A Choice Cocktail of Death (A Foodie Files Mystery Book 2)

by Christine Zane Thomas

  It took a few shots to get the photo and lighting just right. Then I was careful to pick around the bitter bites of celery.

  I glanced over at Luke, his fork moved some things around on his plate but never once did that silver fork grace his lips.

  “It’s not my favorite either,” I whispered. I leaned in close to him, and it was the first time I caught a whiff of his cologne. I wanted to stay there in that moment a minute longer, but when I saw Kate’s wide grin and thumbs up I had to force myself away.

  “Oh, good. So, you don’t like everything,” he said in relief. He nudged me with his elbow, letting me know he was just giving me a hard time.

  I liked his playful nature. I liked how he made me feel. I liked how I let myself feel around him.

  This might work, I thought. Then I stuck my tongue out at Kate for good measure.

  Another round of drinks made their way to the tables. Mara, Johnny, and the wait staff made sure everyone had plenty.

  Again, George stood before the crowd. He looked wearier and wearier each time, much different from the excited enthusiasm we’d seen at the beginning of the night. How could someone go from one extreme to the other in such a short amount of time?

  “Listen, I’m going to break character here for a minute,” George said with a sigh. “First and foremost, I want to say thank you so much for coming out tonight—to our very first Murder Mystery Dinner at Bentley’s. And hopefully not the last. Mara and I put in a lot of hard work to make tonight possible. Really, the whole staff. We couldn’t have done it without them. We hope you enjoy your evening. Cheers!”

  He raised his glass and downed his cocktail in one gulp. By the look on his face, I knew it burned going down. He found his seat at the first table with a stagger.

  The servers again made their way across the room. But there was no food on their trays. This time, they served us with paper. We all received a sheet of paper for collecting evidence.

  Relief washed over me. This was needed. I’d been having trouble remembering everyone’s details. I made another note, this one for George to pass these out before the characters went around the room introducing themselves.

  George had put so much effort into this, and so far, it was a whopping success. I felt the need to catch his eye and give him a smile and a wink for reassurance.

  But when I looked over, his face was in his hands, his breathing labored. Suzi, seated next to him, put a hand to his back. By this point, I figured something was definitely wrong.

  Before my eyes, his body twisted. He convulsed. Then he stopped moving altogether. There was no sign of a single breath.

  “Did you see what just happened with George, I mean, Tommy?” I asked my table.

  “Did he die?” Greg asked. “Now, it’s time to get this party started,” he said excitedly. He grabbed his paper and made a note. Then he pointed George out for Patrick.

  “That is part of the party, right?” Melanie asked nervously.

  It didn’t matter if it was part of the night or not, I rushed over to his table without another thought. Suzi patted his face with cool water in an effort to help him come to.

  “Something’s wrong,” Suzi said worriedly.

  On all the TV shows and movies, people checked for a pulse at the neck and wrist. I tried and failed to find a pulse. If there was one, it was too weak to feel.

  “Someone call 9-1-1!” I yelled frantically. “Something’s happened to George. I think he might be dead.”

  “Finally,” someone yelled from the peanut gallery.

  “About time,” I heard another voice say. Then a muttering and scratching of papers drowned out any other sound in the room.

  “Here, I’m a paramedic. Let’s see what’s going on.” Marcus ran over. At least he could see this wasn’t part of the show.

  Marcus laid George flat on the ground. He checked for a pulse in his neck. A worried look washed over his face.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Marcus mouthed to Luke. Then he began to do chest compressions.

  Luke had his phone in his hand and was dialing.

  It felt like the room was spinning. George was dead. Not Tommy Mattonie, but George.

  Tears began to stream down my face as Suzi startled me with a hug. Her sobs rang in my ears.

  Marcus continued to do his work as the rest of the room figured out what was happening. Their murmur turned to stark silence.

  Mara came out from the kitchen looking confused at the quiet.

  “What’s going on?” she asked the room.

  When Mara finally found the answer to her question, she collapsed into the nearest chair and began to tremble. She was absolutely shaken to the core.

  5

  The crowd split into two sects. Most retreated away from the body, back to the recesses of the library and the formal living room. Those of us that were left at the front of the ballroom waited on the ambulance to arrive.

  Marcus and Luke took turns performing CPR. Mostly, chest compressions—Marcus had to show Luke how it was done. Then once Luke took a shift, he put his mouth to George’s and performed mouth to mouth before Marcus could stop him.

  “We don’t really do that anymore,” Marcus said. Then he asked, “Is there an AED device on premises?”

  “No, not that I know of,” Mara answered. She looked over to Johnny, but the bartender just shrugged.

  Marcus grimaced then got back down next to George and took over for Luke.

  It took close to ten minutes for the paramedics to arrive and take over. Their sirens paraded up the steep drive of the estate, faint at first, but getting louder until they ceased altogether.

  Only seconds later, stretcher in tow, a navy blue uniformed man and woman hustled over. A lone police officer and a few firemen made their way inside just after them. The few remaining guests still crowding the body parted to make room.

  I continued to try and comfort Suzi. It was obvious she could no longer stomach watching over George.

  The paramedics put his body on the stretcher and left the room almost as fast as they’d come in.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “How did this happen so fast? He was fine this afternoon, almost giddy. Nervous, yes. But fine. I know he wasn’t a drinker, but it was that first cocktail—I swear it. He started acting off. I figured it was just nerves and a touch of alcohol. But then he seemed to begin winding down. It was strange. Did you see it?”

  “I noticed it too,” I agreed. “So, he hadn’t been feeling under the weather? Do you know, does he have a heart condition?”

  “Did he, you mean?”

  “Don’t give up, Suzi. They could still save him.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded through my encouragement. “They could, but they didn’t.” She pointed to the two paramedics. They’d now made their way back inside and were talking with Marcus.

  “I don’t think he had a heart condition,” Suzi told me. “But being his age, I guess it could happen to anyone. You know he was a runner—like you? Just finished his twelfth full marathon last month. I was there to support him. Just like I was here to support him. We’re old family friends. I dated his younger brother in high school. And our mothers were always close.”

  I could tell that Suzi wasn’t telling me the exact truth. They might’ve been friends, but she obviously wanted it to be more than just that.

  “I didn’t know he ran,” I said. Running was a solitary endeavor of mine. But I’d always thought about joining the track club—a fleeting thought as I passed them stretching beside the roadway outside Sure Foot Shoes, our local shoe store, where they met to run every Wednesday afternoon.

  “Well, he wasn’t breaking any records. But he got in twenty—sometimes thirty—miles every week.”

  I’d heard of runners sometimes collapsing on the road, never knowing they had a heart condition until it was too late. But something about this felt off. Maybe I’d watched so many ER dramas that now my impression of what a heart attack looked like was all down
to bad acting.

  George hadn’t clutched his chest. He hadn’t reached for his left arm—or any of the things I’d come to know as signs of heart failure. A glimpse of his convulsing flashed in the back of my mind.

  “Do you really think the drink is what caused him to collapse?” I asked her in a whisper.

  “I’m not sure anymore.” Suzi shook her head sadly. “Like you said, it could’ve been his heart.” She shut down again. Her lips trembled as a new set of tears streaked down her cheeks. Suzi did her best to fight them away, then gave me a reassuring nod that she was all right.

  “Sorry to ask you so many questions,” I said.

  “I know you’re just trying to be helpful, sweetie. I just wish I could’ve done more. There’s so much I wanted to say to him…” Those last words stumbled out on their own. They weren’t meant for my ears.

  It seemed like the drama of the evening was over. Several people had cleared out. Luke, with his hands in his pockets, came and stood behind me. His brow was still sweaty from helping with the CPR. Both men had panted like I did at the end of a run. CPR was hard work.

  Kate was on the phone, probably with the news station. Would something like this warrant a news story? Probably so. In a town as small as Lanai most anything was newsworthy.

  Finally, Marcus got done talking with the paramedics and ambled over toward us. He gave Kate a brief questioning look as if to ask if she was ready to leave. He’d sobered up considerably since we first came into the ballroom.

  “They couldn’t get any sign of heart activity,” he said somberly. “Hey, Luke, are you all right?”

  Marcus rushed over to catch as Luke’s knees collapsed from under him. I turned just in time to see Luke shudder and then gasp for breath.

  “Hey! Brock, Kara,” Marcus roared. “We need you two over here.” The paramedics rushed over. But before they did anything, Luke’s eyes fluttered back open.

  He took long, deep breaths. “I’m fine,” he said. “Could everyone please stop looking at me like that. It’s nothing. It’s just my throat feels like it’s on fire.” His right hand massaged his throat as he struggled to get back up through Marcus’s protests.

  “I don’t care what he says,” Marcus told them. “You need to get him to the hospital. Something’s not right. I think George was poisoned. And Luke, here, is the proof.”

  “He did mouth-to-mouth on George,” I chimed in.

  “Exactly.” Marcus nodded. “Oy.” He called over the lone police officer who’d been studying his phone by the wall. He hadn’t paid much interest to the scene since George’s body had left the room. “You need the cops here—the detectives. There’s been a murder.”

  6

  The small crowd that still occupied the ballroom, which had been subdued since George’s death, began to murmur once again. Several people attempted to leave, only to be stopped by the young officer. His name tag read K. Clarke. He had strawberry red hair that was shaved close to his scalp. And he was nervous and unsure.

  “Our detectives are on the way,” he said, holding his palms up to stop the couples pressing toward the door.

  “I don’t have time for this,” one man said.

  “You’ve got time,” Marcus shot back, “this thing wasn’t supposed to be over for hours.”

  This caused even more raucous outcries and curses.

  “Everyone, please return to your tables,” Mara said. “We’ll get this all sorted out shortly.”

  I noticed her Southern accent was almost nonexistent.

  To Officer Clarke’s word, two detectives strode in a few minutes later. Two men I knew well. Behind them were several other men in uniform.

  “People, stay in your seats. And don’t touch anything,” said Detective Burley. “Not until we figure this all out.”

  “Officer Clarke,” Detective Javier Portillo called, “can you catch us up? We heard someone here died and another’s being rushed to the hospital. You suspected foul play?”

  The young officer made no attempt to wipe the bewildered deer in headlights look that appeared on his face. He stared blankly at the detective until he was saved by Marcus.

  “Sorry, fellas, Marcus Knight, I’m a paramedic in town.”

  “But not tonight,” Detective Portillo said, pointing out Marcus’s getup. “Tonight, it looks like you’re some sort of gangster.”

  “That’s right. I’m here on a date.”

  Marcus gestured toward Kate and Detective Portillo glanced our direction. When our eyes met, he smiled shyly at me. That was the Javier Portillo I knew. I gave him a slight head nod in acknowledgement. I had no smiles in me, though my insides smiled seeing him again. It had been months since I helped solve the murder of Jessica Hayes—although my efforts might have hindered the investigation as well. And though I’d tried several times to “accidentally” catch him at the local coffee shop, The Java Hutt, those efforts had been fruitless. He’d either changed his routine—or maybe he was avoiding me.

  Marcus continued to tell the detectives what happened and then his theory. Both men nodded along, not asking many more questions.

  “All right. Who’s in charge here?” Javier finally asked loudly, addressing the whole room.

  Mara stood up. “Me. That is, Mara Murdock. I’m the general manager of Bentley’s Estate. George, the owner, is who passed away.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Do you mind stepping over here for a moment, so we can discuss what happened?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you,” Mara said. “I was out of the room, momentarily taking care of some behind the scenes business. We were all getting ready to perform.”

  “I saw it,” our table partner, Patrick spoke up.

  “Me too,” a woman from the table behind George’s said.

  Still others raised their hands like it was elementary school.

  “Okay, okay,” Detective Burley said, pacifying the eager lot of do-gooders offering their help. “Everyone stand up. Grab your personal effects. Leave anything that didn’t come with you. From this row of tables back, go to that library in the front of the house. Again, don’t touch anything. This half will go with me to the formal living room across from it.”

  Detective Burley led the way, still speaking. “An officer will come around to each group and get a statement.”

  “We need all of you to stay put,” Javier directed the people who’d been at table one with George. Suzi gave me a mournful wave.

  We exited the room, then found our way to an antique sofa in the library. Several cliques had formed. Each table had bonded and were now huddled close while only one person at a time spoke with an officer.

  “Where is he?” Kate tapped away on her phone. Knowing Kate, she was on the job, attempting to get a camera man out here. “We could still make the Ten O’Clock, if he hurries.”

  Well, that settled that. Marcus joined us a minute later. “Luke’s doing better. I got one of my buddies to ask over the radio.”

  That was a relief. With all the shock already, my body wasn’t prepared for any other bad news.

  “They’re making him stay the night. He’s in room 210, if you want to go see him.” I nodded, not fully aware that the statement was addressed solely to me.

  “You really think it was poison?” Kate asked Marcus. She was still distracted by her phone.

  “I think it’s the most likely thing—after what happened to Luke. At first I thought it was just cardiac arrest.”

  “It was definitely foul play,” Patrick chimed in. He and Greg hovered behind the couch.

  “Okay, then. Ready to solve tonight’s crime?” Kate pulled out the investigation sheet from the party.

  “Kate! You weren’t supposed to bring anything with you,” I said, shocked.

  “It’s a piece of paper. Or should I prance back in there—where they are investigating a murder scene—and say, ‘Sorry, fellas, I needed to put this back.’ No thank you!”

  Kate scribbled George’s name at the
top of the sheet where it read, victim. Then she wrote poison beneath that. Then Kate tapped the pen, as though unsure of what to write next.

  “All right, Miss Investigative Genius,” Marcus raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, “where do we start?”

  “At the beginning,” Kate said.

  “That is usually the best place,” Marcus agreed.

  “The beginning,” I said, remembering. “Wasn’t Mara kicking George’s son out when we got here? I’d put him on the top of the list of suspects.”

  “But if he was getting kicked out,” Patrick said, “then why would he be a suspect? He wasn’t even here.”

  “Ah, but it’s poison,” Marcus gave me a wink like was surprised I was good at this, “poison can take minutes, hours, or even several hours to act. He could very well have done something.”

  “I’ll give you that, but my money’s on the bartender, Johnny or whatever,” Patrick suggested. “He was in charge of cocktails. What better way is there to poison someone? It’s already poison. Gah, he made ‘em strong.”

  “But he had people there at the bar the whole time.” It was Greg’s turn to put in a theory. “I’m guessing it was that Mara lady. She passed out the last round of drinks. Plus, she’d be the one with a motive. They could have had a strained business relationship—owners and general managers never get along.”

  “That’s true,” Kate agreed. “But who was that with George earlier?”

  “Suzi?” The thought of Suzi as a suspect caught me off-guard.

  “Yeah,” Marcus approved of the suggestion. “Didn’t I see her get their drinks?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, a little flustered. “I guess so. But that doesn’t mean she did it.” I really didn’t like the idea of Suzi being a suspect. Not on our list. Not on anyone’s list.

  “Just because you know her,” Kate said, “doesn’t mean we can count her out.”

  “Okay, well, is there anyone else?” I asked, hoping for another, more culpable, name.