Death Distilled

by Melinda Mullet

  “Not in so many words,” Michaelson echoed, “but some of the crew mentioned it. Makes you wonder if there could still be something between them.”

  I thought about the look on Rory’s face when he was near Patty. Michaelson was onto something, but I didn’t like where it might lead him.

  “Even if he still had feelings for her, why would he kill Hamish Dunn?”

  “From what I hear they didn’t part on good terms. Hendricks could settle an old grudge and deflect attention from his main victim, Ian Waters.”

  Paving the way for a fresh start with Patty. Had she encouraged him? Had the stakes changed for Rory? Could all this be hiding a simple case of two lovers trying to eliminate an unwanted husband? I pushed the thought from my mind. “You must have checked Rory’s alibis.”

  “If you’ve seen the toxicology report on Hamish Dunn, you know that the killer wouldn’t have had to be present the night he died. Makes everyone’s alibis pretty worthless. Hendricks went to Ravenscourt several times to meet with old colleagues, so he’d have had the opportunity to tamper with the can.”

  “But I thought he had a solid alibi for the day of Ian’s accident?”

  “He was at his solicitor’s office, but the building was only two blocks from where Ian was hit. A quick coffee run, a trip to the bathroom, and Bob’s your uncle.”

  Michaelson’s theory had a superficial appeal, but I just didn’t buy it. That didn’t stop my imagination from running amok. Had Rory come to me for help as a cover? My gut said he was genuine, but I was hardly immune to his charms. Was my judgment being clouded in a haze of pheromones and adrenaline?

  “If Rory’s the killer, why would he advertise that fact in front of a packed audience?”

  “Could be someone’s onto him. Or more likely, as you said, a publicity stunt. The studio has to be thrilled with all the press.”

  “Penrose is still the more logical option,” I insisted.

  “I told you, Penrose was at a business lunch on the day of Ian’s accident.”

  “What about Simon Moye?”

  “He was at Southside the night of Hamish’s death, not that it’s really relevant, and he can’t remember where he was the day of Ian’s accident.”

  “Surely that makes him a suspect.”

  “It does, and so is Penrose, but Rory Hendricks isn’t telling the whole truth and I’m going to find out why. You can defend him all you want. He’s a suspect, and we’ll continue to treat him that way.”

  Did Michaelson know something else about Rory he wasn’t sharing? Should I be worried? “You haven’t mentioned the incident at the gallery in a while.”

  “The insurance guys are looking into the theft. It’s possible it isn’t connected at all.”

  Clearly the insurance company was thinking fraud. Rory’s scam might not be as foolproof as he thought.

  I rang off from Michaelson and stood for a long moment, leaning on the car and watching my sheep grazing contentedly in the yard. Their life now was blissfully uncomplicated. Wish I could say the same. Penrose, Simon, Tina, and maybe even Rory. My heart said no, but my head taunted me with doubts. My money was still on Penrose. I dug out his business card and put in a call to his cellphone.

  “I have the photos you wanted.”

  “How many you got?”

  “A couple of dozen.”

  “My, my, you must be very persuasive.”

  I could feel the leer over the phone. “Do you want them or not?”

  “Send me the photos and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I’d just as soon bring them, thanks.”

  “Alright. Bring ’em by my hotel round ten-thirty tomorrow morning, but don’t be late. I’m heading back to London after lunch.”

  —

  I finished loading Liam back into Hope and we headed off on a circuitous route along the valley road in case my press friend was still around. Once I was sure I wasn’t being followed, I doubled back to Rory’s place.

  He greeted me at the door wearing jeans and a Who Are You t-shirt from the 1978 tour. He ushered us into the kitchen and poured me a coffee in one of his jewel-toned mugs.

  “How’s Summer doing?” I asked.

  “Not returning my texts with any regularity, but the security folks say she’s safe in the house. That’s something. At least she’s not pacing the cage like she was here.”

  “She really is better off up there,” I said briskly, trying to ignore the mental images of her and Grant twinning together in my head. “It’s you we need to worry about. I brought photos for you to sign.”

  “I hate the idea of that bastard making more money off of me,” Rory growled.

  “If you don’t sign them, he will,” I pointed out. “At least if he’s charging your fans good money for a signed photo they’ll be getting the real thing.”

  “I suppose so,” Rory said grudgingly. “When are you seeing him?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Rory paced up and down restlessly. “And you think you can prove it’s him?”

  “I can only try. I’ll talk to him. See if I can pinpoint something the police missed. He may be less guarded with me.”

  “I know you’re trying.” Rory came back toward me and draped an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t mean to seem ungrateful,” he said, squeezing me into his side. “I’m just bloody sick to death of all this. I want to know what’s going on and why.”

  I looked up at him, feeling my stomach drop like I’d gone over the crest on a roller coaster. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was no genuine emotion on his part behind his rote displays of affection. His mind and his heart were elsewhere.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Did your relationship with Patty have anything to do with the band’s breakup?”

  “Who told you that?” Rory said, his good humor evaporating quickly.

  “No one told me,” I fibbed. “You hired me because I’m observant, you can’t fault me for it now.”

  Rory sighed heavily. “Is it still that obvious?”

  “Not to most people,” I assured him.

  Rory stirred his coffee methodically, watching the dark liquid spin in the cup. “What Patty and I had was different. It was short-lived and, as far as she was concerned, a huge mistake. She did her best to wipe me out of her life.” I caught a momentary flash of anger, but it was gone in an instant and I began to wonder if I’d imagined it.

  “She was in love with Ian,” Rory continued. “Always had been. She tried to get back at him for some stupid indiscretion of his, but she regretted it immediately. They had a big fight and split up for about six months. But it didn’t last; they were meant for each other. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

  “Is that why you ran away?”

  “I was in a downward spiral at that point. Hated myself and everything in my life, and I knew I had to either get out or die trying. I picked fights with everyone. Alienated all the others. Said terrible things and brought the Rebels to a crashing end.”

  “ ‘Artistic differences.’ ”

  “Covers a multitude of sins,” Rory said.

  “Is Patty why you left the country?”

  “A big part of it, yeah. It wasn’t fair to her for me to stay. I don’t know if Ian ever figured out that I left in part to give them a chance.”

  “How was it seeing Patty again?” I asked cautiously.

  “She hasn’t changed,” Rory said softly. “Still a lady.”

  Rory couldn’t fool me. I could see that he still harbored an incredible depth of feeling for Patty. But was the feeling mutual?

  Liam, who had been lying at my feet, began to growl softly, his ears pricked up. He rose and trotted to the window, looking out in the direction of the barn.

  “One of the security guys?” I suggested.

  Rory shook his head and followed Liam to the window. “I’m only keeping one here now; the rest are with Summer, and I sent Mick into town to get some food just before you arrive
d.”

  “What’s in the barn?”

  “My studio.”

  Could the man Summer saw be back? Was the danger moving closer? “I think we’d better take a look.”

  Chapter 17

  I followed Rory out the back door and across the yard. The fog had thinned but still lingered, obscuring anything farther than twenty feet from the house. We sloshed our way through the mud to the barn, approaching as quietly as we could from the end with no windows. The main door was open a crack, and Rory pushed the door wider before turning on an overhead light. I saw he had the gun in his hand. As always, it made me feel more nervous, not less. I assessed the scene quickly. A long, thin, pine-topped table ran down the middle of the room, showcasing several pieces of pottery in various stages of development. A good-sized brick kiln took up most of the floor space at the far end of the room, and the side wall was lined with two rows of wooden shelves used for drying finished and semifinished pieces.

  The room appeared deserted, but Liam was making a beeline for the kiln, his hackles raised. I called him back softly, afraid that whoever was there might be dangerous. But once he had an idea in his head there was no stopping him. As he approached the oven a large figure in a dark coat and a ski mask rose from the shadows and hesitated for a moment, his gaze moving between Rory and me and the doorway behind us. Rory raised the gun and I pushed it aside. “No. You might hit Liam.”

  The intruder took advantage of the confusion and suddenly bolted between the two drying racks, shoving the one closest to us in our direction and causing a cascade of ceramic and shelving to rain down on our heads.

  We struggled to right the shelf as the intruder reached the door. Liam was barking like a pack of wild dogs, baring his teeth until the masked man kicked out and sent Liam sliding sideways across the floor. I staggered toward him as I finally disentangled myself from the shelves, and managed to get a hand on his wrist between his coat sleeve and his glove, digging my nails into his skin, but quickly let go as he stabbed me in the shoulder with a shard of pottery before fleeing from the building.

  Rory tried to get me to stay put, but I followed him out into the mist. He sprinted off in spite of my admonitions and was soon lost to sight. I heard two gunshots, but Rory returned after several minutes uttering a string of expletives. He’d lost the intruder in the fog before hearing an engine start ahead on the road. He’d fired in the direction of the car out of frustration, but our visitor was long gone by now.

  Liam limped to my side, trailing blood from his front right paw. He must have stepped on some shattered stoneware in the melee.

  Rory called the police and requested medical assistance. Bill Rothes arrived just as the fire department’s medic finished bandaging my arm.

  He raised an eyebrow in my direction with a look that I’d learned to recognize as Why, why is it always you?

  I left the medic bandaging Liam’s paw, even though it was against protocol, and followed Bill and Rory into the barn.

  “…converted this to a ceramics studio when I arrived,” Rory was saying.

  “Do you keep it locked?”

  “Never seemed necessary.”

  “What about your security team, did they see anything?”

  “Most of the team is with my daughter at the moment over at the Larches, and I sent my guy into town for supplies.”

  “It was Liam that heard the noise,” I offered.

  “Good lad,” Bill murmured. He had a soft spot for Liam, which is more than I could say for his feelings about me at the moment.

  “And you just happened to be here?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll do our best to track the intruder, but you two left a slew of footprints to sift through when you started racing around like chickens with your heads cut off.” Bill turned to me. “Mr. Hendricks says the suspect was wearing a dark coat and a ski mask. What’d you see?”

  “He wasn’t very tall, only about my height, but he was solid, rather on the chubby side. His coat was wool, a dark plaid but old and cheap. The cuffs were fraying, and it looked like he’d gained weight since he bought the thing. It was tight across the midsection. Oh, and he was wearing gloves. I may’ve managed to get some of his skin under my nails. I grabbed his wrist but let go when he stabbed me.”

  “Right. May not help, but if he has a record it could pull something up. Of course, it could be your stalker again.”

  “What stalker?” Rory said sharply.

  “The person your daughter reported lurking in the woods with binoculars on the day she went missing,” Bill replied.

  Rory stared at us both. “Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me?” he demanded.

  “She didn’t want you to freak out,” I said pointedly.

  “Whose side are you on?” Rory said incredulously.

  “Right now I’m in the middle,” I said. “I insisted she tell Rothes. He’s had someone patrolling the area, and that’s why I was behind Summer going to the Larches.”

  Bill clearly didn’t want to be involved in this argument, and he excused himself quickly, saying, “You two stay put while we take a look at the ground surrounding the barn.”

  Rory glared at me from across the table. “I have a right to know what’s going on, especially when it involves my daughter.”

  “I know, but your bursts of temper aren’t helpful. They make you look volatile and impetuous.”

  “I am volatile and impetuous.”

  “But that’s not the vibe you want to give off in the middle of a murder inquiry.”

  “I’m not a suspect,” Rory groused. After a long moment he turned and looked me in the eye, causing me to have trouble maintaining my train of thought. “Or am I?” he demanded.

  “Everyone’s a suspect in cases like this,” I said as diplomatically as I could.

  “I am the one being threatened,” Rory said, articulating each word with cold precision.

  “That’s part of the problem,” I said. “Everyone else was just attacked. Whoever this is seems to be playing games with you.”

  “Would it be more convenient for the police if I died straightaway?”

  “Of course not. It just complicates the investigation and raises other issues.”

  “Like whether I’m the killer?”

  “They’re looking at everyone,” I replied evenly.

  “Summer, too?” Rory growled.

  “Maybe just a little,” I admitted. “Does she know she would inherit under your will?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She would never harm Ian, and she didn’t even know Hamish. Is Michaelson really wasting time on this and not looking for the real murderer?”

  “He’s covering all bases.” It was definitely time to switch gears. “Can you think of why someone would want to break into the studio? There’s nothing there of any real value.”

  “Nothing worth breaking and entering for,” Rory agreed gruffly. “I don’t know what they were after, but this has got to end. I need to prove this lunatic exists. Force his hand. The concert was too big. Too many people, too easy to fade into the crowd. What I need is something on a smaller scale.”

  “You can’t keep throwing yourself out as bait,” I protested.

  Rory ignored me. “What about this event Summer’s working on?” he demanded. “Why couldn’t I be a special guest? You know I’m an Abbey Glen fan. We can announce it and try to lure the killer out into the open.”

  I cringed inwardly. Patrick and Grant were going to hate this idea. “You’d be putting a lot of people at risk,” I insisted. “People I’ve already put at risk once. I don’t want to do it again.”

  “Folks are at risk here already. Look at you.” Rory gestured to the bandage on my arm. “You were caught in the crossfire just being here today. We need to end this.”

  “What makes you think the killer would show? This is a specialized event, a stranger couldn’t just crash. He’d stand out like a sore thumb.”

  “He’s proved himself to be pret
ty ingenious so far,” Rory argued. “And if he’s that obvious maybe even Michaelson can figure it out.”

  “Why don’t you at least run it by Michaelson first?” I said, hoping he would forbid it. “See what he says.”

  Rory looked obstinate. “If I do it, they’ll have to come.”

  I could see where this was going, and it wasn’t good. Once Bill gave us the all-clear, Rory walked Liam and me to the car and lifted himself onto a blanket on the backseat.

  I drove away slowly in the fog, thinking, Simon Moye or Bruce Penrose? Penrose was the right shape and the right height. Both Simon and Tina’s beau were too slim. I could only hope the DNA test would support my hunch. Meanwhile, my meeting with Penrose in the morning loomed larger. Was I foolish for walking into the lion’s den? Patrick would say yes, but I wanted to see Penrose in his natural habitat. I pulled a small ceramic vase out of my coat pocket. I’d saved it while we were cleaning up. It was a beautiful thing in shades of teal and green. Most important, it had Rory Hendricks’s signature on the bottom. With any luck Penrose would find it irresistible, and I wanted to see if he listed it for sale immediately or hung on to it waiting for a spike in demand.

  —

  My arm was starting to ache as I drove home, and I stopped at the chemist’s on my way back through town. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was painful. I bought some antiseptic and some more bandages along with a large bottle of ibuprofen. I dropped the purchases back at the car and went across the street to the Chocolate Bar to get a coffee to go.

  Floss came bustling forward when I entered. “You look a sight,” she said, putting me in a soft chair near the window. “What in God’s name have you been doin’?”

  “Just a little accident with some pottery,” I fibbed. “All I need is a coffee.”

  “Sure you wouldn’t rather have the house special?”

  The house special was a chocolate martini with a side of shortbread. “No, just coffee,” I replied.

  Floss returned with the coffee and her husband Harold brought me a Cadbury Dairy Milk on a plate.

  “Good for shock or blood loss,” he said with a wink. “Have it on the house, lass.”

  “Whatever it is you’ve got yourself into, you need to be careful. Some pompous prat named Llewelyn-Jones was here this mornin’ asking all sorts of questions about you and that nice Mr. Hendricks.”