Chardonnayed to Rest

Book 2: Wine Trail Mysteries

by J.C. Eaton

Genres: Women's Fiction; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Finding a murderer requires 100% proof. In Seneca Lake, New York, Norrie Ellington’s Two Witches Winery has been selected by the local vintner community to host the annual Federweisser, a celebration of the season’s first fermentation of white Chardonnay grapes. But the festivities are spoiled when Norrie learns that landowner Roy Wilkes has raised her neighbor Rosalee Marbleton’s rent so high, she may have to close her vineyard. Before the rent hike could go into effect, Wilkes is found dead on Roslaee’s property—stabbed by a flowerpot stake—and she becomes the police’s number one suspect. To clear her friend’s name, Norrie conducts her own investigation. But as she gathers clues, Norrie finds herself targeted by a killer, and if she’s not careful, her desire to see justice done may die on the vine . . .

Release date: September 25, 2018

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 231

Sample

Chapter 1

PENN YAN, NEW YORK

Catherine Trobert, owner of Lake View Winery, brushed the honey blond bangs away from her eyes with one hand and leaned across her chair to pat my wrist with the other. We were the first ones to take our seats at the semi-monthly Women of the Wineries meeting held at Madeline Martinez’s establishment, Billsburrow Winery. It was the week before Labor Day and everyone was anxious for the fall winery events to begin.

Well, not everyone. I certainly wasn’t. I was anxious to hear from my script analyst regarding the screenplay I had submitted for review. I was under contract with a Canadian film company that specialized in TV romances. Managing my sister’s winery for a year while she and her husband, Jason, were off chasing after some elusive bug in Costa Rica was something I agreed to do in a weak moment. I had no intention of making it permanent. Besides, the study grant my entomologist brother-in-law got from Cornell’s Experiment Station was supposed to be for a year. Even though I had heard a nasty rumor from Godfrey Klein, who worked with Jason, that the grant might be extended.

Bite your tongue, Godfrey.

For the past five years I had earned a decent living writing screenplays, and I intended to keep it that way. Overseeing Two Witches Winery was simply a favor. A favor that was due to expire in ten months, at which time I’d be back in Manhattan saying adios to the person who had sublet my apartment.

Catherine gave my wrist another pat and sighed. “I’m so sorry to break this to you, Norrie, but Steven won’t be able to make it for Labor Day Weekend as planned. You wouldn’t think his law firm would have such a big caseload, but it does. I suppose the state of Maine gets its fair share of crime, too.”

“Huh?” All I’d heard were the words “Labor Day Weekend” and “Steven.” I kind of pieced together the rest in my mind. Catherine Trobert had grand designs of fixing me up with her son, even though I’d hardly known him in high school. He was a few years older than me and hung out with the jocks and future leaders of America on the student council. I was too busy writing poetry for the literary magazine and articles for the school newspaper to take much notice of him.

“I know. I know,” she said. “You haven’t seen Steven since high school, but I’m certain the two of you would enjoy getting reunited.”

Reunited? We were never united. Never ever. “Um, that’s too bad. Send him my regards.”

“I will, dear. I most certainly will. On a positive note, Gladys Pipp is back at work from her hip replacement. Moves around as if she was sixteen and not sixty.”

“Um, is she one of your workers?”

“Oh, heavens no. Gladys is the secretary for the Yates County Department of Public Safety. Unlike those dour deputies over there who can barely utter a single syllable, Gladys is a wealth of information, if you need her. Shh! Don’t tell anyone, but she gave me the heads-up about that nasty little speed trap just past Snell Road.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Just then, Stephanie Ipswich from Gable Hill Winery and Rosalee Marbleton from Terrace Wineries came into the room. I immediately greeted them. Anything to stop Catherine from lamenting about Steven or bringing up people I didn’t know. Speed traps or not.

Madeline Martinez followed and placed a tray of scones, chocolate filled croissants, and butter cookies on the large coffee table. “Coffee and tea are on the credenza. Help yourselves, ladies. This should be a really short meeting. We’ve only got two things on the agenda—the Federweisser Festival and the inclusion of the Grey Egret Winery into our WOW association.”

Rosalee moved her wire-rimmed glasses farther up her nose and sat up straight. For a small, stout woman in her early seventies, she looked as if she could command an army. “Let’s be honest. If it wasn’t for the Grey Egret, our West Side Women of the Wineries, which most of us simply refer to as WOW, abbreviated or not, wouldn’t exist. And neither would the ‘Sip and Savor’ event or the Federweisser. It was Angela Martinelli who got the whole ball rolling.”

“True, true,” Catherine said, “but Angela no longer owns the Grey Egret. She sold it to Don and Theo a few years ago. They’re the owners now. How can we have a winery women’s group if two of the members are men?”

Stephanie selected the tiniest butter cookie from the tray—God forbid she eat something that would destroy that knockout figure of hers—and took the smallest bite. “Who says we have to be a women’s group? Let’s face it, the Grey Egret takes part in all our west side functions and that means endless phone calls when one of them could be at our meetings. I say we let them join the group.”

“I second that!” I shouted.

“It’s not a parliamentary procedure meeting, Norrie,” Catherine whispered.

I shrugged. “I still think we should let them in. Don and Theo are great guys and amazingly supportive. When Elsbeth Waters’ body was discovered in our Riesling vineyard this past June, it was Don and Theo who helped me get through that whole mess.”

“That whole murder, you mean,” Rosalee said. “I happen to agree with you.” Then she turned to the others. “Invite them into our group, for heaven’s sake, and let’s get on with this meeting.”

I’d never known Rosalee to appear so agitated, but I figured she had lots on her plate, so to speak, with the grape harvest starting and the fall tourist rush only days away.

Madeline nodded and gazed into her coffee cup. “Hmm, then what do we do about the name? WOW is so catchy.”

I did at least three mental eye rolls and one silent scream. “Can’t the initials represent something else? Drop the west side part of the title, since no one uses it anyway, except for my sister, and have the WOW stand for Winery Owners of the West. That would work, wouldn’t it?”

“Norrie, you’re a genius,” Stephanie said. “So? Is it agreed, ladies? The Grey Egret joins our group?”

Everyone said “Yes” and Madeline announced she’d call Don and Theo to let them know the news.

“I hope the Federweisser portion doesn’t take too long,” Rosalee said. “I’ve got some pressing business to deal with.”

“Everything okay?” Catherine asked.

“Not really, but I don’t want to take up all of your time.”

Madeline looked at each one of us. “It’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

Rosalee clasped her hands together and squeezed them tight. She sat up even straighter than before. “It’s our water situation. At the winery, not the house. Fortunately the house is located close enough to the road in order to get its water from the village waterline. The winery wasn’t that lucky, and the village has no intention of expanding its waterline. Anyway, we’ve been getting the water for our vineyards from the lake, and we truck in potable water for our own use at the winery. Lots of lakeshore wineries use a surface water source as well as a commercial one.”

She paused for a moment and none of us said a word.

“We paid for a special waterline that went through the Baxters’ property. For years we paid them for the land use. No different than someone owning a mobile home but renting the lot. It was a fair and reasonable price. Then, a few months ago, the Baxters sold their property and moved to Texas. The new owner jacked up the price to an astronomical level. He said if we don’t pay, he’ll cut off our water access.”

“My God!” Madeline put her coffee cup down and covered her mouth.

“How can they do that?” Stephanie asked. “That’s highway robbery.”

Rosalee’s voice sounded shaky. “I’m afraid they can and they will. Without water, our vineyards will be destroyed and our winery gone for good.”

My heart began beating faster. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“There are stopgap measures, like having non-potable water trucked in and placed in huge holding tanks. We’ve already started to do that, but it’s an awfully expensive way to get water. That’s why I’m headed into Geneva to see our attorney. Maybe we have legal rights. If not, we’re doomed.”

Catherine made a strange chortling sound. Something in between clearing her throat and gargling. “What kind of a selfish thug would do a thing like that? Terrace Wineries has been in the Finger Lakes since before I was even born. This isn’t right. Clearly, there must be something we can do.”

Rosalee gave a halfhearted smile. “Thanks, dear. I’m hoping my attorney will have an answer. Or even a decent idea. Anyway, I really must go. I’m sure you’ll all get on fine with the rest of the meeting. Thank goodness the Federweisser event is at Two Witches this year and not my place. I’m sure Norrie will do a splendid job.”

With that, Rosalee picked up her floral pocketbook, which looked as if it could double as a carpetbag, and headed out of the room. The rest of us sat there in silence for a few seconds before Madeline spoke.

“My husband’s a county board representative. I’m going to see what he has to say about this. Rosalee was right, you know. About the wineries on the lake having to get their water from the lake. What if some of them are in the same predicament she is? Putting in pipelines and paying for land use because they don’t own the property rights. A greedy landowner could really put the screws to them.”

“I think we should call Henry Speltmore. He’s in charge of the wine association. Maybe he has an idea or two floating around in his head,” Stephanie said.

Madeline laughed. “If he does, that would be a first. But yeah, give him a call. He’s a nice enough guy. It couldn’t hurt. Well, I suppose we should get on with the last piece of business—the Federweisser.”

I squirmed around in my seat, certain they were going to ask me what we had planned for the event. I knew I should’ve paid more attention to Cammy, our tasting room manager, when she went over the food menu for the Federweisser, but I didn’t. I was too busy trying to get a dialogue straight in my mind for a scene that had to be worked out for my screenplay.

Same thing with Franz, our winemaker. He must’ve explained the process for making Federweisser to me at least three times, but I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure I understood. Something about adding yeast to grapes so they fermented quickly. Oh, and the sugar. I remembered that part. The sugar in the grapes turned into alcohol and carbon dioxide and when it reached four percent, it became Federweisser, a really cool drink that tasted like a champagne soda. The thing was, the alcohol percent kept growing so the Federweisser had to be consumed within a few days. Otherwise, the stuff just became regular wine.

“Entertainment. Didn’t you hear me, Norrie?”

“Huh?” I looked at Madeline and knew she had asked me a question, but I was too busy trying to recall the last two conversations I didn’t pay attention to.

“Um, can you repeat that?”

Stephanie jumped in before Madeline could reply. “She asked if you were having any entertainment at the Federweisser. Last year, when it was held at Rosalee’s, they hired a polka band.”

I don’t suppose watching Alvin, our Nigerian Dwarf Goat, spit at people constitutes entertainment. “Uh, yeah. We’re working on that. But everything else is all set.” And if it’s not, it will be.

Madeline nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. “That sounds fine. Let us know if there’s anything you need. We’ll all make it a point to advertise for you and we’ll be sure to drop by for the festivities. Goodness. That’s only three weeks away. My, how time goes by.”

Not fast enough, judging by the length of this meeting.

“Well, ladies,” Madeline said. “That about concludes the meeting for me unless anyone else wants to bring up something.”

My eyes widened and I held my breath.

Madeline clapped her hands together, startling us. “Okay then. We’ll meet again right before the Federweisser. And if my husband has any bright ideas about how the county can help Rosalee, I’ll let you know.”

The next few minutes were spent commiserating about the mess Terrace Wineries was in before we all left Madeline’s place. Stephanie motioned for me to chat with her once we got to the parking lot. I walked over to her car as she clicked the door open.

“You’re a good sleuth, Norrie. Think you can dig up the dirt on that new landowner who’s bilking Rosalee?”

“Me? I’m not an investigator.”

“No. You’re better. You get answers. They get red tape. Look, I’ll be willing to do some checking, too, as long it’s on the Internet. Between the winery and two first graders, I’m lucky I can get through the day with a coherent thought. Not to mention, we’ll be closing on the Waters’ property in a few weeks.”

“That’s right. I’m glad it worked out for you.”

“Me, too. Elsbeth’s niece, Yvonne, couldn’t sell that B & B fast enough, but she knew it would be a tough sale with all that land. Fortunately, she was able to have it divided up so we could buy the property for vineyards and someone else could buy the B & B.”

“Did she find a buyer for the business?”

“Uh-huh. I’m not sure who, but she said they were thrilled to run a bed and breakfast in the Finger Lakes.”

“Did she say anything else? Like what she plans to do?”

“Not really. She was kind of tight-lipped about it. Can you blame her?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Anyway, let me know if you decide to poke around regarding that crummy water hog of Rosalee’s.”

“Sure thing.”

“At least you don’t have to find a murderer this time.”

“Don’t say that out loud!”

“You’re not superstitious are you?”

“No, just careful.”

I waved good-bye to the other ladies in the parking lot and drove home. Maybe I was just a tad superstitious, but at least I wasn’t downright looney, like Glenda from our tasting room. I still couldn’t believe I let her hold that ridiculous séance to contact Elsbeth’s restless spirit. Stephanie was right. This time I’d be snooping around to dig up dirt, not a dead body.

Chapter 2

Theo Buchman was putting wine bottles into their rustic wooden bins when I stepped inside the Grey Egret’s tasting room. The place was in full swing, with every seat taken, and I imagined it wasn’t much different at my winery. At least Cammy would have things under control.

“Hey, stranger!” he shouted. “What brings you to our neck of the woods so early in the day? Aren’t they keeping you busy enough up the hill?”

I walked closer to the wine bins. “Not if I can help it. I’m just the official overseer, or so I keep telling myself. Listen, I stopped by for two reasons, the good and the bad.”

“Not the ugly?”

“Very funny. I’ll start with the good, although you’ll be getting a call from Madeline Martinez any time now.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“Hmm, not a word I’d use. Here goes—the Women of the Wineries is now the Winery Owners of the West.”

“Huh?”

“It was a WOW thing. We had to keep the WOW. Anyway, we changed the name because we want you and Don to be part of the group. You participate in most of the events and the Grey Egret started that little winery klatch to begin with. Besides, now I’ll have someone to commiserate with after the meetings.”

“That was the good news? We get to sit through gossipy meetings twice a month and listen to the rumor fests?”

“Sometimes we trade recipes.”

“Wonderful. I’ll send Don. But thanks for the heads-up. When Madeline calls, I’ll act thrilled. So, what’s the bad news?”

I proceeded to tell him about the predicament Rosalee Marbleton was in and watched as his expression got grimmer and grimmer.

“Geez, Norrie, that’s awful.”

“I know. I know. I was hoping you or Don might have some ideas about possible solutions for her.”

“Not unless the new landowner’s willing to sell her the property where the waterline goes. They can do that. Portion off a certain amount of acreage or, in this case, lakefront property and sell it while retaining the rest. The county figures out the tax adjustments and all that.”

“I don’t think the guy’s willing to sell.”

“Who is the new guy? I thought the Baxters still owned that land.”

“Nope. They sold it and moved to Texas. I need to get the lowdown on the new owner.”

“Unless you feel like purchasing a tax map from the county, ask Rosalee. Once you get the guy’s name, we can do an unofficial background check on him. See what we can find out.”

“Theo Buchman, are you telling me you’re willing to snoop around with me?”

“Shh, as long as Don doesn’t know. He’s always afraid it’ll get us into hot water.”

“He may be right. Tell him hi. I’d better be going.”

“Catch you later. And thanks for the updates. Especially the WOW.”

I drove the rest of the way up the hill, aka our driveway, and raced into the house to see if there were any messages for me from the script analyst. I’d already checked my e-mails, but sometimes I got calls from the producer on the landline.

Nothing. The only greeting I got was from Charlie, the family Plott Hound, who got up from his dog bed and nudged his dog dish. I poured some kibble, booted up my laptop, and looked over my other projects. I had a deadline in November for a Valentine screenplay and was still roughing out the plot.

At a little past four, I walked down to the tasting room’s bistro and grabbed a late lunch so I wouldn’t have to monkey around with dinner. Lizzie was at her usual spot at the cash register and gave me a quick wave when I walked in. Cammy, our tasting room manager, and our employees, full-time and seasonal, were doing tastings. Like the Grey Egret, we were swamped, and it wasn’t even Labor Day yet.

I was about to do a turnaround and head home when I realized something. I really had no idea if everything was going smoothly for the Federweisser. I seriously needed to pay more attention to Cammy and Franz.

“Psst! Cammy! Send your next customers to Glenda. I need to talk to you.”

Cammy gave me a nod and mouthed, “Everything okay?”

I nodded and moseyed over to the T-shirt bins, where two girls were trying to decide whether to purchase the bright orange shirts or the screaming green ones. The logo and text were the same on all of them—Two Witches Winery, The Spell’s on Us!

“We added a new color,” I said. “Fuchsia. Those shirts are in the bins off to the right.”

“Oh my God!” the tall brunette shrieked. “That’s my favorite color.”

She grabbed her friend by the arm, and I walked over to Cammy, who still had a concerned look on her face.

“Relax. I just need to know if we’re all set for the Federweisser. It was the hot topic at the WOW meeting, along with some other stuff.”

“We’re all set to go on our end. We’re serving pastry wrapped sausage bites, sausage cheese balls, and Kalamata olive bread. If those foods don’t get people to drink and buy wine, nothing will.”

“Sounds yummy. What about entertainment? The women went on and on about entertainment.”

“We booked the Polka Meisters from Buffalo. Got a terrific price since they have to be in the area the next day for a wedding.”

“Oh thank God! What about the publicity? Do we have any publicity?”

“Lots of it on our Facebook page, and we took out ads in all the local papers. Plus, the winery association always promotes it no matter which winery hosts it. And before you say another word, Catherine Trobert’s husband dropped off the new banner earlier today. So, you see, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Unless something goes wrong with the wine. Have you seen Franz today?”

“Uh-huh. He was in earlier to get a bite to eat and seemed perfectly fine. Trust me, Norrie, if Franz had a problem, you’d be the first to know.”

“You’re probably right, but it wouldn’t hurt for me to double check. I’ll give him a call at the winery lab when I get to the house. I don’t want to walk in there and disturb him.” Or break something. Or contaminate something. Or give him a reason to look for employment elsewhere. We already lost our assistant vineyard manager. No need to lose the guy who knows what to do with the grapes.

“Is that all that’s bothering you? I feel as if you’re holding back something. Spit it out. It can’t be any worse than the murder we had right before the Fourth of July.”

“It’s bad, but not for us. For Rosalee at Terrace Wineries.”

“Rosalee Marbleton? She’s such a sweet lady. What’s going on?”

For the second time that day, I spouted off about Rosalee’s predicament. And while it wasn’t exactly rumor mongering, it bordered on that very nasty line of gossiping, even though my intentions were good.

“Holy cow! That’s highway robbery! Who’s the jerk who owns the land?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

“Uh-oh. I see that look in your eye. Please don’t tell me you’re hatching a scheme to make that guy rethink his price tag.”

“Whoa. I hadn’t thought of that. But now that you mention it—”

“Don’t! Remember what happened the last time you had one of those ideas? The tables got turned on you and you were nearly arrested.”

“Aargh. I’m still trying to forget. Look, all I want to do now is find out more about this creep. Anyone who could do a thing like that must be a real loser.”

“Agreed.”

“I better let you get back to the tastings before Glenda goes nuts.”

I meandered home and spent the rest of the day on my laptop, pausing for a ten-minute break, at which time I placed a call to Rosalee.

“Hi Rosalee. It’s Norrie. I called because I was worried about you. We all are. I am hoping everything went well with your attorney.”

Rosalee sighed and her voice was choppy. “We may have some legal rights since the waterline was installed decades ago and we had a lease agreement with the Baxters. I say ‘We’ because my sister, Marilyn Ansley, owns the land and my family owns the business and property. Our attorney is checking to see if that lease carried over, but frankly, I’m not too optimistic.”

“Who’s the new owner? That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“A miserable scourge by the name of Roy Wilkes. Real scruffy looking, too. I’m guessing he’s in his late fifties, but it’s hard to tell with that long beard of his. Reminds me of a mountain man.”

“Yikes. By the way, why didn’t you buy the property when the Baxters were selling it?”

“It’s lakefront property. Outrageous taxes. The county and the school district rake it in. Now, in retrospect, I’m sorry we didn’t. Never thought I’d fin. . .