The Death in the Drink

by Shéa MacLeod

  “Why would she lie? It’s so dumb.”

  “I think she wanted to get back at him for being mean. Fortunately, she didn’t tell her lies to the police.”

  “Bat would never have believed her. He’s a human lie detector,” Cheryl staunchly defended her man.

  She was probably right. Cops did tend to develop a knack for picking out liars. But now I was back to square one with no idea what motive Bryon might have for pushing Tabitha overboard. If he actually did. I had my doubts about that.

  As we ate, I kept my eye on Anthony Yates. I thought it strange that so soon after his wife’s death he’d joined us for something as frivolous as a picnic. He’d seemed very distraught at the time, but maybe he was just a good faker. I was also keen to see how he interacted with Bryon LeMott after their kerfuffle at the Flavel House. Would they be at fisticuffs again? Or fake civility?

  I was also dying to get Bryon away from Jayne and ask him a few pointed questions. I had a feeling that without her there to run interference, I might actually get something useful out of him. Unfortunately, they were seated at the other end of the long line of tables, so I’d have to wait until after we ate to get him alone.

  We were halfway through lunch when Ella stood up and tapped on her water glass—crystal, believe it or not—with her silver tea spoon. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anthony slip away, likely headed for the men’s room. Everyone fell silent, eyes on their leader.

  “Welcome, everyone. Thank you so much for joining us. I know we’ve suffered a great loss this weekend.” Someone snickered, which Ella ignored, keeping her composure. “We’ve been debating whether or not to go on with the ball at the end of the weekend, or call it quits and head home early.” There were murmurs and shuffling. Obviously, the idea of going home early didn’t appeal. After a dramatic pause, Ella continued. “We’ve decided that Tabitha would want us to go on.”

  There was a cheer followed by enthusiastic clapping. Cheryl and I exchanged glances. Everyone seemed perfectly fine pretending Tabitha Yates would be so magnanimous.

  Ella held up her hand to shush everyone. “Now, while we’re on the subject of balls—”

  She never got to finish her sentence. There was a crash, followed by a shriek. Everyone turned to face the end of the table and gasped in horror.

  There, lying face down in his Victoria sponge, was Bryon LeMott.

  “That idiot,” Gwen snapped. “He’s been drinking again.” She glared at Jayne. “I told you to take that flask away from him.”

  Jayne glared at her. “I’m not his mother. If he wants to make a fool of himself, he’s free to do so.”

  I frowned. Bryon was awfully still. I half expected him to erupt in a fit of snoring, but he didn’t.

  Getting up, I hurried around the table and picked up his wrist, feeling for a pulse. I noticed some whipped cream had splatted along the top of his head. A bit of jam dripped off the table and onto his knee. But there was no pulse. Bryon LeMott was stone cold dead.

  Chapter 11

  No Fancy Clothes

  “You again.” Bat narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his impressive chest. I noticed there was a small mustard stain on his signature blue and yellow striped tie. “Why is it that, whenever there’s a dead body, you’re nearby?”

  “Hey, it’s hardly my fault that people keel over dead near me.” I winced as I realized how that sounded. It was true. It wasn’t my fault that I stumbled across dead bodies everywhere I went. It was sort of like a superpower. A really sucky superpower.

  Bat, Cheryl, and I were standing a little way away from the picnic tables behind the crime scene tape. A couple of crime scene technicians were hovering around Bryon’s body, still slumped over the table with bits of cake and whipped cream in his hair. The scene was macabre to say the least.

  Ella Cayse had convinced the police to let the costumers go back to the bed-and-breakfast. Even Jayne had left, which I thought was rather cold. If it was me, and it was Lucas lying there, I wouldn’t leave until they dragged me away. Anthony hadn’t reappeared from the bathroom, but his car was still in the parking lot. I wondered where he’d got to. And could he have had anything to do with Bryon’s death?

  Bat sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache coming on. He did that a lot around me. “Let me guess. You saw everything.”

  “Actually, no,” I admitted reluctantly. “Ella was giving a speech, and next thing I know there is a crash, a scream, and Bryon is lying there dead.”

  “And you knew he was dead how?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I gave him the evil eye. “You know I’ve seen enough dead bodies to know when someone’s not… alive.”

  Another sigh. This one heavier.

  “Come on,” I said. “He was just lying there. Face all red. Tongue swollen and purple. Eyes glazed over. Besides, I took his pulse.”

  “It was pretty gross,” Cheryl supplied helpfully. She was looking a little ashen. Poor thing just didn’t have my stomach for the macabre. Which was kind of weird since she wrote thrillers.

  Bat’s expression grew soft as he turned his gaze on her. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.” He reached out to stroke one finger gently down her bare arm.

  I swear she fluttered her eyelashes at him. I jabbed her in the ribs with my elbow. She winced and cussed me out under her breath.

  “Oh yes,” I said, “we were very distraught.” There may have been sarcasm in my tone.

  “Can the sarcasm, Viola,” Bat snapped. “I’m trying to do my job here.”

  “Fine. But you should know, I’m pretty sure it was foxglove.”

  “Excuse me?” he said.

  “Digitalis,” I said. Man, he could be dense.

  “I know digitalis comes from foxglove,” he said with infinite patience. “What I don’t know is what foxglove has to do with anything.”

  “Bryon. He was murdered. I’m sure of it. And I’m pretty sure the murder weapon was foxglove. Probably the killer put it in his flask. He was sipping from it the whole day.”

  “It’s true,” Cheryl agreed. “I saw him, too.”

  “Fine,” Bat said. “Why do you think it was foxglove?”

  “He was acting confused, staggering around. More than usual. Then he went and threw up in the bushes. We thought at first it was because he was drinking, but I think it was more than that.”

  Bat mulled it over. “It’s a stretch, but I’ll have the medical examiner check his blood. Now why don’t you tell me why you think Anthony killed Bryon.”

  “Sure, that’s easy,” I said. “Anthony was convinced that Bryon pushed Tabitha over the side of the ship. They got into a brawl over it.”

  “Right outside Flavel House,” Cheryl supplied.

  I nodded. “Kieran Knightly was there, too.”

  “Why on Earth would he think Bryon pushed Tabitha?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Bryon claimed to be nowhere near Tabitha, but he was definitely the closest person to her, other than Anthony, at the time she went over. Cheryl and I both saw him, but we didn’t see him close enough to have pushed her. Since then, two people have said that Bryon was very close to Tabitha right before she hit the water. Close enough…well, close enough he could have pushed her.” Bat lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “On top of that, Bryon and his girlfriend Jayne are hiding something.” I glanced at Bryon’s body. “Were hiding something,” I corrected.

  “So you’re saying Anthony murdered Bryon with foxglove in his whiskey out of revenge?” Bat asked with a look of interest. For once it seemed like we were on the same wavelength.

  “That’s my guess,” I said. “It’s easy to get around here. Stuff grows right in the garden at the bed-and-breakfast. I just don’t know what Bryon’s motive for murdering Tabitha was. If he was the one that did it.”

  “The sisters think that Bryon and Tabitha were having an affair,” Cheryl supplied.

  “Of course, I’m not sure they’re
correct,” I said. “I don’t think Tabitha was Bryon’s type. I think he liked much younger women.”

  “But you have no proof of this,” Bat said. “This is all just speculation, right?”

  I sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. At this point, it’s just gossip.”

  “Right now, I am just concerned with the facts,” Bat said firmly. “And if you can’t help me—”

  “I know, I know,” I said, cutting him off. “You want me to leave the investigating to the professionals.”

  “You got it in one,” he said dryly.

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ll be going. Leave you to your detective stuff. Come on, Cheryl. We know when we’re not wanted.”

  “I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to tell you not to poke around,” he said.

  “Not even a little.”

  Bat rolled his eyes. “Well, tell me if you find out anything interesting.” His tone was resigned. He turned to Cheryl. “We still on for tomorrow?”

  She beamed at him as I dragged her away. “You better believe it.”

  He gave her a steamy look. “I look forward to it.” Then he turned back to the body as if nothing had happened.

  As Cheryl and I walked back to the car, I nudged her. “What was that all about?”

  “Bat is escorting me to the ball,” she said. “He’s even wearing full Regency.”

  “You mean breeches and everything?”

  She just gave me a huge, twitterpated smile. Oh boy. She was a goner. I sure hope it worked out between them. She hadn’t had a lot of good luck with men. I may want to wring his neck most of the time, but Bat was still a decent guy. If only he’d just let me help him out a little.

  I was more determined than ever to figure out what it was Jayne and Bryon had been hiding. Not to mention who killed Tabitha Yates. Because I was surer than ever that her death was no accident.

  “I DON’T KNOW ABOUT you,” Cheryl’s eyes never left the road as she white-knuckled the steering wheel of her mini cooper, “but I could use a drink.”

  She did look a little green still. “A glass of wine sounds good.” Plus, I wanted to have a word with Lloyd, and this was his usual time of day to visit Sip. I was curious as to who he’d seen with Tabitha at the coffee shop the morning of her death. Logic said it was her husband. Who else, right? But I had a feeling there was more to it than that. And I had a feeling that maybe it had something to do with her death.

  Cheryl aimed the car for downtown Astoria and Sip. The low brick building was a welcome sight and we were soon inside, perched on stools, glasses of wine in hand.

  Unfortunately, there was no Lloyd in site. Hazel and Edna, a couple of ladies from my bunco group, were chatting in the corner over a bottle of Chardonnay. They gave me a little wave, but otherwise ignored us.

  “Seen Lloyd lately?” I asked Nina.

  Cheryl shot me a glare. “So that’s why you were so eager for wine. You just wanted to talk to Lloyd.”

  “It’s true,” I admitted. “But I also wanted wine. Win-win.”

  “Haven’t seen him yet today,” Nina said, cutting off the brewing argument. “It’s only four. Give it another hour.” She eyed us closely. “Something’s happened. Spill.”

  By the time we got done telling her about Bryon keeling over into a Victoria sponge, a light rain had started outside. The doorbell jangled, and Lloyd sauntered in, wild, white hair a little droopy from the damp.

  “Ladies.” He hoisted himself onto a bar stool and hunched over the bar, boney shoulders poking up into little ridges under his jacket.

  Nina collected his bottle from beneath the bar and poured him a glass. “How’s it going, Lloyd?”

  “It’s going, man. It’s going.” He lapsed into silence, expression drooping like a basset hound.

  “Hey, Lloyd,” I said. “I wanted to ask you about the other day.”

  He gave me a blank look and took a sip of his wine. I caught a faint whiff of mildew and stale cigarette smoke. I had the sudden urge to rip off his jacket and make a run for the laundromat.

  “At the coffee shop,” I prodded. “The woman that fell off the sailing ship. You said you saw her at the coffee shop the morning she died.”

  His expression cleared. “Oh, yes.”

  It was like pulling teeth. “You said she was with someone. Do you remember who she was with?”

  He appeared to ponder it for a moment. “Nobody I ever saw before.”

  I gritted my teeth and Cheryl snickered. “Man or woman?”

  “Man.”

  So it could have been her husband. “What did he look like?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t recollect.”

  I nearly let out a scream of frustration. “Was he graying? Or dark-haired?”

  He frowned, stroking his chin which still held missed patches of stubbled from his morning shave. “Dark. Pretty sure.”

  Not Anthony then. Bryon, maybe? “Was he short? Tall?”

  “Shorter than me.” This said with confidence.

  Lloyd was close to six feet, which excluded Kieran Knightly who was graying anyway. “Skin color?”

  “You the cops now?”

  “Just answer the question, Lloyd,” Nina said tartly.

  “White guy. Young.”

  Which could have meant he was forty, since Lloyd was well past seventy. I took my phone out of my reticule and pulled up a picture of Bryon. “Was this him?”

  Lloyd peered at the screen with watery eyes. “Looks like. But he weren’t wearing those fancy clothes.”

  I gave a triumphant hoot. So it was Bryon getting coffee with Tabitha. I just didn’t know what it meant.

  Chapter 12

  Hope To Die

  I sat at my desk the next morning, trying to focus on my heroine’s sticky situation. Never a good thing when you come out west as a mail order bride and discover your new husband has his old wife locked in the attic.

  Of course, now I’d written myself into a corner. I frowned at the computer screen, unsure how I was going to get myself back out of it. Plus, my mind kept wandering.

  My office was in the larger of the two spare bedrooms and faced north with a good view of the Columbia River and Astoria Bridge. Below I could see barges steaming to and fro, likely stuffed with grain and lumber. I leaned back in my squeaky executive chair and stared at the peaceful scene, letting my mind wander.

  Why had Bryon been with Tabitha at the coffee shop? What were Bryon and Jayne hiding? And who was killing the costumers? Because no matter what Bat said, there was definitely a murderer among them.

  With a sigh, I closed my manuscript. It was going nowhere at the moment. Instead I opened up a web browser and decided to do a little digging.

  First, I Googled Tabitha and Anthony Yates. They were easy enough to find, each with their own profiles on social media. She was far more active than he, and the extreme number of selfies she’d posted was telling. Her posts and comments were as abrasive online as in real life. Though at first glance I found no one in particular with whom she’d been nastier than any other. And there didn’t seem to be any issues between the two of them. Not that you can always judge reality from what you find online.

  Ella Cayse and the costuming group came next. The group itself had plenty of web presence on various social media platforms. It also had its own website and blog. Ella was obviously known in the international costuming community, with friends across the globe, all of them having profile pictures that made them look like time travelers or extras from a BBC costume drama. She was exactly who she said she was.

  Gwen Bates was the same. She’d been with the group from the beginning and was heavily involved in costuming. And not just Regency. There were pictures of her at Edwardian events, Steampunk parties, and Victorian high teas. There were even several pictures of her at a vampire ball.

  Mary Rett, for all her mousy ways, turned out to be an investigative journalist. I couldn’t picture it. She was just as plain in her real life as she was as a costumer. Howe
ver, she was clearly passionate about social justice. Could Tabitha or Bryon have done something to irk her? Mocking the poor, maybe? That would be their style. She snapped and murdered them both? Sounded preposterous. I mean, I could almost see her killing Lisa James. The two were, after all, rivals for the first mate’s affections. Which was all nonsense, if you asked me. The first mate had struck me as a one-in-every-port kind of guy.

  Speaking of Lisa, I was unsurprised to find she was divorced. Katherine Patel had indicated as much. I was surprised she had two children. She had definitely been behaving as a single woman with no responsibilities. Interesting. I’d have to ask her about her dalliance with the first mate. Perhaps Tabitha had threatened to tell Lisa’s ex-husband about her behavior. Could he have threatened to take away her kids? Was that even a thing anymore? If it was, it would explain Lisa killing Tabitha in a flash of desperation. But why kill Bryon? Because he was close to Tabitha at the time and saw everything. Blackmail! Good a reason as any.

  Moving on, I could see no reason why the sisters or the twenty-somethings would have killed Tabitha. None of them had contact with her outside the group. They weren’t friends on social media. The sisters spent most of their time travelling the globe and taking classes in anything from cooking to tai chi. The twenty-somethings were working, partying, and all the things girls that age do.

  Of course, there was the rumor that Bryon had behaved inappropriately toward the younger members of the group. Ella had assured me that it wasn’t Lenore and Beth, but what if she was wrong? That might give one or both of them a reason to kill him. But Tabitha? She did have a habit of insulting people and remembering my own twenties, it was hard to deal with that sort of thing at that age, but I couldn’t see either of those girls committing murder over it.

  The Patels had little online presence, only belonging to one social media platform and rarely posting or commenting. It was hard to say with them, but Katherine was so sweet, and Maurice was so laid back. Really, they should be at the bottom of the suspect list.