Death By Bourbon

by Abigail Keam

  “So you’re the one who called the police.”

  Beryl gave a nice little smile. “I called from the phone in the upstairs bedroom and wouldn’t give my name. Just said someone had died and the police had better come.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the police what you saw?”

  “Because it meant nothing at the time. I just had a feeling. But when word got around that Addison had died from aspirin poisoning, it began to prey on my mind. I guess it was her reaction to me coming in that was so puzzling. She really looked startled.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone then?”

  “I told you why.” Beryl stamped her foot. “I don’t want to get involved.”

  “But you have a theory, Beryl.”

  She gave me another shy smile.

  “Come on – spill.”

  “I’ve been thinking hard on this, Josiah. Let’s say that Doreen really gave aspirin to Addison. Here’s how I think she did it.

  “She puts the aspirin in her own bourbon drink and then hands it to Addison to hold during the toast. Then after the toast, she retrieves his glass of bourbon. Addison either doesn’t notice that she took his glass or doesn’t care – after all, they are married and married couples share plates and glasses all the time, even toothbrushes. Addison takes a few sips and suffers an allergic reaction minutes later.”

  “Brilliant deduction.”

  “Josiah, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will simply deny it. I will tell people that you made it up for your own amusement. You can’t afford to get mixed up either, with all these rumors that Asa stole into Ellen Boudreaux’s house.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  Beryl gave me a sly look. “Everyone believes she did. Asa was always a strange one, even when a child. So precocious. So aloof. I was always glad that she was too old to play with my son.”

  I don’t know what happened but my wolf head cane shot out and rapped Beryl on the ankle. I was so shocked that I couldn’t utter any apology. Instead I went back to the shower, taking my seat.

  A few minutes later, Beryl walked, or rather limped, back nursing a swelling ankle.

  Meriah gave her a curious look.

  “What happened to you?” asked Lady Elsmere, ringing for Charles.

  “Nothing,” murmured Beryl. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

  “My goodness. That’s too bad,” we all clucked in unison.

  “Yes Madam?” asked Charles upon entering the room.

  “Miss Beryl seems to have injured her ankle. Can you bring her an ice pack and some aspirin?”

  “NO ASPIRIN!” we all shouted at Charles.

  Nonplussed, Charles asked, “Will Tylenol do, ma’am?”

  We all looked at Beryl, who suddenly liked being the center of attention. “No, not even that, Charles. How about a stiff whiskey and a ride home?”

  “Very good, ma’am. That we can accommodate.”

  The shower ended an hour later – with a soused Beryl having the flexibility of Jell-O and a bag of mushy peas taped around her ankle, being helped into the Bentley. She was also wearing Lady Elsmere’s new garnet and diamond sunburst brooch, which was a little inducement not to sue me.

  As far as I saw the afternoon, it was a win-win situation for everyone, including Beryl.

  June didn’t need that brooch anyway. She had plenty of little doodads that sparkled.

  25

  I entered the Curl Up and Dye Beauty Shop on upper Limestone with some trepidation. I wondered about the name.

  Everyone turned and looked at me. Gave me a real good look before returning to their business.

  A pretty lady with intelligent dark eyes strode over to me, with the nametag of Tamara on her shift. “Are you Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have a seat. I’m a little behind, but will be with you shortly.”

  I took a seat and peered at outdated copies of Ebony magazine and waited and waited and waited . . . and waited. Forty-five minutes later, I was led to her station.

  “That was a long wait,” I complained.

  Ignoring my complaint, she started feeling my hair. “Now what can I do for you? Your hair feels a little dry to me.”

  “Doreen DeWitt recommended you. She said you gave the best cuts in town.”

  The beautician gave a quick smile.

  “Oh yes, Miss Doreen has been my customer for several years. That’s nice that she referred you.” She swung my chair around to face her. “Let’s get you shampooed.”

  She was one of the few hairdressers that still gave a head massage when washing hair. I was simply purring when sitting back at her station.

  Doreen had learned of the bridal shower and had called June, raising cain about being left out. To make amends, Meriah took Doreen out to lunch while I made a beeline to Doreen’s house to question her staff. That was three days ago.

  I wasn’t thinking at all of the fifty bucks I’d bribed Doreen’s housekeeper to tell me the name of her hairdresser. It seemed to me that a person would confess to their priest or if they were protestant . . . to a therapist, bartender or hairdresser. Many women told their hairdressers the most appalling secrets. Since Doreen wasn’t Catholic and her housekeeper said she wasn’t seeing a therapist, I took the last one, hoping to hit the jackpot.

  Boing!

  “Wasn’t it terrible about Doreen’s husband dying suddenly like that,” I commented as my hair was being combed out.

  “It sure was. Just terrible.”

  “He was so young.”

  “Sure was.” Snip. Snip. Cut. Cut. Comb out. Snip. Snip again.

  “She was devastated by Addison’s death. She loved him so.”

  The hairdresser twisted her mouth but said nothing. Snip. Snip.

  Boing!

  “Well, didn’t she?”

  “I’m not one to tell tales.”

  That’s no good.

  I tried a different tack. “She did confide in me one time that they were having trouble.”

  She nodded her head while cutting. “Not so much having trouble as being bored.”

  “That’s right. She said she was bored.”

  She quit cutting my hair and looked in the mirror at me. “I remember her saying that a wet dish rag was more interesting.” She laughed. It sounded like cool water trickling down a moss-covered cliff in the forest.

  “And that she was going to divorce him?”

  “Get rid of him, anyway.”

  “Get rid of him?”

  “ Unnhnn. That’s exactly what she said – get rid of him. Now don’t you go tell her that I spilled the beans. It’s just that everything worked out fine.”

  Boing!

  “At least it did for her.”

  “Whatcha mean?”

  “It didn’t work so well for Addison DeWitt.”

  Tamara waved the scissors around. “The Lord made that decision to take Mr. DeWitt. No one can fault the Lord. Mr. DeWitt’s in heaven, happy as a clam with his Savior.”

  She went on cutting my hair.

  But what if Tamara was wrong and Doreen had decided to play God. I wondered about Addison being happy with his Savior then.

  26

  “I did talk to them,” yelled Goetz. “Quit bugging me on this. In fact, I told you not to pursue this. I said unless information just happened to come your way.”

  I threw a sandwich at him. We were sitting again in my car watching kids fly kites in Jacobson Park.

  He opened it up in a hurry and reached in my basket to see if there were chips.

  Taking a bite, he moaned. “Old fashioned egg-salad sandwich. I haven’t had one in years. My mother used to make these for me. Let me see. Let me see,” he said smacking his lips. “A little more tart than hers but good

  . . . really good.”

  “What did they say?” I asked, nudging him. Goetz took out his worn out notebook, flipping it open. “Miss Beryl says and I quote, ‘Josiah Reynolds is a god-damned liar.’ She also said that y
ou attacked her with your cane and wants to press charges.”

  “Then she has to give the brooch back.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You can count her out for backing up your story. She wouldn’t pee on you if you were on fire.”

  “Thanks for that analogy.”

  “I really love that you added onions to the mix. It gives a little more kick. My mother never did that.”

  “Probably because you were a child. She might have added a little sugar.”

  “Never thought of that.” He took another bite, finishing his sandwich. Immediately his big hairy bear claw of a hand was rooting around in my basket. Thank goodness I had brought plenty of sandwiches. This man could really eat when he set his mind to it.

  “Go on,” I encouraged. “What about Tamara?”

  “This gets even better. She says she doesn’t remember what you two talked about except that you said that Doreen DeWitt referred you. I don’t know why but I have a sinking feeling if I were to ask Mrs. DeWitt that – she might deny it.”

  “Doesn’t it strike you odd that a rich white woman would go to a beauty shop on the other side of town?”

  “Nope.”

  “Women like her go to salons on the south side of town.”

  Goetz stopped chewing for a moment and then swallowed. “Speaking of that, your hair looks real nice.”

  I continued. “She went there because she’s cheap and because she could talk about her feelings without any of her peers going to the same shop. No possibility for gossip. Everyone has to have an outlet to vent, even Doreen.”

  “Your hair doesn’t look as dry.”

  “Tamara told me that Doreen said that she was going to get rid of Addison – not divorce, but get rid of.”

  “Hearsay.”

  “Come on now.”

  “I think you should go back to Tamara. She did a great job on your hair. Really looks good.”

  I slapped his hand when he reached for another sandwich.

  “You should do something about that temper of yours. Red hair shouldn’t mean that women have to be fierce.”

  “It’s the Viking blood. It never really gets bred out.”

  “Keep this up and it’s going to be an anger-management program for you, girlie.”

  “So Doreen will get away with murder.”

  “Maybe. We don’t know for sure that a murder took place. It’s all conjecture. No hard evidence.”

  “Learn to live with it?”

  “Why not?” answered Goetz with a disgusted snarl. “I’ve had to live with crappier things. So have you.” He got out of the car, slamming the door.

  So that was that.

  27

  Days later, I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed. It was a crisp, golden fall day, but I didn’t care. Somehow I got dressed and drove my little golf cart over to June’s. The house was a beehive of activity as the wedding reception was to take place there after the ceremony.

  Not wanting to get in the way, I turned the cart around and checked on my hives. The bees were active and flew through the cart. A few settled on me, culling the goldenrod pollen from their bodies onto the pollen baskets on the backs of their legs. Then they too flew off.

  I kept thinking of Doreen and Addison. There seems to be no end to our evil ways in Kentucky, which was just as Chief Dragging Canoe had warned Old Daniel. It is a land under a cloud and a dark and bloody ground.

  On another beautiful fall day in 1941, Marion Miley, a nationally known athlete, who beat Babe Didriksen at the 1937 Augusta Invitational, was with her mother at the Lexington Country Club on Paris Pike. Two trashy men, masked, brandishing guns and up to no good, surprised them. Moments later, twenty-seven year old Marion Miley lay dead on the floor of the prestigious Lexington Country Club. Her mother, gravely injured, crawled for help.

  Being young, strong and famous didn’t save Miss Marion – just like being handsome, strong and admired didn’t save Addison DeWitt.

  I don’t know why I was thinking of Marion Miley, except that it was another useless killing of a vital young person in the Bluegrass.

  It gave me a headache to think of them, Marion and Addison, but I couldn’t get those two out of my mind. Time passed and I must have fallen asleep, as I awoke after being stung. “Jumping Jehosaphat,” I muttered, pulling the stinger out of my hand. I must have twitched the wrong way in my sleep. The sun was still warm on my face and now there were hundreds of bees exploring. Starting the cart, I made my way to the Butterfly. Bees flew out as soon as they felt the rumble of the vehicle and others, more stalwart, clung on. I parked the cart. Sooner or later the remaining bees would make their way home to their hives.

  Feeling drab, I must have made a sorry sight unlocking the door to the Butterfly. She needed a better mistress.

  Checking the clock, I had just enough time to get dressed and make it to the church.

  In the end I was late as usual. After parking, I made my way quietly into the small limestone church. Meriah was walking down the aisle.

  I winced, knowing that Matt would be furious with me for being late. Seeing me come in and take a place in the back, Matt gave a slight nod.

  I had to admit it.

  Meriah was beautiful.

  Her dress was beautiful.

  Matt was beautiful.

  And the church was beautiful with its liberal use of white roses and lilies, which played well against the grey limestone walls.

  Lady Elsmere was up front standing with Charles and his wife.

  I smiled.

  June always liked to be up where the action was. The mayor was standing behind her, as were some very famous mystery and horror writers who were friends of Meriah’s. There were several TV stars and many local celebrities dotted here and there. And there was Doreen sitting only a few pews ahead of me. She was wearing a frothy pink hat with little dyed pink feathers, which seemed out of kilter with the time of the year. The hat should have been a fall color as the trees were losing their coverage and the ground was brilliant in full autumn colors of crisp leaves.

  Meriah looked radiant as she faced Matt.

  Matt was trembling, but gave a brave smile.

  Reverend Humble gave us permission to sit, for which I was extremely thankful. Matt wasn’t the only one trembling.

  I didn’t pay much attention after that. I was drowning in my own thoughts of how everyone was leaving. I would have to start my life anew and somehow find purpose again. It would be another major struggle. I was wondering if I had the courage to face it when I recognized that vows were being spoken. I heard Meriah say “I do” and then Reverend Humble mumbled something to Matt. A few seconds of silence. Then I heard the Reverend repeat Matt’s vows and then Meriah saying, “Matt?”

  A door opened and closed. Curiously, I turned to see who else was late and was astonished to see Lacey Bridges standing behind me, searching the assembled. What was she doing?

  Lacey’s eyes lightened on someone.

  There wasn’t much time to wonder what she was up to before she pulled something out of a clutch bag and strode past to where Doreen sat.

  Before anyone could react, Lacey leaned over several people and pointed a gun at Doreen, pulling the trigger.

  BANG! BANG!

  The shots rang out and reverberated throughout the small stone chapel.

  Everyone screamed, including myself.

  Panic ensued with people throwing themselves on the stone floor or jumping over the cushioned pews trying to make their way out. Stunned, I couldn’t move while watching as the world collapsed around me in utter confusion. Matt pulled Meriah with him through a side door without giving me a glance. Even those sitting next to Doreen had scurried out from underneath the pews and made it to safety.

  Doreen slumped in the pew while Lacey screamed curse words at her. The pink hat now looked very sad, sitting lopsided on her head – the part that had not been blown off.

  Slowly looking d
own, I noticed there was blood on my beige suit and feebly tried to wipe it off. There was debris on my face, which fell into my lap. Realizing that the debris was tiny bits of brain, I frantically tried to shake them off.

  That’s when Lacey noticed me still sitting in the back pew.

  Oh merde!

  Lacey looked as shocked as anyone. “I had to do it. I told you that she was guilty and she was going to get away with it.” She began laughing. “She’s done for now. No way was I going to let Doreen get away with killing my Addison. No way.” She wiggled the gun in my direction. “You do believe me, don’t you, Mrs. Reynolds? That I had to do it?”

  I nodded.

  Lacey smiled sweetly and then put the gun in her mouth.

  I shut my eyes.

  Epilogue

  Fumbling in my wallet, I finally found the key to Asa’s New York apartment. I gave the door a good shove and reached inside to find the light. I gave a finn to the young man helping me with my luggage and thanked him before shutting the door. He said I reminded him of his grandmother.

  Hmmm.

  I found the alarm keypad and punched in the numbers Asa had given me.

  Beep.

  With that task done, I went through the door, looking around while talking off my coat. The apartment was sparsely furnished. There was a couch, two chairs, some end tables and that’s it. No flowers, no plants, no knickknacks, no pictures, no books. It looked like a hotel room. The living room opened up to a balcony from which sprang a fantastic view of the city. I opened the balcony doors, letting in the evening air.

  Going back inside I turned on the rest of the lights. It was then I saw it. Catching my breath, I had to sit down. Like an idiot I just sat staring at it with my mouth open.

  There above the fireplace hung the Duveneck painting, the one I had given to Brannon for our wedding anniversary and he then gave to his girlfriend. It had cost me an entire year’s salary. Around the painting was a new frame – sterling . . . with a note attached to it.

  I plucked the ivory envelope from the frame and opened it with shaking hands.

  Dear Mother,