Gin and Toxic

by Alana Ling

  ‘Oh, that’s quite enough, Stephen. Stop winging and get on with it before the banks close,’ a female voice said and my palate was filled with Sauvignon Blanc. Harper Brown.

  ‘I will, but—’ Stephen started saying, but she cut in.

  ‘Oh, enough. Don’t forget who’s boss, Stephen. I won’t let my company fail because of your ineptitude. Go and I’ll see you later. We’re meeting the new supplier from London later to talk about the possibility of signing a contract with him. Let’s try not to screw it up this time.’

  Someone cleared their throat and the voices went quiet.

  The creak of a door opening sounded.

  ‘Everything all right, Mrs. Brown?’ I heard Daniel’s voice.

  ‘Quite so, Detective,’ she replied with a giggle. ‘My husband here is still quite shaken by the events and acting all silly, aren’t you, dear?’

  Stephen grumbled something incomprehensible and we saw him walk away, back to the lobby.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, Detective. I’ve got quite a few important businesses to attend to. Any closer to being released from this…establishment?’ Harper asked with a distinct pitch to her voice that it wasn’t hard to imagine the face that went with it.

  ‘We’re getting there, Mrs. Brown. I’ll keep you informed,’ Daniel said.

  ‘Please do. My business needs me back in Australia. I’d like to go sooner rather than later,’ she said and we heard a door close behind her.

  ‘All right, Nick, let’s go for lunch,’ Daniel said and we saw them leave the conference space of the hotel.

  ‘She’s nice to him. I never heard a please or a thank you from that woman,’ Sam said.

  ‘Well, maybe she’s invested in the results of the investigation, Sam.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Seven

  The next morning, I decided to visit my mum, Effie.

  Alfie was enthused with his early morning walk and he made sure to show me by jumping up and down my legs and wagging his tail back and forth at a dizzying speed.

  I grabbed a slice of toast and jam and we dashed out the door and onto the cobblestone outside my house on Culpepper Mews, the quaint little off-coast street that housed cute, scenic houses just like mine. Which reminded me I’d needed to bake something for the next neighbourhood association meeting.

  I walked through the streets downtown and when I got to Caverley Crescent Alfie decided to take an extra moment out of his excitement to relieve himself, right outside Mum’s shop.

  The mural on the shopfront of Stroke of Art, my mum’s business, the painting my father had done all those years ago of the Haven seafront, was gone. It had graced the window of the shop for almost two decades since he’d painted it on his fishing trips. I actually even remembered being with him on some of those trips and helping him pick the right colours by matching them to the real taste of the scenery. Dad was probably the first person to notice my peculiarity. He’d never asked me what I meant when I said the sea tasted of sour patch kids and his paintbrush of salted pretzels.

  He would always laugh and shrug it off, which, looking back at it now, was probably one of the reasons I hadn’t realised until later in life that I wasn’t normal and that not everyone could taste things they saw. Thinking back to my childhood moments with him brought all those flavours in my mouth and a sting in my eye.

  The knitted replica my mum had produced since his passing five years ago was still there, however, now in the company of an abstract painting that had little meaning or purpose.

  I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, but before my brain decided to go loose on any conclusions, I grabbed the door handle and pushed.

  The door didn’t budge.

  I pushed again to the same effect. Alfie stood patiently next to me, staring at the door as if willing it to open with his sagging tongue and I stuck my head on the glass to look inside.

  It was empty. Usually, the elderly community of Haven-on-Sea hung out inside, going through the colourful yarn balls, picking up new needles or having a little chat and gossip in the back, where my mum taught painting lessons, naked on occasion, as I had found out a few months ago.

  I knocked on the door and waited. When no one came through, I knocked again.

  A sound burst from the back, where Mum’s office was situated, and moments later the door opened and out she came, dressed in a scandalous emerald robe with a matching green perm and her cat-eye glasses resting on her nose. Her chocolate marble cake flavour greeted me.

  She swayed left to right to the front door and unlocked it. I tried to push and Alfie got ready to enter, but Mum stood there, holding it inches open, enough for her head to pop out.

  ‘Joanna, my darling. I haven’t seen you in ages. You never visit your poor, old mother.’

  ‘Mum,’ I said, ‘you look neither poor nor old, especially in what you’re wearing.’ I paused and she looked down at herself. ‘What are you wearing, by the way?’

  ‘What does it look like I’m wearing,’ she snapped right back, not letting any pregnant pauses get in the way of our conversation.

  ‘Why won’t you let us in?’ I asked, making another attempt at going into the shop, a futile effort.

  ‘Because I’m busy at the moment. Pop by later.’

  I checked my watch and it informed me it was already past ten o’clock.

  ‘Why is the shop not open?’

  Effie tutted and looked up to the sky.

  ‘You ask too many questions, sweetheart, and I don’t have the time to answer them. Catch you later.’ She attempted to close the door.

  I put my weight on it and stopped her from doing so.

  ‘Mum, are you sure you’re all right? You haven’t called me in three days. What’s up with you?’

  ‘We’ll catch up soon, my baby. I’m sorry you’ve missed Mummy. I’ll call you later and we can talk, huh? How does that sound?’

  I stepped back and put my hands on my hips. ‘I’m not five, Mum. You don’t need to patronise me.’

  ‘I’m not—’ she started to say, but my ringtone interrupted her.

  I scavenged my pockets and retrieved my phone. As I was doing so, Mum got her excuse to escape me.

  ‘Well, it looks like you’re busy too, my baby. Bye,’ she said and shut the door, trotting back to her office.

  I shook my head and answered the phone.

  ‘Joanna, is that you?’ came the voice from the other end.

  ‘Yes, speaking,’ I said and I started walking down the road, aiming for Bean Therapy a few streets down.

  ‘It’s Henry Bulet. I need your services, please. Can you come to my room?’

  I looked up to the sky and asked for divine help.

  ‘Actually, Mr. Bulet, I’m not room service at the hotel. Perhaps you can call reception,’ I told him, about to hang up.

  ‘No,’ he shouted. ‘It’s not related to the hotel experience. But it has got to do with my business in town.’

  ‘Again,’ I said, ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant to my job.’

  ‘I understand your confusion,’ he said, ‘but Detective Anderson had told me you’ll be helping with our issues while we’re in town.’

  Of course he had.

  I would have hung up on him and the rest of the lot who thought they could take advantage of the situation, were it not for my interest in the investigation.

  In all fairness, Henry Bulet was a suspect in Colton’s death and if he needed to see me, so did I.

  I made a little U-turn as I decided to go straight to the hotel while I called Sam to pick up her stuff, get our coffees to go, and meet me there.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was in the lobby with Sam behind me, and we went straight into the lift and up to the fourth floor. We stopped short of room 404 and knocked on the door as Alfie sniffed the threshold and waited for the man to appear, sweeping the carpet with his lazy tail.

  An older man appeared, wearing a bathrobe, and Alfie went for the introductions, his cranberr
y and pistachio cookie flavour mixing well with Alfie’s oatmeal cookie taste.

  Henry jumped but patted Alfie before letting us in.

  ‘Thank you for coming, girls,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps you want to put some clothes on first, Mr. Bulet,’ Sam suggested, trying to look anywhere but the man himself.

  ‘Oops,’ was his immediate response and he dashed into the bathroom. While he changed, I decided to have a snoop around the room. Not that he would have left anything incriminating wide open for us to find, but every detail counted in a murder investigation.

  Before I could get into the nitty gritty of things, and midway through Sam opening the bedside drawer, Henry came out again in smart casual attire.

  He stared at Sam who was frozen mid-action.

  ‘Uhm, there was a spider,’ she said. ‘I was trying to get it.’

  Henry took a few steps back and cringed. ‘Did you?’ he shrieked.

  Sam’s stare persisted until she realised what he was asking, at which point she turned to the drawer and slapped her hand inside it.

  ‘Got it now,’ she said with all the confidence in the world.

  Henry reached out for some tissue and passed it to her with the tips of his fingers, trying to keep his distance.

  ‘Mr. Bulet, why did you call us here?’ I asked.

  Alfie was standing between the man and me, watching us both until he got tired and started sniffing around the bed.

  ‘Ah yes,’ Henry said. ‘I’m in desperate need of dry cleaning.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Excuse me?’

  Instead of replying, Henry opened his wardrobe and pulled suit covers out and threw them on the bed.

  ‘I was only planning on staying here for the two nights. So I came unprepared.’

  ‘And why didn’t you ask the hotel to do it for you? I’m sure they can dry clean your clothes. They’re not a five-star hotel for nothing,’ I said to him, my fists clenched at my sides, trying to remember I was here for my own reasons.

  ‘Oh, if that’s what you call five stars in this town I’ll go hang myself now, shall I?’ He laughed.

  ‘And your PA couldn’t do this for you, because…’ I retaliated.

  Henry turned back to the wardrobe and retrieved another suit in desperate need of a clean.

  ‘Who, Leah? I fired her. She was useless. She’s already on a plane back home, crying to her husband on the phone.’

  ‘Isn’t she meant to be here for the investigation?’ Sam jumped in.

  ‘Of course not. She wasn’t even at the party. She wasn’t allowed there. So the detective has let her go. And hey? So did I.’ He chuckled.

  ‘And I’m assuming Detective Anderson hasn’t got you off the hook yet?’ Sam asked.

  ‘He hasn’t, but he should. I mean, I hardly knew the man. What would I want to kill him for?’

  Sam shrugged.

  ‘A business gone sour, perhaps?’ I offered.

  Henry looked at me and gasped. ‘You think I could have killed Colton? He was doing me a favour.’

  ‘In what way?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, he was good at his job, for starters. And he saved me from a terrible contract with my previous supplier. I couldn’t wait to take over the British market with his new revenue strategy. Now I have to go back to the drawing board and find someone else to distribute my wine. I can’t believe the Browns have got a whole line-up of suppliers to meet and no one has approached me.’

  ‘So I take it you’re in no rush to return home?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course not. It saves me a fortune if I can meet with other suppliers now. The sooner the better. If only I wasn’t stuck in this god-forsaken town,’ he said and looked at Sam. ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘I’m not from around here,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh,’ Henry said.

  ‘Although, I can’t understand what you’re insinuating. Haven-on-Sea is a beautiful place. And actually very popular with the middle class from all over the world,’ she added.

  Sam had only been in Haven for less than seven months and she already felt strongly about my birthplace. I was so proud of her.

  ‘To be honest, this conversation is absurd to say the least.’ I said. ‘If you’re going to stay in the country anyway and if you’re in need of a new supplier, why sack your secretary? One would think this is the time to keep hold of her.’

  Henry waved his hand dismissively. ‘Oh, I couldn’t stand that know-it-all. Besides, I’m sure you can do a splendid job.’

  ‘Only,’ I stopped him, dead serious, ‘this is not our job, Mr. Bulet.’

  ‘But the detective said you’re here to help, so…’ He clapped his hands and rubbed them in a manner which made me want to slap some sense into him.

  Instead, I smiled and started to pick up his suits.

  ‘Make sure I can have one back for tonight.’ I gave him a side-eye, but all he offered me was a smile. ‘Also, can you book me into a nice restaurant for two for tonight? Eight o’clock would be great,’ he added.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Sam helped me pick up the suits and cut in.

  ‘No problem. Steak all right for you, mate?’ she asked.

  ‘That sounds perfect.’

  ‘I’ll take care of those,’ Sam said to him and to me as she took the clothes from my hands. ‘And I’ll leave you two. I believe Jo wanted to speak to you about something.’

  She made her way out, making sure to wink at me before she closed the door.

  ‘Oh,’ Henry said. ‘How can I help?’

  It took me a moment to compose myself and get back to my train of thought.

  Sam had sort of put me on the spot and it had thrown me, but I got back into gear and jumped into action. I looked inside my bag and found one letter so I pulled it out.

  ‘I found this the night of the dinner. The night Colton…died. Do you know what it is?’

  ‘A letter, from the looks of it.’

  ‘Yes. I can see that. I thought you might know what it’s about.’

  ‘Why on earth would I?’ he said and passed it back to me.

  ‘I just saw the B at the end and assumed it was for Bulet.’

  Henry’s chest inflated and he put his hand on his heart.

  ‘How could you think I could write such a thing, Joanna? Unbelievable.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was presumptuous of me.’ I put the paper back in my bag. ‘Do you know what secrets it’s referring to, though?’

  Henry shook his head. ‘Haven’t got a clue. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I thought maybe that’s why Colton was killed.’ I started to move towards the exit. ‘You know, I thought maybe whoever wrote this letter might have had a feud against him and decided to take matters into their own hands.’

  ‘And why would I have a feud with Colton? Like I mentioned, he was doing me a favour. Now I’ve got to find myself a new business partner. Associate, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, of course. You’re right. Thanks for your time anyway, Mr. Bulet. Sam will be in touch to let you know what she’s arranged.’

  ‘Stephen Brown!’ Henry shouted.

  I paused, my hand on the doorknob, and waited. Henry didn’t continue, so I turned my head around.

  ‘I’m sorry, Stephen Brown what?’ I asked.

  Henry sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the carpet, rubbing his thighs.

  ‘I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now you’ve said it, it’s made me think,’ he muttered.

  I approached him again until I was standing opposite him and leaned against the vanity cabinet.

  ‘Made you think what, Mr. Bulet?’

  Henry looked up at me. ‘Well, it’s nothing really. But what if it’s not?’

  ‘What do you mean? What happened between Stephen Brown and Colton?’ I was starting to lose my patience again, but this time Henry was determined to give me an answer.

  ‘I was waiting for the lift at the lobby, you
see, when I heard rumbling noises. I didn’t know what they were at the time, but as soon as the lift opened, Stephen Brown stopped shouting and composed himself. He got out, but Colton was staring at him from inside, completely petrified.’

  Convenient how Stephen had forgotten to mention that, but remembered Colton and Baker having a row.

  ‘You’re right, Mr. Bulet. You could be on to something.’

  Henry smirked and I left him to his own devices.

  Eight

  ‘Yes, okay,’ Stephen said. ‘We did have an argument, but it wasn’t a big deal. We were talking about business and things got out of hand.’

  We were sitting back at the lobby with Sam and Alfie next to me, Stephen sitting in the comfy chair opposite, waiting for his wife. It had been a few hours since we’d spoken to Henry as we’d had to run an errand for Sharon. There were less than six weeks before the winter bazaar was to open and issues kept popping up left, right and centre.

  ‘How out of hand are we talking about?’ I asked.

  Stephen sighed and sat back. ‘It wasn’t as bad as Bulet is making it sound, honestly. He was saying how he wanted to expand to other Australian vineyards and I was concerned it might make our wine tougher to push into the British market. That was all.’

  Alfie watched Stephen and cocked his head from side to side as he talked.

  ‘You understand how that would put you into the spotlight a little bit?’ I said.

  ‘Of course, I do. But ask Detective Anderson. He’s already been through this with me and he knows all of this, so I don’t understand why you’re pushing it.’

  Before I could answer, a trolley appeared heaving with luggage and a very upset Harper walking next to it. Alfie tried to get to her, but I held him tight.

  ‘Joanna, this is getting absolutely ludicrous,’ she screeched.

  ‘What happened?’ Stephen asked and got up to stand next to his wife.

  She gave him a brief once-over, and then turned and spoke to the empty space between us.

  ‘They said we need to move rooms again. Sort it out, Joanna,’ she said.

  I got up and Alfie got excited for the opportunity to explore new corners of the hotel.