From Port to Rigor Morte

by J. C. Eaton

  “Okay,” I said to Clarence. “Start taking notes.”

  For the next minute or two I gave him the complete story once again and he seemed satisfied. Then I leaned my elbow into the table and looked him in the eye. “Do you know who the victim is? I swear I won’t say a word.”

  Clarence shook his head. “No ID on the body. And no cell phone either. Someone didn’t want him found or identified.”

  “What about time of death? Can you at least tell me that?”

  “I don’t know. Honestly. The coroner and his crew got the guy on the gurney and took off. But the coroner did wager a guess.”

  “A guess?”

  “Yeah. He said, ‘My guess is the body’s been here a day, two at most.’”

  Wonderful. Godfrey’s flies could have told me that.

  “Okay, one more question and I’ll leave you alone. How come you’re here and not Deputy Hickman?”

  “Gary, I mean Deputy Hickman, got word this morning that the fingerprints belonging to the victim didn’t match anything in our state database or the federal database either. That means it’s a John Doe. And a John Doe requires a very lengthy protocol beginning with showing photos of the deceased to area businesses, hospitals, and medical offices for possible identification. He’s making the rounds at the wineries as we speak.”

  “Because of the shirt the guy was wearing?”

  “It’s the only clue we have so far.”

  “So there’s a strong possibility Deputy Hickman will be in here today, huh?”

  “Your winery is on the list. But not until tomorrow.”

  I thanked him for the advanced warning, and when he left, I immediately grabbed my breakfast panini and devoured it. Whatever the circumstances surrounding that man’s death, it had nothing to do with me, my winery, or any of the WOW wineries, for that matter. I was positive the guy had been deliberately run down and dumped in the woods, but there was no reason for me to get involved.

  Satisfied I could skip through the next couple of weeks unscathed, I treated myself to a sweet dessert and grabbed a strawberry tart from the bistro’s pastry selection. No sooner had I wiped the sticky jelly from the sides of my lips than Fred called out, “Catherine Trobert is on the phone for you. Lizzie transferred the call to our extension.”

  “Thanks. She must want to know if I heard anything more about that body.”

  The phone was behind the counter and I nudged past Fred and Emma to take the call.

  Catherine’s voice was shaky at best and for a minute I thought she was going to hyperventilate. “Norrie, this is wretched. Absolutely wretched.”

  “I know. Having a dead body appear on one’s property is troublesome, to say the least.”

  “Forget troublesome. That deputy thinks our winery might have had something to do with the man’s death.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. They don’t even know who the guy is. The assistant deputy, Clarence Eustis, was just in here and he said Deputy Hickman was going around the lake to see if anyone could provide a positive ID.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Huh?”

  “I provided a positive ID. The man is Davis Brewer and he’s the manager for the seasonal workers that some of us employ.”

  “Manager? Like organization leader or union leader?”

  “I suppose. Why?”

  “Because Delia Speltmore mentioned something about her husband having issues with the workers cooperative but I didn’t pay much attention. But why on earth would Deputy Hickman implicate your winery?”

  “The coroner found our business card in one of Brewer’s pockets with a note on the back that read, ‘I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you.’ It was in my husband’s handwriting.”

  “Good grief. That could be anything! Like paying an overdue bill or picking up someone’s prescription. Just because it was written on the back of a business card doesn’t mean it had anything to do with that business. Heck, I write notes on all sorts of scrap paper.”

  “Unfortunately, the Yates County Sheriff’s Office doesn’t concur. And that’s not all. Brewer and my husband met here last week to review the contract and it didn’t go well. Everyone in the tasting room could hear them arguing from the office. Then my husband picked up the phone in front of Brewer and called someone else about using their services prior to storming off for the vineyard. I’m not sure if Brewer followed him.”

  “Arguing doesn’t translate into murder. And I’m saying murder because, well, uh, what else could it be?”

  “Indeed. Although Deputy Hickman was very careful to use the words suspicious death.”

  “What does Grizzly Gary intend to do now?”

  “He intends to question all of our employees and go over a time line of Brewer’s death with my husband and me.”

  “That’s horrible. Have you called your attorney?”

  “I’ve done something better. I called Steven. He’s licensed in New York as well as Maine and New Jersey.”

  Oh, God, no! Don’t tell me Steven’s coming. And just when I thought I’d be scot-free.

  “Is he, I mean, does he—”

  “He has to finish up a case but he intends to be here the end of next week. Meanwhile, we’ll communicate daily on the phone. Anyway, Norrie, I wanted you to know because if there is a silver lining in all of this, it will be when you and Steven can reunite.”

  In that instant every bit of moisture evaporated from my mouth. “That’s good to know.”

  “Are you all right, Norrie?” Emma asked. She added a tray of hot cinnamon buns to the pastry shelf and walked toward me. “You’re holding on to the receiver but you already put it back on the wall phone.”

  “I’ve been better. Deputy Hickman thinks the Troberts might have had something to do with Davis Brewer’s death.”

  “Is that the body you found? They were able to identify it?”

  “Uh-huh. He’s, I mean he was the manager for the seasonal employees.”

  “And they think the Troberts were involved? How awful. I hope they find a good lawyer.”

  “They won’t have to look too far. They’ve called their son Steven. He’s a criminal lawyer in Portland, Maine.”

  “At least this is one investigation you can skip.”

  “Skip? Are you nuts? I’ve got to figure out who flattened Davis Brewer before Steven Trobert makes his appearance in our winery. Reunite my you-know-what! He’s a few years older than me and managed to successfully ignore me throughout my entire high school experience. Last thing I need is Catherine playing matchmaker with me and her hoity-toity son. If ever there was a reason for me to solve a suspicious death, this is it. What did she say? Something about the end of next week? Oh my gosh, I’d better move fast.”

  Chapter 8

  I flew out of the bistro and into my office as if someone lit my jeans on fire. Not wanting to tie up the winery phone, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the Grey Egret, hoping Don or Theo weren’t too busy to talk.

  As soon as Theo said, “Thank you for calling the Grey Egret,” I spoke without taking a breath. “If we don’t act fast I’ll be saddled with Steven Trobert. She called him. Catherine did. Deputy Hickman thinks the Troberts had something to do with Davis Brewer’s death. That’s the body. I mean the man. Catherine identified him.”

  “Whoa. Slow down, Norrie, I can’t keep up. Try full sentences and a coherent thought.”

  “I can’t think straight. If I don’t move fast Catherine will have engagement announcements printed before Labor Day. She’s been trying to get Steven and me hitched from the minute I arrived here.”

  “I don’t think Bradley will be too thrilled.”

  “None of us will be. Especially Bradley. We’ve been dating since last fall and I want to keep it that way. Hunky lawyers don’t come around every day. Unless of course we’re talking about Steven. And he’s not coming around, his mother is! Listen, I really need to figure this out. Can you and Don stop by after work? I’ll pick up pizza or I
talian subs. Your choice.”

  “Subs. We’ll bring dessert. Seven o’clock okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  Knowing that I could count on Theo and Don to get me through this, I let out a long sigh of relief and walked into the tasting room. Cammy, Glenda, and Roger all had customers at their tables and Sam was busy carting trays of used wineglasses to the kitchen. I gave them a wave and walked over to Lizzie, who was ringing up an older gentleman at the cashier/computer. When she finished, I asked her if she had heard any recent scuttlebutt.

  “Nothing escapes you, Lizzie,” I said. “Do you know anything about disgruntled seasonal workers?”

  She shook her head. “No. But I did catch the news about the Speltmores’ new port wine release. It’s a tawny port, and according to the chitchat, it’s supposed to be a spectacular wine. I always thought new wines came out in the fall from the prior year but apparently I was wrong.”

  “Um, not really. That seems to be pretty standard, but port wine, being a dessert wine and all, can wait a year and a half or more before a winery decides to introduce it. Lots of fanfare if it doesn’t have any competition. And since it’s a tawny port, it’s bound to be noticed.”

  Maybe the Speltmores will be so wrapped up with their new wine they’ll forget about Eli’s little adventure down the lake.

  “By the way, I put that baseball hat with their logo in our lost and found. Other than the rim, it’s in pretty good shape. Someone probably set it down on one of the picnic tables here or at the Grey Egret and it blew off. You’d be surprised at the things we’ve had in our lost in found. Last year someone turned in a pair of dentures they found in the ladies’ room. All wrapped up in a paper towel.”

  “Ew! Please tell me you didn’t put it in the lost and found.”

  “No. Cammy put it in a Ziploc bag, and as far as I know it’s still in a box somewhere in the kitchen.”

  “It’s past the statute of limitations.”

  “That’s for criminal cases.”

  “You know what I mean. It’s like the five-second rule. Throw it out! Have Cammy throw it out!”

  Lizzie laughed. “I’ll tell her.”

  “It looks like everything’s under control here so I’m heading home to work on a screenplay. If you need me, call. I’ll come right down.”

  “I think we’ll be fine. Say, any news on that discovery of yours yesterday? It was on the news this morning. The anchors said something about foul play and an ongoing investigation.”

  “If you must know—”

  At that moment three women appeared at the cash register laden down with wine bottles, T-shirts and some cutesy knickknacks. Lizzie shrugged and whispered, “Another time.”

  Oh, there’d be another time, all right. I wasn’t about to sit on this gem of a situation without sharing it with the crew. But tomorrow was another day and I needed to figure out a game plan with Don and Theo.

  • • •

  “Does Charlie always moan when you eat?” Don asked.

  I looked at the dog, who had positioned himself at Don’s knee and shook my head. It was a little past seven and we dove into the giant subs from Morgan’s Grocery as if we hadn’t seen food in decades. “It’s not moaning, it’s begging. And I think he’s gotten worse the past few months.”

  Theo grinned. “We’re all to blame, you know. I just gave him a bit of ham and some provolone. I couldn’t help it. He pawed at my leg.”

  I looked down at the dog and then at Theo. “It’s impossible to ignore him. Not when there’s people food around. Try not to make eye contact.”

  It was an impossible task and Charlie wound up sharing everyone’s giant sub.

  “I’m going to lock him in my bedroom when we get to dessert. No way is that dog going to get a bit of that chocolate torte. It looks amazing. I never thought I’d want to go near chocolate again after dealing with those demanding chocolatiers at the Chocolate and Wine Extravaganza last winter but I got over it.”

  “We all did,” Don said. “And I used some of the Belgian chocolate we had to make it. I had some free time.”

  Theo looked at me and nudged Don with his elbow. “That’s about to change. Miss ‘can’t leave well enough alone’ will be snooping around to find out who killed—what name did you say?—that guy whose body we found.”

  “Davis Brewer. Catherine told me. When Deputy Hickman stopped by her winery with a photo from the morgue, she identified him. He’s the manager for the cooperative that represents seasonal workers. Her winery, along with the Speltmores and a few others, uses the cooperative.”

  Don grabbed a handful of chips and put them on his plate. “Hmm, could be an angry worker or workers, as the case may be. Then again, he could have ticked off one of the owners. Maybe this Brewer guy was taking too big a cut. It won’t be the first time something like that happened.”

  “You don’t suppose it was one of the winery owners, do you?” I asked. “Deputy Hickman gave Catherine the third degree, as if her winery had something to do with it. Especially when the coroner found the Lake View business card in Brewer’s pocket with that note on the back.”

  “What note?” Don stuffed a few chips in his mouth and chomped.

  “Guess I forgot to tell you.”

  For the next few minutes, I explained in detail what Catherine had told me and watched as Theo and Don exchanged glances. When I finished, Don spoke.

  “There’s no sense in us trying to talk you out of this so that begs the question—what do we do next?”

  I swallowed the last drop of O’Doul’s beer and propped my elbow on the table. “First of all, I’ve got to find out who the drivers were in that little fender bender Catherine mentioned. The timing is consistent with how long the body had been there. Um, from the flies milling around. No maggots yet. The accident happened right in front of that wooded area and was pooh-poohed by the sheriff’s office. Heck, by the time they got there, the killer or killers had already dragged the body into the woods.”

  Theo shook his head. “You’re getting ahead of us. Why two cars? And if one of them was the car belonging to the killer, what was he or she supposed to do? Walk over to the other driver involved in the accident and say, ‘Excuse me, but I have to stash a corpse. I’ll be right back.’”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It was quite possible the murderer worked in tandem with someone, and maybe while they were on their way to that wooded area, which by the way is a perfect spot to hide a body, one of them stopped short and the other one plowed into them. When the sheriff’s deputies arrived, they had no reason to ask each driver what was in his or her trunk.”

  Don continued to munch on the chips in between bites of his sub and occasional pauses to give Charlie a treat. “It’s a long shot, but heck, if you don’t find out for sure it may turn out to be one of those pesky things that keep nagging at you.”

  I nodded and got up to get another O’Doul’s. “Anyone need a drink refill?”

  Theo and Don shook their heads.

  “Tomorrow morning I intend to call Gladys Pipp at the sheriff’s office and see if she’ll tell me who was involved in that accident. By now it’ll be public knowledge. Especially since the sheriff’s office doesn’t know there was any foul play as far as the fender bender goes.”

  “You don’t know there was any foul play,” Don said.

  “Not yet, but trust me, if something doesn’t add up, I’ll know where to look.”

  Theo leaned back from the table and stretched. “Okay, fine. Finding out about the accident is one thing, what’s next on your docket, Nancy?”

  “Ugh, not Nancy. I get enough Nancy Drew from Lizzie. Anyway, we need to find out what the issue was between Henry Speltmore and Brewer. Delia mentioned her husband was having management issues with the seasonal employees so it has to involve that cooperative. I’ve got all the names of the wineries who used them. It’s on a list of winery stuff that Francine left me in case I’d need it.”

  “How do you propose to do
that?” he asked.

  “Um, I was kind of hoping you and Don would poke around and see what you could find.”

  “Actually,” Theo said, “we may have better luck at this Thursday’s WOW meeting. Those women are a wealth of information. I wonder where they get it all. Certainly not from the wine trail’s emails.”

  Don grinned. “They’ve had years of practice sifting through the gossip and hearsay.”

  “Fine. I’ll add that to my to-do list for Thursday. Which one of you is going?”

  Both of them pointed to the other one and I laughed. “When you figure it out, let me know.”

  “Is that all?” Theo stood and put the submarine wrappers in the garbage. “Because I think the next logical step would be to find out as much as we can about Brewer. Did he have any enemies? Did he owe anyone money? What about his love life? Married? Gay? Straight? A jilted ex-lover? What about his past? Was he seeking revenge and it backfired?”

  “Good grief!” Don exclaimed. “You’re not writing a Sidney Sheldon novel!”

  “I think Theo’s idea is a great one. How about if we do some social media digging and see what we can come up with? I’ll also scour the Finger Lakes Times and the Penn Yan’s Chronicle Express to see if his name comes up.”

  “I have to admit,” Don said, “this is starting out a whole lot better than your usual sleuthing.”

  It may have started out better, but it sure didn’t wind up that way. Who was to know how many people were tangled up in Brewer’s circle of friends and family? Because if we did, we may have approached things differently.

  Chapter 9

  I called Gladys Pipp the following morning before I even had my morning coffee. It was a little past eight and I knew she’d be at her desk.

  “If you’re calling about that unfortunate man whose body you discovered, I’m not at liberty to give you his name. Not until next of kin are notified,” she said.

  “Oh, I already know his name, it’s Davis Brewer and he’s the cooperative manager for a group of seasonal workers at the vineyards.”