Deadly Dram

by Melinda Mullet

  Hinatu smiled. “I admire your youthful optimism, Abi. The road will not be easy, but someone has to forge the way. I am glad to have you by my side for this journey.”

  I stood tall as Hinatu and I entered the ballroom, and there was a brief lull in the hum of conversation. This time we made the entrance, not Brenna. But more than that, we made a statement to the nationalists. Like it or not, the new age of whisky had come to call.

  Patrick appeared at my side. His eyes glowed with pride as he hugged me and whispered, “You look fabulous.” We were quickly joined by Cam and Oliver.

  Oliver shook hands with Hinatu and gave me a kiss. “Congratulations, my dear. I knew you would sort this out. And just in the nick of time.”

  “A toast,” said Patrick. “To Abi and her nose for crime.”

  I drank and I smiled, but I couldn’t summon the same enthusiasm as the boys. I’d have been happier to be able to melt into the woodwork, but word of my role in helping to catch Sir Richard and Archie’s killer had spread like wildfire and the drinks and toast continued to flow at an alarming rate. And, of course, everyone wanted to know about Grant. I repeated the story so many times I was numb and feeling guiltier than ever. I finally gave in to the onslaught, hoping the whisky would silence the voices whispering in my head.

  Toast after toast came and went. Before we even sat for dinner, my head was spinning from the amount of whisky I’d consumed. I excused myself, snagged a glass of water from the bar, and made my way unsteadily to the ladies’ lounge. One look at my face in the mirror and I knew I’d already overdone it. I collapsed into one of the plush chairs and concentrated on hydrating. I downed the full glass and leaned back to rest for a moment. The room started spinning, and I closed my eyes. That blotted out the movement of the room, but I couldn’t stop the words and images from swirling around in my head like a psychedelic nightmare.

  Keenan’s face as he was dragged away. His anger and bitterness, but something more. Fear. A fear I wouldn’t have expected to see in a man willing to kill for revenge. And poor Sophie. Brokenhearted over Joey’s arrest. Joey with Liam and the other dogs. The trust, the discipline. With the analytical side of my brain floating on a sea of alcohol, my instinct screamed at me even louder. Something isn’t right.

  Trevor’s face popped into my head. He wasn’t attending tonight. His earlier arrest had fueled a festival of gossip. I didn’t blame him for not wanting to show up. At least that was Michaelson’s mistake, not mine. As Hinatu said, so important not to be hasty in our judgments.

  Had we rushed too much, struggling to find an answer to a question that even Michaelson had insisted had no easy answer? Richard and Archie had caused irreparable damage to one man during their time at Oxford and never gave it a thought. And to many families during the Edenburn sale. Was Keenan the only one? Or were there other injured parties we’d overlooked?

  Sophie and Joey’s words echoed in my head: “It’s always the staff that takes the blame.” The staff. The hotel staff, the staff at Edenburn, the staff at college. Careless men and careless boys.

  I sat up suddenly and a wave of nausea washed over me. I was afraid. Afraid we had the right man, but for the wrong reason.

  I hauled myself out of the chair and staggered across the hall to the business center, trying not to trip on the hem of my skirt. I sat down at the nearest computer, logged on to the Gazette’s database, and quickly ran a search through the archives of the Oxford Daily News. It had been more than thirty years, but there it was, a pitifully short notice of the drowning death of one William Joseph Gates, formerly a guard at University College, Oxford. In spite of the protests of his surviving relations, the death had been ruled a suicide.

  I sat back in the chair, my head spinning, but as it whirled the snapshots of information finally fell into place. The motive for these killings had festered in the dark for many years—revenge against those careless boys. William Gates couldn’t get back at the men who’d ruined his life, but a member of his family could.

  Chapter 23

  The cold splash of realization drove the whisky fog from my head. I had to talk to Hinatu.

  I considered calling Michaelson, but at my insistence he was having a celebratory dinner with his daughter in the dining room down the hall. I hated to screw that up. Not yet, anyway.

  I sent an urgent text to Patrick and asked him to bring Hinatu and meet me in the library.

  I paced back and forth in front of the shelves of books that would normally give me such joy, unseeing. I was just about to go out and grab Patrick by the collar when he and Hinatu walked in.

  “What’s going on?” Patrick asked.

  “I think I may have made a dreadful mistake.” I turned to Hinatu and placed a hand on his arm. “Could you please tell Patrick the quick version of the story you told me earlier? The one about the wrong man.”

  Hinatu looked surprised but gave Patrick a summary of the story. As he finished, the two of them looked at me expectantly.

  I took a deep breath to clear my head. “The police have taken Bruce Keenan in. He’s the logical choice. It makes sense and there is even some circumstantial evidence, but my instinct kept screaming no. I’ve been chasing the clear-cut evidence Michaelson needs, and I found the poison, but something still doesn’t feel right. We’ve missed something. This isn’t a crime spurred by the loss of a job, however convenient the evidence may be. This is a crime of deep emotion, of love and personal loss.”

  “If not Keenan, then who?” Patrick said.

  “I think your story is the key, Hinatu. Thirty years ago three college boys signed an affidavit that pointed a finger at an innocent man. He lost his job and his reputation, and even when he was exonerated no public announcement was made to clear his name. He ended up taking his own life.”

  “It’s a tragic story, but what does it have to do with all this?” Patrick asked.

  “I don’t think that his death was the end of the story. The obituary said that his family disputed the verdict of suicide. I don’t know why, but the point is he had a family,” I stressed. “A family that would’ve carried the wound of his suicide for the rest of their lives. Blaming the men who accused him of theft. I’ve been watching Michaelson this week struggling with his daughter, and it just occurred to me that Gates could’ve had children, too. They might’ve been small at the time, but they wouldn’t be small now. They’d be old enough to seek revenge against the men who took their father from them.”

  Patrick looked unsure. “So one of Gates’s kids followed them here?”

  “No,” I said, frustrated at my own inability to convey what seemed so clear to me. “One of Gates’s kids was already here and found himself face-to-face with the three men from his father’s past.”

  Hinatu and Patrick looked at me blankly. “William Joseph Gates,” I said.

  Patrick’s face cleared. “Joey?”

  “That would be my thought,” I said, relieved that Patrick saw the connection, too. My brain was so exhausted, I was starting to doubt its functionality.

  “I presume his last name isn’t Gates or you would’ve known right away,” Hinatu said.

  “The info I got on Joey picked up when he was about thirteen. It said his mum had remarried and changed their names shortly after his father died, but it didn’t say what his birth name was. Then he went into foster care and he changed his name again to his grandmother’s name.”

  “Well, it could be worse,” Patrick said. “At least he’s in jail. We can sort this out tomorrow.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that. Think about it. There’s one more person who signed that affidavit who’s still alive.”

  “Me,” Hinatu said calmly.

  “Yes.”

  “But with Joey in jail, there’s no problem,” Patrick said, clearly anxious to get back to the awards dinner.

&n
bsp; “Sophie said something earlier that worries me: ‘It’s always the staff that takes the blame.’ The staff who would never stand by and let someone’s life be ruined by rumors and lies. She and Joey are engaged. She loves him deeply, and I have to think she knows what happened to his father. She may even have been helping him seek his revenge. She’s the one with the easiest access to the rooms and keys, after all. If I were in her place, I think I’d want to finish the job while the opportunity was here. Not only that, she’s a smart girl. I bet she’s realized another killing while Joey’s in jail might serve to clear his name.”

  “So you think Hinatu is still at risk?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Then I promise I won’t eat anything until we sort this out,” Hinatu said with a smile.

  “It’s not a laughing matter,” I insisted. “It seems that she and Joey have been quite ingenious up to now. Lord knows what Sophie might try next. We need to catch her in the act. That’s the kind of unmistakable proof the police need, and the only way we can be one hundred percent sure.”

  “Call Michaelson,” Patrick insisted.

  “Of course I will,” I said, “in an hour or so. I just want to let the poor sod get through one dinner with his daughter.”

  “Speak to him after dinner, then,” Hinatu said. “As things stand, I’m in no imminent danger. Let’s all go back to the dinner, watch the award presentation, and bide our time. If someone is going to try to attack me, they won’t do it in front of a crowd of people. For now, at least, I am safest in a large group.”

  * * *

  —

  Hinatu’s Takai took the award for Best Newcomer and came in second for Best Overall. Removing the numbering bias had evened the playing field. The applause was lukewarm, but Patrick and I did our best to make up for it with our own vocal enthusiasm. Abbey Glen received the Chairman’s Award for Best Small Distillery. In Grant’s absence I went to accept the award, feeling conspicuous in my blood-red gown. I spoke from the heart about Grant. His passion for the craft of whisky making, and how honored I was to have him continuing Ben’s tradition. The applause for Grant and the Glen was lengthy and genuine.

  As the awards drew to a close I sent a text to Michaelson asking him to meet me in the lobby. I was getting anxious, and I wanted to catch him before he left the hotel to head home.

  He emerged from the dining room looking handsome in a navy suit and a burgundy tie, his dark hair slicked back and his face freshly shaved. I’d never seen him dressed in anything but work gear.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “Bit dodgy at first, but she seems to be enjoying all the fuss.”

  “I’m glad.” I took a deep breath. “Look, I really hate to do this to you, but I think I might possibly have been wrong about Keenan.”

  Michaelson stared at me as if I’d just suggested the Queen was an alien. “What?”

  “Joey’s right, but maybe not Keenan.” I cringed inwardly, waiting for the stream of invective.

  Michaelson moved closer. “This is no time for playing games,” he hissed, but the rest of his speech was cut short as a willowy young woman emerged from the main dining room in a short black dress and heels. She tottered slightly in her pumps, but she was doing a lovely job of looking grown up.

  She scowled at me before turning to her dad. “Thought you went to the loo.”

  “I was on my way when I ran into an old friend,” Michaelson said smoothly.

  “Abi, this is my daughter, Gracie.”

  I shook hands and told her she looked beautiful.

  “Why don’t you go freshen up and we’ll have pudding,” Michaelson said with a stiff smile.

  As she went off to the ladies’, Michaelson turned back to me, the light fading from his eyes.

  “Quickly, what the hell is this about?”

  I explained my theory about Joey and his motive.

  “I have people looking into Joey’s background now,” Michaelson said. “I’ll check in the morning to see if he’s any relation to this Gates person. If he is, we’ll rethink Keenan, but for now they’re both locked up tight and I’m following your suggestion with my daughter. It can all wait till morning.”

  “You don’t think Hinatu could still be in danger?”

  “With Joey in jail? No.”

  “His fiancée is still here.”

  Michaelson raised an eyebrow.

  “What if Sophie tries to finish the job?”

  “I’ve spoken with her multiple times,” he said. “I don’t see that as a reasonable risk. Besides, you’ve warned him. Hinatu knows better than to eat or drink anything left in his room or to let anyone in.”

  “You should’ve seen her face when she came to see me after Joey was arrested,” I said. “I wouldn’t underestimate her.”

  “Look, take your own advice and accept your success. It can all wait till the morning now.”

  Michaelson turned back toward the dining room and his date, and I rejoined Patrick and Hinatu in the bar.

  “Maybe Sophie won’t try to step in for Joey,” Patrick said quietly. “You have to admit it’s a bit of a long shot.”

  “Are you willing to take the risk?” I demanded. “Fate brought these three men here. There may never be another chance like this. I still maintain Hinatu’s in danger.” Looking around the bar, the post-award celebration was well under way and the whisky was flowing like water. I tried to put myself in the killer’s shoes. What would I do? Sophie was keen and determined. Could she have decided to let the drink take its course and hope that Hinatu would be sleeping soundly before sneaking in to attack? That would be my strategy.

  “I believe I can defend myself against an attack in the night,” Hinatu interjected, “especially now that I am prepared.”

  As a former kickboxer I suspected he was right, but it still made me uneasy. “No. No one’s going to be left alone,” I said. Grant’s fate still haunted me, and I’d be damned if we were going to abandon Hinatu when he was vulnerable. In the end, we agreed that Patrick and I would take turns staying in Hinatu’s room through the night to keep watch in case someone broke in.

  * * *

  —

  It was gone one in the morning when we finally escorted Hinatu back to his room, but as far as we could see, nothing had been touched. Hinatu picked up a glass from the minibar and began to pour himself some water from a sealed bottle in the fridge.

  “Wait.” I took the glass and sniffed. No telltale musty smell or pink residue to indicate any nicotine.

  I handed the glass back and we made a loud showing of saying good night in the hallway. Patrick and I went back to our own room and I gladly ditched the red gown. It was beautiful, but it made me feel self-conscious and so unlike myself. I scrubbed off the makeup and noticed that a small bruise was now coming up on the side of my lip. I slid into a pair of black jeans and a dark sweatshirt. Patrick set the alarm for three thirty and promised to relieve me then. He and Liam collapsed on the bed and I snuck out into the corridor and down the back stairs.

  Hinatu’s room was on the second floor, but because of a hill that rose behind the property, his part of the second floor was on the ground level. I counted the balconies along the back until I reached his. I climbed the railing and swung my leg over onto the patio. Hinatu was waiting at the sliding door. He opened it and ushered me in, leaving the door unlocked for Patrick to enter later and trade places.

  He’d changed out of his tux and into a t-shirt and loose flannel trousers, ready for bed. I stood, feeling indecisive for a moment. Where was the best place to conceal myself? Behind the drapes? It was cold by the sliding door and I would be visible from outside. We settled on the wardrobe across from the bed. From there I’d have a good view of everything that was happening and still be able to react quickly if need be.

  I climbed into th
e cedar-scented armoire and shifted the shirts hanging on the right-hand side over to the left. I could just about stand upright if I leaned on the side and slid my feet out about ten inches.

  I watched Hinatu take his nightly pills from the holder on the bedside table. He placed the water glass next to the bed and slid under the covers, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He gave me a thumbs-up sign and turned off the bedside light.

  Now we would wait.

  The first half hour was fine. I stood in my cramped position, straining my ears. After an hour I slid to the floor and sat with my back against the side of the armoire. I could hear Hinatu snoring in the room beyond. Either he was faking it or he really was as cool as a cucumber. I couldn’t have slept while waiting for someone to come and attack me.

  It was gone two thirty and I was starting to wonder if I’d gotten it all wrong again. I felt my eyes closing and I began to drift off, but the faint rattle of metal on metal roused me. Someone was inserting a key in the door lock. I moved into a crouching position. Through the space between the armoire doors I watched as the door to the hallway opened and a streak of light illuminated the floor. A figure slipped inside the room and moved quietly to the side of the bed. The dark shape stood there staring down at the sleeping figure before drawing something from the pocket of her jacket.

  I watched, transfixed. Hinatu hadn’t moved. I saw the stopper being removed from a glass vial and realized the killer was poised to pour the liquid into Hinatu’s open mouth. This was the moment to act, but Hinatu still wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving? Surely he couldn’t have slept through this.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I launched myself from the wardrobe, my legs stiff from the forced confinement. With the element of surprise on my side, I was able to knock the attacker to the floor, wrestling with the flailing arms and legs. Hinatu still did not move.

  We crashed around the room in the dark until I felt a strong arm grab us both, pulling the attacker away from me. I staggered to my feet and turned on the bedside light in time to see Michaelson wrestling down Mabel Easton’s ample form.