From Port to Rigor Morte Read online

  From Port to Rigor Morte

  With her overlong stay at Two Witches Winery extended yet again, screenwriter Norrie Ellington wants nothing more than to lay low and avoid murder investigations at all costs. Then two neighborhood boys show up at the winery saying they’ve discovered what looks like a dead body in a nearby woods, and Norrie’s curiosity gets the better of her. When the body turns out to be a local labor manager and the sheriff suspects a neighboring winery of foul play, Norrie turns sleuth once again.

  Following the few clues found at the scene, Norrie soon learns that the victim had been charging exorbitant amounts for the seasonal workers he supplied to the vineyards, meaning any of the owners could have wanted him out of the way. And when another dead body is found, Norrie’s dizzying list of suspects threatens to overwhelm her. But with the stakes higher than ever, her biggest fear may be that if the local sheriff doesn’t kill her for meddling, there’s a murderer on the loose who surely will . . .

  Title Page

  Copyright

  From Port to Rigor Morte

  J. C. Eaton

  Copyright © 2021 J. C. Eaton

  Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  ISBN: 978-1-954717-14-5

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Dedication

  In memory of our friend Kenny Bean,

  whose raucous laughter and outrageous sense of humor

  made everyone’s visit to the Sun City West dog park an

  absolute hoot! We miss you, Kenny.

  Acknowledgments

  Our sincere thanks to our loyal pit crew, who are always there for us: Susan Schwartz (in Australia), Susan Morrow, Gale Leach and Larry Finkelstein.

  Of course, none of this would be possible without our amazing agent, Dawn Dowdle, from the Blue Ridge Literary Agency, and the talented folks at Beyond the Page Publishing.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Books By J. C. Eaton

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Norrie’s House

  Two Witches Winery

  Penn Yan, New York

  It was barely dawn but somehow I managed to get up, stumble down the stairs of our old family farmhouse, make my way to the coffee maker and stare at the wall calendar until my eyes glossed over. Then I sighed like one of those 1930s heroines and put my K-Cup into the Keurig. “It’s July. Juu-ly,” I moaned to Charlie, but he was too engrossed in a bone I had procured for him from Wegmans yesterday. At least my sister’s Plott hound would be happy. He could look forward to a summer of chasing rabbits, rolling in yucky stuff, and dozing in the warm Finger Lakes sun. Meanwhile, the only thing I could look forward to was another three, possibly four weeks of babysitting my family’s Two Witches Winery in Penn Yan, New York, if Godfrey Klein wasn’t exaggerating. Yep, every girl’s dream. Only in my case it was a nightmare. And one that should have ended last week.

  Twelve months ago I had agreed to oversee the winery for a year while my sister Francine and her entomologist husband, Jason, chased after some elusive insect in Costa Rica on a grant. Well, not only did they chase after it, they found the darn thing. Godfrey, who’s also an entomologist at Cornell’s New York State Agriculture Experiment Station, told me Jason had made so much progress on the Global Species Database that the university needed him to fly to Madagascar to help identify a new species of hissing cockroach. I all but choked when Godfrey broke the news to me last night. And good thing it was on the phone or I might have choked him as well.

  It was one of those late-night calls that I probably should have left to voicemail but didn’t. Godfrey’s voice was upbeat almost to the point of exuberance. “Can you believe it, Norrie? They’ve modified Jason’s grant to include a sojourn in Madagascar to zero in on the Gromphadorhina portentosa. True, there are at least four thousand species of cockroaches, but the possibility of identifying a new one, similar to the portentosa, is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “No!” I bellowed. “A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity is getting to share a three-thousand-square-foot beach house in the Hamptons for the Fourth of July, not ogling some icky bug. Unfortunately, I’ll have to kiss that opportunity goodbye and hang around here for another few weeks because I can’t say no to my sister. Boy am I a sucker.”

  “What can I say? You’ve got a good heart.”

  “Nice try. You’ve done enough damage.”

  “Me? I didn’t tell him about that study. The university did.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Three weeks and I’m out of here.”

  “Um, four, if things take a tad longer.”

  “You’re smiling, aren’t you? I can tell.”

  “Four weeks isn’t that long. You’ve lived through worse.”

  “Don’t remind me. Ever since I got here it’s been one murder after another. How can I concentrate on writing screenplays if I’m mired under with detective work?”

  “Not detective work. Amateur sleuthing. The stuff that nearly got you killed a few times. And here I promised Jason and Francine I’d keep an eye on you.”

  “That part’s true. Anyway, maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll have a quiet few weeks to get Kisses on a Sandy Beach to my script analyst. I love working for a Canadian film company and don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize my contract. Not many twentysomethings get that opportunity. The last one got kicked to the curb.”

  “I’ve
seen some of those movies. I doubt you’ll get kicked anywhere. Look, how about we get together sometime this week for pizza or a burger?”

  “Sounds good. Even if you were the bearer of bad tidings.”

  I couldn’t stay angry with Godfrey. We’d become decent friends in spite of the fact we shared a fairly intimate kiss a while back that left me questioning our relationship altogether. But I was, and still am, dating a hot lawyer from Geneva and the last thing I needed were complications. So, friends it is.

  I took the coffee cup from the machine, grabbed a carrot muffin, and sat at the table. Charlie continued to gnaw on his bone. “I’m leaving your doggie door open,” I said, “but I’m closing the fence. Don’t need you to take another dip in the irrigation ponds. As soon as I get washed up, I’m off to the winery. Saturday mornings are always hectic and the least I can do is help out in the tasting room.”

  The dog looked up and went back to his bone.

  “I’ll be back around two. The winery quiets down so I’ll have the rest of the day to tackle that screenplay.”

  Usually Charlie follows me upstairs and plunks himself on the bathroom floor while I shower, but he wasn’t about to give up his butcher bone or the spot he commandeered on the kitchen rug. I smiled at the ridiculously funny hound and hustled to get ready for a day at the winery.

  Forty-five minutes later, I threw on a fuchsia T-shirt that depicted two witches (What else?) around a caldron with the caption that read “Stir Up the Summer Fun at Two Witches Winery.” When Francine and I were growing up, we were teased relentlessly about being the two witches. Now, that moniker actually came in handy. Once dressed, I gave Charlie a pat on the head and took off for the tasting room.

  Unlike our vintage 1800s remolded farmhouse, the winery building looked more like a ski lodge—vaulted ceiling, timber beams, expansive windows, and wow-factor gas fireplace. The tasting room with its round tables and witch-themed décor opened into a bistro that offered visitors all sorts of tempting dishes thanks to our young chefs, husband and wife, Fred and Emma.

  “Goodness, but you’re in early,” Lizzie said as she looked up from the computer screen at the cashier/reception station and adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses. “Must be the warm summer weather. It all but beckons my old bones to get a move on. I wanted to have a quick look-see at these accounts before we opened for business.”

  Lizzie was our receptionist/bookkeeper and tax preparer. A retired CPA, she still wanted to work, but not with all the pressure that came with big business. Two Witches was fortunate to have her even if it meant listening to her go on and on about her favorite heroine—Nancy Drew. When I first arrived to manage the winery, she gave me a copy of the Nancy Drew Handbook. Just in case. And while I didn’t need to know how to train a carrier pigeon or keep my white gloves white, deciphering codes was a skill that no one should overlook.

  I perused the room and noticed everyone else was already at work. The tasting room crew, Glenda, Sam, and Roger, were setting up their tables and our manager, Cammy, had just scurried into the kitchen. “Um, everyone else seems to be here,” I said.

  Lizzie nodded. “Yes, dear. But we’re not used to seeing you until after ten when we open for business. As I say, it must be the wonderful summer air.”

  Or a horrible night’s sleep thanks to Godfrey’s call.

  “Actually, I needed to let everyone know that I’ll be sticking around for another three or four weeks. Francine and Jason are chasing down some other godforsaken insect. This time in Madagascar, and a cockroach of all things.”

  Lizzie gasped. “And they enjoy doing this? I thought perhaps it was a requirement from the entomology department or something.”

  “No, not a requirement. More like a pastime.”

  At that moment Glenda raced past me en route to the kitchen and I caught a glimpse of what looked like holographic hair. It was a blaze of full spectrum colors that literally blinded me.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Lizzie.

  “Glenda’s hair? It was the first thing I saw this morning and I was sorry I left my sunglasses in the car. Usually she goes for the purples and mauves unless it’s fall. I suppose that’s what it’s like when you’re a free spirit.”

  Or a certifiable nutcase.

  “Thankfully she’s a terrific worker even if she does dabble in the paranormal. Hmm, I’d better let Cammy know first about my extended stay. Then I can mosey around and give the happy tidings to everyone else.”

  “Good idea.”

  I breezed into the kitchen and found Cammy unloading the last of yesterday’s wineglasses from the dishwasher. Her wavy brunette hair was in its usual bun, only instead of a ribbon she had used a yellow scrunchie. A full-figured thirtysomething, Cammy exuded a certain warmth that was contagious. “Everything okay, Norrie?” she asked as soon as she spied me. “It’s so early for you.”

  “Geez. That’s just what Lizzie said. Yeesh.”

  We both laughed and I took a step closer to where she stood. “Listen, I need to tell you something. Cornell’s entomology department extended my house arrest at Two Witches for at least another three weeks. Maybe four.”

  “Huh?”

  “Jason’s grant got lengthened so he could study some cockroach in Madagascar. If he wanted to study cockroaches he could have worked with their other partner, Alex Bollinger, on that apartment building in Ithaca. The place was teeming with them.”

  “Seriously? Three or four more weeks? That’s great. You’ll be here for the lights around the lake and Port of Call’s new midnight dining under the stars. Oh, and some shindig at the Speltmore Winery for their new port wine.”

  “I was supposed to go to the Hamptons with friends of mine from the city. Frankly, I could spit. At least it won’t be a problem for someone to take my spot, they’ve got a long list of people.”

  “Hey, the beach is overrated. Lots of itchy sand and the never-ending fear of sharks.”

  “At least it’s better than the never-ending fear of turning up another dead body on this wine trail.”

  “Relax. Those situations were all bizarre coincidences. I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m glad you’re sure. Anyway, I figured I’d help out around here, then grab a bit of lunch at the bistro and get back home to work on my screenplay. What do you need?”

  “The new shipment of Two Witches kitchen towels and pot holders arrived along with those cutesy summer placemats we ordered. You can get those on the shelves if you want. Looks like we’ve got all the tasting room tables covered.”

  “Good deal. I’ll get started.”

  “Hey, before you go, I’m glad you’re sticking around. It’s been fun working with you.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, same here. And thanks.”

  True to my word, I put the new merchandise on the shelves, covered for the staff while they took breaks, and grabbed a bacon, turkey and tomato panini at the bistro. I also told everyone that my stay would be extended. Thankfully they had the same reaction Cammy did, although in Roger’s case it was more of a history lesson than a reaction.

  “You do realize that even with the best planning, some endeavors take longer than expected. After all, the paramount British conquest in the French and Indian War was a two-year process. Seventeen fifty-eight to seventeen sixty. Two years. It would have been much shorter had it not been for the unlikely French victory in the Battle of Carillon.”

  Please don’t tell me he thinks Jason and Francine are going to be in Madagascar for two more years. I’ll pull the hair out of my head.

  In retrospect, I should have expected a response like that from Roger. The man did his dissertation on the French and Indian War. And while most people forget their thesis the minute they get their degree, Roger, a retired educator, relived his daily.

  “Look on the bright side,” Sam said. He ran his hands through his thick reddish hair, glanced at Roger, and grinned. “The odds are you won’t be dealing with another murder.”
r />   Save your college tuition money, Sam. And whatever you do, don’t place any bets. You’d be dead wrong.

  Chapter 2

  It was a little before two and I decided to look over some paperwork in my office before traipsing home to pick up where I left off with Kisses on a Sandy Beach. I had just perused the ordering sheet for the bistro when I heard loud voices in the foyer. Loud children’s voices. Both male, and one of them oddly familiar.

  “It’s like really, really important,” one of them said. Presumably to Lizzie. Then the other one added, “Life and death important.”

  Then I heard Lizzie. “You can’t bring those bicycles into the winery. You need to leave them outside.”

  “Someone will steal ’em,” the first voice said. “They’re BMX bikes.”

  “I don’t care if they’re XYZ. You need to leave them outside.”

  Not wanting to let the commotion continue, I got up and stepped out of my office. Sure enough, I recognized the skinny blond kid. It was Eli Speltmore, the son of Henry Speltmore, president of the Seneca Lake Wine Trail Association. Eli was ten or eleven when I last made his acquaintance in the fall and it wasn’t under the best circumstances. The kid tagged one of our wine barrels and would have faced unmentionable consequences had I decided to call his father. Instead, we made a deal and so far, so good.

  Now, he and another eleven- or twelve-year-old boy were standing in our lobby, their hands firmly fixed on their bikes.

  “Bring those bikes into my office,” I said, “and if there’s any dirt from their tires, you’re sweeping it up.”

  The chubby redhead with freckles nodded and immediately walked where I pointed. Eli followed suit and I mouthed a thanks to Lizzie. Once inside, I closed the door and glared at the boys. “What’s this all about?”