by Zara Keane
The hotel lobby was deserted, save for a lone receptionist seated behind a polished wood counter. “Good morning,” she said when I approached. “How may I help you?”
I gave her a sunny smile that didn’t match my mood. “My name is Maggie Doyle. I’d like to speak to Paul or Melanie Greer. Both if they’re available.”
The receptionist’s expression froze for a millisecond before resuming its professional friendliness. “I’m not sure today is a good time, but I’ll ask. One moment, please.” She picked up the phone and hit a button. “There’s a Ms. Doyle here to see you, Paul. Should I send her through? Yes. Thanks.” She put down the phone and glanced up at me. “Mr. Greer will see you in his office.” She stood up and led me to a door behind the reception desk. After a perfunctory knock, the receptionist opened the door and gestured for me to go in.
Paul sat behind a large mahogany desk, and Melanie perched on the edge. They both looked pale and drawn beneath their professionally applied fake tans.
Melanie stared at me dully. “What do you want, Maggie?” she asked in a tired voice. “If your aunt is worried about us suing her, we don’t plan to.”
“Why would you sue my aunt? It’s not her fault your mother died.” It was the wrong thing to say, and I realized my mistake the instant the words left my mouth.
Melanie’s mouth tightened. Paul stood and squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “How can we help you, Maggie? I guess this isn’t a social call.”
“No.” I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, awkward and aware that they hadn’t offered me a seat. “I spoke to Sergeant O’Shea on the golf course. I mentioned that I’d taken the precaution of saving Sandra’s cocktail glass.”
Paul’s eyes widened. “Why would you do that? Sergeant O’Shea said it wasn’t necessary. Surely you don’t think the cocktail caused her heart attack?”
“They were rather strong,” Melanie added, shooting me a look of pure venom. “Mummy wasn’t used to hard drinks.”
“I urge you to ask the police to send the glass and its contents for tests. As a precaution,” I added, seeing their matching expressions of horror.
Paul gave a stiff laugh. “This is absurd. You’re acting like someone poisoned my mother-in-law’s drink.”
“All I’m saying is that it would be wise to get it tested in a lab,” I replied, choosing my words with care.
“You’re insane.” Melanie’s voice raised a notch, and her hand fluttered to her expensive necklace. “Everyone loved Mummy. No one would want to harm her.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Was Melanie genuinely clueless as to her mother’s true nature, or deliberately obtuse? “If you’re convinced no one would hurt your mother, there’s no reason to fear the lab results, is there? Getting the glass tested is standard procedure.” But not on Whisper Island, according to that idiot, Sergeant O’Shea. My hands balled into fists. The man was an incompetent fool.
Melanie, breathing hard, rounded on me. “This is your suggestion, not Sergeant O’Shea’s. He didn’t mention any suspicions that Mummy’s death wasn’t from natural causes. In fact, no one has mentioned it apart from you.”
“Sergeant O’Shea is an idiot,” I said, forgetting my vow to remain calm and diplomatic. “He doesn’t want tests done because he’s lazy. If the test results cast the heart attack theory into doubt, he’d be expected to put down his golf club and do some work for a change.”
Paul’s lips twitched, but Melanie’s mouth trembled. She twisted the rings on her fingers and paced back and forth in front of the desk. “How dare you insinuate there’s something suspicious about my mother’s death? Don’t you think it’s bad enough knowing she’s gone without you spreading malicious rumors?”
“From what I’ve heard, spreading malicious rumors was more your mother’s area of expertise than mine.”
Melanie’s sharp intake of breath was audible. Okay, so a career in diplomacy wasn’t in my future, but I’d said what everyone else thought.
Melanie’s face contorted with rage. “You’ve been back on the island for five minutes and you think you’re an expert? Get out of our hotel. And if I hear you’ve been smearing my mother’s name, you’ll be hearing from my solicitor.” She turned to her husband. “Make her leave, Paul.”
“Come on, Maggie.” Paul took my arm and dragged me to the door. “You’re upsetting my wife.”
“At least consider what I’ve said,” I pleaded when we reached the door. “I’m sorry I upset Melanie, but I don’t understand why she wouldn’t want to get the glass tested. If it were my mother, I’d make sure I’d done everything within my power to determine the exact cause of death.”
Paul fixed me with a hard stare, and a shiver went down my spine. “Some questions don’t need to be answered, Maggie. Go home and stop causing trouble.” He spun on his heels and marched in the direction of his office.
I stared at his retreating back for a long time. Granted, I’d never make it onto their list of favorite people, but Paul and Melanie were mighty keen not to have the cocktail glass tested. Did Paul have something to hide? Or did his wife?
9
I spent the afternoon at the café fielding questions about my discovery of Sandra’s body and trying not to burn muffins. By the time Kelly finished her shift at four, I was bone-tired and hoarse from dealing with curious customers. I’d also managed to create a flood involving coffee and milk foam.
When Lenny ambled in just before closing time, I was mopping up the mess. “Hey, Maggie. How’s it hanging?”
“To the left,” I quipped, “but going downhill fast. How about you?”
“I’m pretty good.” He hesitated and looked around the café. Apart from the Spinsters and the Two Gerries, everyone had gone home. “Can I have a word with you? About the laptop?”
“Sure.” I lowered my voice. “Did you find anything?”
Lenny frowned and shook his head. “Sandra wanted a new RAM chip, but she should have been looking for a new computer. That laptop is fried.”
I blinked. “Is it beyond repair?”
“Looks like it.” Lenny’s gloomy expression matched his tone. “I worked on it all morning, but no luck. I dropped it over to the hotel before I came here. Paul said he’d get their tech guy to take another look at the laptop, but in my opinion, it’s only fit for salvage.”
I frowned, sifting through the info I’d stored in my head. “Sandra didn’t mention it was broken when she asked you to put in the RAM chip?”
“No, but she didn’t have a clue about computers. Maybe she thought it just needed a new RAM chip and would magically resurrect itself.”
“Maybe. It’s strange, though.”
“Yeah, but not much stranger than her turning up dead at the Movie Club.” Lenny scratched his beard. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Did you see that weird green light hovering over the screen while we were watching Dial M for Murder?”
“No, Lenny.” Oh, boy. If he was going to mention extraterrestrial involvement in Sandra’s death, I hadn’t had enough coffee to deal with it.
“Because maybe aliens beamed Sandra up during the film, stole her soul, and tossed her body back to earth.” Lenny peered at me earnestly. “It happens.”
“Sure it does—in sci-fi movies.”
“Just think about it for a second. It would totally explain why she suddenly keeled over. She was fine when you served her the cocktails.”
I sighed. “You know, Lenny, we were having a totally sane conversation until you tossed E.T. into the mix. Leaving alien involvement out of the equation, remember I saved Sandra’s cocktail glass last night?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You bagged it and put it in the fridge like a pro.”
“I spent the morning trying to convince Sergeant O’Shea and Melanie to get it tested for substances that could have caused her death.”
Lenny drew his brows together. “Do you seriously think Sandra was murdered?”
“I don’t know what to think. I just fin
d it frustrating that Sergeant O’Shea refuses to have the glass checked.”
“What’s his excuse?”
I raised an eyebrow. “A surgical attachment to his golf club? I figured the suggestion of murder wouldn’t fly with him, but I thought he’d at least consider the possibility of suicide and get the glass tested.”
“No way,” Lenny said. “I don’t see Sandra killing herself, especially not in public.”
“I agree it’s unlikely, but everyone seems to think my murder theory is far-fetched.”
Lenny’s brow furrowed. “Do you know Mack McConnell? We hung out with him a couple of times when you were over that last summer.”
“Vaguely. He had long red hair and a wannabe goatee, right?”
Lenny grinned. “That’s him. Mack looks the very same today. He’s a pharmacist who works here on the island at his family’s pharmacy. We could ask him to test the contents of the glass. Any idea what substance we’re looking for?”
My thoughts leaped to Noreen’s missing codeine pills, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Nothing in particular.” My gaze dropped to my scuffed boots. “If he agrees to look at the cocktail, could I have a word with him first?”
Lenny eyed me thoughtfully. “Sure. I’ll give him a call now. He usually works at the pharmacy on Saturdays.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Lenny went outside the café to make the phone call and returned a minute later. “Mack finishes work in ten minutes. He said he’d check the glass in their lab if you bring it over now.”
I glanced at my watch. “The café closes in ten minutes. Would you mind staying and serving any last-minute customers? I’ll come right back after I drop the stuff over to Mack.”
“Sure. No problem.” Lenny slipped off his jacket and slid behind the counter. “Do you know where Mack’s pharmacy is?”
“I think so. There’s a McConnell’s Pharmacy farther down this street. Is that the one?”
“Yeah. Mack said to knock if he’s already locked up.”
“Okay. I’ll get the cocktail stuff and go straight over.”
I went into the kitchen and removed the two makeshift evidence bags from the café’s refrigerator. I wasn’t sure Mack would need the cocktail glass in addition to the liquid I’d saved from it, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring it just in case. Once I had everything concealed in a large shopping bag, I put on my jacket and stepped outside.
In the hours I’d been inside the café, daylight had given way to darkness. When I passed Sandra Walker’s news agency, I shivered inside my jacket and hurried down the street toward McConnell’s Pharmacy. Mack was at the door when I arrived, about to lock up for the night. He smiled at me through the glass window and opened the door to let me in.
“Hey, Maggie. Great to see you again.” Mack pumped my hand and bounced back on the balls of his feet. Like Lenny, he was tall and gangly, but that was where the resemblance ended. In contrast to Lenny’s short dark hair and casual clothing, Mack had freckles and long ginger hair and looked like he lived in a lab coat.
“It’s good to see you, too. Thanks for agreeing to look at the cocktail glass.”
“No problem.” He glanced through the large display window. “Come through to the back. People are nosy around here.”
I laughed. “Tell me about it.”
Mack led me through to a back room that was furnished with a desk, books, and lab equipment. “You do realize that it could make it hard to submit the glass as evidence if there is a trial?” he asked after he’d closed the door.
“Yeah, I’m aware of that, but given that Sergeant O’Shea has no intention of sending it to a forensics lab for testing, it’s a chance I’m willing to take.” I opened the shopping bag and extracted the container with the remnants of Sandra’s final cocktail. “I brought both the glass and the leftover cocktail.”
Mack laughed. “An ex-cop never dies.”
I grinned. “I guess not. Do you need the glass as well?”
“Nah. Might be smarter to leave it untouched, just in case we do find a suspicious substance in the cocktail. Any idea what we’re looking for?”
My stomach sank and I nodded. “Check for Solpodol.”
Mack whistled. “Do you think Sandra Walker died of a codeine-paracetamol overdose?”
“It’s possible. Could that cause a person to die suddenly and quietly?”
Mack considered the question for a moment. “Yeah, I think so. The symptoms include drowsiness, dizziness, dilated pupils, shallow breathing, sweating, and nausea.”
“She appeared to be drunk, but everyone says that’s highly unlikely.”
“The symptoms of a codeine overdose could be mistaken for intoxication,” Mack said. “Did Sandra throw up at all?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I saw no signs of it when I found her dead in the movie theater.” I shuddered at the memory. “Her skin was cold and clammy.”
“That ties in with an overdose of Solpodol.” Mack examined the makeshift evidence bag. “The test will take a while to complete, and I’m going to want to run it twice, just to be sure. Where can I reach you when I have the results?”
I scribbled down my cell phone number on a piece of notepaper and handed it to him. “Call me any time, day or night.”
“Will do.” Mack shoved his glasses up from the bridge of his nose and stared at the container with an expression of intent. “Enjoy your evening, Maggie.”
I looked at the bag in his hands. “I’m sorry you won’t be enjoying yours.”
Mack’s grin was wide. “Oh, I will. I love this stuff. I wanted to be a forensic pharmacologist.”
“What stopped you?”
“Not enough jobs in Ireland.” He shrugged. “So I gave in to parental pressure and stuck with pharmacy.”
I understood all about parental pressure, both the giving-in-to-it part and the defying it. “In that case, have fun.”
After dropping off the cocktail glass to Mack, I walked back to the café. Lenny had locked up and started clearing the tables.
“Thanks,” I said. “I can take it from here.”
“Okay.” Lenny shrugged into his jacket. “Let me know what Mack says. Ten to one says he’ll find nothing and you can relax.”
I forced a smile. “I hope so. Enjoy your weekend.”
For the next half hour, I scrubbed tables and put up the chairs for the cleaning lady who’d come by in the morning. I’d just finished loading the dishwasher when Mack called. “Hey,” I said, my heart pounding. “That was quick.”
“Yes. The test I used is one employed by paramedics and law enforcement. It gives fast and accurate results, but they still need to be confirmed in a lab to be considered conclusive.” Mack’s tone was clipped and formal, a far cry from the easy camaraderie we’d shared thirty minutes ago.
My hands grew clammy around my phone. “And?”
“And Sandra Walker’s cocktail contained codeine. I ran the test twice before I called you.”
I swore beneath my breath. “Thanks, Mack. Please hold onto the remnants of the cocktail until I’ve had a chance to talk to Sergeant O’Shea.”
“You’d better be quick,” Mack said. “I saw him pull up at the station a couple of minutes ago. Want me to join you there?”
“Yes, please.” I was already pulling on my jacket. “I’ll be there in five.” Three if I sprinted.
When Mack and I entered the station, Sergeant O’Shea was leafing through a filing cabinet. The slick smile he bestowed on Mack froze the instant he registered my presence. “Not you again,” he said in a thunderous voice. “I told you to stop wasting police time.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “Since when does a round of golf count as police time?”
The veins in Sergeant O’Shea’s neck bulged.
“Maggie asked me to examine the contents of Sandra Walker’s cocktail glass,” Mack interjected.
The policeman’s beady eyes swiveled in the p
harmacist’s direction. “She did what? I told her to keep out of it.”
“And it was just as well she asked me to run tests,” Mack continued, deliberately ignoring the sergeant’s truculent manner. “The cocktail tested positive for codeine.”
“See?” I placed my hands on my hips and stared the sergeant down. “Sandra Walker was poisoned.”
“Now slow down a minute, young lady. Even if the cocktail contained codeine, are you sure it was Sandra’s glass?”
“I showed you the glass when you came to look at Sandra’s body.”
“Ah,” he said in a triumphant tone, “but how do I know that the cocktail Mack McConnell tested was Sandra’s? I only have your word for it.”
I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot. “If you’d done your job and bagged the evidence, you wouldn’t need to rely on my word. Besides, a lab can test for saliva and match the DNA to Sandra.”
The sergeant’s purple face turned puce. “I—”
“Fact is,” I continued, “the contents of Sandra’s glass tested positive for codeine. Either Sandra put the codeine into her drink, by accident or design, or someone spiked her cocktail. I checked the sign-in sheet, and twenty-eight people attended the Movie Club evening, including Sandra. We can assume Sandra’s drink was spiked by one of them, so that narrows down the list of suspects.”
“Suspects. Poison.” Sergeant O’Shea was on the defensive. “You’re jumping the gun here, Ms. Doyle.”
“Am I? I don’t think so. You need to send the rest of the cocktail to a forensics lab for further tests, and you should order an autopsy on Sandra’s body.”