by J. C. Eaton
“Things working out with the new director?” I asked.
“Hell, yeah. Priscilla’s not a basket case and Gavin doesn’t look as if he wants to knock someone’s teeth out.”
“Oh, before I forget, this is Gordon’s jacket. Can you get it to him? He left it at the winery. One of our bistro chefs said he and Priscilla had lunch at Two Witches but that the rest of you chowed down at the Penn Yan Diner.”
“We chowed down all right,” Rikesh said. He took the jacket from me and tucked it under the arm that held one of the metal cases. “I’ve never been to a diner where four or five eggs were the norm for omelets.”
I laughed. “Welcome to Penn Yan. I guess Gordon and Priscilla wanted some lighter fare, huh?”
“Not food,” Skylar said. “Conversation. At least that’s my take on the deal. She was the one who pulled him aside, whispered something, and next thing we knew, they decided to eat at your bistro. Hey, for all I know, maybe she needed another shoulder to cry on after getting the third degree the other day from your deputy.”
“Not my deputy. The county’s. And that wasn’t the third degree. That was the opening act.”
Rikesh turned to Skylar. “At least Gordon will be spared. He was in Vancouver at the time.”
I wouldn’t bet on it.
Chapter 19
Bradley picked me up a little before eight and we drove to the Stonecutter’s Tavern at Belhurst Castle, a sunken bar complete with lake view and fabulous pub-style food. No sooner were we seated at a corner table than I glanced toward the lake and spied none other than Priscilla with an arm draped over the “cuddly hunk” Cammy described.
“Shh! Don’t be obvious,” I whispered to Bradley. “That’s Priscilla, and it has to be Gordon Wable right next to her.”
“Um, do you think you should walk over and introduce yourself to him?”
“Are you kidding? Take a good look. They’re almost . . . almost . . . well, intimate. And that’s not all. Something fishy is going on. I didn’t get a chance to tell you sooner. He was supposed to fly in from Vancouver, but I found his boarding pass and guess what? The flight was from Toronto. No stopover from Vancouver.”
Bradley gave me a strange look and I proceeded to tell him about the jacket and how I found the chewed-up document in Charlie’s mouth.
“Tomorrow I intend to ask Gordon how his flight was and see if he squirms. Toronto’s only a five-hour drive from here. Six or seven at most if the weather’s a bear. Gordon could have easily driven here, committed the crime, and driven back. According to Renee, he was already done with the filming in British Columbia.”
“True, but what’s his motive? Getting to film the last scene of a TV romance? That’s hardly a motive in my book.”
“There had to be something else. I’m adding him to my suspect list and I’ll do a little internet digging.”
Bradley gave my wrist a pat. “I’m sure this is a long shot, but I’ll see if there’s anything that connects him to the Dobrowski divorce. That nightmare has tentacles everywhere. Makes a great case study, though.”
“Ew. You don’t suppose he was having an affair with Devora, do you?”
He laughed. “I’ll leave the speculating to you.”
Just then our waiter arrived and we ordered clam and corn chowders, blue crab in Gorgonzola and cognac fondue, and marinated jumbo tiger shrimp. True, it wasn’t Manhattan, but dining in the Finger Lakes certainly had its culinary advantages.
When the waiter left, I glanced at Priscilla and Gordon, who were still gazing into each other’s eyes. This is a screenplay that could write itself. Then I looked directly at Bradley. “There was a curious incident with Stefan yesterday. I saw him getting out of a black Mercedes. It was in front of the Ramada. I suppose you’ll want to know what I was doing there so here’s the CliffsNotes―Stefan didn’t show up in the morning for filming and Skylar was concerned. Then, when I spoke to Renee, she was really peeved that Stefan hadn’t returned her calls. She said it wasn’t like him and I had a horrible feeling something had happened to him.”
Bradley rubbed his temples, sighed, and leaned back. “Naturally you went to check it out.”
“Uh-huh. Got Housekeeping to let me in the room. No sign of him. Or anything incriminating, for that matter. Anyway, when I left and got back in my car, I saw the Mercedes pull up and bingo! Stefan got out, turned back to talk to the driver, and then went straight into the hotel.”
“You sure it was him?”
“Positive. But I couldn’t see the license because I only had a horizontal angle. So I followed the Mercedes and got the plate number. Canadian. Ontario province. It had to be Toronto. Plus, when I tailed the Mercedes, they were heading west on the thruway. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they were going back to Canada.”
“Geez, Norrie, what if they were dangerous and noticed you following them? Look, I understand you want to find out who killed Devora, but don’t take any risky chances. And as far as Stefan is concerned, he could have walked in on you while you were snooping around his room.”
“That part would’ve been easy. I’d have told him the truth—we thought he was in trouble. And he still might be. Who knows what business he had with whoever was in the Mercedes.”
“He’s not the only one.”
“What do you mean?”
Bradley rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. “Don’t discount Priscilla in all of this. She could have lied about losing that necklace. You yourself said there was some animosity between her and Devora.”
“There was animosity between Devora and everyone.”
“But Devora might have had a stranglehold on Priscilla’s career. Oops. Sorry about the bad choice of words.”
I bit my lower lip and looked directly at Bradley. “If you’re thinking Priscilla lured Devora to the pond under one guise or another, that’s impossible. According to the cameramen, Priscilla stormed off the location on the day in question and Gavin followed her.”
Bradley crinkled his nose. “Maybe those two were in cahoots.”
“Now who’s speculating?”
The waiter returned with our food and for the next half hour the only sounds we made were oohs and aahs, When the meal ended, Bradley paid the check and we drove back to my house. Once inside, I asked if he wanted anything to drink.
“Coffee will keep me up all night, and as much as I love the Two Witches wines, I need to get back on the road. I’ve got a full schedule tomorrow. If I settle down on your couch, I may never get up. At least we have the weekend to look forward to. Or am I being too presumptuous?”
“Be as presumptuous as you’d like.”
He planted a soft, warm kiss on my lips, which led to more of the same.
“The couch is more comfortable,” I said.
“I know. That’s why I’m headed to the door.”
One more kiss and it was good night.
“At least we’ve got jumbo shrimp if we want a midnight snack,” I said to Charlie as I locked the door. “I brought home leftovers.” I watched out the living room window as Bradley’s car made its way down our road and onto Route 14. Then I remembered something. The weekend might bring another guest. One I didn’t want to entertain. If Neville was as thick and slow-moving as the forecasters predicted, he’d be sure to overstay his welcome.
• • •
It wasn’t until the next day, Thursday, with the WOW meeting hanging over my head, that I finally got to meet the cuddly and perhaps not-so-honest Gordon Wable. It was barely nine. I was on my way back to my office with a steaming vanilla latte in my hand when he walked through the door and immediately approached me.
“You must be Norrie Ellington, one of our screenwriters and the proprietress of this winery. You look just like your photo.”
“My photo? What photo?” Does Renee have my photo?
“The one in today’s Finger Lakes Times. It got delivered to my room at the Ramada.”
Shockwaves surged through my
body and all I could think of was a giant headline that read, WINERY OWNER PERSON OF INTEREST IN POND MURDER.
“What did it say? Not the photo. The text.” I tried to sound calm but it was as if I was holding back a volcanic eruption.
“My apologies. I didn’t read the article. I merely looked at the photo of your latest event on this wine trail. Very interesting. Good way to encourage business. Whoever took the photo certainly showcased your winery. You’re standing behind a tasting table next to a tall dark-haired gentleman with round glasses. From the look of things, he was giving people an explanation about something. Wines, I presume.”
Or the French and Indian War.
The tension slowly left my body and I was able to take a breath without shaking. He had just described Roger, and I remembered seeing a few reporters drifting in and out of the tasting room that weekend.
I smiled and held out my hand. “Yes, I’m Norrie. You must be the new director. The one replacing—”
“Devora Dobrowski. Such a shock.” Then he shook my hand, not with one of those flimsy handshakes, or worse yet, a limp one, but a firm and strong grip that wasn’t crushing. “Gordon Wable.”
“Nice to meet you. Renee told me you’d be flying in from Vancouver to finish up the filming.”
“I’m always willing to step in if needed.”
“Um, uh, I take it you had a good flight. No jet lag.”
“None whatsoever. The trick is to stay hydrated.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Uh, how long were you in the air?” I opened my eyes wide and smiled, trying to look as if I was making small talk.
“About eight hours, not counting the brief stop in Chicago.”
This guy’s good. He even did his homework.
“I’ll bet you can’t wait to get back to Toronto. I know the film crew is anxious.”
“True. There’s nothing quite like sleeping in one’s own bed, eh?”
“Uh-huh. Um, were you aware the crew may be detained during the investigation?”
“Renee kept me apprised of everything. I can’t imagine anyone in our production company doing such a heinous thing and I certainly hope the culprit is brought to justice speedily.”
His words sounded like something from a TV script and I almost laughed. “Yeah. Me, too. Um, if you need anything, let me know. We’ll try our best to accommodate you. By the way, if you decide to have lunch here, I recommend the paninis.”
“Already tried one yesterday and you’re right.”
Just then, Priscilla approached, this time with the replacement necklace around her neck. She immediately took Gordon’s arm. “Gordon honey, be a dear and get me one of their large lattes. I need a morning pick-me-up before we film.” Then she smiled at me. “Nice to see you again, Norrie.”
“Well, I’d better get our drinks,” Gordon said. “Time is of the essence. Again, it was good meeting you, Norrie. Oh, and by the way, your security detail is doing a good job. Not bad-looking guys. We might be able to use them as extras if we film here again.”
Oh, dear God, bite your tongue. That’s all Cammy needs. Marc and Enzo in a movie. Oh, what am I saying? That’s the last thing I need—more filming here.
I didn’t have any further contact with the film crew the rest of day, and I wished the same could have been said for the folks at our WOW meeting. My mother was right. It was Seneca Lake’s version of gossip central and there was nothing I could do about it
Chapter 20
The WOW meeting at Billsburrow Winery was like watching a ball being batted around with no real destination. Madeline Martinez had set out the usual coffee and cookie spread on her enclosed porch, and once everyone had helped themselves to the refreshments, they immediately began to talk about Devora’s murder.
“That must have been awful for you, Stephanie,” Catherine said. “I can’t imagine finding a dead body floating in your pond.”
Rosalee Marbleton put her coffee cup on the end table next to her seat and squared her shoulders. “Well, I can. I found one by the lake not too long ago.”
“Your dog found it,” Madeline said. “And if I’m not mistaken, it wasn’t floating, it was just there.”
Theo glanced at me and rolled his eyes.
“Like I was saying,” Catherine continued, “you must be beside yourself.”
Stephanie broke off a tiny corner from her sugar cookie and nodded. “It’s been stressful, that’s for sure. Our employees were questioned as if they were seasoned criminals. And Derek’s really annoyed because the crime tape is still up around the pond. We’ve got planting to do. What are the vineyard guys supposed to do? They need access to the pond.”
Then Madeline looked at me. “What have you heard, Norrie? It was your film crew after all.”
I gulped. “Uh, not exactly mine, more like the production company that makes movies out of my screenplays.”
“A horse by any other name is still a horse,” Rosalee muttered. She shifted in her chair, her love handles scraping against the fabric.
“Okay, fine. My company. And no, I haven’t heard anything either. Our staff was grilled, too, along with the film production crew. They’re still camped out at the Ramada since their passports are under lock and key as per Deputy Hickman.”
“It had to be one of them,” Catherine said. “I mean, who else could it be? A word to the wise—all of us need to be vigilant about keeping our doors locked at night and our windows closed.”
Theo, who’d been quiet up until that moment, groaned. “Honestly, Catherine, I seriously doubt whoever murdered the movie director will be eyeing any of us.”
“You don’t know that for sure. We could have a maniacal killer in our midst.”
“If the Yates County Sheriff’s Office thought for one moment that that was the case, they’d be issuing warnings,” he said. “Heck, last year they issued a warning about package pirates stealing deliveries from FedEx and UPS. And the year before that, they issued a warning about bogus door-to-door salespeople. Frankly, whoever killed Devora Dobrowski had a motive. Now, can we please get on with our meeting? All of us need to get back to work.”
Madeline immediately reached for the small notebook on her coffee table and opened it. “Fine. We’ll begin with the Concord grape matter. It’s surprising but usually we hear from Henry Speltmore about things like this.”
“His fingers are probably recuperating after the last epic emails he sent regarding the wine and cheese event,” Stephanie said. “I’ve gotten to the point where I just gloss over them.”
The next three or four minutes were spent discussing Henry’s emails before Madeline got the group back on topic. “Back to the Concord grapes. As you all know, there’s been some talk about a major candy manufacturer buying up property in Geneva’s industrial park. If that comes to fruition, they’ll need grape juice and plenty of it.”
“I’m way ahead of you, Madeline,” Rosalee said. “Got our root stock ordered in November. I heard it was a done deal. One way or another, we’d be fools to let that opportunity pass. Concord grapes practically grow themselves and none of us will have any problem selling the juice. It won’t matter if the candy company buys the juice directly from us or from one of the companies we already do business with. They’ll be buying it. That’s all that matters.”
“And if that candy company deal turns out to be a rumor?” Theo asked.
I grabbed one of Madeline’s snickerdoodles and looked around the room. “We can always sell to the juice cooperatives. Look, none of us are talking about taking vineyards away from our current varieties, or actually producing grape wine, we’re merely talking about adding additional vineyards to our wineries. Small plots. That’s all. And it’s completely up to each of us if we want to do it. No one’s forcing us to do anything we don’t want to do.”
In retrospect, I never should have added that last sentence because it was like a boomerang, catapulting Catherine back to Devora’s murder.
“Maybe that’s what happened,
” she said. “Maybe the killer tried forcing the poor woman into doing something and when she refused, he strangled her.”
“We don’t know that it was a he,” I said. “And if you’d met Devora, you’d realize that if anyone was going to do the forcing, it would be her.”
Theo burst out laughing. “Norrie’s got a point. Now, if the victim were Priscilla McCoy, I might be inclined to agree with Catherine.”
“Are we talking grapes or murder?” Rosalee asked. “Because I’ve got a busy schedule.”
Madeline looked at her notebook and sighed. “We don’t really have anything pressing. Let’s share our experiences about the wine and cheese event in case we need to do something different next year.”
“I suggest we speak to Henry about moving the event to the last week of April, when we can be reasonably certain the weather will be cooperative. Have any of you listened to the forecast? We were lucky spring storm Neville held off until this weekend,” Catherine said. “There’s always one horrific spring storm in April, just when the crocuses and daffodils are coming up.”
Five more minutes relegated to wine and cheese and we were out of there. Stephanie grabbed my arm as I opened the door. “I thought that would never end. I’ve got to make a quick stop at home and I’ll be at your place in a few minutes.”
“Good,” I whispered. “If we don’t come up with something, Catherine’s maniacal killer rumor might go viral.”
Even though we had just finished munching on sugary cookies with assorted teas and coffee, I had arranged for Fred to put out some finger sandwiches and juice in our banquet room for our little data-sharing meeting. He also gathered five chairs in a cluster for us so we wouldn’t have to shout across the room.
Theo and I arrived within seconds of each other, followed by Stephanie a few minutes later. Cammy was finishing up with customers and mouthed, “I’ll be right in” when she spotted me.
“Like I said before, I thought that meeting would never end,” Stephanie said. She helped herself to some juice and took the smallest turkey and cranberry finger sandwich. “I think Catherine’s going off the deep end. Even I’m not that freaked out about the murder.”