by J. C. Eaton
I held my breath and waited while I heard what sounded like furniture being moved. Finally, Don spoke. “You may have a few valuable antiques down here but there’s no sign of life. Unless, of course, you count the spiders.”
“Yuck. I hate spiders,” I said. “No matter how many lectures Godfrey gives me about how helpful they are. Listen, grab some elderberry jam while you’re down there. It’s the least I can do.”
Theo leaned the baseball bat against the frame of the basement door and took a seat at the kitchen table. “You can relax. No one’s here.”
“Make sure the eye-latch on the top of the door is secured or the door will swing open. I’ve got to get it fixed one of these days. Along with the pantry door next to it. Nothing like an old farmhouse, huh?”
Theo glanced at the door. “It’s secure. They’re both secure.”
“I feel like an idiot,” I said. “But honestly, I had a very real feeling someone had been in the house. And Charlie never acts like that. He usually wolfs down his food, passes gas, and finds a place to sleep.”
“Gee, just like Don.”
“Very funny,” Don replied from the other side of the kitchen. He stood by the window and looked out. “That wet snow is really coming down. Too early for Neville. Unless it’s the opening act. Listen, we should get going. Tomorrow’s Friday and it’s usually a busy day, snowstorms or not.”
It was true. For some odd reason, whenever the newscasters predicted a snowstorm, people flocked to three places—supermarkets, gas stations, and wineries. If you were going to be cooped up in a house for days on end, they might as well be pleasurable.
I thanked Don and Theo and watched as their rear lights disappeared into the thick wet snow. Then I made myself a turkey and cheese sandwich, making sure to give Charlie his fair share.
Too wired to have another look-see at my screenplay, I turned on the TV and channel surfed until the late news came on. According to one of the anchors on Channel 8, “Investigators are still pouring through evidence in the murder of Canadian film director Devora Dobrowski.” Then, as if Two Witches and Gable Hill didn’t have enough notoriety, she went on to reiterate all the details and even flashed a map of the Seneca Lake Wine Trail on the screen with arrows pointing to our location. Heck, she might as well have helicoptered in the next wave of curiosity seekers as far as I was concerned.
“I suppose this will make Henry Speltmore happy,” I told Charlie. “But he doesn’t have to deal with the crazies.”
The dog looked up from the edge of the couch and went back to sleep. I flipped channels for another ten minutes before shutting off the TV and ambling up the stairs to bed with Charlie at my heels. When Don and Theo had left, I made sure the door was locked and even shoved a chair against it, even though I knew I was being ridiculous.
The combination of crummy weather and stress had given me a slight head cold, so when I crawled into bed and turned off the lights, I realized I needed a tissue for my nose. I fumbled for the drawer on my nightstand and dug around for the wad of tissues I kept there. No sense turning on the bedside lamp. By now, I knew the drill.
My hand felt the tissue but it also felt something thin and hard. Other than tissues, a roll of Tums, and a tube of hand cream, I didn’t have anything else in that drawer. I continued to feel the object against my fingertips but I was positive I was mistaken.
I pulled the small cord to the lamp, sat up and opened the drawer wider. Leaning over, I got a good look at the object and froze. The tips of my fingers began to shake, and next thing I knew the rest of my body followed suit. I told myself to get a grip and that there was a logical explanation for everything. Only, in this case, the logical explanation meant that someone had indeed been in my house.
Resting on a bed of wadded up facial tissues was a pair of wingtip tortoiseshell glasses with oval-shaped jeweled rims. The zircon stones (at least I thought they were zircon) flashed brilliantly under the bedside’s LED lamplight. If I wasn’t so panic-stricken, I might have admired them.
I shoved the drawer shut and took slow, deep breaths. It didn’t help. My hands shook and I swore my eye had developed a tic. The last time, and only time, I had seen those tortoiseshell wingtip glasses, they were on Devora Dobrowski’s face. It was when she made her grand entrance into Two Witches to complain about the noise.
Now, they were sitting in my nightstand, all but shouting, “Hey, Deputy Hickman, here’s some new evidence in the Dobrowski murder.”
Chapter 23
The thought that someone had been in my nightstand, let alone in my bedroom, was creepy as hell. The rational part of my brain insisted Devora’s killer was trying to frame me for her murder by planting evidence, while the irrational part of my brain conjured up more Tales from the Darkside than Glenda could ever come up with. Both scenarios were frightening.
“I can’t call Deputy Hickman,” I told Charlie. “He’ll think I’m making the whole thing up. No evidence of a break-in and yet Devora’s glasses wind up in my nightstand. He’ll think I concealed evidence and later regretted it so I came up with a ludicrous story to cover my butt.”
The dog lifted his head from the pillow on the opposite side of my bed and went back to sleep.
“Wake up, Charlie,” I said. “It’s time for a house inspection.”
This time I wasn’t as nervous as I was when I got home from Wegmans. Don, Theo, and I had already been through the place and no one was lurking about. Whoever left me that present was long gone. What I needed to find out was how they got into my house in the first place.
“Forget the second floor, dog. Our intruder isn’t Spiderman. And forget the basement. No one can fit through those narrow leaded windows. Heck, those windows were here before prohibition. That leaves the downstairs. What do you say we find out how someone got in?”
Had I been in the mood for a YouTube video, I would have filmed the dog as he got off the bed. He moved so slowly, as if to defy gravity.
“Come on, Charlie,” I whined. “This should only take a few minutes.”
The dog followed me downstairs, and even though I wasn’t exactly shaking in my boots, I still flipped on every light switch I passed. The front and kitchen doors weren’t tampered with and the dead-bolt locks were undisturbed. That left the windows. There were four of them in the living room and two in the kitchen. All were double hung with more than enough room for anyone in the “big and tall’ category to climb through.
None of the windows were opened and nothing around them had been disturbed. Still, someone found a way inside. I took a breath and began in the kitchen. My father had added sash locks to all of the windows when I was little. Apparently, whoever lived here before hadn’t felt the need to have locking windows. After finding Devora’s glasses, I wanted to replace those sash locks with the kind that are keyed. This isn’t Mayberry anymore.
Not only were the kitchen windows closed, they were firmly locked. Charlie and I walked into the living room and began our search clockwise from the left. Well, I began our search. Charlie hopped back on the couch and sprawled out.
The first two windows were sealed shut like the ones in the kitchen, but when I walked past the couch to the window facing the woods, the sash wasn’t secured in its place. It wasn’t obvious from a few feet away so it was no wonder Don, Theo, and I hadn’t noticed it at first. I stared at the window for what seemed like ages and then I remembered something. It was insignificant at the time but now, not so much.
It was at least two weeks ago. I was watching TV when Charlie cut loose with an odor that put a sewage processing plant to shame. I remembered getting off the couch and opening the window. What I didn’t remember was to lock it once I’d shut it after the odor dissipated. Whoever got into the house didn’t break and enter, they simply entered thanks to my carelessness. And Charlie’s penchant for passing gas.
To make matters worse, there were no obstructions in front of the window, unlike the others, which were behind small end tables or large ferns
. That meant I had made it easier for whoever snuck in. Heck, I might as well have posted a sign that read Sneak in here.
I immediately locked the window sash, because whoever got inside had no need to touch the mechanism. Then I stared at the window, not sure of what to do next. Finally, I checked the last window and found it to be locked like the other two in the room.
“It’s too dark and too wet to go outside and look for a clue,” I said to Charlie. “But that’s the first thing I intend to do as soon as I get up.”
The dog trotted behind me as I made my way upstairs for the second time that night. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that someone was setting me up. After tossing around in bed for at least an hour, I came to the conclusion that it had to be Devora’s killer and that he or she needed someone else to take the blame. Or worse yet, it was someone trying to protect the killer. Someone who was willing to break into a house at all costs. Either way, it was as unsettling as all get-up-and-go and I was stymied as to what my next move should be.
It was no wonder I had a fitful night’s sleep. Every little creak in the house, combined with the wind from Neville’s precursor, gave me the willies. When I was little, my parents told me it was the house settling. But honestly, how many years does a house need to settle?
• • •
The next morning I called Don and Theo, only to hear Don say, “You need to call Deputy Hickman. Explain about the window sash.”
Then Theo got on the phone. “Where are Devora’s glasses now?”
“In my nightstand. I may never open that drawer again. Let Francine deal with it when they come back from Costa Rica in June.”
“Ignoring something doesn’t make it go away.”
“Oh, yes, it does. Ask any of my old high school boyfriends.”
“Would you feel better if Don and I called him?”
“He’d only tell you it was secondhand information and if I had an issue, I should be the one to call the public safety building.”
“He’s right,” Theo said. “Call him. Someone was in your house planting evidence. Maybe the sheriff’s office can send a forensic team to dust for prints.”
“Okay, fine. But if Grizzly Gary brushes me off, Devora’s glasses stay right where they are.”
“He’s not going to give you the brush-off. Look, if that intruder was diabolical enough to plant Devora’s glasses in your nightstand, they’d have no qualms calling the sheriff’s office with a tip that you were concealing evidence. It could go as simple as them telling Hickman they overheard you talking about hiding the glasses until the transfer station opened for garbage drop-off.”
“Are you serious?”
Theo’s voice got louder. “Do the words search warrant mean anything to you?”
“Yeah. They’re right up there with the words bail money.”
“Call him. And let us know what happened.”
“Fine.”
In spite of the fact I had told Charlie I intended to check for clues when it got light out, I changed my mind. The snow had stopped but the ground was covered with enough of that thick, mushy stuff to make it impossible to find footprints in the once muddy area under the window. Ugh. I had no choice. It was Deputy Hickman or no one.
Gladys Pipp was off for the day, or at least I thought she was off when another woman answered the non-emergency line and connected me immediately to Deputy Hickman. Usually Gladys chitchats for a while and lets me know what kind of mood the deputy is in. The new woman threw me to the lions without a clue.
“There’s no easy way to explain this,” I said to Deputy Hickman, “but I seem to have come across the victim’s wingtip eyewear in my house.”
“You hadn’t mentioned Mrs. Dobrowski having been inside your house, Miss Ellington.”
“She wasn’t. Only her glasses.”
There was an inordinately long pause at the other end of the line, and for a minute I thought he’d hung up on me. “The glasses. Help me understand this. You found Mrs. Dobrowski’s glasses in your house.”
“Yes. In my nightstand. By the bed. Under some wadded-up tissues. I found them last night.”
“Let’s take a step back, Miss Ellington. Was there any sign of a break-in?”
“Not last night. I mean, I didn’t find a sign of a break-in last night and I had Don and Theo from the Grey Egret come over to check out the house with me.”
“I see. You called them when you discovered the glasses.”
“Um, no. At that point, I hadn’t discovered the glasses.”
“I’m quite confused. Why were the owners of the Grey Egret checking out your house if there was no sign of a break-in and you hadn’t yet found the glasses?”
“I went to Wegmans and took the dog with me. When I got back, it felt like someone had been in the house. The dog felt it, too. He sniffed the air.”
“Miss Ellington, dogs are constantly sniffing the air. And you said there was no sign of a forcible break-in?”
“Yes. No sign. Until late last night. After Don and Theo left, I rechecked the windows and one of them was unlocked. A living room window. Facing the back of the house. Maybe there are footprints under the snow. A good forensic team would know.”
“Miss Ellington, allow me to backtrack for a moment. Are you absolutely certain those glasses belonged to the victim? Maybe your sister owns a similar pair.”
“Francine? Bejeweled glasses? Not on your life. They’re Devora’s all right. She was wearing them when she came into our winery to complain about the noise during the first day of filming.”
“Hmm, according to my notes, that’s when you threatened her.”
“It wasn’t a threat. More like a retort. And I’m the one who’s feeling threatened. The dead woman’s eyewear was in my nightstand.”
“I have another call to make this morning. As soon as I’m done, I’ll stop by to pick up the glasses. Don’t touch them.”
“Will you be bringing a forensic team?”
“Miss Ellington, consider yourself lucky I’m not bringing a search warrant.”
Chapter 24
It was too early to mosey into the tasting room and spread my tale of woe to the staff so I made myself some toast while I waited it out for Deputy Hickman to arrive. I kept telling myself it’s a pair of glasses and not a murder confession, but I wondered how Grizzly Gary would interpret my find.
Too antsy for screenwriting, I tackled a project I should have done days ago—drawing up the suspect map. I wasn’t totally unfamiliar with the process, but this time I needed to approach it differently. I needed a way to visualize the connections among the suspects as well as some space for background information. That meant coming up with a graphic that looked more like a humungous analog clock rather than a whiteboard with my usual crisscross lines.
After mulling it over for a few minutes, I finally had an epiphany. Well, not exactly an epiphany, but an idea. If I were to tape construction paper over the large oval mirror in the guest bathroom, I could draw a stylized clock face with suspects instead of numbers. Counting the film crew and the actors, plus Gerard and Gordon, that would make eight. Plenty of room. And plenty of room for their side connections as well. Devora, of course, would be smack dab in the middle. My arrows would replace clock hands and I could color-code them as well according to what we knew and what we needed to know.
Without wasting a second, I dredged up sheets of construction paper from the pantry. Jason apparently used them for whatever the heck he did with his entomology work. With transparent tape and scissors, I had completed my bathroom masterpiece in a half hour. As far as guests were concerned, they didn’t need a mirror to wash and dry their hands.
One by one, I added the names, clockwise from the right—Stefan, Skylar, Mickey, Rikesh, Gavin, Priscilla, Gerard, and Gordon. Then I wrote Devora’s name in the center of my suspect clock.
Under each name, I wrote what Stephanie, Theo, and Cammy had found out. That was the easy part. Under Priscilla’s name, I added, “Petrifie
d Devora would ruin her career,” and under Gavin’s, “Threatened Devora having been blacklisted by her.” I only needed one word under Gerard’s—money.
Then I scribbled a secondary link. The first of many if Stephanie, Cammy, and Theo continued to dig. I wrote Bailey Wagner’s name under Devora’s with the note “Put her career on ice according to Priscilla,” and again under Mickey’s with the note, “Linked with Bailey on Facebook.” I also added an asterisk that read, “Small part in one of my screenplays.”
If nothing else, I was beginning to fill in the clock face. I paused for a moment, wondering whether or not to link Priscilla with Gordon since they appeared to be rather cozy both times they came into the winery, but I decided not to. Not yet anyway.
Just then I heard three loud raps on the door. For the life of me, I wondered why no one, especially our vineyard workers, ever used the bell. Granted, it was small and located to the left of the door instead of the right, but it was visible.
I knew it had to be Deputy Hickman and I immediately shut the bathroom light off and closed the door before racing to the kitchen to let him inside. The morose look on his face, coupled with the dismal gray sky, made for a most unwelcoming sight.
“Um, come on in,” I said. “Thanks for picking up the eyeglasses.”
“Thanks for picking up the eyeglasses?” I’m making it sound as if he stopped by to get the laundry.
Before he could answer, I added, “I know this seems preposterous. I mean, the eyeglasses in my nightstand and no real sign of a break-in except for an unlocked window. Please don’t think for a minute I had anything to do with Devora’s death and that I was withholding evidence. Why would I withhold it? If I killed her, I’d certainly dispose of those ugly wingtips and not call attention to myself. And then again, why would I have told Stephanie Ipswich there was a body in her pond if I was the one who put it there?”