Death Distilled

by Melinda Mullet

  “That’s just it, no one. Just me and Bonnie.”

  “Could Bonnie have told Summer?”

  “No. She wouldn’t have. Summer had enough on her plate at the end without knowing her godmother slept with her father.” Patty began to absentmindedly shred the damp napkin into tiny pieces. “The letter came care of JR at Ravenscourt. JR thought it was some kind of fan mail and passed it on.”

  “How did Rory take it?”

  “About like you’d expect. Angry at first, then hurt. Really hurt.”

  I could hear Michaelson’s suspicions echoing in my head. “Hurt enough to lash out at Ian?” I asked.

  Patty looked stunned.

  “I have to ask. The police would. Rory’s got a temper. Is there any chance he blamed Ian for coming between the two of you? Could he have tried to hurt him?”

  “No.” Patty was vehement, but she looked frightened all the same. “He wouldn’t do that. You can’t let the police think he would. Besides, whoever killed Hamish is the one that had a go at Ian, and Hamish died well before Rory found out about the baby. You need someone with a grudge against all of them, like that bastard Penrose.”

  “Unfortunately, Bruce Penrose was found murdered yesterday.”

  Patty went white. “Do they think Rory did it?”

  “He’s a suspect, as far as the police are concerned. But I’m sure they’ll find he has an alibi. In the meantime, what can you tell me about Simon Moye?”

  “Simon? Talented musician. Great producer. But I don’t really know him.”

  “Could he have been harboring a grudge all these years?”

  “I suppose so.” Patty looked as if she’d aged in the past week. “But all these hurts were so long ago.”

  I wrote my number on a napkin and handed it to Patty. “Let me know if you think of anything that might help.” I rose to go, and Patty grabbed my arm.

  “Tell Summer to stay in touch,” Patty begged. “I’m worried for her, even more now than before.”

  As I headed back to the airport I wrestled with the idea of telling Michaelson about the letter Rory had received. I felt that I would be betraying both him and Patty, but the letter could hold a vital key. If it was connected to the attacks on the Rebels, it’d limit the suspect pool dramatically. Only a small number of people could possibly have known about the baby, and most of them were dead. Finding the writer could mean finding the killer, but Simon was my number-one suspect now. How could he have known about the baby?

  Maybe it wasn’t connected at all. What if Patty wrote the letter? Patty might have decided it was time that Rory knew. Maybe she had no other way of breaking it to him. If that was the case then the letter wasn’t a vital clue after all. I put my phone away. I’d tell Michaelson if I had to, but I didn’t want him any more focused on Rory than he already was. The letter could wait.

  —

  I arrived back at the Haven to a joyous greeting from Liam and Oscar. With Hunter’s and my running around like crazy, Liam had formed a strong attachment to his new charges and I was glad. It kept him from being lonely. Patrick left a message on the fridge saying he was at Grant’s going over video footage with Gerry and Summer, so I heated some soup and ate alone.

  The letter was still bugging me. Patty couldn’t face the fact that Rory might have tried to hurt Ian. And clearly JR didn’t want to, but he was the only other person close enough to Rory to shed more light on the situation. He wasn’t going to be delighted to hear from me after this morning, but I had to try. It was gone eight o’clock, but I caught him at the studio. I had to plead with him not to hang up.

  “JR, I really need to talk to you. Tell me about the letter that came to Rory care of you.”

  “Gave it to Rory,” he snapped.

  This was going to be a fun conversation. “Did you know what it said?”

  “None of my business.”

  “Okay, let’s try basics. Was the envelope handwritten?”

  “Typed.”

  “Mailed in London?”

  “Hand delivered.”

  “How did Rory take the news?” I asked.

  “He went straight to Patty.”

  “And? Come on, I’m really trying to help Rory. Work with me.”

  I could hear JR sigh at the other end of the line. “Fine. It was a tough conversation. He looked gutted when he came back. Then Ian had the accident and Rory retreated up to the place in Scotland. He wanted to be nearby for Summer, but seeing Patty suffer was more than he could stand.”

  “Did you know about the baby?”

  “Not till Rory told me.”

  I hated having to pry into Rory’s private life like this; if there was a clue here somewhere, I had to ask. “Who else might have known?”

  “Whoever Patty trusted. She certainly didn’t share the news with me.”

  “Does Rory still have feelings for Patty?” I asked cautiously.

  “This is nobody’s business but Rory’s.”

  “I’m trying to find a killer. Please.”

  “He was in love with Patty. From the moment he first saw her. He’d have done anything for her.”

  I took a deep breath. “Would he have killed her husband?”

  “That’s enough.”

  “No. No, don’t hang up. I’m sorry. I just need to hear your answer. I believe you, but I have to ask.”

  “She would never have asked,” JR said quietly. “Patty loves Ian. Always has and always will. She was fond of Rory, but it wasn’t the same.”

  “How did Ian find out about the affair? Did Patty tell him?”

  “No, it was Hamish. He was always the troublemaker. Liked to stir the pot just for fun. He overheard Rory and me talking and he told Ian out of spite. There was a helluva row. Rory told Hamish and Stuart exactly what he thought of them. He only shut up because Ian managed to break his jaw in the ensuing brawl.”

  “And that was it for the band?”

  “Rory signed the papers to dissolve the group from the hospital and booked a flight to São Paulo. He wanted to escape from all the painful memories here. In all honesty, he also wanted to give Patty and Ian a chance to get back on their feet. Like I said, he loved Patty. If she wanted Ian, then Rory would bow out. In spite of all the craziness he was a man of honor.”

  I hung up feeling more confused than ever. JR came through in my head as sentimental, lonely, and loyal. By Rory’s own admission one of his closest friends. Loyalty again. Could JR be protecting Rory?

  It was too much for my overloaded brain to process. It was time for some superior lubricant. I pulled out a bottle of the vintage Fletcher’s and poured myself a drink. I was just taking my first luxurious sip, savoring the taste of dried fruits and cinnamon, when the front door opened and Patrick glided in.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you smelled this.”

  “Just what I need,” Patrick said, flopping onto the couch opposite me and holding out a limp hand. “It’s been a bugger of a day.”

  I poured Patrick a drink and placed it on the table next to him. “Don’t start expecting this kind of service.”

  “How was London?”

  “Confusing. Not sure where I’m going with this. The more I learn, the more mixed up I get.”

  “Any luck with Simon Moye?”

  “Michaelson’s trying to track him down, but he’s still got a bee in his bonnet about Rory.”

  Patrick gave a contented sigh as he sipped his whisky. I know how he felt, the warmth slipped deep within, smoothing the edges off of life with a taste as addictive as a lover’s caress.

  “Ahh, much better.” He sighed. “Okay. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  This was what I needed. Patrick was always my best sounding board. “Okay, logically it should be Simon Moye. Of all the people who have a grudge against Rory and the Rebels, he was the one who also had it in for Penrose. He was cheated out of fame and fortune, and is stuck producing music for other young bands living his dream. He spends long hours at Ravens
court, with easy access to the computers and to Hamish’s stash of Red Bull. He had no clear alibi for the time of Ian’s accident, and we only have his wife’s word and a few cellphone posts to put him in Wales at the time Penrose was killed.”

  “Would be a long haul up and back to Stirling from Wales, but I suppose it could be done.”

  “Yes, but Simon may not have been in Wales. Maybe it was just his phone. Only the last photo showed Simon, and even that could have been shot earlier. He could just be using his wife to give him an alibi.”

  “The worst word you came up with for Simon Moye was tense,” Patrick said, pointing to the card on the table. “That’s hardly damning—we’re all tense. Especially now.”

  “To some degree, but when tension builds it’s like a pressure cooker building up a head of steam. Maybe Simon was just pushed too far.” The tenseness I had sensed in him at the concert now seemed to me to be a fury poised to explode in a fatal onslaught.

  “Are you sure your judgment isn’t being clouded by your personal obsession with Mickey Dawson?” Patrick picked up Rory’s card from the table. “In your own words, he’s volatile. A ticking time bomb waiting to explode. And someone thinks he’s a killer. They made it clear in big red blood-soaked letters.”

  I shook my head. “When that message flashed on the screen Michaelson immediately thought of the recent deaths, but I didn’t. My mind went to something from the past. An old wound.” I cradled my drink in my hands, watching the firelight play on its surface. “Maybe it’s just because I have my head wrapped around other mysteries from the past right now, but I don’t feel Rory has anything to do with the recent deaths.”

  “But there’s plenty of circumstantial evidence,” Patrick insisted. “Rory had several meetings at Ravenscourt after he came back from Brazil. He knew Hamish was around the studio still. He could have tampered with his stash of Red Bull.”

  “How would he know Hamish’s routine? He’d been gone for years.”

  “Maybe he had an accomplice.”

  JR came to mind immediately. Had his loyalty to Rory inspired him to help with some kind of vendetta? Rory had reason enough to hate them all. Hamish for telling Ian about the affair in the first place, Ian for winning the heart of the love of his life, and Penrose for pushing Bonnie aside and stealing his money. JR had been Rory’s friend through the good times and the bad. I couldn’t tell Patrick about Patty, but it would only serve to strengthen his sense of Rory’s guilt.

  Patrick was warming to his topic. “Rory was only two blocks away from the scene of Ian’s accident. No one accounted for his every moment at his solicitor’s. He could have stepped out on the pretext of getting a coffee or taking a private call. And he hasn’t given an alibi for the time when Penrose was being whacked over the head with his guitar.”

  I felt a surge of relief. Finally a moment of clarity. “That’s what makes me sure it isn’t him. If he’d killed Penrose he’d have been ready with an alibi. An airtight one. And why would he kill Penrose with his own guitar covered in his fingerprints and then just abandon it at the scene of the crime along with a verse from a song he and Simon wrote together? He’s many things, but he’s not stupid.”

  “Anyone else a potential contender?”

  “Not that I can see. Summer was at the Larches the whole time with you and Louisa. Tina and her boy toy, Jai, both had alibis for the time of Penrose’s death. Even though Jai had plenty of access before, he couldn’t have been in Stirling yesterday morning. Moreover, I found it hard to believe that he would be willing to murder someone for Tina. He’s having a bit of a fling, but he doesn’t seem to be overwhelmingly attached to her. Not the kind of obsessive passion that would precipitate murder.”

  “Then that brings us back to Simon Moye.”

  “Right,” Liam grunted as I moved him off my lap to lean toward Patrick. “To kill this many people the motive has to be intensely personal, and it has to resonate deeply. I can see Simon feeling that way about Penrose, but I’m caught on the practical aspect. There’s no way Penrose would let Simon into his room.”

  “He could’ve forced his way in.”

  “There was no sign of forced entry.”

  “Maybe Simon made the appointment under an assumed name to point a finger at Rory, then managed to convince Penrose he’d genuinely come to sell the guitar he stole from the concert,” Patrick suggested. “Mickey Dawson’s comeback guitar would be very tempting to a memorabilia dealer.”

  “True.” I took another sip of my Fletcher’s. “It has to be Simon. Nothing else fits the facts.”

  “Your reasoning’s sound as always. Let’s just hope Michaelson can track Simon down before Saturday and avoid another epic disaster.”

  Patrick was right. The killer had been toying with Rory long enough. My gut told me the next attack would be deadly.

  —

  Early on Friday morning I loaded Liam into Hope and followed Patrick over to the Larches to get serious about the final event prep. Pulling into the front drive, I could see that Summer had been busy already. The front door was framed with flowing plaid drapes, presumably the MacEwen tartan, and the stone urns on the front step were overflowing with lavender and white heather.

  I was surprised to see Michaelson himself exiting the house as I walked across the forecourt.

  “A word,” he said, gesturing away from the house. Liam followed us as we wandered off down the drive, out of earshot of the gardener tidying the shrubs near the doorway.

  “Were you aware that Hendricks takes a long hike every morning through the hills?”

  “No,” I said warily.

  “I tried to pin him down again on an alibi for the time of Penrose’s death, and all he could say was that he was out walking—alone.”

  “No security detail?”

  “The guards were instructed to stay at the house. This time, according to Hendricks, he took the car and drove along to the far side of the valley to hike the southern rim.”

  “Alone?”

  “Alone. He could just as easily have done the half-hour drive down to Stirling, murdered Penrose and returned.”

  Crap, this did not look good. What the hell was Rory thinking? “I know you don’t believe me, but my gut still says it isn’t him.”

  “We’re going to need more than your gut feeling. Especially as the circumstantial evidence is starting to stack up, at least with respect to Penrose. Your boy insists that the guitar disappeared from backstage after the show on Friday, but his prints were the only ones on the murder weapon.”

  “It’s only natural his fingerprints would be on a guitar he was playing, and if someone was attempting to frame him for murder it would be a perfect choice of weapon.”

  “He was also in and out of Ravenscourt a few times before Hamish Dunn’s murder. Opportunity to plant a computer virus or spike a drink can.”

  “He’d been away for years. How would he know pass codes and where Hamish kept his stash?”

  “An accomplice,” Michaelson said. “We’ve been talking to a guy named JR.”

  Michaelson had picked up on that quickly. No wonder JR was touchy. He probably thought I’d pointed the cops in his direction.

  “In spite of the evidence against Rory, I’ve still sent men to Wales to talk to Simon Moye,” Michaelson said.

  At least he wasn’t completely ignoring my input. “Do you know exactly where he is?”

  “We tracked him to a rented house on the shore between Ryl and Llandudno. He says he’s been there with his family since last Saturday.” Liam trotted along beside Michaelson as if he was listening intently. “They were heading back to London tomorrow, but he’s agreed to come up to Stirling to answer some questions. He should be here later today.”

  “Have you checked his alibi?”

  “We are looking for witnesses that can place him in Llandudno.”

  “That would be telling but not absolute. The drive is less than five hours each way,” I pointed out. “It would be difficu
lt, but it could be done. Simon could have driven up in the wee hours of the morning. Used the guitar he’d picked up at the concert to kill Penrose and then turned around and driven back to Wales. If he left his phone behind, his wife could’ve continued posting photos for him and establish at least a superficial alibi.” I paused to look at a perfect peach-colored rose hanging across the path in front of us. “Any chance you can keep him under surveillance until after tomorrow?”

  “That’s the plan, but we need men here too. We are sending a couple of guys down to help Rothes.” Michaelson turned and started heading back up the drive at a healthy clip. “I can be back here quickly enough if I’m needed.”

  As Michaelson got into his car and drove away, I pulled out my cellphone and dialed Rory.

  I could tell he was in a ripe mood from the way he said hello. He wasn’t the only one. “What the hell are you doing wandering around the valley on your own every morning?” I demanded. “You may as well paint a target on your forehead and have done with it.”

  “I can’t be trapped in this place twenty-four hours a day with people watching me like I’m a bug under a microscope.”

  “And that’s worth taking your life in your hands every morning?”

  “I’m always armed.”

  “You could be taken out by a hunting rifle and never even see it coming.”

  “If that’s what they wanted, they could’ve done it by now. I decided the other day that you were right. For some reason they’re playing cat and mouse with me. So bring it on.”

  “Doesn’t make it any easier to establish you’re innocent. You might think about that,” I said angrily. “And it’s time you started thinking about proving your own innocence and not just leaving me to prove someone else’s guilt. If you are concealing any other evidence, other threats,” I hinted, “or other potential communications from a killer, now is the time to share.”

  “I’m tired of baring my business to the cops.”

  “Well, it may have to get worse before it gets better,” I said grimly, disconnecting the call with a vengeance.

  I turned around and stalked back toward the house, belatedly noticing that Grant was standing on the front step watching me.