Death By Bourbon

by Abigail Keam

  I took several more mouthfuls as Kelly started pushing my chair out the door. “Kelly. Kelly,” I said in a stage whisper. “Something’s odd about that man’s death.”

  “Why?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I just know it. The room felt creepy.”

  After he rolled me into the parlor with the others, Kelly called Goetz.

  “I’ve got a dead body.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It looks like a heart attack to me, but Josiah Reynolds is here. She thinks something is wrong. Says the room felt creepy. I’ve known her since I was fourteen. Mrs. Reynolds has good instincts.”

  There was silence for a few seconds before Goetz responded. “I’ll be right there.”

  7

  Meriah was sitting in a corner with Lady Elsmere, both of them looking contrite, with Matt hovering over them. I was stationed near a window watching the coroner take Addison DeWitt’s body out to his van, but not before Goetz pulled up and spoke with him. The coroner shook his head. Looking up, Goetz saw me in the window and gave a curt nod. The forensic guys pulled up behind him. They put on booties and paper jumpsuits before heading in.

  I heard footsteps pacing upstairs where Doreen had been taken. Obviously she was looking out the window too. Very alert for someone who had been sedated. I whispered to Jake, who discreetly left the drawing room by the back door and headed to the second floor by the servants’ stairs.

  A few minutes later, Jake popped up by my side. He indicated that Charles’ wife was with Doreen, which explained the foot traffic. Oh well.

  One by one the guests were taken into another room and then let go, but not before all the glasses in the parlor and library had been collected and bagged. Finally it was Meriah, Matt, June, Jake and I left in the room. We huddled together in a sad little group saying nothing until Matt spoke, “I’m sure everyone is exhausted. I know I am.”

  “It’s been over three hours,” complained Meriah. “What are the police doing?”

  “This is just dreadful!” exclaimed June. “I liked Addison so much.”

  “What about Doreen?” I asked. “What are you going to do about her?”

  Matt scratched his forehead. “I can take her home. I’ve already called her daughter. She’ll be waiting at Doreen’s house.”

  I looked at Meriah and June. “Would you both be more comfortable at my house until Charles can put everything back in order? It would be no bother.”

  June patted my arm. “Thank you, Josiah, but I want to be in my own bed. Maybe Meriah?”

  “I think I will stay with June,” answered Meriah, giving a conciliatory look to Matt.

  “How are you holding up, Rennie?” asked Matt.

  I grimaced. “Hanging in there, but my energy is draining fast.”

  “It hits her like a wall. She’ll be fine one moment and then bam, just like that, done for the day. I wish the police would hurry this up,” concurred Jake. “I’m getting tired myself.”

  “You know,” ventured Meriah, “there’s something about this that’s not right.”

  “Why do you say that, darling?” asked Matt.

  I was curious myself as to what her perceptions were.

  “Doreen was at the end of our little procession down the hallway, like she was deliberately hanging back till the end. Then when we got to the library’s doorway, she pushed through past me and entered the room.”

  “So?” said June.

  “I stopped right in the doorway, didn’t I, honey?” she asked Matt.

  “I didn’t notice,” replied Matt.

  “You did stop right in the doorway with several other women. I was already in the room when your group came,” I confirmed.

  A cop opened the door and ordered. “Sorry. No talking, folks.”

  “How much longer?” asked Jake.

  “We’re done when we’re done,” answered the cop.

  “These women can’t take much more,” protested Matt angrily.

  Goetz appeared at the doorway. “Let me apologize. I know it’s getting late. We will be done very shortly.” He motioned to Jake and me. “Can I talk to you both?”

  I bade everyone good night and followed Goetz into the next room.

  He sat in a green leather chair and studied his notes under the end table light.

  Jake stood behind my wheelchair, refusing to sit.

  “Okay,” said Goetz, finally looking up. “Everybody I talked to thinks Addison DeWitt either had an epileptic fit or a heart attack. Not one person mentioned foul play.”

  I just shrugged. “What do you think?”

  “A heart attack. However, to be sure, we will do an autopsy, and have the food and liquor checked.”

  “Be careful with those glasses. They’re antique crystal,” I reminded him.

  “We won’t hurt Lady Elsmere’s precious cocktail glasses.” Goetz scratched his nose. “We will be checking with everyone in a couple of days to see if anyone else has had any ill effects. Right now tell me what happened.”

  Jake and I gave a quick recap of our attendance at the party, which Goetz put down in his worn out notebook and then gave us the nod to leave.

  As we were leaving, I glanced up the grand staircase.

  Standing in the shadows of the balcony was Doreen, watching silently.

  It gave me the heebie-jeebies. I couldn’t wait to get home.

  There to greet us was Baby, thumping his tail loudly against the wall as he wagged it. I gave him a big hug to which he returned my affection by burying his snout in my crotch. Thanks.

  I watched Jake check all the monitors, punch in the security code and, after he wheeled me into my bedroom, check all the doors and windows. I could tell that he was spooked too. Nobody likes to see a man die.

  After Jake put me to bed, I asked, “Jake, do you mind sleeping in my room tonight? I’ve got the jitters.”

  “No problem,” grinned Jake. He quickly changed and came back into my room wearing gym shorts and a tee shirt.

  He pushed my Hans Weger bed next to the hospital bed and climbed in after turning off the lights. Baby whined until Jake gave him the green light to climb in as well. Happily Baby stretched out full length against Jake and was contently snoring within a few minutes. Baby’s entourage of cat buddies joined him. Some fell asleep on top of Baby’s rib cage, one straddled his head and several curled between his massive paws.

  They were born in my closet on my favorite cashmere sweater and I have not been able to get rid of them since. After an appropriate age, I rounded them up and took them to the barn, but that evening they showed up at the back bedroom door, meowing to be let in. To add to this pitiful scene, Baby paced back and forth from me to the door, whining, until I caved and let them in. It is now a ritual. I put them out in the morning and they come back at the gloaming time, meowing for Baby.

  I understood the need for company, especially on a chilly night.

  Moonlight twisted through the large glass door that led out to the patio. Jake reached up searching for my hand.

  Finding his, I clasped tightly, falling into a fitful sleep.

  8

  The next afternoon my carcass was parked in June’s boudoir watching her eat breakfast in bed. June’s boudoir was not like other people’s bedrooms.

  When my late husband, Brannon, remodeled her antebellum house, June gave implicit instructions about how she wanted the master suite. As a young girl, the bedroom of Rebecca DeWinter in Alfred Hitchcock’s Rebecca had struck her fancy, so she had Brannon build a replica of the room with large floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a private balcony complete with the sheer white curtains that blew like twisting ghosts in the wind. The walls were adorned with imported silk fabric mimicking silver and pink cherry blossoms with antique Persian rugs riding the hand-distressed white plank floor. The furniture was painted silver with mirror accents. A silver silk comforter accompanied pale pink satin sheets.

  The room was complete with a sitting area with a
large carved white marble fireplace, which accented a portrait of Lady Elsmere in younger days over the mantle. To the right of the sitting room was a hidden door, which led to two large walk-in closets, jewelry safe and a small pantry that held snacks, cold drinks, and of course, chilled wine and champagne.

  Finally the bathroom, which was the size of my bedroom at the Butterfly. It was made from white Italian marble – that means everything. The wall and floor tiles, the full-immersion tub and the steps leading into it, the hand carved sinks and the Roman shower. In addition, there was a fireplace and several phones lying about. It also boasted a bidet, but my favorite was the toilet with the heated seat, which sprayed scented warm water onto June’s wrinkled bum. There was not a single roll of toilet paper in this bathroom.

  Towels, soaps and rugs carried out the pink and silver motif of the bedroom.

  In addition to this suite was a maid’s/nurse’s room with a private bathroom. Sometimes Charles’ daughter, Amelia, stayed there if June was having a bad night.

  And I thought my bedroom suite was pretty swanky.

  Brannon had to build an entirely new wing on the house to accompany this dream; then he had to build a wing on the other side of the house for symmetry’s sake in order to keep the integrity of the 1841 mansion intact. That wing housed the new kitchen, pantries, storage room, office, servants’ quarters, servants’ break room, laundry facilities and mudroom. It was the workhorse section of the house.

  Luckily for me, the house also had an elevator, which is why I was now up in June’s bedroom pinching strawberries from her floral, English morning pattern china.

  June picked up her phone and called downstairs. “Would you please bring Mrs. Reynolds a breakfast tray and some strawberries for me. Thank you.”

  “It’s tea time. I’ve already had breakfast.”

  “Bring Mrs. Reynolds some finger sandwiches and hot tea please, but I still want my strawberries. Thank you, Amelia.”

  June looked at her clock. “I couldn’t get to sleep last night. How dreadful having something like that happen in one’s own home.”

  I snatched another strawberry.

  “I do wish you’d eat at home, dear, and leave my breakfast alone. By the way, what’s with the leg?”

  I looked down at the Velcro splint boot. “Coming along nicely. It was a stress fracture rather than a break.”

  “Those are still serious. Take it easy.”

  “That’s why I’m in a wheelchair instead of using my crutches. I’m a klutz with them.”

  “Hmmmm,” replied Lady Elsmere, buttering her toast. I poured coffee into her cup.

  “I suppose you are here nosing around.”

  “Nothing else to do.”

  “Could it be that you are here to get the dope on Meriah and Matt?”

  I shrugged. Leaning forward, I stirred cream in her coffee. “Do you know anything about them, June?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you ask me?” said Meriah as she strode into the room. She leaned over and kissed June on the top of the head.

  June chortled as I felt the heat rise on my face.

  “Okay. Why marriage?” I asked.

  “Because Matt asked me,” replied Meriah, returning my gaze calmly.

  “You’ve been married twice before and that never took. You must know about Matt’s . . . proclivities. Why take the chance? Tell us, June, did Lord Elsmere’s tastes change after he married you?” I asked.

  “I’m not going to get into this catfight, but I will tell you one thing. This marriage is none of your business, Josiah. Matt didn’t ask you to marry.”

  I opened my mouth to speak and then shut it. June was right. It was none of my business, even though I knew nothing good would come from it. “My apologies, ladies,” I said. “I should have just kept my mouth closed.”

  “Well, that’s a first, coming from you,” spat Meriah.

  “Play nice,” admonished June. “Ahh, here is your tea tray, Josiah.”

  Never one to refuse free food, I brightened. A table with the tray was placed before me. It was loaded with little sandwiches and cakes plus a big pot of hot tea and my honey.

  “You want something, Meriah?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t possibly. My figure. You go ahead as I can see that you are not concerned about yours,” she stated.

  Before I could reply, she swept out of the room. To make a point I crammed a cucumber sandwich in my mouth.

  June laughed before begging for an éclair. With reluctance, I passed a small one to her. I’m very stingy with pastries.

  We chitchatted about the party and June related some awful stories about Doreen DeWitt. Awfully good, that is.

  Doreen was an heiress with only one daughter from her first marriage. She had married against her family’s wishes by running off with the chauffeur – literally. It turned out that the man had a natural ability with money and turned her little inheritance into a great big fortune by pulling her funds out of IBM and AT&T and putting them into companies like Microsoft in the ‘80s, and then again pulling out before tech stocks took a hit. Most of her money was now sitting in long-term CDs with six percent or better interest. It is rumored that her big mansion, her expensive cars and her jewelry are all paid for – no debt.

  Unfortunately, her wise husband didn’t make it to see his daughter graduate from a big ivory tower school before he died of brain cancer.

  After mourning for a suitable period of time, Doreen took up with a handsome TV star whom she met at a Kentucky Derby party. He had a bad gambling problem, which was kept hidden until he had access to Doreen’s money. After he had paid off his bookies, loan sharks and past girlfriends who had given him money, Doreen’s fortune had taken a big hit. Needless to say, after receiving a few bank statements, she got rid of him quick.

  “Doreen changed after that,” remarked June. “She became obsessed with money . . . or rather with keeping it. It has been years since I have seen Doreen pick up a lunch tab or give to a charity. I just don’t call her anymore for fundraisers. She is so cheap she won’t even give her old coats away to the needy. She goes to Florida for a few months every year and that’s the most exciting thing she does. Doreen is a rather boring woman, I’m afraid to say. You know, poor is a state of mind but broke is only a situation. Doreen is a poor person no matter how much money she has.”

  “What about Addison? I though he was rather dashing. She had to have something to attract him.”

  “She brought that man back from Florida complete with a tan, English accent and exquisite manners. I don’t know how that charming man stood her,” complained June, ringing for her tray to be taken away.

  I heard the elevator switch on.

  “I’d best be going,” I said, putting down my napkin. “Jake is cooling his heels in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks for checking on me.”

  “Always, darling.”

  “Josiah, remember my advice about Meriah.”

  “I will. I’ll be good from now on.”

  June chortled, “That will be the day.”

  I wheeled into the hallway and greeted Amelia coming to collect the trays. We spoke for a few moments before moving on. Amelia also worked as a docent on the Butterfly tours. It was from Amelia or Charles that I got the goodies of what was really happening in the “big house.” She had just given me some interesting dope on Doreen DeWitt and June’s latest houseguest.

  As I started to get into the elevator, Meriah stepped out of her bedroom and beckoned to me. Curious, I pushed myself down the expansive hallway and into her room.

  Unlike June’s girlie motif, Meriah’s room was very masculine with dark green walls and heavy traditional furniture. Meriah seemed at ease in it. Obviously her taste was more conservative than Lady Elsmere’s.

  “Josiah, can we make peace?” asked Meriah. “This snapping at each other is not good.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I replied. “I feel pretty good insulting you.”

  “You do
n’t think highly of me, do you?” pouted Meriah.

  “I don’t think of you often, but when I do, it’s not favorable. Over the past year or so, you have latched onto an old lady who is lonely and you have played that card to the hilt. I understand that you have not paid for one darn thing since you have been in this house. The least you can do is take June out for lunch now and then to repay her kindness.

  “Then you have tried to interfere in my life by writing about it for your pulp novels. Tacky. I also know from a few verbal slips here and there that you tried to move in on Jake. When that didn’t work, you obviously moved on to Matt.”

  “I’m impressed. How do you know about Jake? Did he tell you?”

  “You mentioned one of Jake’s tattoos some months ago at the Morris Book Shop. You can only see that tattoo if he is . . . unclothed. My guess is that you came to the house when you knew I would be napping and caught him unaware in the pool or the outdoor shower. He told you to go to the Devil, didn’t he, Meriah?”

  “Touché,” cooed Meriah. “You have a very good analytical mind. I do like the exotic, but I got turned down flat. It rather hurt my pride. But I didn’t go after Matt. He came after me. It was during your party for Franklin when I choked on that woman’s awful glass eye and Matt saved me. Later that night, he called me up for a date and things proceeded from there. Now that’s the truth.”

  “Matt called you up?”

  “Yes. He was handsome. He was single. He asked me out to dinner. I was bored so I went. We had a good time. He asked me out again. I went again. Matt pursued this. Not me.”

  I didn’t reply. Actually I was rather stumped, but I shouldn’t have been. Matt had been struggling for a long time.

  “Do you love him?”

  “You are right to think that I am a selfish woman. I am. But Matt is as ambitious as I am. We have the same goals. We will work well together as partners because as ambitious as Matt is, he’s very old school. He will rub the rough edges off me.”

  “You’re hoping that Matt will make a lady out of you?”