"Yes."
"When? How long ago?"
"Not long," Eva replied.
"Are you sure?" Beth asked.
"Yes. I watch him." She pointed to the window. "The boat goes out there."
"He was alone?"
"Yes."
I said to Eva, "Stand here at the window."
She stood up arid went to the window.
I said, "The boat-which way did the boat go? Which way?" I motioned with my hands.
She pointed to the left. "Go that way."
I looked at the bay. The Chris-Craft, the Autumn Gold, had headed east from the boathouse, but I couldn't see anything on the water except waves.
Beth asked me, "Why did he take the boat out?"
I replied, "Maybe to ditch the murder weapon."
"I think he could have picked a better day." She turned to Eva and asked, " When did he leave? Ten minutes? Twenty?"
"Maybe ten. Maybe more."
"Where was he going?"
She shrugged. "He say he be back tonight. Tell me to stay here. To not be afraid. But I am afraid."
"It's just a tropical storm," I informed her.
Beth took Eva by the hand and led her out of the bedroom, then down the stairs into the kitchen. I followed. Beth said to her, "You must stay on the ground floor. Stay away from the windows. Okay?"
Eva nodded.
Beth said, "Find candles, matches, and a flashlight. If you are afraid, go to the basement. Okay?"
Eva nodded again and went to one of the cupboards to get candles.
Beth thought a moment, then asked me, "Where is he going in this weather?"
I said, "He should be at the winery doing what he can to protect his property. But he's not going to the winery by boat." I said to Eva, "Did you see him walk to the boat? You understand?"
"Yes. I see him go to boat."
"Was he carrying anything?" I did a little pantomime. "In his hands?"
"Yes."
"What?"
She decided to clam up.
Beth said, "What did he carry?"
"Gun?"
"Yes. Big gun. Long gun."
"Rifle?" Beth pantomimed aiming a rifle.
"Yes, rifle." She held up two fingers and said, "Two."
Beth and I looked at each other.
Eva said, "And to dig." It was her turn to pantomime, and she made a digging motion. "To dig."
"Shovel?"
"Yes. Shovel. In garage."
I thought a moment and said to Eva, "And box? To carry? Bag? Box?"
She shrugged.
Beth said to me, "What do you think?"
I said, "Well, what I don't think is that Fredric Tobin went fishing with two rifles and a shovel." I said to Eva, "Keys. Where are keys?"
She led us to the wall phone, beside which was a key board. Tobin, compulsive neat-freak that he was, had tagged all the keys. I saw that the keys for the Chris-Craft were missing, but the Formula key was still there.
While I was contemplating my next rash move, Eva said, "Downstairs. Down to cellar."
We both looked at her. She was pointing to a door at the far end of the kitchen. She said, "He go downstairs. Something downstairs."
Beth and I looked at each other.
Clearly, Mr. Tobin was not Employer of the Year, and Eva was happy for the opportunity to rat him out-though I could see fear in her eyes, and I knew it was more than the hurricane that frightened her. I had no doubt Tobin would have murdered her if it weren't for the inconvenience of having a dead body on the property.
I walked to the door and turned the knob, but it was locked. I retrieved the fire ax and took up a batting stance.
Beth said, "Wait! We need probable cause to do that."
I said to Eva, "Do we have your consent to search?"
"Please?"
"Thank you." I swung the steel-cut ax at the door knob and smashed it right through the wood. I opened the door, revealing a narrow, dark staircase leading down to the basement. I said to Beth, "You're free to leave anytime."
Ms. Do-Right seemed to have an epiphany, an understanding that we were both in so deep, we might as well break any laws we may have missed. She got a flashlight from Eva and handed it to me. "You first, hero. I'll cover."
"Right." I went first, carrying the flashlight in one hand and the fire ax in the other. Beth drew her 9mm and followed.
It was a very old cellar with less than a seven-foot clearance. The foundation was stone and so was the floor. At first glance, it seemed that there wasn't much down there-it was too damp for storage and too grim and spooky for even a laundry room. Basically, it seemed to have only a furnace and hot water tank. I couldn't imagine what Eva was trying to tip us off to.
Then the flashlight beam rested on a long brick wall at the far end of the cellar, and we moved toward it.
The brick and mortar wall was of newer construction than the ancient stone foundation. The wall was basically a partition that bisected the cellar from front to rear and all the way up to the old oak beams.
In the dead center of the wall was a very nice carved oak door. My flashlight picked out a brass sign on the door that read, "His Lordship's Private Wine Cellar."
Since His Lordship was lacking a sense of humor, I assumed the sign was a gift from an admirer, or perhaps even Emma.
Beth whispered, "Should we go in?"
I replied, "Only if the door is unlocked. Rules of search and seizure." I handed her the flashlight and tried the bia brass handle, but the door was locked and I noticed a brass keyhole above the handle. I said, "It's not locked, it's just stuck." I swung the ax at the keyhole and the oak door split, but held. I gave it a few more whacks and eventually it swung open.
Beth had switched off the flashlight as soon as the door swung in, and we were standing on either side of the door now with our backs to the brick wall, pistols drawn.
I called out, "Police.' Come out with your hands up!"
No reply.
I pitched my ax in through the door and it landed with a metallic clank. But no one fired at it.
I said to Beth, "You go first. I've already been shot this year."
"Thanks." She got into a crouch and said, "I'm going right." She moved quickly through the door and I followed. I broke left, and we stayed motionless in a crouch with our pistols up and out.
I couldn't see a thing, but I felt that the room was cooler and maybe dryer than the rest of the basement. I called out, "Police! Hands up!"
We waited another half minute, then Beth snapped on the flashlight. The beam traveled across the room illuminating a row of wine racks. She moved the light around the room. There was a table in the center of the room on which were two candelabra and some candlesticks. There were packs of matches on the table, and I lit about ten candles, which cast a flickering glow around the wine cellar and which danced off the bottles.
There were wooden racks all over the place as you'd expect in a wine cellar. There were also wooden crates and cardboard wine boxes, opened and unopened, piled here and there. There were six barrels of wine in cradles, each one tapped. I could see refrigeration coils on the walls protected by Plexiglas. The ceiling looked like cedar and the rough stone floor had been covered with smooth slates set in concrete. I remarked to Beth, "I keep my two bottles of wine in a kitchen cupboard."
Beth took the flashlight from me and examined some of the dust-covered bottles in one of the racks. She said, "These are vintage French wines."
I replied, "He probably keeps his own stuff in the garage."
She shone the light on the foundation wall where a few dozen cardboard boxes were stacked. She said, "There's some of his stuff there. And the barrels have his wine labels on them."
"Right."
We poked around awhile, noting a cabinet that held glasses, corkscrews, napkins, and such. We found thermometers hung here and there, all reading about 60 degrees Fahrenheit.