Rosinetti’s had been a Geneva fixture since the end of the Second World War. And while its décor had changed over the years, its ambience didn’t according to Cammy. With ever-changing posters and mirrors on the walls, a long wooden bar, rectangular tables that sported red, white, and green tablecloths, and dim lighting, the place exuded a combination of warm hospitality balanced by a certain amount of privacy for its patrons.
The rich aroma of herb-infused tomato sauce coupled with the lingering odor of beer hit our nostrils the moment we set foot inside the doorway. It was late in the afternoon and most of the tables were full. Godfrey and I grabbed the nearest one by the doorway and perused the menu while we waited for the waitress, a college coed who looked as if she was still in junior high.
“Cammy’s aunts are probably cooking back there,” I said. I pointed to the kitchen while I let my eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. “Sometimes her brother bartends, when he’s not on duty with the fire department,” I added.
Godfrey’s eyes never left the menu as he spoke. “I didn’t even realize this place existed. Wow. Three-cheese calzone with sausage. And look—garlic calzone with olives.”
“Guess we might as well order a calzone, huh? And like I was saying before, you need to get out of your office more often.”
“Um, speaking of getting out, isn’t that Gordon Wable sitting at the bar?”
“Oh, my God! It is him. And Stefan’s the guy to his right. Oh, my gosh. I’ve got to send a text to Cammy.”
“Huh?”
“It has to be a text because I can’t speak out loud. Cammy knows all the bartenders. She needs to tell whoever is on duty to listen in to Gordon and Stefan’s conversation. Then they can tell her and she can tell me.”
“And it will all be lost in the process. Like that old game of telephone we used to play when we were kids. Look, we’ve got his room bugged and you’ll be able to hear his conversations on your phone. That’s what we set out to do in the first place, wasn’t it?”
I shrugged. “Crime solving is an evolving process.”
At that moment, the waitress arrived and took our order for a sausage, garlic, and cheese calzone. It sounded heavenly and I was thankful I wasn’t seeing Bradley that night or I’d have to forgo the garlic and sausage. The following weekend was another story. We’d made plans to dine in Skaneateles and poke around the town, figuring Neville would be long gone by then.
For some reason, nerves most likely, I fidgeted with the two jars of parmesan cheese and dried peppers that were on the table, and that’s when something occurred to me. Something that didn’t register earlier.
I shoved the jars away from me and leaned closer to Godfrey. “Stefan’s phone call to Gordon. You heard Gordon, didn’t you? He complained about having to show the footage to me. Renee got my message and came through. You know what this means, don’t you?”
This time Godfrey picked up the two jars and shook them. His voice was as dry as the Sahara. “An impending disaster with Zenora. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Gordon will slip up by then and you’ll hear the conversation. That is, if he had anything to do with Devora’s murder and if he talks about it while he’s in his room.”
“What I can’t figure out is why he’s at the bar elbow to elbow with Stefan. Stefan had decent alibis for that Mercedes business and the break-in. Gordon’s whereabouts are sketchy at best, but you can’t lie about an airline ticket stub.”
While we waited for our calzone, I went over my suspect list with Godfrey, pausing now and then to gauge his reaction. It ranged from lukewarm to tepid with one exception—Priscilla.
He made a weird clicking noise and finally sighed. “Of all the players, she had motive, means, and opportunity. She could have easily convinced Devora to scope out the Ipswiches’ pond, and, well, you know what happened from that point.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think Priscilla had the brute strength to overtake Devora. Even if she caught her off guard.”
“Maybe you’re not looking close enough at Priscilla. Did you see those calves? Every muscle is toned. And her arms, too. That woman’s no slouch.”
Muscle tone? Calves? Hmm, maybe insects aren’t on the top of his list after all.
Just then, a scalding hot calzone with a peppery aroma was headed to our table. In the minutes that followed, there was no discussion about suspects, calves, Zenora, or spring storm Neville. In fact, the only sounds emanating from our table were the not-so-subtle chewing noises followed by a few mmms and ahhs.
Lucky for us that Gordon and Stefan were still deep in conversation at the bar, because they never noticed us when we paid the bill, tipped the waitress, and exited Rosinetti’s. We walked back to my car without saying much of anything. Then Godfrey groaned. “I know how this is going to turn out. It always does. The reading of your wine distributor’s will a few months ago . . . that catastrophic chocolate extravaganza . . . and now the aura reveal. I might as well brace myself. When did you plan to launch the Hindenburg?”
“If you’re referring to my Grand Reveal, Zenora wants to hold it on Wednesday. So much for earlier in the week. She has a quilting class on Tuesday and doesn’t want to miss Monday’s TV lineup. So you’ll be there, won’t you?”
“If it will get you to stop ruminating about my office hours, the answer’s yes. Getting there shouldn’t be an issue, but do me a favor and make sure you have plenty of candles and water.”
“Zenora didn’t say anything about candles or water.”
“Not Zenora. Neville. If the power goes out, you can kiss your well water goodbye and hang out in the dark. Not the best predicament with a murderer in the house.”
“Yeesh. Come to think of it, I could use a few things at Wegmans even though I’m in and out of there all the time. I’ll pick up the pace so we’re not followed by Gordon and Stefan. So far so good, huh?”
“I’ll save my opinion until Thursday morning.”
• • •
When I finally got home and dumped the Wegmans bags on the kitchen table, Charlie shoved his food dish at my feet and looked up. It felt like hours since I’d last filled it with kibble. In fact, it was hours. “Sorry, guy,” I said. “I’m tracking a killer and we all have to be flexible.”
I poured the kibble and watched as he devoured it. Then I hung up my coat, slipped off my boots and glanced at the landline to see if it had registered any messages. Sure enough, the light was blinking. The caller ID said Ipswich and I knew it was Stephanie. I pushed the Play button and stood still.
“Hey, Norrie, it’s me. Stephanie. Before you get your hopes up, the answer is no. I couldn’t find anything else on Skylar. Only work-related stuff. I did see a cute photo of him taken a few years ago on some set. I sent it to your email as an attachment. Sorry I couldn’t be more help. By the way, have you heard anything more from Hickman? He hasn’t been back here since his department interviewed our staff. Derek thinks it’s a good sign for us. What about you? Call me when you get a minute.”
It was late and I was way too exhausted to gab, so instead I put away the stuff I’d bought at Wegmans. Thank you, Godfrey, for spooking me. I’d purchased a few power-outage candles and four LED power-failure lights as well as two twenty-four-bottle cases of spring water that I still had to retrieve from the car. If nothing else, Francine and Jason would be ready for the first storm in the fall.
Not taking any chances, I’d also added chocolate chip cookies to my emergency supplies as well as more crackers, chips, and a bag of apples. We had more than enough bandages and a first aid kit in case someone fell in the dark and got scraped up. The thought of antidotes for poisons crossed my mind while I wandered down aisle sixteen but Devora wasn’t poisoned, she was strangled. With a necklace, no less. I made a mental note to hide my jewelry box.
Once I finished stashing the stuff, I went into the guest bathroom and had another look-see at the oval mirror/suspect clock. No revelations. Then I moved to the couch, booted up my laptop and found Stephanie’s attachment.
Sure enough, Skylar Randall flashed a grin at the camera as he stood behind a tripod. I recognized the movie set immediately. It was one of Conrad Blyth’s Amish love stories. Before he got kicked to the curb with no explanation given. In the background, a long-haired girl had her arms draped around some guy’s neck and she was in Amish attire. He, on the other hand, wore a leather motorcycle jacket, complete with epaulet chain on one shoulder and torn jeans. Obviously not one of the actors. All I could see were their profiles and a large camouflage bag at the guy’s feet. I couldn’t make out the writing on the bag but it didn’t matter. Cute picture or not, it was absolutely no help. I exited the screen and was about to close the laptop when I noticed an email from Renee. It was longer than her usual emails, and once I read it, I was sorry I’d told her I could deliver results in the first place. What was the matter with me?
I trust your judgment, Norrie. That’s why I directed Gordon to share the film footage with you. I’m not sure how that’s going to help. It’s not as if the murder was caught on tape, but maybe there’s something in that film that will point you in the right direction. God knows, we’re getting nowhere here. I’m holding off sending our barrister since Priscilla hasn’t been charged yet. If the roads are bad, he can always hop a flight. Keep me posted. Gordon tells me the crew is restless. At least Gavin can work on his lines. Best, Renee.
I flipped the lid on the laptop and leaned back on the couch. Renee trusted my judgment. What judgment? I was all over the place with my own cockeyed investigation. At least Nancy Drew followed the clues with precision and thought. I jumped around from would-be suspect to would-be suspect with more ill-conceived action plans imaginable, including my version of a Hail Mary pass as far as getting covert info from the mini-cam in Gordon’s room.
With no choice but to finalize the details of the aura reveal with Zenora, I picked up the phone and called her. I kept telling myself that we had three days, possibly four if I counted Wednesday, to nab Devora’s killer before resorting to some sort of hocus-pocus, but I wasn’t optimistic. What I was sure of was that if I got too close to the killer without thinking things through, I could be the next one with something wrapped around my neck.
After mindless channel surfing, I called it quits for the night and followed Charlie up to bed. For the first hour or so, I slept the sleep of the dead. Then I heard voices. I was positive two people were downstairs and immediately reached for my phone, only to realize it was my phone. Godfrey had programmed it in conjunction with Apple’s Live Listen program and it was picking up a conversation in Gordon’s room.
I moved closer to the phone, petrified that if I picked it up I’d lose the connection. For a relatively inexpensive system, the audio was pretty clear and I recognized the voices—Gordon’s and Priscilla’s.
Without her usual sniffling and sobbing, Priscilla enunciated every single word. “Like I was saying, I went down the hall to get some ice and who did I see? Skylar and Mickey at the vending machine. Traitors. Bad enough they hemmed and hawed about what had happened when I ran into them at the elevator, but now they even went so far as to say I was overreacting. Overreacting? My fingerprint was on those horrid tortoiseshell glasses of Devora’s. That’s enough to have the deputy slap handcuffs on me.”
A few garbled noises followed and I couldn’t determine if they were kissing or if they moved farther away from the recording device. Then, all of a sudden I heard Priscilla again.
“But I got even. I told them the deputy called to inform me I was no longer a suspect and was free to return to Toronto. I wanted to see the expressions on their faces.”
Gordon’s voice practically boomed. “And?”
“Humph. Mickey tugged on that ratty Toronto Maple Leaves sweatshirt that’s all but glued to his skin and Skylar adjusted the collar of his stupid sweater for the umpteenth time. If you ask me, they were both nervous. Skylar had the nerve to ask if the deputy said anything about anyone else and I shrugged. That’ll show them.”
Then a loud knock in the background. Gordon yelled, “Hold your horses. I’ll be right there.” His voice got softer and I strained to hear it. All I could make out was the word bathroom and I knew that’s where Priscilla had gone.