by J. C. Eaton
“Um, so that’s it? You got sideswiped off the road?”
“I could’ve been killed! In case you haven’t looked outside, we’ve had a lousy wet snow for hours before the real stuff kicked in. That and the winds turned the roads into death traps.”
Not that deadly as to cancel a trip to the outlet mall. “Lavettia, maybe whoever ran you off the road was a drunk driver or someone who was in a hurry to get home. Just because they took Route 318 and turned south doesn’t mean they were tailing you. Did you see their license plate? Or the make of the car?”
“My God! You sound just like the sheriff’s deputy. And no, all I saw were headlights.”
“At least you’re home safe and sound. Maybe you can revisit this with the sheriff’s office in the morning.”
“Revisit? There’s nothing to revisit. He told me to use caution when driving in inclement weather.”
In a way, I felt sorry for Lavettia. It must’ve been frightening for her, but I was convinced she had a propensity for overreacting. I was about to say something when I realized she hadn’t stopped talking.
“…like I’m not equipped to drive in the snow? I was driving in the snow when that deputy was still in diapers.”
“Um, yeah.”
“Drunk driver my you-know-what. I’ll tell you who was behind that wheel—Clayton LeVine. It had to be him. He knew I was going to the outlet mall. I was in Arnold’s office earlier in the day and I might’ve let it slip.”
Okay, Lavettia, now you’ve got my attention. “What were you doing in Arnold’s office?”
“Sometimes Arnold and I used his office for…well, shall we say, our afternoon delights or early evening—”
Ew! “I get it. I get it. But, um, er…Arnold’s gone now.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I went there to pick up a few of my things. A lady has to be discreet about her personal items.”
“Uh-huh. I still don’t understand why you called me.”
“My life is in danger and you’re the only one I trust. I think one of those two men is going to make an attempt on my life during the reading of the will.”
“That would be a tad difficult with all of us in the room. And besides, what gives you that idea in the first place?”
“I pulled the death card, La Morte, when I did a Tarot reading on myself a few days ago. Norrie, you simply have to put a stop to Arnold’s little charade or whatever that midnight reading of the will is supposed to be. Tell them your winery is booked for the night. Tell them you have roaches. Tell them anything but get his lawyer to read the damn will in the office like normal people.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that, but don’t worry. I honestly don’t believe you’ll be in any danger that night in our winery.”
What the hell am I saying? For all I know, Clayton LeVine could be a psychopathic killer and Miller Holtz could suffer from borderline personality disorder. Maybe Lavettia isn’t all that far off.
“First thing in the morning, I intend to buy a gris-gris,” she went on. “If Arnold had been wearing one of those talismans, he might still be alive today.”
For a second I wasn’t so sure it was Lavettia speaking. She sounded more like Glenda. And a gris-gris. Wasn’t that some New Orleans voodoo thing?
“Um, good,” I said. “Whatever you need to do.”
“All I want to do is claim my inheritance and move on with my life. And if that means acquiring Arnold’s business, so be it. Businesses are bought and sold every day.”
“Right. Well, I hope it works out for you.”
“What do you mean ‘hope’? Do you know something I don’t?”
“It’s after one, Lavettia. I’m not sure I know anything at this late hour.”
“Oh dear. I really did wake you, didn’t I? Well, I’ll be in touch.”
With that, the phone line went dead and I put the receiver back in its cradle. My mind was a jumble as I tried to get back to sleep. Gris-gris charms, Tarot cards, wet snow, mega sales at outlet malls, and drunk drivers all danced around my mind until I finally fell asleep. Then another call woke me—this time at the obscene hour of 8:49.
“Norrie, you sound groggy. Thought you’d be up by now.”
“Theo?”
“Who else? Listen, Don and I caught the news a few minutes ago. There were two smash-and-grabs at wineries on our side of the lake. Farther down, but still in Yates County. The owners discovered the damage this morning. And before you say anything, I’ll spare you the guesswork—all bottles of Pinot Noir that were set for distribution. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were looking for. The bottles weren’t out in the open in the sales areas. They were in the store rooms.”
“How many robberies or sabotage attempts does that make? And why haven’t those sheriff’s departments gotten anywhere?”
“I don’t have an answer for either of those questions. But I’ll tell you this much—whoever’s the culprit in this, they know exactly what they’re doing and frankly, I wouldn’t put it past Miller Holtz if he was behind the scheme. With Arnold out of the picture, and Miller poised to take the reins, well…at least according to Miller…he’d ensure a mighty nice profit on the sale of the Pinot Noir. Heck, we’ve got panicked customers already thinking there’s going to be a shortage.”
“Why Pinot Noir? Why pick that grape?” I asked.
“Because the yield is iffy enough without tampering.”
“What do you mean?”
“Aargh. One of these days I’m going to sign you up for a course in viniculture. Okay, here goes. It’s a really sensitive plant. And I do mean sensitive. It has issues with wind and frost, more than other varieties and if that isn’t enough, it’s really fussy about how it’s pruned.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yeah. And wait—I didn’t get to the best part. Pinot Noir has a really thin skin and that makes it downright susceptible to things like fungal diseases and bunch rot. And please don’t tell me you don’t know what bunch rot is.”
“Isn’t that what makes dessert wines?”
“Yeesh. No! That’s botrytis–the noble rot. Bunch rot turns the grapes grey and moldy.”
“Oh. I don’t know how you can keep this all in your head. And speaking of things in people’s heads, Lavettia is convinced someone’s trying to murder her. She woke me up from a sound sleep at one in the morning to tell me as much.”
“You? Why’d she call you?”
“She wants me to cancel that midnight reading of Arnold’s will. She’s convinced herself Miller and/or Clayton will try to kill her so they can inherit the money and the business.”
“I take it she doesn’t know about the nuns.”
“You’ve got that right. Far be it from me to be the one to mention it. She’s likely to go off on a rampage. Marvin Souza and Bradley Jamison can deal with it when the time comes. I’m sure they must have some experience with that sort of family drama.”
Theo laughed. “No one’s had that kind of experience. Trust me. Best you can do is sell tickets.”
“Very funny. Between you and me, I don’t think Lavettia has a thing to worry about regarding her life. Her future finances maybe, but not her life.”
“If you say so. Catch you later, Norrie. And make sure your alarm system is on at the winery. We’re not off the hook, yet.”
Terrific. In a little over a week, a cadre of unbalanced people would descend on our winery for the reading of a will that was penned by an even more unhinged person. If that wasn’t enough, an insidious plot to undermine the small Seneca Lake Wineries by gradually diminishing their supply of next year’s Pinot Noir was fast underway. I was desperate for an answer, but it would have to wait its turn.
It seemed, after all, that Lavettia had been right all along.
Chapter 17
Twenty-four hours later, Bradley Jamis
on called. At least I was awake, fully dressed, and in complete control of my faculties, thanks to a decent night’s sleep. I was savoring the last bite of a toasted English muffin with jam when my cell phone made that annoying buzz. I meant to change the ringtone but, like so many other miniscule things in my life, I forgot.
“Norrie? It’s Bradley. I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important, but I thought I’d better give you the news before you hear about it elsewhere.”
“News? What news?”
“Lavettia Lawrence was found dead in her condo this morning. The cleaning lady discovered the body when she let herself inside. When she called the Seneca County Sheriff’s Office and they showed up, they found our number. Believe it or not, they didn’t have far to search. Lavettia had it written on a small whiteboard in her kitchen next to her financial advisor’s information. No family members were listed, only professional contacts.”
Bradley was going on and on as if he was describing a soccer match. I hadn’t gotten beyond the first sentence. “Dead? Lavettia? Are you sure? Of course, you’re sure. What am I saying? Oh my God! Lavettia was convinced Miller Holtz, with or without Clayton LeVine’s help, was going to kill her.”
“Huh? When did all of that happen?”
“Two nights ago. She woke me up out of a sound sleep to tell me. Oh my God! Lavettia’s dead! I tossed it off and told her she was overreacting.”
“To what?”
“Someone tried to run her off the road during that mini snowstorm. She left the outlet mall after midnight. Pre-holiday sale and all that. Bradley, what else do you know? What happened?”
“The sheriff’s deputy didn’t go into too many details, but he told my boss it appeared as if Lavettia had been shot in the back of the neck. Same as Arnold. The cleaning lady found her slumped over the kitchen table. At first, she thought Lavettia might’ve fallen asleep, but then she saw the blood that had saturated into the sweater she was wearing.”
“Sweater? Not PJs or a robe? A sweater?”
“That’s what Marvin said. Why?”
“Because it’s nine o’clock now and Lavettia wasn’t an early riser. If she was wearing a sweater, then someone had to have killed her the day before or the night before. Did those deputies tell Marvin anything else?”
“Nothing about the body. You know how that goes. Until the coroner gives a report, it’s mums the word.”
“What about her condo? Did it look like a break-in? A struggle?”
“No sign of a struggle. Not even so much as an overturned glass.”
“You said the cleaning lady found Lavettia slumped over the kitchen table. Was it set up for two people? You know, two glasses, two plates…”
“Calm down, Norrie. I know what two means. And no, the table was empty and there were no signs Lavettia had been entertaining anyone.”
“What else do you know?” I was beginning to sound like a broken record. “What else did they tell Marvin?”
“Like I said, the sheriff’s deputy contacted us because our number was listed. They’re sending someone over here to question Marvin, but I doubt he’ll have a whole lot to tell them. All he knows is that Lavettia was Arnold’s Mowen’s girlfriend and a possible beneficiary to his estate.”
“I understand client privilege and all that, but Arnold’s dead. Lavettia too, for that matter. Come on, Marvin drew up Arnold’s will. It’s not a trade secret. Can’t you please tell me who’s about to inherit that whole kit and caboodle? It could be Lavettia’s killer.”
“Lavettia’s death hasn’t been ruled a homicide.”
“Good grief! You said she was shot in the back of the neck. What do you think happened? She reached behind her head with a gun and killed herself? It’s Lavettia we’re talking about, not a contortionist. Of course, she was murdered. Probably by the same lunatic who killed Arnold. Did anyone mention anything about the gun? I’ll bet it was a twenty-two, same as last time.”
“The coroner hasn’t even performed an autopsy. And, as for the forensics, I’m pretty certain the crime scene investigators are pouring over the evidence in her condo.”
“Fine. Fine. What about the other thing? Arnold’s beneficiary. Please don’t hold out on me.”
“I’m not. That’s the truth, Norrie. I really don’t know. Marvin drew up Arnold’s will and the memorandum that went with it. He hasn’t divulged a word to me or anyone else in this office, for that matter. Not even our secretary. Believe it or not, he handled all of the paperwork himself.”
“So, come midnight a few days from now, it’s anyone’s guess. Hey, what happens if it turns out Arnold left everything to Lavettia, then what?”
“Last wills and testaments usually stipulate a secondary beneficiary, should the primary beneficiary be deceased. It’s more cost efficient that way. People can’t keep going around writing and rewriting their wills, and they certainly can’t predict who’ll still be alive at the time of their own demise.”
“Makes sense, I suppose.”
“Arnold was a savvy businessman. He wasn’t about to risk having any portion of his estate go to our illustrious Empire State because there was no next of kin and a proper beneficiary wasn’t named.”
“This sounds really awful, but I take it Lavettia Lawrence is no longer a suspect in Arnold’s murder, huh?”
“Yep. Scratch that name off. Listen, once this debacle is over, what do you say we get together and go out again? Things have been so hectic, we’ve hardly had time together. If you don’t want to eat out, we can always take in a sappy holiday movie.”
“I’m game. Oh, one more thing. Did Marvin get the name of the cleaning woman?”
“I knew you’d ask. You’re worse than a bloodhound. And I mean that in the nicest way. Wish I had a name to give you, but I don’t. It wasn’t information that was shared with my boss. Listen, whoever committed these murders is dangerous. I don’t need to be telling you that. Let the Seneca and Yates County sheriffs do their business. I’ll see you for the reading of the will. Come hell or high water.”
“Sure you don’t mean rain or snow?”
“Yeah, that too.”
When the call ended, my stomach felt as if a lead sinker had landed on it and had no intention of leaving. I felt awful. Way beyond anything physical. I hadn’t taken Lavettia’s call seriously and now she was dead. I looked at the clock on the microwave—9:14 a.m. Too early for Cammy to be in the tasting room, but not too early for Theo and Don to be at the Grey Egret.
My finger tapped out their number in record time, and I began to babble the second Theo answered. “Lavettia Lawrence is dead. Probably murdered in her condo. Bradley called.”
“Whoa! What? Slow down and try to be coherent.”
“This is as coherent as I can get, Theo. I poo-pooed a person who told me she was in danger of being killed and then she was killed. I should have believed her.”
“Even if you believed her, there was nothing you could’ve done. You said she called the sheriff’s department about that road incident. What more could’ve been done? Slow down and tell me what Bradley told you.”
I took a breath and reiterated what little I’d gleaned from my brief conversation with Bradley Jamison. “Whoever murdered Lavettia had to believe she was going to inherit Lake-to-Lake Wine Distributors and everything that went along with it. Most likely we’re looking at the second or third person on the totem pole. What do you think? Miller or Clayton? Somehow, I can’t bring myself to name those nuns, but they’re players, too.”
“No kidding. Look, I don’t know much about Clayton, but Miller’s sure been acting like the Big Kahuna.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don had to run a few errands in Penn Yan and stopped by the liquor store to see if our wines were moving. Curiosity, really. Anyway, the owner told him Miller had been in not too long before and said there’d be som
e changes when the business officially became his.”
“Really? Does Deputy Hickman know about this?”
“Don made it a point to relay that information.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Deputy Hickman spouted off about people putting horses before carts and told Don the sheriff’s department had a good handle on the investigation. I imagine he was referring to Miller.”
“Hmm, I have two possible leads to follow and neither is going to be easy. I need to find out who Lavettia’s cleaning lady is, and I’m dying to learn how the Sisters of the Holy Sepulcher were able to pay an architectural firm to draw up the blueprints for their new residence and school.”
“Architectural firm? What did I miss?”
“Yikes—the boxelders or were they stinkbugs?”
“Huh?”
It took me five minutes to relay everything that happened during my “field trip” with Godfrey and Alex.
“I think I have a way to get what I need from AMA. That’s Aiden McGovern Architects in Syracuse. When Penn Yan had that school building project years ago, they got bids from three different firms. It was a major big deal with lots of community meetings. Each firm gave a presentation that included a rough sketch proposal of what they had in mind. Ultimately, the school board selected the company they wanted and entered into a contract.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to—”
“Call and tell them we’re considering a substantial building project for our winery and find out what it entails to have architectural plans drawn up. Somehow I’ll reference the Convent of the Holy Sepulcher and see if I can wheedle an answer from them about how those nuns were able to fund their detailed designs.”
“Hold up a second, will you. Just because an architectural firm did business with a school or a convent doesn’t mean they’re familiar with wineries. Those companies stick to their specialties. You’ve got commercial, industrial, and institutional. AMA might not have any idea about building or renovating a winery. Maybe focusing on your second lead might be the better choice—the cleaning woman. If that doesn’t pan out, then circle back.”