchen with a tray of wineglasses. “Hey there! I need to catch up with you. Let me put these on Sam’s table and we can chat.”
“Meet me in the bistro,” I said. “I may die of starvation if I wait any longer.”
Four bites into a bacon, avocado, and tomato sandwich on sourdough bread, and it was safe for the general public to be near me. Cammy sat across from me and sipped on an iced coffee. “You look like hell. What’s going on?”
From the fiasco in Watkins Glen to my futile search for those miserable Crackstones, I relived every lousy moment I faced in the past few days. Not to mention the recent phone message I got from Grizzly Gary.
Cammy pulled her bun tighter and sighed. “Well, maybe this will cheer you up. It’s a list of attendees for the winemakers dinner. Madeline dropped it off this morning. I don’t know why she doesn’t use email.”
“I do. It gets her out of her winery so she can pick up the gossip in ours.”
“Actually, she was more on the giving end this time than the receiving end.”
I put down my sandwich and widened my eyes. “Spill it.”
Chapter 33
Cammy crossed her arms and plopped both el
bows on the table. “Here goes. In no particular order. Madeline’s certain Stephanie is buying a new Mercedes because her tasting room manager, who was off the other day, spotted her taking a test drive in Geneva. He was certain it was Stephanie on the road because, and I quote, ‘Not many women can exude that much sex appeal from a distance.’ Shall I continue?”
I wanted to heave. “Sure. Might as well. And she’s not buying a new high-priced car. We were on a reconnaissance mission. She just took it a bit further than planned.”
Cammy’s laugh was louder than usual. “I’ll bet. Listen, Madeline contracted out to have her porch extended and found out from the contractor that Vance took all sorts of payoffs to look the other way. The contractor told her it was too bad she didn’t contact him in the first place. He would have saved her some grief.”
“Payoffs? That no good weasel. Oops. Rest his sorry soul. Hmm, no wonder he could afford a Porsche 911 engine. I wonder how many under-the-table deals it took that two-faced liar. Any other tidbits from Madeline?” I asked.
“Only to read the guest list. Something about high-profile attendees.”
“You mean fussbudgets, huh?”
“Fussbudgets with money. Other than the winemakers from our six wineries and the owners, I only recognized one of the Finger Lakes bank presidents and the editor from Wine and Vine magazine. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
She handed me the list and I glanced at the names. “Nope. No one I know. At least the winemakers dinner is Madeline’s concern. My mind is boggled as it is. I’ve got to figure out what those thieves did with Vance’s Karmann Ghia because Alex’s time is running out. All I know is that sometime between Wednesday night and Friday morning, they took it. But why? Unless someone tipped them off that Stephanie and I were interested in that particular vehicle and they got worried.”
“If what you say is true, Norrie, then it had to be someone from that dealership. From Glen Foreign Motors.”
“Yeah, but good luck proving it. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that a truck vanished right in front of my eyes.”
“Give it a break. You said you were on a curve and they moved fast. Either that or they used a toggle switch. Anyone who knows anything about cars will tell you that.”
“That’s what Theo said.”
Cammy sat straight up and looked directly at me. “They made themselves disappear with some fancy maneuvers because you were getting too close to their location. Think about it. They’ve stashed a valuable Porsche engine in that truck and now have to deliver it to an undisclosed location. You said it was right by the raceway, didn’t you?”
“There’s like a zillion barns around there.”
“Not a barn. A garage. A garage with all the fixings so that that spicy little engine can be dropped into another car.”
“Oh, my gosh. That’s exactly what I thought, too. Someone’s got a vintage Porsche that needs a new engine. And not just any engine. That super-fast RS two-point-seven. And it’s got to be ready for tomorrow’s qualifying race. Damn! If I can only track down that garage.”
“Forget the garage for a moment. You might have better luck tracking down the drivers who are registered for that race. I know the papers always print the preliminary entry lists for NASCAR and Xfinity, so maybe you can find the one for that vintage race online. And if you’re wondering how I know all of this, keep in mind, I’ve got a zillion male relatives who live for this kind of stuff.”
I reached in my pocket for my iPhone before Cammy finished her sentence. “What do I Google? Preliminary entry list along with the name of the race?”
“Yup.”
I felt a slight tremor in my hand as I posed the question for Safari. I wasn’t sure of the official name for the race, but vintage car race worked just fine. The screen pulled up a six-column list of driver names complete with their entry numbers, the organization sponsoring them, their crew chief, and the car manufacturer and year. It was as if the cloud of doom that had settled over me suddenly dissipated and I was back in business. “Holy cannoli! You were right!”
“You’re the Nancy Drew around here, not me. All I did was remind you we’re in the twenty-first century and everything’s online.”
“Not everything. I still have to track down that garage, but at least I’ve got a fighting chance. Looks like there are at least thirty or forty entries. I need to narrow them down by Porsche. Then figure out which ones are local. This should be a breeze compared to looking for Crackstone descendants. Which reminds me, has Glenda said anything to you today about what Zenora’s friend from Boston shared?”
“Good Lord. That widening circle of looney friends just keeps growing. Boston, huh? No, we’ve been so busy with customers and tastings, we haven’t had time to talk. Why? Is it important?”
“More like unnerving. Remember the second part of that curse? The partridge’s eye and all that?”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“Apparently, the damn curse will intensify until midnight. I know it’s probably hogwash, but it sure is creepy. I mean, really, really creepy.”
“Relax, Norrie. No one’s serving rosé.”
“No one that we know of.”
“I’ve got to get back to the tasting room. But before I go, please tell me that once you find out if there are any local Porsche drivers on that list, you don’t intend to pay them an unannounced visit. These are thieves and one of them could be a killer.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll come up with a plan.”
“Make it a written one.”
I swished the straw around in my Coke and thought about my next move. There was absolutely no way I was about to beg Don or Theo for another favor, but Godfrey Klein sure owed me big-time for sticking my neck out to save Alex. Without wasting a second, I pulled the iPhone from my pocket and dialed his office.
“Norrie—I planned on giving you a call. Really I did, but things around here have been crazy. I had to cover Alex’s field study until they could find a replacement. That meant a zillion schedule changes. Cassie was no help whatsoever, unless you count hand-wringing and sighing ‘Poor Dr. Bollinger’ every few minutes.”
“Yeesh.”
“That’s not the worst of it. Alex’s bail hearing was this morning. I know, I know. I should have called you but it doesn’t matter. Bail was set at five hundred thousand dollars. That’s half a million! Needless to say, Alex isn’t going anywhere.”
“That’s outrageous.”
“Not when you consider the charge—it’s first-degree murder. Alex’s legal counsel told him they’d be lucky if the charge got dropped to voluntary manslaughter.”
“Voluntary manslaughter? That charge should be dropped altogether!”
“Not according to the Yates County Sheriff’s Office.”
For a brief second I was stunned and momentarily forgot my real reason for calling Godfrey.
“Norrie, are you still on the line?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m here. Tell me, do you have any sort of official identification from the Experiment Station?”
“Of course. All employees do. Uh-oh. I don’t think I like where this is going.”
“You might change your mind when I point you in the direction of the real killer.”
“Don’t point me in that direction. Point the sheriff’s office. Yates or Ontario County. They’re working together on this since Kashong Point is in two counties. Take your pick which office.”
“I already did. That’s why I need your help.”
“Official identification, huh? Please don’t tell me I’m going to require legal counsel when this is done.”
“I hope not. Bradley’s in the Thousand Islands, and besides, he doesn’t handle what I’m about to propose.”
“Oh, crap!”
Chapter 34
I wasn’t exactly up-front with Godfrey when I mentioned pointing him in the direction of the killer. It sort of implied I knew who the killer was, when in fairness all I knew was that it had to be the
person responsible for stealing Vance’s car and swapping out the engine. But at least it was a start.
“All we need to do,” I said, “is drive to the Watkins Glen Raceway tomorrow morning before the qualifying races begin. You explain that we’re there on official business from the New York State Agricultural Department and flash them your ID.”
Godfrey’s voice was explosive. “What possible business is the entomology department going to have at a car race?”
“Not the race. The garage. Tell them the department was contacted by one of the race car drivers regarding airborne insects in the garage.”
“You mean flying insects. Although, I have seen that term used when it refers to insects that become airborne as the result of an external stimuli. Now, in the case of the dot echo study that involved nocturnally flying insects―”
“Good. Whatever that is, mention it when you show them your ID. Tell them it’s a serious concern for race car drivers should those insects get into the car’s interior, or worse yet, its engine.”
“No one in their right mind is going to believe that. They don’t have glass windows on those cars.”
“They’ll believe you if you sound authoritarian and assume a hostile resting face.”
“A what?”
“Just don’t smile.”
“I’m not smiling now.”
“Trust me. You can pull this off. We can pull this off. When they ask who the driver is, tell them it’s a Porsche driver. Although, I should have the name before I turn in for the night.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Fine. I don’t know but I’m working on it. I have impeccable resources.” Thank you, Safari.
“Norrie, even if I wanted to join you tomorrow for this wackadoodle plan of yours, I can’t. I’ve got to check on Alex’s replacement and finalize a series of reports for the department. And when I say reports, it’s not just the Swede midge study. It’s also the financial report. Do you have any idea how mentally taxing that is?”
“What about Sunday? Don’t tell me you’re working on Sunday. It’ll be cutting things close but I suppose it’s not like we have a choice.”