Deadly Dram

by Melinda Mullet

  “Fair enough,” Archie said shakily. “I just hope he does it quickly. One of the people stayin’ in this resort is a murderer, and I for one don’t fancy having to stay here with him lurkin’ about the place.”

  Patrick turned back to Trevor. “We’ve been invited to meet some of the others at the Aerie tonight to plan a tribute to Richard for the final night. You must come with me, and you,” he said, looking back at Archie. “All his friends should be there.”

  Archie patted Trevor on the shoulder. “Go on, mate, it’ll do you good.”

  Patrick looked at me. “You too, of course.”

  I declined the offer of more booze, citing the need to drag my tipsy date back to the room. Archie and Trevor wove their way slowly toward the door, supporting one another emotionally and physically as they went.

  “I’ll catch up in a minute,” Patrick said over his shoulder. “Why’s Michaelson leaning on Trevor?” he hissed as soon as his companions were out of earshot.

  I summarized my earlier conversation with Michaelson suggesting that Trevor had motive and potential for access to the room. Patrick interrupted before I got to the worst of it.

  “Sure Richard paid off Trev’s debts. He’d lecture a bit, but he always paid. He knew Trevor has a problem, but it all started when their father went to jail. Richard was serious about taking care of his baby brother and he always did. Why would Trev want to kill the golden goose?”

  “Michaelson thinks he wanted to get his hands on the whole lot.”

  “Trev’s no idiot, no matter how he seems. He knows he’d just squander the money away. He was more than happy to have Richard taking care of growing the family money.”

  “It gets worse,” I said. “It wasn’t lost on Michaelson that you were the last person to see Richard alive and the last one in his room. From his perspective you could’ve been there longer than you said. Pretended to share one last nightcap from the bottle Trevor poisoned.”

  Patrick’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t be serious.”

  “It’s logical. But not reasonable,” I added hastily. “And Michaelson can’t ignore the possibility. You and Trevor are close friends, after all. If he was in dire straits financially, you might have been willing to help. In Michaelson’s book it’s all about the money.”

  “You have to convince him it wasn’t me,” Patrick insisted.

  I leaned closer and whispered, “You think I’m not trying? I’m doing everything I can to prove it wasn’t you.”

  Patrick still looked like he’d been slapped.

  “Tell me, when you went to Richard’s room last night, did you notice if there were extra glasses on a tray on the table by the fireplace?”

  “I—I don’t know. I didn’t even look at the table.” Patrick was trying to be calm, but I noticed his hand shook as he downed the rest of his drink. “I can’t believe I’m a suspect. How do we fix this?”

  “I’m working on it. You just watch your back and keep your eyes and ears open for anything that seems odd. Most of all, be careful. Don’t wander around alone. In fact, take the shuttle to the club.”

  “Maybe I’ll just skip tonight.”

  “It’d look weird if you weren’t there,” I insisted. “You’d better go.”

  Patrick continued to look anxious, but he finally shuffled away, looking less than enthused. It was better than having him sit around and fret.

  Patrick’s years of friendship with Trevor might be affecting his judgment, but it didn’t make him wrong in thinking his friend was innocent. It was true that Trevor had a solid motive, and in Michaelson’s book that meant he was a good candidate to be the murderer. I conceded motive, but as far as I was concerned the real question was not could he murder his brother, but would he? My gut said no, but I needed more than my own instinct. I needed evidence. Evidence of another intentional killer, or at least an accidental one.

  I downed the last of my coffee and nudged Liam with my toe. He grunted, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Damn Findley and his whisky. Liam was a hefty boy, and if he wasn’t ready, we weren’t leaving. I looked across the room and saw Brenna Quinn sitting at the bar nursing a brandy. She raised her glass and beckoned me over.

  It would be churlish to refuse, but I was tempted. Sorely tempted, but as I glanced down at Liam, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere yet. I crossed the room and slid onto the stool next to her. The bartender appeared as if by magic with a cocktail napkin and a menu. “Glenmorangie port wood,” I said, surprised at how easily I knew which whiskies made the best before- and after-dinner tipples. I was learning, but I wasn’t in the league of the woman next to me.

  “Hiding from the old boys, or being excluded?” she asked with a wry smile.

  “Hiding, though I’m sure they don’t mind,” I replied.

  “Things are changing,” she remarked, “but slowly. Had a bit of a chilly reception when you arrived, from what I hear.”

  “More than chilly,” I muttered, “but I’m a survivor.”

  “So I gather from Grant. That’s good. These lads need shaking out of their complacency. They’re not a bad lot when you get to know them, but a bit stuck in their ways.”

  Not bad, except that one of them could well be a murderer, I thought. “So you worked with my uncle Ben for a few months.”

  Brenna nodded. I noticed that tears welled in her eyes at the mention of Ben’s name. “Nearly two years, actually,” she said after a moment. “My dad wasn’t too sure at first, but I jumped at it. Ben was the master of detail. He could tell you how every bit of the distilling process impacted the taste of the final product, from the copper of the pipes to the humidity of the air.” Brenna’s voice cracked slightly, and she paused and sipped her cognac.

  Two years. And yet Ben never talked about her. Brenna was obviously the whisky protégée he’d hoped I would be. It was stupid, but I resented the time she’d had with him. Time I’d lost by being perpetually on assignment. So many reasons to dislike her. I tried to keep them all from being reflected in my face.

  “You must miss him,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement of fact. I studied the bottom of my glass as if it had suddenly become immensely fascinating. It wasn’t Brenna’s fault I didn’t like her. It was simply that she was stealing my thunder professionally. Just as I started to embrace the new me—the lone female voice in the distillery fraternity—out to win the respect and confidence of my peers. Brenna arrived and I was no longer the pioneering force or even unique, for that matter. Just as galling was the fact that she was unbalancing my personal equilibrium as well. I was managing to keep Grant at arm’s length, but I wasn’t ready to see him taking up with my rival. My rational side insisted loudly that it wasn’t Brenna’s fault. It was my baggage and I shouldn’t be so rude.

  “I miss him every single day,” I confessed. “It’s only been ten months or so. Sometimes it feels as if I just arrived and other times I feel as if I’ve been here forever.” Brenna didn’t interrupt. She sat quietly waiting for me to continue. “I’m setting down roots and I’ve grown attached to Balfour and the people.”

  “It’s a great place to live,” Brenna agreed. “I loved my time in Balfour, working at the Glen. It was a real wrench to leave.”

  “Why did you?”

  “It was complicated.” Brenna ran a finger around the lip of her glass, listening to the soft whistling sound. “My dad had expectations. He wants me to take over the family business in Wales and I still had an internship to do in Canada.” Brenna trailed off. “In the end, I guess the real reason I left was that no one gave me a reason to stay.”

  So Grant hadn’t come to the pitch to bat. Was it because he wasn’t ready or because he didn’t want to? Maybe the two of them were less involved than I’d been led to believe. It was the first cheerful thought I’d had in some time.

  �
��Nothing wrong with moving on,” I said. “I’ve certainly never been one for staying put.”

  “Well, Canada was hardly a big adventure. Not like all the incredible places you’ve been. Your work is amazing.”

  I acknowledged the compliment with a grunt. “I went where they sent me.”

  We were silent for a time, Brenna waiting for me to elaborate on my adventures, and me being disinclined to share.

  “Ben had one of your pictures hanging in his guest room,” she said finally. “A little girl crouching in the dirt playing with a doll. You photographed her just as she glanced up. That look held all of the pain and fear of a child of war, and yet somewhere in her eyes you’d found that faint flicker of hope. It haunted me for a long time after I left.”

  I ignored the praise and went for the obvious. “I didn’t realize you stayed with Ben.”

  “There’s nowhere to stay in Balfour. Ben put me up for a while, before I moved into the Larches.”

  My heart sank. So much for not so involved. I’d always been terrible at concealing my own emotions, and in that moment something must have registered on my face.

  Brenna gave me a sideways glance. “Sorry, I figured you knew all about Grant and me.”

  “Not my business,” I muttered.

  “It was a long time ago. Things have changed,” she said sadly.

  I held up a hand. “Like I said, none of my business and I don’t feel comfortable talking about my partner’s private life.”

  “Whatever you say.” Brenna caught the bartender’s eye and tapped the rim of her empty glass with a burgundy talon. A fresh cognac appeared in an instant.

  I looked up and saw Grant enter the room, hesitating before continuing over to our side of the bar. I’d wondered where he’d been up till now.

  “Sorry, I had some lingering guests at the tasting table,” he said as he slid onto the stool next to me and ordered a drink. “What are you two up to?”

  “Just getting to know one another,” Brenna said. “We have a lot in common.”

  I saw Grant stiffen slightly. I’m sure he presumed we’d been talking about him. It obviously made him uncomfortable, and I wasn’t about to disabuse him of the notion.

  “You do have a lot in common,” he agreed. “The two leading women in the whisky business, strong, savvy, and serious. You should support one another.”

  I wondered if he sensed the tension between us. “Maybe with the kerfuffle over foreigners, women will start to look more appealing,” I muttered.

  Brenna smiled. “I’ll take respect any way I can get it. To the lesser of two evils,” she toasted.

  I raised my glass absentmindedly, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Liam was finally staggering to his feet. He lumbered over, and I used his resurrection as an excuse for a hasty departure. I was in no mood to be a third wheel for the rest of the evening.

  As I exited the bar, dragging Liam behind me, I ran into Hinatu Harukawa walking down the hall from the direction of the dining room.

  “So sorry, Mr. Harukawa.”

  “My fault entirely, Ms. Logan. And call me Hinatu. Harukawa-san is my father.”

  “Then Abi, please. How are you enjoying the programs?” I asked.

  “They are most fascinating, and I am very much enjoying the tastings.”

  I fell into step beside Hinatu and we strolled down the corridor lined with shops and boutiques, all shuttered for the night, Liam wobbling along behind us. “Aren’t you going to join Patrick and the others in the bar?” I asked.

  “I have had an elegant sufficiency of whisky for the moment, and my presence is, shall we say, undesired.”

  “More fools them,” I said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s their loss,” I explained. “I always enjoy your company.”

  Hinatu looked slightly embarrassed but responded with a sincere “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry the others are being so poorly behaved,” I added. “They aren’t all such idiots, only some of them.”

  “I have many charming friends within this group, Abi, but given the current situation, it is best all around if I maintain a low profile. I am well aware that my Takai is at the heart of the competitive conflict as well as the reason Sir Richard is no longer with us.”

  “I’m sure things are being said that shouldn’t be,” I conceded, “but as far as I’ve heard from the police, there’s no reason to suspect that anything was wrong with your whisky when it was delivered to the competition guests.”

  “I know that, and you know that, and I will be most glad if the police know it, too, but there are plenty of people who believe what they believe. Facts do not enter the picture,” Hinatu said sadly.

  “When I arrived here I wasn’t warmly welcomed either,” I confessed. “The whisky fraternity is set in its ways and slow to change, but change is coming.”

  Hinatu bowed his head slightly. “I look forward to that day. Until then, are the police any closer to finding out why Sir Richard was killed?”

  Word was obviously flying through the whisky grapevine. “I think not,” I said, glad that Hinatu had raised the subject himself. I was interested to hear his perspective on the cocktail hour in Richard’s room. “You were with him in his room before dinner that night. How was he?”

  “Jovial and exuberant as usual. He was looking forward to the competition.”

  “And he seemed to think all was well with the competition?”

  “Yes. He was excited at the diversity of the nominees.”

  “He didn’t express any concern about the integrity of the blind tastings?”

  Hinatu paused in front of a display case of Mont Blanc pens. He studied the lavish writing instruments as he considered his reply. “He did not express any misgivings to me. In fact, he seemed confident that the judges would be surprised by their choices once the blind tastings began.”

  I realized belatedly that Richard had said as much to me in the Aerie the first night. All in all, that didn’t sound like a man concerned by the judging process.

  “And he didn’t seem uneasy or upset about anything else?”

  “He wasn’t upset that I could see. I’ve known Richard for a long time. We were friends at university, though we drifted apart in our final year. He was always high-spirited. Never one to be melancholy. Not like his brother, Trevor. Two sides of the same coin—both bright and talented, but Trevor was as introverted as his brother was extroverted.”

  “Richard was quite blunt in his speech,” I said. “I suspect some found that offensive.”

  “Richard was plainspoken,” Hinatu agreed. “Trevor had a more subtle eloquence, but at least with Richard you always knew where you stood. What is the expression?” Hinatu paused for a moment. “He called a shovel a shovel.”

  I smiled slightly but didn’t correct him. I knew what he meant. “Sir Richard was very clear on his views about whisky. Was there anyone here who seemed particularly offended by his insistence on giving credit to non-Scottish whiskies?”

  “I was aware that there were many who disagreed with him, but most had the…well, let’s say grace, not to say so to my face.”

  I was glad to hear that no one was attacking Hinatu personally, but I worried that the situation might deteriorate if the foreign whiskies continued to receive praise. We turned and began to walk slowly back to the lift.

  “You knew Archie MacInnes from school as well, I believe?”

  “Yes, I did. I met him through Richard in our Oxford days, though I haven’t seen him in quite some time.”

  “But he and Richard were close.”

  “Business associates as well as friends, yes.”

  “No disagreements since they arrived here?”

  I could feel Hinatu watching me.

  “Nothing that I was aware o
f, but they didn’t discuss their private business in front of me. I am, and always will be, an outsider in their eyes.”

  I felt sorry for Hinatu, though he wouldn’t have wanted my pity. “Patrick doesn’t think of you as an outsider,” I said.

  “He is a good man,” Hinatu replied. “And you are a good friend to him. I wish you luck with your investigation, Abi. I hope you find the answers you are seeking.”

  Was I that obvious? I must be losing my touch. We’d returned to where we started. I bid Hinatu good night and watched him head up the short flight of stairs to his room before turning and finding Liam collapsed once more on the floor. There was nothing for it but to carry him up to bed. I hauled him up in my arms, carrying him on his back, all four paws in the air like a baby. A baby in a bow tie. In the lift I hit the button for the third floor with my thumb and struggled to stay upright.

  The lift made a gentle pinging noise and the doors slid open. I stepped off as a woman in a lavender coat stepped on, looking at me as if I was mad. I walked down the hall to our room and realized too late that I was standing in front of room 234, not 334. It was nearly midnight, and I was so desperate to dump the dog that I’d stepped off automatically when the door opened to let another guest board.

  As I turned to head along to the stairs, the door to 234 started to open slowly. I skittered along the hall as best I could, not wanting to be caught lurking outside like a stalker with an armful of drunk dog. As I reached the stairwell I turned and looked behind me. There was no one there. The door had shut again as quickly as it had opened. The hallway was empty, but someone had been alert to our presence.

  Chapter 10

  The cold half-light of morning was just creeping its way through the chink in the curtains and I groaned as my brain registered a knocking at the door. It was barely six in the morning and I was blissfully cocooned in the massive hotel duvet with Liam’s head resting on the pillow next to mine. He cocked an ear but made no move to leave the warmth of the bed. I looked over at Patrick. No luck there either—he was still out cold. It was down to me. Shaking sleep and residual whisky from my head, I stumbled to the door. Sophie was standing in the hall wide-eyed and trembling.