The Death in the Drink

by Shéa MacLeod

  The Knightlys, on the other hand, were all over social media posting about fairy events, Wiccan gatherings, Civil War reenactments, comic-cons, and outdoor movie parties. They were clearly popular, outgoing, and beloved. Why would they kill anyone? Especially Tabitha or Bryon?

  Then I found, buried in the posts, a comment from Tabitha from a few months ago. Mirabel Knightly had posted a photo of herself and Kieran at some kind of costume party. Mirabel was wearing a simple sheath dress in shimmering purple with a ring of flowers on her head and matching purple fairy wings on her back. She was adorable in a round, Earth mother sort of way. But Tabitha had left a cruel remark about Mirabel’s weight and how frumpy she looked.

  “You’re so brave to wear that with your shape.”

  Others had jumped to Mirabel’s defense, but I could imagine Mirabel being hurt by it. It was pretty nasty and meanspirited. But I had a hard time envisioning short little Mirabel pushing Tabitha over the side of a ship months later. Kieran could have physically done it, but would he bother? Unless Tabitha had said something equally nasty at the time.

  And then there was Jayne. She and Bryon attended a lot of the same events as Anthony and Tabitha. They were often seen standing together, which didn’t necessarily mean anything. Since they frequently wore similar costumes, it wouldn’t be surprising if photographers wanted them to pose together. Still. I dug deeper, going back past the point where Jayne had started dating Bryon. Finally, I found it. The image was dark and grainy and several years old. In the foreground were several people posing at a party. Jayne was tagged in the caption, though she wasn’t in the image. Then I realized that there were two people in the background. They were hard to make out, a little fuzzy and hidden by shadows. I had to blow up the image as far as I could get it.

  My eyes widened. In the background two women were sharing a passionate kiss. Jayne and Tabitha clearly knew each other better than Jayne had let on. And Jayne had just moved to the top of my suspect list.

  GETTING MY MIND FOCUSED back on writing proved nearly impossible. I was dying to tell somebody what I’d found. Unfortunately, Cheryl must be working, too, because my calls went straight to voicemail. That only happened when she was in the throes of a creative streak.

  Unless she was in the throes of something else. Like Bat’s amorous attentions. That would provide so much fodder for teasing!

  Except that proved not to be the case when I got a phone call later that afternoon.

  “You were right. It was foxglove.”

  “Bat?”

  “Who else?”

  I growled. “Other people call me you know.”

  “And?”

  “And, ha! I was right.”

  “There. She said it.” His tone conveyed a wealth of annoyance. “Happy now?”

  “Immensely. So, what was it in? Let me guess… his flask.” It was the only thing I knew for sure that Bryon drank or ate from that no one else did. Everything else was shared around, more or less.

  “Bingo. Lab says it was lousy with the stuff.”

  I was pretty sure that wasn’t how the lab phrased it. “So the killer obviously was familiar with Bryon’s habit of carrying the flask with him everywhere. Had access to it. Knew he was unlikely to share it.” Or rather that no one wanted to share when he offered. “I’m surprised he didn’t taste it, though. According to my research, foxglove extract is very bitter.”

  “I guess the whiskey covered it up,” Bat said. “It was cheap stuff. Could have stripped paint with it.”

  “That, or he was so wasted by the time he started drinking that he didn’t notice. Or didn’t care. He was, uh, a fan of several varieties of substances.”

  “If you mean he was high as a kite when he was killed, yes, I’m aware,” Bat said dryly.

  “So maybe that explains why he didn’t taste the foxglove,” I said.

  “Maybe,” he admitted.

  “Now we just have to figure out who put the foxglove extract in the whiskey,” I said. “You should have the lab test Tabitha’s blood. She was staggering around that day on the ship. She could have been slipped something. Whoever poisoned Bryon probably killed Tabitha too.”

  “I don’t need to figure it out. I already know who did it.”

  He did? “Really?”

  “This is just between you and me,” Bat said. “So no telling anyone. Not even Cheryl, got it?”

  “Promise. Cross my heart, hope to die.” Okay, probably not the best phrase to use at this point in time.

  “We searched Camelia’s and we found an empty vial. I’m sure the lab will confirm it contained foxglove.”

  “Where was it?”

  “The garbage can in Anthony Yates’ room.”

  I should have felt a thrill, but instead I was suspicious. “That’s… convenient.”

  Bat cleared his throat. “Regardless. I’m arresting Anthony Yates for the murder of Bryon LaMott.”

  Chapter 13

  Foxglove Is As Foxglove Does

  “I‘m telling you, I don’t think Anthony did it.” Lucas and I were sitting at the bar at Sip. It was date night, which usually meant no murder talk. But I had to admit, I was a little obsessed with this whole costumers’ murderer and Lucas was humoring me.

  I noticed the sisters in one corner. They were sharing a bottle of Browne’s Chardonnay. They gave me a little wave but didn’t interrupt. Instead they stared at Lucas and tittered behind their ungloved hands—no doubt recognizing him. They were both in street clothes rather than Regency costumes, which meant jeans and sweatshirts for both. Lin’s was bubblegum pink with the words ‘nasty woman’ across the front in elegant white letters. Marie’s was purple and said, ‘bad ass’ in simple, black font.

  In another corner, Lisa James was huddled up with Gwen Bale. They appeared to be enjoying a red flight. Neither of them paid any attention to us. Instead they chatted easily, laughing every now and then as they mimicked members of the costuming group. At one point it was clear they were mocking poor Mary. I was tempted to give them a piece of my mind. Before I could, Lucas interrupted my train of thought.

  “So Bat is really going to arrest the husband, is he?” he asked, taking a sip of his Carménère.

  “He found the poison in Anthony’s room, so he’s convinced that Anthony poisoned Bryon. Therefore, I guess he assumes that Anthony must’ve also killed Tabitha.”

  “I’m not sure how that stands to reason,” Lucas said. “Let’s say Anthony did kill Bryon and was dumb enough to leave the evidence in his room. What was his motive for the murder?”

  “According to Bat, Bryon and Tabitha were having an affair. They were also seen together at the coffee shop the morning she died.” I didn’t mention it was Lloyd who saw them. “But I’m not sure that’s what was going on. I think there’s more to it.”

  “Okay, so what’s your take?”

  “Well,” I said, warming to my subject. “It’s possible that Bryon—either on purpose or perhaps accidentally—pushed Tabitha overboard. He was seen by two different people close to her at the time she went over. So let’s say that he’s responsible. Anthony could have killed him in revenge. He did accuse him of it at Flavel House. Got into a brawl on the front lawn.”

  “Makes sense,” Lucas agreed. “If Bryon did push her overboard.”

  “Right. That’s the issue. Did he push her overboard? She was staggering a bit, acting as if she was drunk or something. She could have just fallen over. Complete accident. Unlikely as it may be. What with her fear of water, she was staying as far away from the side as possible. But let’s just say it was true and she fell in accidentally, maybe Anthony just assumed Bryon did it. That would still give Anthony a motive to kill Bryon, even if an inaccurate one.”

  “True. But you’re obviously not convinced that Anthony did it at all.” I swear, Lucas could almost read my mind sometimes.

  “It’s true,” I admitted. “I’m not so sure Bryon did kill Tabitha. Or even if he did, I’m not so sure Anthony actually ki
lled Bryon. I mean, Bryon never let that flask out of his sight. It was always on him. He was always sipping from it. How would Anthony have gotten it away from him to put in the foxglove extract?”

  “What if he had help?” Lucas suggested. “Someone distracts Bryon while Anthony slips it in. Maybe early enough in the morning that Bryon doesn’t have the flask on him. Breakfast, for instance.”

  I thought it over, twirling the stem of my glass between my fingers. The Malbec inside swirled hypnotically. “That’s possible. I could see that happening, maybe. Jayne certainly would have had access to the flask. Okay, here’s the thing. I found this online.” I showed Lucas the blurry image of Tabitha and Jayne kissing.”

  “Interesting. Tabitha and Jayne were having an affair.”

  “At some point, yes,” I said, putting my phone away. “But this picture is a few years old, so I’m not sure it was still going on. And I can’t see what her motive would’ve been for killing Bryon. I understand they hadn’t been dating that long. It’s not like his death would’ve been a financial benefit.”

  “Money isn’t always the reason for murder,” he pointed out.

  True. Money wasn’t always the reason. But what other reason? “Okay, let’s say she was jealous. Let’s say Bryon and Tabitha really were having an affair. That certainly would’ve given Jayne a motive for murder. But no one saw her near Tabitha, so she couldn’t have pushed Tabitha in. And as for Bryon, she’s the first person the police would suspect of murder. Even if she hid the vial in Anthony’s room, it’s still awfully close to home. So why would she put herself in that position? She’s not stupid. I would’ve thought she would’ve chosen some other way to kill him. A smarter way. Jayne doesn’t strike me as stupid. She probably would have made it look like an accident.”

  “Well, foxglove does often mimic the symptoms of a heart attack,” Lucas pointed out. “Bat’s a smart guy, but foxglove poisoning isn’t common.”

  “True. And Bryon was a habitual user of drugs and alcohol. So it could have looked like he just died from a heart attack. Natural causes. Maybe exacerbated by his habits.”

  “Until you came along and convinced Bat to test for foxglove, spoiling her nefarious plans.”

  I smirked. “I guess I was the fly in that ointment.”

  Yes, it was looking more and more like Jayne was the guilty party, but something still niggled at the back of my brain. Something wasn’t sitting well with me, I just wasn’t sure what.

  I DON’T KNOW HOW SHE did it, but Cheryl convinced both Bat and Lucas to join us for the Regency Ball that would mark the end of the costumers’ long weekend adventure. I was surprised that they decided to continue with the ball. It seemed a little callous, seeing as how two of their own had so recently died, at least one of them by murder. But I supposed the Masons would keep the deposit for their hall regardless, so it was either lose out on several hundred dollars, or go ahead. And frankly, none of the costumers cared for Tabitha. They cared even less about Bryon who was a stranger in their midst… and an unpleasant one at that.

  Cheryl and I were once again gathered in my living room, surrounded by gorgeous gowns and glittering jewels. “I wonder if Jayne will be there?” Cheryl mused.

  “I’d be very surprised,” I said. “After all, it was her boyfriend that was murdered. She must be absolutely devastated.” Although such strong emotion seemed out of place for the cool, reserved Jayne.

  “Well, I ran into Marie and Lin at the wine bar last night—”

  “You were at the wine bar? When? Lucas and I were there, and we didn’t see you.”

  “Bat and I got there right before closing,” she admitted, blushing a little.

  “Oh, a date?” I teased.

  “Oh, stop. Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, Lin and Marie were there, and they told me that Jayne was very ho-hum about the whole thing. She didn’t even cry when Bryon was killed.”

  Well, that was suspicious. Then again… “Not everyone cries when they are upset. Some people are very hesitant to show emotion in public,” I pointed out. And Jayne definitely struck me as one of those sorts of people.

  “True,” she admitted. “But Bat said the same thing. That she was eerily calm about the whole thing. Like she wasn’t even upset Bryon was dead. He said she was way more shaken by Tabitha’s death.”

  Interesting. Could that be because Jayne and Tabitha had once been lovers? Did Jayne still carry a torch for Tabitha? Or was it simply because they had a close friendship over many years? Or perhaps Jayne was just not that into Bryon. “I wonder how long she and Bryon had been dating?”

  “Marie said they’d only been dating a couple of months,” Cheryl said. “Before that she dated some guy named Mike. Nobody liked him, either, but they said he was better than Bryon.”

  “Really? Why?” Not that I cared. Although it might go to show something about Jayne’s character if her fellow costumers consistently disliked her boyfriends. Maybe her picker was off, as my mother would say.

  “I think he was just kind of standoffish,” Cheryl said, holding up a string of pearls with questioning expression. I nodded, and she carefully fastened them around my neck. They fit snuggly like a collar. “The sisters said Mike would come to events and just sort of stand around. Not talk to anyone. They liked Bryon better at first because he was chatty and outgoing. They thought he was an improvement. But then his problem with drugs and alcohol came out, and he started getting really crass, so nobody liked him, either.”

  “Huh, interesting.” I had no idea what else to say about that. “Did they say why she broke up with this Mike?”

  Cheryl shrugged. “I think he broke up with her. I’m not really sure why. But I guess she had an almighty temper tantrum when she found out that he was dating someone almost half her age.”

  I guess that would piss me off, too. Bad enough being dumped. Having your ex date a much younger woman was just adding insult to injury. It made a woman question her own worth. “I wonder if him breaking up with her had anything to do with her relationship with Tabitha,” I mused.

  “I suppose you can ask him,” Cheryl suggested. She was rummaging through a pile of white cotton petticoats. “I think some of these could use a good pressing.”

  “Well if they do, you’re the one doing it. You know how I feel about ironing anything.” My wardrobe mostly consisted of knitwear and jeans. Anything to get away with not having to iron. “And how am I going to ask Mike anything? I don’t even know his last name. And I’m sure that Jayne isn’t going to give it to me.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Cheryl said brightly. “Marie pointed him out to me on social media. You can just send him a message and ask him exactly what you want. If he’s mad at Jayne about something, I bet he’ll be happy to discuss it.”

  I felt a little thrill of excitement like I was on the trail of something. I pulled out my phone and pulled up social media. I held out the phone to Cheryl. “Find him for me please. I’ve got a few questions for Mike.”

  Chapter 14

  The Ball

  The ballroom of the Masonic Lodge practically pulsed with excitement. Fairy lights had been strung, tables draped with white cloth, and flowers bedecked every nook and cranny. The windows along the north wall looked onto a spectacular vista of the river. A string trio in the corner played period music while tables groaned with meat pies, finger sandwiches, cheeses, crackers, fruit, shortbread cookies, and other goodies I didn’t recognize. A large bowl of punch stood on a table in another corner. Fancy china dishes had been set out along with real silverware. These people knew how to throw a party!

  Lucas escorted me down the stairs like a proper gentleman. He was looking rather delicious in a simple black suit with a white button-down shirt. Although it was modern—the costumers’ lending wardrobe hadn’t extended to menswear—he had added a royal blue waistcoat to match my gown, and a snowy white cravat to give it that Regency twist.

  Bat was dressed similarly, sans the cravat and waistcoat. He’d been will
ing to exchange his usual work suit for a fancier one, but despite the original plans, he’d drawn the line at dressing up any more than that while in the middle of a murder investigation. Cheryl didn’t seem to mind. She was positively glowing. I made a mental note to threaten Bat. Just in case dumping her ever crossed his mind.

  “Welcome! Welcome!” Ella Cayse sailed across the dance floor, ostrich feathers waving wildly from her hair. Her red-and-gold gown had been made from an Indian sari. Frankly, it was magnificent. I’d never seen anything like it. “So good of you to come.” She gave Cheryl and me cheek kisses and shook Lucas’s and Bat’s hands while I introduced them. She gave Bat a strained smile. “You’re not on duty, are you?”

  “No, ma’am,” he assured her. “Just here with my lady.” He wrapped an arm around Cheryl’s shoulders and puffed out his chest with pride. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t have to threaten him too much. He was kind of adorable, the way he doted on my best friend.

  For her part, Cheryl couldn’t stop grinning. And she looked fantastic in a pink satin gown, the low neckline showing off an ample amount of cleavage. She wore a green crystal collet necklace and matching, dangling earrings.

  “Come, the dancing is about to start. Don’t worry if you don’t know the steps. We’ll go over them before we start, and then someone will call them out as we dance.” Ella beamed as she herded us toward the middle of the dance floor. “It’s just good fun, so if you miss a few steps, don’t worry. No one cares!”

  The violinist made a flourish as the current music selection ended and everyone clapped politely. Lucas leaned down and whispered, “A harp-lute. Those are rare. Very popular during the Regency.”

  The instrument he indicated was a funny looking thing, half violin, half lute. The musician held it on his lap vertically and the sound that echoed from it was part guitar, part banjo.