Gin and Toxic

by Alana Ling

  ‘Oh, Henry, she knows about us? Why are you hiding then? We’re doing nothing wrong,’ Valentino scolded his lover.

  Henry looked down, hanging his head in shame.

  ‘Excuse him,’ Valentino added. ‘He’s not used being out, you see. Which Colton only made worse by asking him to keep their relationship quiet.’

  Kit choked. ‘I thought Colton had a relationship with that other guy,’ he said.

  I took a deep breath and looked at Kit, waiting for the impact. I didn’t want him to find out. Not now, and definitely not like this.

  ‘Ah yes, Baker. Well, he was sleeping with all of us,’ Valentino dragged his voice in a sarcastic tone.

  Kit looked at me and his eyes widened. ‘Really?’ he asked me.

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, I guess old habits die hard,’ he murmured.

  ‘Oh, are you also a member of the Colton Cheater Support Group?’ Valentino asked and Henry called out to him in a scolding manner.

  Kit smirked. ‘One of the first to join, actually.’

  ‘And I guess he asked you to keep quiet about your relationship so he didn’t appear unprofessional?’ Valentino continued.

  Kit shook his head.

  ‘No, I was the main guy, I guess. And I didn’t work with him.’

  ‘Do you not come from money? Or was that before Colton became greedy?’ Valentino laughed.

  ‘Tino!’ Henry raised his voice.

  ‘I-I don’t think I understand,’ Kit said.

  Henry grabbed Valentino’s hand and started pushing him away from the beach.

  ‘What? You don’t want anyone to find out how he played us?’ Valentino shouted as if he was drunk, but I could tell he wasn’t. He was passionate.

  ‘He played you how?’ I said and pushed myself off the ground.

  Valentino saw me approaching and he turned his back to me. Maybe I should have stayed down. Maybe my standing up was making me more threatening. But whatever mistake I had inadvertently made, I had to keep going. I couldn’t change it now.

  ‘Mr. Bianchi, what are you talking about? What does money have to do with your affair with Colton?’

  ‘Relationship, please. I wasn’t a fling,’ he corrected me, although I couldn’t see the point. Colton had played everyone. ‘And money was the only thing on the guy’s mind. That’s why he got with us in the first place. I don’t even know if he researched us first or if it was chance, heck, it might have been his charm that attracted us to him, but he was with us for the money. He wanted to rip us of our fortunes, one euro at a time,’ he said, practically shouting it for the world to hear, even though said world was currently limited to Kit, Alfie and me.

  ‘You mean to say he was taking advantage of you?’ I asked.

  Valentino laughed. ‘Are you deaf? Hello!’ he shouted.

  Henry grabbed Valentino’s hand and pulled him closer to him.

  ‘It’s okay, Tino. It’s all over now. Please,’ he mumbled.

  ‘So, what was he doing? Short-changing you when he sold your products?’ I continued, although the two men started staring into each other’s eyes and seemed to have forgotten about me.

  After a deep breath, Henry turned to answer me.

  ‘It wasn’t that. He-he had plans, you see. Lure us in then convince us partnerships would be more beneficial for us. We’d be a couple, you know, so why not share the profits of our business? I’d already signed ten per cent of my company to his name.’

  I froze.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Who would be foolish enough to sign away their hard work to a fling? Or to a distant relationship, at best.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ I murmured.

  ‘Well, Colton did love money,’ Kit announced from his seated position, curled up with Alfie who was victim to Kit’s affectionate belly rubs.

  ‘I signed five,’ Valentino said.

  ‘Why? Why would you do that?’ I asked, looking at all of them, including Kit who shrugged.

  ‘Because,’ Henry said. ‘We were in love, weren’t we? What did our money matter in the grand scheme of things?’

  ‘How did you find out?’ I asked.

  Henry looked at Valentino and Valentino raised his eyebrow.

  ‘It was the letters, right?’ I asked.

  Henry’s head dropped.

  ‘At first, we found out about each other.’ He sighed. ‘And then, the next day, the day of the dinner, we all got a second letter, and it contained a message and an audio recording.’

  ‘Audio recording?’ Kit asked. Alfie turned his head to the side and stared at him.

  ‘Yes, there was a memory card with a recording. It was Colton saying how he’d met these men who he’d made fall in love with him and how he was planning to take all their money by the end of the year.’

  My mouth dropped.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Why didn’t you tell the detective?’

  Valentino walked closer to me and stepped in front of Henry.

  ‘What would you have thought of us if we told you? What do you think of us now? Huh? That we’re foolish and stupid. That we probably killed him for revenge.’

  ‘Tino was doing it for me,’ Henry said behind him.

  Valentino stopped talking and turned to look at Henry. We all did.

  ‘I wasn’t out and he could see I was scared so he didn’t say anything to protect me,’ Henry said and smiled at Valentino.

  ‘Didn’t you just meet?’ I asked.

  ‘So what?’ Valentino snapped. ‘We bonded straight away. We had a heart to heart. Is that a crime now?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘No, but lying is. Especially if murder is involved.’

  Both Henry and Valentino looked down.

  ‘Do you know if the others got a second letter too?’ I asked and both of them shook their heads, but it didn’t matter.

  Our dead end wasn’t that dead anymore.

  Fifteen

  Kit walked me home and then headed back to his own. By the time we left the beach, the pub had closed so the whole street was enveloped in the eerie quietness of the late night.

  However, I had other plans. I left Alfie home, got in my car and drove to the police station. I didn’t need to call Daniel to know he’d be there. He usually worked long days, especially when he had difficult cases to solve.

  ‘Jo, what are you doing here?’ he asked when he saw me and made a point of checking his watch for the time. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Depends on how you look at it,’ I answered and sat down opposite him.

  He leaned forward and asked me to explain myself.

  ‘Well, for starters I know Mathilde didn’t kill Colton. She couldn’t have. And I have discovered a different kind of motive for the murder.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I found out Colton was using the men he was with for their money,’ I said.

  Daniel cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. ‘What men? What are you talking about?’

  I briefly explained to him what I’d found out and then asked for the thing I’d come here for. ‘I need to speak to Mathilde. I need to find out what she knows,’ I said.

  ‘Ha, good luck with that. She’s not saying a thing. But you came at a good time. We have to release her tomorrow due to lack of evidence.’

  ‘Let’s not waste any time, then.’

  * * *

  ‘Stop wasting your time, people, and go to sleep,’ Mathilde said lazily and leaned her head on her hand. Her Côtes du Rhônes flavour hit me right at the head and a wave of dizziness washed over me.

  Daniel walked out of the room as agreed to leave us girls alone and I got to work trying to convince her to talk.

  ‘How did you find out about Colton’s affairs?’ I asked her.

  ‘What? I don’t understand,’ she replied.

  I huffed. ‘Listen, Mathilde, I’m not stupid. It wasn’t just Ginny sending the letters. You were in on it too. You were the only two
with a different contract to the rest and you gave up Ginny’s involvement with the letters quite easily. Because she couldn’t defend herself.’

  Mathilde pouted. ‘It’s not that. It’s because she’s dead and there wouldn’t be any implications for her.’

  I smiled. ‘So, I’ll ask again. How did you find out about Colton’s affairs?’

  ‘He told me,’ she scoffed.

  ‘Why would he? From what I heard he hated you. And he hated your wine even more,’ I said, trying to add as much nonchalance as possible, which seemed to do the trick.

  ‘My wine is the best in France,’ she shouted at me. ‘It’s not pretentious; it’s palatable and full of flavour. Better than the rubbish you sell in this country.’

  I nodded in agreement.

  ‘Oh yes, I completely agree. There’s nothing better than a nice French wine on a lovely autumn evening.’ I hummed.

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ she said, and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  Noticing Mathilde was unaffected by my compliment, I continued.

  ‘So, explain to me how someone who didn’t believe in your product and who had no appreciation for you ended up spilling the beans to you and Ginny?’ I asked.

  ‘Ginny wasn’t there. It was before I met her. And he was wasted, that’s how.’

  ‘How does Ginny fit into the picture then?’

  Mathilde winced and studied me under her large glasses.

  ‘I met her a few days later at the festival we were attending and she told me she had sealed a deal with that idiot so I warned her against him. Of course, it was too late by then.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what? We started talking and she found out so much from me and I from her. I realised Colton had told me about her as well, and how he hated her gin and didn’t care for it, but was using her to make money.’

  ‘How did Ginny take it?’

  ‘How would you take it if someone told you something you love, something you’ve worked hard for and you’ve put your entire life behind, something that someone promised was his favourite thing in the world and he had total faith in, was crap?’

  I sighed.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said almost out of breath.

  ‘So you devised a plan,’ I said. ‘Did you also plan to kill him?’

  Mathilde gasped and spat on the floor. ‘How could you? We didn’t want to kill him. We’re not murderers. We wanted to hurt him.’

  ‘And you sent everyone a letter, revealing what he had worked a long time to achieve. But why do it so blatantly? I’m sure he would know you’d be the only one to know about him. And why sign the letters B and throw all the blame on Ginny?’

  Mathilde shook her head.

  ‘We didn’t sign it B so he could suspect Ginny. We signed it B to clue everyone else in. We didn’t want to hide. We wanted him to know it was us. We wanted him to either upgrade our contracts or release us from them. We were stupid enough to sign exclusivity you see. But he didn’t care.’

  ‘You’re trying to tell me a man who had worked so hard to establish a romantic relationship with four men didn’t care if his plan fell through?’

  Mathilde shrugged. ‘He never met our demands. What can I tell you? Maybe he didn’t think we had enough proof. Maybe he was too drunk to remember he’d told me everything.’

  ‘So you sent everyone the first set of letters, but it didn’t get a reaction from him. Then, the next morning you sent everyone a recording, which I presume you recorded the night when he told you everything.’

  She looked away from me.

  ‘You may judge me if you want. But I’ve been burned too many times. I was determined to get something from him. It was my mother’s advice to go prepared. And thank God I did because I came out with a goldmine.’

  Goldmine!

  That word. Someone had used it before, but who?

  ‘So who killed Ginny? The only person who would sort of benefit from it would be Colton but he’s already dead,’ I said.

  Mathilde didn’t reply. She stared at her hands in front of her.

  ‘Why are you not talking? Do you want to incriminate yourself?’

  Mathilde’s eyes fleeted over to me, but returned to their previous position.

  ‘Were you always planning on getting rid of her?’

  ‘I would never hurt Ginny. She was my best friend. You take that back,’ she shouted.

  Daniel’s head appeared from behind the glass window of the investigation room door, concern written across his face.

  I nodded at him and he kept watching us while I returned my attention to Mathilde.

  ‘Then who would?’

  Mathilde was taking deep breaths and kept avoiding my eyes.

  ‘You know this is painting a very bad picture on you, right? I believe you know who hurt her but you don’t want to say. Why?’

  Mathilde pinned her eyes on me. Still no answer came from her.

  ‘Well, I guess I’d better tell the detective you were involved with Ginny’s murder. It’s a shame, really. ’Cause they were planning on releasing you tomorrow,’ I said and stood up, making to go.

  Mathilde grabbed my wrist and squeezed it as I passed by her.

  Daniel jerked to action and he opened the door. He was about to cut in, but I lifted my hand and stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Follow the trail,’ she murmured like a lunatic.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Let’s see how clever you are,’ she said and then let me go.

  Daniel grabbed me by the shoulders and led me out, locking the door behind him.

  ‘Are you okay? What did she say?’

  ‘She said to follow the trail.’

  ‘What on earth does that mean?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Sixteen

  I returned home a little after three in the morning and even Alfie couldn’t be bothered to greet me at the door. I found him in my bed, curled up under my pillows where I joined him with a glass of water.

  As I unbuttoned my trousers, I felt something in the pockets. Fumbling through them I retrieved the memory card Harper had given me. I sat in my bed and played with it, transferring it from hand to hand when I finally decided to give it another go, although I was starting to feel like Daniel.

  Deflated and defeated.

  Maybe beginner’s luck stretched as far as your second go and then it caved in back to amateurism. I had managed to find two murderers and was now believed to be better than the police when I had none of their tools and evidence to work with.

  I was a fool.

  I grabbed my laptop, booted it and inserted the memory card so I could go through the pictures, and then made myself comfortable in bed, with Alfie lying next to me, half snoring and sweetening my palate with his oatmeal cookie flavour.

  It was the same pictures as when we had looked at them with Daniel a couple of days ago. Nothing new, nothing different.

  Pictures of Colton mainly, but also pictures of Stephen, Henry, Baker and Valentino with Colton, their flavours combining in my mouth like a French patisserie attacking me with its sweetness. No pictures of the girls. And a random picture of Sam and I helping the waiter serve the food.

  Sleep took me before I could process anything and when I woke up the next morning, the laptop was still on my lap, albeit in sleep mode and almost drained of power.

  As soon as I got out of bed, Alfie followed me to the kitchen where he watched me make coffee and a slice of jam on toast before popping the oven on. All those pictures from the previous night had me craving for an exotic crumble and that was exactly what I was going to make.

  I scavenged the contents of my kitchen and retrieved a few apples, pears, brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, and a tub of butter.

  The flavours, both real and syneasthetic, made my mouth water and I was eager to try my newest creation.

  I soaked the apples in gin while I beat the butter and mixed in the rest of
the ingredients for the crumble mix. Apple crumble was the most traditional British dish I could probably think of, at least in my house. It had been dad’s favourite dessert and he had gratefully passed the malady to his only daughter. Mum was always one for Greek flavours before anything else.

  I pressed the fruit down in an oven-proof quiche dish and dusted the cinnamon on top. As I was about to cover it with the flour mix, my tongue in unison with my muscle memory felt as if it was missing a flavour.

  This happened to me sometimes. Associating or watching certain people and their tastes for too long confused not only my brain, but also my muscle memory which is how I ended up with quirky bakes most of the time.

  I did a mental check of all the murder suspects, trying to figure out what it was I was missing.

  Apples for Colton, pears for Valentino, gin for Baker and Ginny.

  ‘Got it!’ I exclaimed and reached for the cupboard on my right and took a small pack of crushed pistachio and added it to the crumble mix. Then I popped the thing in the oven and waited for it to cook.

  Pistachio for Henry.

  Which meant I was missing one flavour from the dish but I was too scared to add it. Passion fruit for Stephen. It was an unconventional, exotic flavour, especially for a traditional dessert such as the one I was making and since I didn’t want to eat the entire thing myself, a feat easily accomplished but which my hips wouldn’t appreciate, I decided to make a passion fruit sorbet to serve it with, alongside the custard.

  The smell of cinnamon and apples took over the entire house and they soothed my overactive brain.

  The events of last night still wouldn’t get out of my head so once I was done at the kitchen, I decided to take Alfie for a walk, hoping the clear air would do the job a good night’s sleep hadn’t.

  * * *

  I retrieved my phone from my bag and dashed out, calling Sam who answered after two rings.

  ‘Yellow!’ she said in a cheerful tone that was unlike her this early in the morning.

  ‘What are you up to?’ I asked her.

  I heard her slurp at something and the sound of china touching.