“They’re on their way.”
“Sounds like food poisoning,” someone said in a shudder as they passed us, and we continued to walk forward into the crowds as they disbanded slowly.
Ruth tssked her teeth. “Definitely not food poison,” she whispered close to my head. “If it was, more of us would’ve been sick.”
“Who is it?” I asked, trying to get to the bottom of the dead body. “Who is—”
“Finley,” another voice murmured. “Poor bloke.”
“Finley?” Ruth asked, frowning. “Wasn’t he the—”
“The one making a scene earlier,” I finished for her.
Finley Carson, a businessman. Now dead.
Ruth shook her head. “He clearly upset the wrong person tonight.”
That was the thing, he had managed to argue with at least half the guests here tonight, and if it wasn’t directly, he had stirred parties and tables of people into arguments. He’d even managed to stir me.
“Think he was—” I began.
“Killed.”
Four Hours Earlier
As Ruth and I were staying the night, we arrived at the Maple House manor early. We needed to deposit our clothes in our rooms and organise the spa activities for the following morning. The event was an all-expense paid trip of sorts, and we probably wouldn’t have had it if it wasn’t for Diane’s birthday coinciding with the anniversary party.
I stood in the doorway from the long hall, looking into the ballroom hall, watching as the staff tied bows around the backs of chairs. The colour theme was cream and gold, I presumed because Diane’s favourite colour was gold, but all that went through my mind was how my peach dress I packed would be camouflaged into it.
A tap stirred me at the shoulder.
“Ruth, did you—” I paused upon seeing the figure behind me, it wasn’t Ruth.
A face I hadn’t seen in many years, stood with a glass of champagne, swirling it in his hand. He smiled. “Evelyn, I thought that was you.”
After a moment, I took a guess. “Finley?”
“In the flesh,” he said.
“Surprised to see you.”
He smirked. “But why? I’m an investor, it’s a business, it’s what I do.”
I nodded. “Of course, of course.”
“Your husband didn’t seem to.” He smacked his lips together and squinted deeply, leaning forward and staring into my soul. “I was an investor for some of his projects too.”
I hadn’t known that, but many people invested in Harry’s businesses. My brow creased to wonder where he was going with all this. “Good for—”
“And he didn’t do well on those promises.”
“Promises?”
His nostrils flared. “I didn’t get anything back when those businesses were sold off, shut down, or when he died. I lost money.”
My jaw sat agape and slack; a makeshift trap for flies. “I’m sorry to hear that, but it was over five years ago.”
“And?” He swirled his champagne more vigorously.
“I never dealt with his businesses, but if you had a contract then surely, you’ll have been paid your fair share.”
Finley stumbled over his words, mumbling back and stuttering. “We didn’t leave a paper trail,” he said. “You know, his word was his bond.” Sipping back the last morsel of bubbled liquid from the glass, I knew he wasn’t altogether there.
“Doesn’t sound like an investment to me then,” I replied.
He stared disappointed into the glass, and then he glanced to his wristwatch, pulling the cuff of his sleeve slightly. “I hope they’re faster than this at topping drinks up tonight.”
“It hasn’t even started, and I’m sure they’ll be cutting you off soon,” I said. “You might want to slow down on that before you say something you don’t mean. You never know who you’re going to offend.”
“Offend,” he said, smacking his lips. “Everyone’s offended these days.”
FOUR
The police and an ambulance arrived in twenty minutes of the call. Police tape already pasted around the door to the disabled bathroom and a tall police officer stood guard.
I clutched a glass of water in my hand as I stood by Ruth. We watched closely as people came and went from the dead body, snapping pictures with the mobile phones.
A flash of a camera came in my direction.
“Uh,” I groaned, twisting around to my side. “What’s—”
“Think they’re taking pictures of everything,” Ruth said.
I shook the hazed white dot from my eyes. “They hired a photographer,” I said. “But I doubt he’s getting paid to take any near the body.”
“He won’t get far if he plans on selling them,” Ruth scoffed back.
“The police will take it as evidence.”
Sipping the water, I flattened out a hand down my dress before glancing at Charlie stood by my feet. He always wanted a piece of the action. I knew I should’ve brought the lead out of the car.
“Wonder how long it’ll take them to clean out the scene?” Ruth mused.
“I can’t believe he’s dead,” I said to her, chomping my teeth together. “I spoke to him earlier, after trying to avoid him.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t know him.”
“I would’ve introduced you, but you were in the bathroom,” I said with a half grin, “then you’d know what kind of person he was.”
“You didn’t say.”
“There was nothing to say about him.”
“He came over to the table, wobbling on his feet, and he accused me of stealing from him.”
Ruth hummed as she took the remains of her champagne to her lips. “We all noticed him, visibly intoxicated, surely someone cut him off.”
“Cut him off.” It was something I’d wished. “I think even if they tried, there are too many people here for them to remember.”
“Could’ve been anyone,” Ruth mumbled.
“Anyone.”
But Finley Carson wasn’t anyone. He wasn’t the most well-liked man, and for one reason or another, he attracted people with big business ideas, bank accounts, and friends. At least, that’s what I recalled from Diane when she’d mentioned him during the seating arrangement plans.
Paul arrived combing a hand through his thinning hair. “Ladies.”
A coldness hit me at the core as he approached. Of course, the Maple House manor was still inside Briarbury, and that meant Paul Green, my brother-in-law the inspector for the town would make an appearance.
“Why is it, every time there’s something crazy going on, you’re always near it?” he asked.
I nodded to Ruth. “Clearly, he’s talking about you.”
“Are you accusing us of something?” she asked him.
He smirked. “No, not at all.” His eyes narrowed, looking at us. “Making an observation.”
Crossing my arms over each other, I mimicked his narrow expression. “Well, what have you observed so far?”
Paul pulled a notepad from inside his jacket. “Seems like an awful accident,” he said. “Drunk man, alone in the bathroom, probably fell, banged his head.”
I nodded at the commentary, but I wasn’t sure if this was the story he was telling us, or himself. I hadn’t seen the body, so he could’ve told us anything about it.
“We heard there was blood in his mouth,” I said.
Ruth clicked her tongue. “Blood vomit?”
“The blood,” Paul said, eyeing his notes, “is going to be tested. But those tests can take a while to come back, you know that, right, Ruth?”
Ruth knew, of course, she was a nurse.
“If you’re testing it for alcohol, we can tell you he was very drunk,” I said.
“But if you think—”
“Blood tests can be useful for a number of things,” he said, cutting Ruth off.
An officer approached Paul from the side. “We’re putting the building on lockdown.” He said, loud enough so I could hear as he spoke.
He waved the officer away and turned to me with a scowl. “A precaution.”
Ruth and I hummed at the comment.
“Have you told anyone else?” I asked.
“Not like anyone is leaving anyway,” he said, gesturing around. “The band is playing again, and everyone is interested in what’s happening. I doubt anyone is going to leave, but officers are dispatched to come stand at all exits.”
It was true. I looked around, and almost everyone after finding out the news was back to sipping from their champagne flutes and picking at small favours around the chocolate fountain. There was a morbid curiosity to wanting to see the body, but when the news broke about who it was who died, it was accepted without question.
“We’re asking for statements of people who have talked with the deceased this evening, and—” Paul began, skipping through pages in his notebook. “Your name appeared here a couple times.”
“My name?” I asked. “Well, I did.”
“So?” he said, glancing to Ruth. “Can I take a statement, preferably alone.”
I nodded.
Two Hours Earlier
As the event began and people pooled into the main ballroom. I found the seats at the front of the hall, directly before the stage. I placed a small bowl on the ground beside the leg of the table for Charlie; his tether.
Ruth went to scout out the bathrooms, and I took my seat, realizing my worst fears, I was well and truly blending into the colour scheme. But I really liked my peach dress and the matching shawl I had purchased on a girl’s trip into the nearby city with Ruth.
“Evening,” Yvonne said, joining me at the table.
Her husband, Earl greeted me with a nod, before quickly leaving Yvonne’s side.
“Love your dress,” I said across to her. “I put Charlie in a bowtie.”
She looked past me, behind me.
I turned to see him, swaying over in my direction. Finley Carson, a man I’d hoped would’ve fallen asleep earlier after already being clearly far from sober to attend the festivities of the evening. He wore a dress shirt, no tie, the top two buttons undone, a black dinner jacket and matching trousers. At least he tried to make an effort.
“Evelyn,” he said, opening his arms wide. His grasp on his glass teetering on the edge of playfully dangerous. “You’re still here.”
I stood to greet him. “Finley,” I said. “You’re still drinking.”
“Didn’t stop.”
More people began taking their seats as Finley approached, and ears were always listening. I knew people were always listening. I grew closer to him, bridging the gap between the two of us.
“Are you ok?” I asked him.
“I don’t hold grudges,” he said in a slur, “and I don’t speak ill of the dead, but—”
“But?” My nostrils flared.
He chuckled. “I wish I got to see Harry one last time before he died.”
“Everyone he did business with knew,” I said.
Everyone knew what was happening with Harry, it didn’t come as a shock to anyone. All his close business associates knew, everyone who meant anything came and told him how they felt, how they were. And those who came, I knew their faces and names, because we’d sent them thank you notes. And those were the ones who turned up to the funeral.
“A thief,” he spat. “The man was a thief. I introduced him to people, I connected him with people. He shut down businesses, he took my money.”
“Were you friends?”
“Friends,” he scoffed. “I told you, we were business partners.”
I scoffed back, harder. “Whatever it was, it was years ago. Get over it.”
“Get over it?” he reached and took my arm.
Charlie yapped, racing over to us.
I yanked my arm away. “What are you doing?” I scolded. “What are you doing here? You work on behalf of an advertising company—or however you managed to get your name in front of Diane.”
“And you’re just a writer.”
He swung his glass around wildly, the last drip escaping the bottom.
* * *
Paul tapped his pen against the paper, dotting it over and over again. He’d asked me what we’d talked about, twice now, and the longer I thought about it, the more I grew annoyed about what had happened, and the way he talked about my Harry—Paul’s brother.
“People said it was heated, Charlie, barking, growing angrier with you.”
Charlie laid on the ground, his head by my feet. “He was,” I said. “But Finley had a lot to drink, he didn’t know what he was saying, or what he was doing.”
“Do you know how long he’d been drinking for?”
“Since birth?”
He didn’t find the humour in it. “Did you see him at all before then?”
“Yes, he arrived early. I’m not sure if he’s staying, as some of us are, but he was already drinking when I got here,” I said. “So, likely story is, he fell, knocked himself out, and then died choking while being sick.”
Paul shook his head. “We didn’t find any cuts on him, or his head, or anything,” he said. “It’s suspicious, don’t you think.”
“I do, but you said—”
He closed his notebook. “I’m only telling you this because you’ll go out of the way to drag anything up,” he said. “The man’s lips were burnt, there was blood, from the nose as well, and his cheeks have small welts on them.”
“So, that’s why we’re on lockdown.” The truth revealed, but why did he spin the narrative about him being knocked unconscious?
He hummed to tell me I was right.
“You think he was—”
“—killed.”
FIVE
Once Paul finished, he sighed and shook his head, wandering off to go talk to someone else. But he’d let it slip, he’d told me just what was happening, and while the thrill of finding out what he was keeping a secret from me usually fired me up, this time, I felt deflated.
Ruth approached me and nodded to our table. Most people were mingling and talking, drinking champagne.
“What happened?” she asked in a hushed voice.
I sensed eyes on me, watching as Paul walked away and the sullen look on my face probably gave away I knew something, or I was partly an answer to his questions and my expression was of guilt.
“He came out and said it.” Exacerbated, I sighed. Charlie shuffled his head and nuzzled against my foot.
“What? What did he say?”
I shook my head and butt my lips. “It’s being considered a murder.”
She pawed my arm. “And that’s what we thought, right?”
“No, no,” I said. “He made it sound like an accident, he convinced me almost it was.”
“And?”
“Then he said it’s too suspicious, no bruising, no cuts,” I continued, rolling my hands out onto the table to grab my glass of water. “More or less, he was telling me so I didn’t meddle.”
“Oh, because you’ve got a habit of interfering,” she chuckled back.
My brows rose in her direction. It was true. “And anyone here could have done it,” I said. “Let’s be really honest, the man was successful at making enemies.”
Ruth tipped her chin up, moving her head as if to slyly scan the room for people. “What else did he say?” She pulled out her chair and took a seat.
“His lips were burnt, or chapped, dry—perhaps,” I mumbled. “I have no idea, and I don’t want to see the body.”
Ruth nodded. “Well, I did get a look over some man’s shoulder,” she said. “Being tall, and in heels, has some perks, I guess.”
My jaw clenched and my hand snapped tightly around the glass. “What did you see?”
“Two paramedics, taking notes, pictures, they’d covered the head with some plastic, I think, so whatever it is under there, they didn’t want anyone to see,” she said. “Sounds like you might be right about the lips.”
&nb
sp; “And cheeks,” I added in another mumbled. “I’m sure he said cheeks too.”
“Whatever it is, it sounds painful.”
I reflected for a moment, looking into the glass of water. Of course, of anyone to die, it had to be him, it had to be someone who I’d spoken to, with whom people knew we’d had a few heated words. But I knew I wasn’t the only one who’d spoken with him.
Turning my head in a stretch, I glanced around the room to try catch a glimpse of Diane. She wasn’t to be seen. Perhaps she was dealing with the crisis in only the way she knew how; controlling the narrative. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d called the lockdown so everyone could be forced into signing non-disclosure agreements about what had happened at the company party.
“Diane,” I said to Ruth.
“Diane?”
With a stern nod, I repeated her name. “Diane hated him, and she’d tried to avoid him all night,” I said. “So, sure, if they came into contact with each other, she could’ve done something, or whatever, I don’t know.”
“Is this your list?” she raised her brows. “Let me get a pen and paper.”
I pulled a napkin from the small basket near the centre of the table. “I have a pen in my purse.”
Ruth rubbed her hands and smiled. “So, what’s first?”
“Names,” I threw out, “motives, how he died, anything to try get some dots on the page.”
I scribbled my Diane’s name first, followed by her husband, Patrick.
“You could add he was very drunk,” she stated. “Easily in a state of influence.”
Drunk. I added. Angry. “He could’ve provoked it from anyone.”
“From what you said about the burn, I’d guess poison,” she said. “No sign of cuts or bruising, it had to be internal.”
Poison. “What type of—”
Ruth shrugged before I could finish. “There are too many poisons in this world, I’d have to see their blood report to even know, and even then, those things can be inconclusive. But whatever it was, he locked himself in the bathroom, he probably went in there to throw up.”
“Do you think he knew he was going to die?”
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