From Port to Rigor Morte

By JC Eaton

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 . . .

Praise for the Books of J. C. Eaton:

“Engaging characters and a stirring mystery kept me captivated from the first page to the last.” —Dollycas, Amazon Vine Voice, on Divide and Concord
“Well-crafted sleuth, enjoyable supporting characters. This is a series not to be missed.” —Cozy Cat Reviews on Death, Dismay and Rosé

“A sparkling addition to the Wine Trail Mystery series. A toast to protagonist Norrie and Two Witches Winery, where the characters shine and the mystery flows. This novel is a perfect blend of suspense and fun!” —Carlene O’Neil, author of the Cypress Cove Mysteries, on Chardonnayed to Rest

“A thoroughly entertaining series debut, with enjoyable yet realistic characters and enough plot twists—and dead ends—to appeal from beginning to end.” —Booklist, starred review, on Booked 4 Murder

“Enjoy this laugh-out-loud funny mystery that will make you scream for the authors to get busy on the next one.” —Suspense Magazine on Molded 4 Murder

About the Author:

J. C. Eaton is the pen name of husband-and-wife writing team Ann I. Goldfarb and James E. Clapp. They are the authors of the Wine Trail Mysteries, the Sophie Kimball Mysteries, and the Marcie Rayner Mysteries. In addition, Ann has published nine YA time travel mysteries under her own name.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing
• Release date: Apr 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954717145

Book preview

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.

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?

You gotta help us, Eli said. You know what dead bodies look like.

Huh? What? I couldn’t believe my ears.

Then the other kid spoke. Eli told me you knew all about dead bodies so we came here right away. Peddled really fast, too.

I motioned for them to leave the bikes and sit down. Then, I pulled my chair from around the desk and moved closer to them. Start at the beginning. You said you came here right away. From where? Where were you?

Across the road from Lake View Winery. By the big rocks on the other side of the railroad tracks, Eli said.

I was stunned. That wasn’t a safe place for biking. And your father lets you ride your bike there?

The kid turned ashen. He’d kill me. That’s why we came to you. Well, that and because you know about dead bodies.

Will I ever live this down? I want to be known for writing romantic screenplays.

And I can’t tell my parents either, the redhead chimed in. My dad will pitch a fit and my mom will start crying and moaning. Then I’ll get grounded for life.

Eli gave the kid a nudge and shrugged. Chill, Stuart, will ya? I get grounded for life all the time.

Okay, boys. Again, start at the beginning. One at a time.

Eli swallowed and took a breath. We heard there might be pirate treasure washed up on the lake so we wanted to find out for ourselves.

Pirate treasure? Seriously? Where did you hear that? This isn’t the Caribbean or the Canadian shores of Nova Scotia. It’s a lake. A lake! No pirate ships.

I lowered my voice and looked at the expressions on their faces. Maybe they were closer to eleven than twelve. And very gullible. Okay, keep going.

I told my mom that Stuart and I were going to ride our bikes on the path behind our winery but we went down to the lake where the big rocks are.

I widened my eyes. You rode your bikes on Route 14?

We were off to the side, Stuart said.

That’s so dangerous. I’d ground the both of you for life, too. Never mind. Go on.

This time Eli spoke. "When we got to Lake View Winery, we waited until there was no traffic and crossed the road and the railroad tracks. After that we stashed our bikes on the rocks and looked around. When we didn’t find anything, we thought maybe it was hidden in that spot with the overgrown bushes and trees.

Yeah, Stuart added. That’s when we saw the thing.

You mean, what you thought was a body?

Uh-huh. The body.

Are you sure?

The boys looked at each other and then at me. That’s why we came here, Eli said. Um, uh, it might be a body but we’re not sure. It looked like a big hairy arm. We didn’t want to get too close.

Stuart poked Eli in the arm. "You didn’t want to get too close. You were worried about germs."

Fine. Fine. Where was this arm or thing exactly? I asked.

In the wooded bushy area.

Can you be more specific?

Not really. But we can find it real easy. Like really, really easy.

The last thing I needed was to endanger those kids by following them or taking them to some spot across from Catherine Trobert’s winery. I tried again. Uh, if you were going back, how would you find the spot?

We crossed the road in front of that big Lake View Winery sign. We didn’t walk too far into the bushes and woods, Eli said.

I tried not to groan. Suppose you describe that hairy arm for me. Maybe it was a big tree limb that fell.

Both boys shook their heads. Not a tree limb.

But you didn’t see the rest of the body? Just the arm?

Eli nodded. We didn’t want to get too close. Can we show it to you? You’ll know if it’s a dead person.

So much for my screenplay. Unless I want to start a new one entitled The Hairy Arm on the Beach.

You know I can’t drive you there. Your parents would have me arrested. And I’m already on shaky ground with Deputy Hickman from the Yates County Sheriff’s Office. And don’t tell me you’ll meet me there. If anything happens to you, I’ll be arrested and locked up for life. That’s worse than being grounded for life.

So you’re going to do nothing? Stuart asked.

I didn’t say that. I’ll go over there and check it out. Meanwhile, the two of you should head back home. And don’t go out on Route 14. Take the wooded path behind my house until you reach Billsburrow Road. Then you can take the one that leads to the back of Eli’s property. Got it?

How are we going to find out if it’s a dead body?

If it’s a dead body, you’ll know, all right. The sheriff’s office will send a deputy to your homes. Then your secret won’t be safe. They always want to get a statement from the person who finds the body.

Can I get your cell number? Eli asked. I can call you.

He held out a phone and I widened my eyes. You have a cell phone? You’re not even a teenager.

Heck. Stuart’s seven-year-old brother has one. It’s no big deal.

Tell that to my service provider.

Stuart furrowed his brow. Can’t you tell them you found the body and leave us out of it?

I shook my head. I can’t very well tell them that for no rational reason I took a walk in a bushy wooded area and came across a dead body. Nope, finders keepers in this case.

Eli and Stuart looked as if they might cry.

Hey, I said. Maybe it’ll turn out to be a branch after all. And if not, everyone will be so busy with the discovery, they’ll forget about punishing you. Like that would ever happen. Meanwhile, the two of you should go home. But before you do, I’ll get you some bottles of water and a few cookies. How does that sound?

Good to me, Eli said. Thanks.

I motioned for them to wait in the lobby and walked over to our bistro for the water and cookies. In the background I heard Eli saying, I told you she was really cool.

Really cool. Tell that to Deputy Hickman if I do find a body.

Eli and Stuart devoured the cookies as if they hadn’t eaten whole food in decades. With a mouthful of cookie still in his mouth, Eli asked if they could visit with Alvin on the way out.

He’s the neatest goat in the world, Eli said. I love how he nuzzles my face and gives kisses.

Yeah, Stuart added. He especially likes it if you rub under his chin. Then he turned to Eli. Why don’t your parents get a goat for your winery?

My mother said the dog is enough. Then to me, It’s okay, then? If we see Alvin before we go home?

Aren’t you afraid he’ll spit on you?

Eli looked at me as if I stepped out of a spaceship. Spit? Heck, no. He rubs and cuddles against us.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Every time I went near that goat, he spat at me. And not little bits of spit, mind you. Enormous mounds of the stuff he had brewing in his mouth. My sister and brother-in-law thought having a goat would be a wonderful addition to the winery. Family-friendly entertainment and all that.

Alvin was a Nigerian dwarf goat and the size of a small camel. His fenced-in area was adjacent to the tasting room and included a nice-sized house complete with a ramp and some wooden structures for him to stand on. The unfortunate vineyard crew got stuck feeding him and cleaning his pen. Oh, and walking him into the large barn whenever there was a severe weather threat. As far as I was concerned, Alvin was the threat.

He hated loud noises and had busted down his fence on a few occasions. Once, he even got inside the tasting room and wreaked havoc. I shudder when I think of all those broken wine bottles. However, he seemed to enjoy children and was quite gentle with them. I hated to think it was just me he despised.

When the boys left the winery, Lizzie gave me a wave. What was that all about?

Probably nothing. The taller kid is Henry Speltmore’s son. Remember? The graffiti artist?

Indeed I do. Best not remind Franz. He’d want to draw and quarter that kid.

He and half the other winemakers on the lake whose barrels were tagged with graffiti. Eli, that’s the kid’s name, thought he might have seen a dead body and wanted me to check on it for him. Yikes. I must have some reputation around this lake.

Are you going to do that? Check, I mean.

"I suppose I’ll have to. Let Cammy know, will you? Once I’m done playing amateur sleuth, it’s