by Sonia Parin
“I wish she’d gone the extra mile,” Eve mused.
“What was that?” Jill asked.
“Some people are so thorough, they prepare conversation starters to avoid uncomfortable silences and, in order to do that, they find out everything they can about their guests. You know, their interests or backgrounds. Something along the lines of, Mr. So-and-So enjoys collecting butterflies and belongs to a butterfly collector’s club or Mr. What’s-his-name ran a successful investment company, is now semi-retired and sits on several boards. If Florence had made such notes and kept them, we would know more about those guests.”
“Sorry, Eve. I’ve spent the last couple of hours trawling through the internet trying to find something on them. As you said, not everyone has an online presence.”
“Yes, but…”
“I know, I know,” Jill said. “There should have been some sort of mention. The guests are mostly over sixty and most likely retired. Fingers crossed David can come up with something.”
Eve shot to her feet and paced around the sitting room. “If worse comes to worst, we’ll have to contact them and the police is definitely not going to like that, but it’s the only way I can think of to flush something out.” At least, the detective had decided to take her theories into account. “If not blackmail, then what else could have been going on here?”
“I’m happy to go along with the blackmail theory,” Jill said. “Otherwise, why would someone hide a thumb drive with a photo of a dinner party? We’ve done well so far. Let’s stick with it and see if we can beat the police to the finish line.”
“I didn’t know you had such a competitive streak.”
Jill grinned. “I’ve been nurturing it and you should too. After all, you’re always at the receiving end of ridicule for getting mixed up with murder and mayhem.”
“Yes, well… I think I should make it a priority to steer clear of trouble.” Eve checked the time on her cell phone. Just after eleven. “What are you still doing up?”
“Your guests have only now gone up to bed. They’ve been pretending to play Clue all night, but I know better. I’m sure they were eavesdropping on my conversations with you.”
“You could tell them I’ve gone on a cruise and won’t be back until next month,” Eve suggested.
“If I knew that would send them away, I’d do it, but I suspect they’d stay put until you returned. I’m afraid they spent some time researching you and they know about your experience on a cruise.”
Great. She had a reputation to uphold. Eve yawned. “I won’t be keeping you up too late tonight. The wine we had at dinner has made me drowsy.”
“Drinking wine while there’s a killer on the loose? Not your wisest move, Eve.”
“I couldn’t help myself. You should see Florence’s cellar. I’ve worked in top restaurants with exemplary wine lists and, let me tell you, Florence’s cellar would give them a run for their money. She’s not much of a red wine drinker so I might be in luck and take some home with me, for a price, of course.”
“After all you’ve done for her?”
“I can’t expect her to give them to me for free. They’re pricey bottles.” She named a few off the top of her head.
“How much is pricey?”
Eve heard Jill tapping away at the laptop. “You’re about to tell me.”
“Oh, yes. Pricey. Who pays $100 for a bottle of wine?”
“I guess that must be one of the least expensive ones. Keep searching. The cost of some of those bottles will take your breath away.”
Jill scooped in an audible breath. “There’s an article online about a collector paying top dollar and finding the wine had gone off.”
“That’s always a risk. You don’t know what you get until you open the bottle and some serious collectors never do that. It all comes down to how the bottles are stored. I doubt Florence will have that problem. She has a custom-made cellar. We were there for only a few minutes and my teeth were chattering.”
“This looks interesting.” Jill hummed. “I found another article about recent auction results and the buyer’s name rang a bell. I just checked it against our list of ortolan diners.” Jill’s voice now filled with excitement. “He’s on it. It has to be him. Mitcham R. Bryson.” Jill’s breath came out in a loud whistle. “He purchased two cases of Montrachet at a staggering $105,000 each case.”
“Now we’re talking.” First, they’d have to confirm his identity and make sure the name really did match the guest. Eve’s lips parted. She swung around, took a step and stopped. “Montrachet. I mentioned seeing it in the cellar.”
“Yes. That’s why I looked it up.”
“How many cases did you say were auctioned?” Eve asked.
“Two. According to what I’m reading, the wine is extremely rare.”
Exactly. Mitcham R. Bryson had two cases and Eve had seen two cases in the cellar. Such rare wines were like Picasso paintings, rarely released for sale for fear they might flood the market. “And you’re sure Mitcham R. Bryson purchased them.”
“Yes. Give me a minute,” Jill said. “I’m guessing wine enthusiasts would still be talking about it.”
Yes, they would be.
“Okay, I skimmed through several articles. Sure enough, there have been ripples of excitement. It’s been years since this wine has come up for auction. One of the articles has a photo of Mitcham R. Bryson. He’s definitely our man.”
“I guess we need to find out how two cases of the same rare wine ended up in Bertie’s cellar.”
Jill laughed. “You want to play it safe? I’m happy to take a wild stab. Mitcham R. Bryson re-sold the cases to Bertie. Hang on. Now I’m thinking he was blackmailed into handing them over.”
Eve looked up at the ceiling. “And you’d like me to point an accusatory finger at Bertie Buchanan.”
“It would cut a few corners and get us closer to solving the case,” Jill said and appeared to stomp her feet.
“What was that?”
“I did a victory dance while sitting down. This is a lucky break. One might even say, it’s the missing link and it had been sitting right under your nose, assuming the cellar is actually under the house.”
“It is,” Eve confirmed. “David will have to call the detective and ask him to be on the lookout for payments to wine merchants. Hang on. Stew Woodridge was a wine merchant. Before we start pointing fingers, we should make sure Bertie didn’t pay for the cases of wine.”
“I bet there won’t be a paper trail.”
Eve had to agree with Jill. The detective wouldn’t find anything. Collecting her empty mug and a couple of glasses, Eve took them to the kitchen.
She heard Jill yawning. “Jill. You’ve done enough for today. Now you need to get to sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“If anything comes to me,” Jill said, “I’m going to call you back.”
“Yes, do that. I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight.” Eve disconnected the call and slipped her cell phone into her back pocket.
In the kitchen, she looked out the window and saw David pacing up and down. “He can’t possibly still be out there talking.” She washed the mug and put the glasses in the dishwasher. When she finished wiping down the kitchen bench-top, David strode in. “Busy night?”
He looked heavenward. “I’ve been on the phone with Ken McLain. He’s still at the office.”
“You were working the case with him? Did you get anywhere?”
He shook his head.
Eve smiled. “Well, I’ll have some news for him in the morning. Jill and I had a small breakthrough, which puts us ahead.”
“This isn’t a competition, Eve.” He held her gaze for a moment and then smiled. “Okay. So, it might be a little. How did I end up in the losing team?”
“You teamed up with the boys. You should have stuck with us girls.”
“Okay. Okay. What do you have?”
“Wine.”
He checked his watch. “It’s a bit late for me.”
“I wasn’t offering you wine. It’s what we found.” She told him about the expensive wine in the cellar and about one of the guests having the winning bid at auction.
“You think they’re the same cases of wine?”
“Wine like that is extremely rare.” Now they needed to figure out how it had ended up in Bertie’s cellar. “Maybe Bertie purchased it from Mitcham R. Bryson. I remember Florence saying he’d purchased some champagne from someone who needed some cash quickly.”
Again, David held her gaze for a moment. “Are you thinking the wine was extorted from Mitcham R. Bryson?”
“It’s a possibility.” And it put Bertie Buchanan at the top of the list of suspects. “As it is, there is some expensive wine in the cellar and I can’t wait until morning to find out if the detective has come across payments for it.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Florence said everything in this house is accounted for.” Eve yawned. “If there’s no trace of the money spent, then… my instinct would be to pay Mitcham R. Bryson a visit and ask to see his wine.”
They made their way to their respective bedrooms. Before going into his room, David turned and asked, “How did you ever come up with that?”
“One thing led to another and it helps to be observant and curious. Jill and I were talking, and then I happened to mention the wine I saw in the cellar and Jill took it upon herself to do some research online.” Eve tilted her head. “Isn’t that how the police find leads?”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “Whatever you’re doing seems to work. Keep it up.”
Eve settled into bed. Despite feeling sleepy, she couldn’t get to sleep.
If Mitcham R. Bryson had handed over $200,000 worth of wine to Bertie, what did Bertie have on him?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Eve brushed her hands across her face. Somehow, she’d have to get through the day on three hours of sleep. Her active mind had simply refused to switch off. Counting sheep hadn’t worked. When the sheep had turned into bottles of wine, she’d ended up spending half the night researching online, only to admit defeat and realize she really needed to leave that activity to Jill who always excelled at it.
“Here she is,” Mira said.
To her surprise, she found the detective sitting down to breakfast. To her even greater surprise, Florence had just set a platter of bacon and eggs on the table.
“What have I missed?” Eve asked as she poured herself a freshly brewed cup of coffee.
David smiled. “I’ve been telling Ken about the wine. He’ll be interviewing Mitcham R. Bryson today. We were about to go down to the cellar to see the cases of wine.”
Eve didn’t bother sitting down. “Well, come on.”
“Eve, breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Mira said. “Let the detective power up first.”
To his credit, Ken McLain rose to his feet. “Lead the way.”
They strode down the narrow staircase in silence. David brought up the rear but Mira and Florence stayed behind in the kitchen.
“David explained how you made the connection,” Ken McLain said.
“There’s a lot to be said for mindless chatter. I hope it pays off,” Eve murmured under her breath. As Jill would say, she had a reputation to uphold. Taking a sip of her coffee, she drew her cell phone out and saw there were two messages from Jill. “Watch your heads.” She pushed open the cellar door and searched for the light switch.
“This would be a great place for a poker game.”
Eve rolled her eyes. “If you can stand the chill.”
David rubbed his hands together. “I barely noticed it. I feel like a kid in a candy store. Look at all these bottles.”
Eve looked around and tried to remember where she’d seen the cases of expensive wine. There were a couple stacked up in one corner but they weren’t the ones she wanted. “I think they’re around the corner. The bottles are stored by blend and Florence said Bertie hadn’t had time to unpack the boxes. In the end, of course, he simply ran out of time.” Eve frowned. She couldn’t see the cases and she remembered seeing them next to the bottles of Shiraz.
“Do you remember the label?” David asked.
“Montrachet.” Eve pointed to the spot where she knew she’d seen the cases. “They were right here.”
“And now they’re not.” The detective looked around. “Did you mention finding the wine to anyone?”
“As David must have explained to you, it all came up in conversation last night. I did not deliberately set out to find a lead. Jill is the only one I shared the information with and she would not have told anyone. In fact, after our chat, she went straight to bed.”
They all turned to the doorway and strode toward it as if drawn by a magnet.
“I didn’t notice it coming down, but I’m guessing the back door to the house is next to the cellar entrance,” Ken McLain said.
Eve nodded while David shook his head and said, “I checked all the doors last night. In fact, I’d been outside talking with you, Ken. Then I came back in via the back door and locked it behind me.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Ken said.
They all went up the stairs. Sure enough, the back door remained locked.
“Two cases of wine have disappeared right under my nose.” Eve groaned.
The detective went around the house looking for signs of a break-in. When he finished, he met them back in the kitchen. “Nothing.”
“What’s happened?” Florence asked.
“Do you have an inventory of the wine in the cellar?” Eve asked.
“Sure do. I’ll get it for you.”
If the cases of wine were listed, that would at least prove she hadn’t imagined seeing them, but it would leave them with another problem to solve. How had the wine gone missing?
“Is the list up to date?” Eve asked as Florence set a large ledger down on the table.
“Of course, but nothing new has been added since Bertie’s passing.”
Eve searched for the wine. “Are you sure you listed everything?”
Florence put her hand to her chest. “Every bottle that came out of a case had to be listed, that’s the way Bertie liked to do it.”
“What about the cases themselves?”
Florence blinked a couple of times. “The wines are listed when the cases are opened, not before.”
Eve turned to the detective. “I know what I saw.”
* * *
“Why would he think you made it up?” Jill asked.
“The detective didn’t say that, but I could tell by the way he shook his head and I’m sure I saw the slightest hint of an eye-roll.” Eve tried the doorknob again. Locked. She knocked on the back door. Smiling at her, Mira let her in. “There’s definitely nothing wrong with the doorknob. I don’t understand. Someone must have broken-in during the night and taken the cases. But how?” All the doors and windows had been locked. Eve swung away and headed back to the kitchen saying, “Florence, please tell me you don’t have a key under the doormat.”
“Of course not. What sort of fool keeps a key under the doormat? That’s far too obvious. I keep mine in the statue.”
“What?” Eve rushed out to the garden and headed straight for the statue. The pretty maiden held a vase on her shoulder. Reluctant to put her hand inside it, Eve dragged an empty pot and tipped it over so she could stand on it. Peering inside, she saw the key there.
“Well?” Jill hollered. “Give me an update.”
“It’s here, but I think it’s been moved. There’s some dirt residue and I can see the imprint where the key had been at one point. Now it’s lying just over it. Someone definitely used it recently.” She looked around but didn’t find any visible signs of footprints.
Heading back inside, she saw Mira and Florence standing at the kitchen window. “All this time, Florence should have mentioned the existence of a spare key. It would explain how someone broke into her house the first time.”
“Are
you ready to point the finger of suspicion at Florence?” Jill asked.
“Why? She’s only guilty of absentmindedness. It’s not a crime. Thank goodness. Otherwise, I would have been put away long ago.” Eve stopped at the back door and turned toward the garden. Someone had been here while she’d slept. They’d been watching the house. Waiting. Biding their time…
“I am so sorry, Eve.” Florence’s cheeks flushed a bright shade of crimson. “It should have occurred to me that someone could use the spare key to get in.”
“Can you at least think of who else might know about the spare key being there?”
Florence appeared to flounder.
Eve swung away. She didn’t want to be responsible for upsetting Florence. “Wait a minute. Did you employ the same safety measures for the store?” She turned in time to see Florence taking a deep swallow. “Where did you leave the spare key?”
“It has a string attached and I hooked it to a nail high on the wall and tucked it in the guttering. There’s a milk crate in the corner. The boy next door uses it to sit on when he comes out for a break. I knew that if I ever had to reach for the key, I could use the crate to stand on.”
“That sounds like an elaborate hiding place,” Mira said. “And you must admit that putting a spare key inside a vase is not such a bad idea either.”
“I agree.” Looking down at her cell phone, Eve murmured, “That means other people knew about the hiding place. Bertie must have had associates.” She gave a firm nod. She’d already shared her ideas about accomplices but the detective hadn’t been interested. “Where’s David?”
“He’s sitting on the front porch. I think he needed some time away from us,” Mira said, amusement shining in her eyes. “I must say, he’s been very good about staying on the way he has.”
“Come on, Jill. We’re going to Florence’s store. I bet anything the key won’t be there, and if it is, it hasn’t been returned to its proper place.”
“The game is afoot,” Jill exclaimed.
“I’m glad someone is having a good time.” Eve squared her shoulders. “I’m returning to the scene of the crime. Stay alert, Jill.”