The Long Island Iced Tea Goodbye

by Emily Selby

  She followed his instructions. He appeared cool, calm and collected. He must have seen many accidents, despite his youth.

  When they finished, they returned to the kitchen.

  Liam's face was tense and paler than earlier. He scanned the kitchen.

  "What did she eat and drink last night?"

  "We had fritters, salad, and cocktails I prepared," she replied automatically. "Some bread."

  "Have you got any leftovers?"

  "What?" Heather stared at Liam. The guy's aunt was not well, and he was thinking of himself?

  "Not for me, " he replied quickly. "It's for the evidence."

  "What?" Heather glanced at the coffee maker. Did she need any more coffee to follow this conversation?.

  "I have grounds to suspect my Aunt Josie was poisoned."

  "Wha-" Heather paused half way through her third exclamation. She exhaled loudly. "I need another coffee," she decided and marched towards the machine. She poured herself whatever had dripped into the jug in the meantime.

  "Sorry, I need it to think," she explained as apologetically as she could.

  Liam stood by the tall dirty dishes table, staring at her. There was little point pretending she needed time to reflect on it. But how on earth...?

  "We all ate and drank the same things," Heather said slowly. "She might have had something else after she left the table, or before she prepared the meal."

  "We?" Liam's voice was sharp, just as his stare. If Heather ever doubted his credentials as a cop, the doubt was all gone.

  "The Archers from next door and me. Josephine prepared the fritters. They brought the salad. We had bread from the local bakery. I-I put the leftovers in the fridge." She paused. Her heart was pounding. Who could have poisoned Josephine? How did they do it, and why?

  "I made the drinks. I mixed it all in the same jug, poured into separate glasses, added ice and... served. I did the same with a pitcher of iced tea. I've got some of that tea in the fringe, but the cocktails are all gone," she added.

  What the heck had happened last night?

  4

  "I think someone needs to check on the Archers," Heather said. She was running through her recollection of the evening. She tried to recall who ate what and how much, but she hadn't paid enough attention to make any sense of it in the cold light of morning.

  "Good idea," Liam strode towards the door, "but I think you should stay here, and I'll go. Don't touch anything," he left the house.

  Heather rushed back to the sleep-out to check on Josephine.

  Sleep-out, what a strange name!

  She was still breathing, but very slowly.

  Where was that ambulance? It must have been ages since Liam's call.

  She peeked through the curtains. The day was seeping into the yard, but no ambulance in sight.

  A siren wailed in the distance.

  It's them. Finally!

  Heather stepped out onto the terraced area. She stood in the open door, breathing the cool, fresh air of the morning. Her first morning in her new life.

  What a disaster!

  A yellow and green van appeared at the corner and Heather flagged it down.

  They ambulance stopped in front of the steps and two paramedics—a man and a woman dressed in dark green uniforms—clambered out.

  "Where is the patient?" the man asked.

  Heather directed them to follow her.

  Back in the apartment, she watched the paramedics check on Josephine and transfer her carefully onto a stretcher. They put a mask on her face.

  "We need to take her to hospital," the woman explained. "Are you a relative? Do you know anything about her medical history? Any medication she takes, or might have taken?"

  "No, her nephew should be here any moment. He's ... he's a local policeman. Liam Barry," she explained, delighted and a little surprised to have remembered his name.

  "We know Liam. We'll give him a call later. Please tell him, she's likely to need the big hospital."

  "Okay," Heather replied, hoping Liam would know what the woman meant, because she didn't have the courage to ask for explanations.

  The paramedics disappeared in their van, taking Josephine with them. A moment later, the door opened again.

  "I saw the ambulance," Liam announced.

  "What about the Archers?"

  "They're well. I'm assuming you're fine, too?"

  Heather nodded. "Whatever caused the illness it must only have affected your aunt."

  "Yeah," Liam replied, and ran his hand through his already mussed hair. "I'd better collect some evidence and take it to my office. Where are those leftovers?"

  Heather took the serving plates and the pitcher out of the fridge and put them on the table. She also grabbed the tray with the cocktail glasses.

  "Which one was Josie's?" Liam asked.

  "The one with the red straw. I had the one with the pink one. And the Archers .... Actually, I’m not sure, " Heather paused, going through her memories of the previous evening. "But I think his was green and she had the one with the purple straw."

  "I'll need big bin liners. They should be in the cupboard under the sink."

  Heather followed his instructions and indeed, found a stash of large trash bags. She handed him the roll.

  Liam pulled a pair of rubber gloves from the inside pocket of his jacket and snapped them on. He swiftly packed the evidence and tied the bags.

  "I'll need to take Josie's pill box as well, just to be sure and search her room. You can watch me if you want," he said, heading for the sleep-out.

  She didn't want to watch him. In fact, she wanted to get out of the house and go somewhere she could feel the fresh breeze on her face. Somewhere she could breathe and stretch her aching limbs.

  But she followed him.

  He searched through the bedside table.

  "What are you looking for?" she asked him, hiding a yawn.

  "Any pills she might have taken," he replied, not looking at her.

  "Pills? Was she on any medication?"

  "Yes, something for her blood pressure. I've already found them. The paramedics suspect an overdose. Some drug, maybe even illegal."

  Heather crossed her arms. Whoa! This was all a bit too much for her.

  "We didn't take any drugs last night, if that’s what you're implying."

  His head swiveled. He sent her a cold stare.

  "That's not what I meant. She might have taken something without her knowledge."

  "But we were together all evening," Heather replied, feeling giddy.

  Had they been?

  "I may need to come back and take proper statements from you all, but that depends on what the doctors discover."

  "I'm not going anywhere," Heather said. "Even if I wanted to, I have nowhere else to go."

  "This is your home now, isn't it?" Liam looked at her and smiled. It was a sad sort of smile. "I'm sorry this has happened to you on your first day here. I hope it gets better."

  How could it possibly get any worse?

  "I can always ask the Archers if I could stay in their B&B," Heather said hesitantly.

  As if she could stand seeing them every day. Besides, why shouldn't she stay in her own place? There was no evidence that Josephine had been poisoned deliberately.

  "It might have been the fritters. Maybe there was a bad fish in the batch," Heather said out loud.

  Liam gave her a sideways look. "Maybe," he said, grabbing the bags and heading for the exit. "I'd better get going. If you need anything, please give me a call. The local police number will redirect you to my mobile phone."

  A sudden thought popped up in her head. "Liam, just one question."

  The policeman stopped with his hand on the knob. "Fire away."

  "If this was deliberate, why would anyone want to harm your aunt?"

  His face tensed. He twitched his nose a couple of times. "You’re new here, so you might not know. But Josie is not a well-liked person."

  * * *

  He
ather sat at the kitchen table, not sure what to do next. The day had barely started, and she’d already had enough of it. She had no one to call. Most of her American friends were shared with her ex-husband and, after the divorce, she didn't feel comfortable calling them.

  There was always her mother. She, at least, could maybe shed some light on the reality of living in a small rural community in New Zealand. And, of course, add a few more barbed comments on how irresponsible and crazy her idea had been to ditch everything and escape Down Under.

  Nah, maybe not today.

  She had chosen this country, this town, and this café to become her new life, and it was her responsibility to make it work. Maybe she was an eternal optimist. Although she maybe came across as naïve sometimes, she was mature enough to know that she couldn't just sit and expect her life to turn out the way she wanted it to be.

  She had to make it work.

  And she was going to do just that—after one more cup of coffee. And maybe one of those lovely scones, if there were any left.

  Heather stood up and marched to the coffee machine. She poured water, added fresh coffee grinds, and pushed the button. From what she remembered, the café had an espresso machine, probably tucked away somewhere. She'd find it one day when she had time and headspace.

  Yeah, headspace. She needed some now, and coffee. So, brewed coffee would have to do.

  Heather crossed to the pantry, where she had seen Josephine putting the scones away. She opened the pantry and ...

  "No, I don't think I can," she whispered to herself. "Too much stress, or..." she let her voice trail off. She knew that if the scones had been poisoned, she would have been affected by now, but the doubt still lingered.

  She waited for the coffee to drip into the jug and, with a fresh mug of steaming liquid gold grasped tightly in her hand, she headed outside. She pulled one of the chairs off the table and sat on the terrace.

  The sun was already above the horizon. A layer of clouds beneath it still tinted pink and orange, reflected off the sea.

  She should probably stop calling it the sea. The body of water spreading out before her was the Pacific Ocean.

  She closed her eyes, soaking the warmth and the smell of salt, sea weed, coffee, and ... fried bacon?

  "Hi, Heather, how are you?" a familiar voice cut into her world.

  Heather opened her eyes. Gordon Archer was sitting at a small table on their terrace, with a plate in front of him.

  She should have sat lower, on the sand probably, out of the sight of the neighbors. Or maybe she needed to find a different spot.

  "Hi, Gordon, I'm okay, and you guys?"

  "We had a bit of a fright this morning. What happened to Josephine?"

  Heather gave him a short summary.

  "But you're well, aren't you?" Gordon asked, staring intensely at her.

  "Yes. I'm fine. So, it must have been something she ate before the drinks, or afterwards."

  "Didn't she go straight to bed? She said she was pretty tired."

  Heather sipped her coffee. "She seemed so." Heather decided against sharing the details about Josephine's night attire. "We all ate your salad, didn't we?"

  Gordon's face froze for a second.

  "You did and said it was nice," he replied, smoothly.

  He used the same smooth, serious, and seemingly genuine voice she heard coming out of Rob's mouth when he was trying to pawn off an old car as "almost new."

  "Do you think someone might have done it deliberately?" she asked, watching Gordon's face carefully.

  He drew his eyebrows together. "I'm not a fan of gossip," he said slowly.

  But...

  She stared at him, and he stared back.

  He was either good at hiding his feelings, or ... being truthful.

  "I've really no idea, but Helen might know. Helen," he called out, "can you come over here for a second?"

  Helen emerged from the back door of their B&B, wearing a pristine white apron over a dark blue dress. Her hair was neatly combed. She probably slept in a hair protector, a.k.a. helmet.

  "Do you think that anyone might have wished ill on poor Josephine?" he asked.

  Helen's nostrils flared. She threw her husband a dagger of a stare, but her mouth stayed shut for a moment until she finally spoke.

  "Uhm..." she said calmly. "I can't really think of anyone."

  "Liam thinks she's not a particularly well-liked person in town," Heather said.

  Now, discuss.

  But the Archers only exchanged glances.

  "I have no idea what he was alluding to, honestly," Helen said, keeping her expression face as undecipherable as it had been the previous evening. "Josephine, of course, has her own ... how shall I put it ... weaknesses, but she is a well-respected and appreciated member of our community. She's lived in this town for as long as I can remember. She ran the café with Maree for years. In fact, they were the ones who encouraged us to turn our large house into a B&B, since it was empty after our children flew the nest.

  "She's been a completely wonderful neighbor. I've got nothing but good things to say about Josephine," Helen added. "What about you, Gordon?"

  Gordon Archer's cheeks took on a pinker hue.

  "You've put it very well, darling. But there is something though ...' he said and stared into the distance for a while.

  'What?" Helen and Heather asked simultaneously.

  "It has to do with Maree, and her accident. You remember how Josephine wasn't happy with the investigation?" he replied.

  "Lots of people weren't. The town was divided," Helen said. "But her nephew conducted the investigation. Wasn't she the one who defended Liam from those who accused him of not doing a good enough job?"

  "Yes, indeed," Gordon said, drawing in his eyebrows once again. "I've heard people claim the accident was staged."

  "Staged?" Heather asked, shocked.

  "Someone suggested that the brake lines might have been cut a little, which is why they snapped," Gordon explained.

  "No, you've got it all mixed up," Helen waved her hand. "The guys from the garage apparently didn't clear the car at its last Warrant of Fitness, the Kiwi version of an MOT test."

  "They did. Only they failed to issue her with the certificate. They forgot, or something. She had the accident the same evening, or rather, the following day," Gordon replied, red blotches deepening on his face. "It's you who's mixing it all up."

  "Yeah? So why did they close the business and leave the town then?" Helen snapped back. "And, interestingly, it was Maree’s son who recommended the garage. And, as the only child, he happened inherit everything from her."

  Gordon opened his mouth to likely fire something back, but an already uncomfortable Heather cut in.

  "Hang on, there was some sort of problem with her car?" she asked.

  "That's unclear, as you can see," Helen replied, in a softer tone. "But the investigation concluded that the brakes snapped because the car didn't have the WoF, warrant of fitness, and Maree decided to drive it anyway."

  "And she drove into a tree?" Heather checked.

  "That was basically the story," Gordon confirmed.

  Heather pursed her lips. Did this situation shed any fresh light on the recent events, assuming that Josephine had indeed been deliberately poisoned?

  Either way, that was for the police to find out, wasn't it? And Liam had said he'd do just that.

  With her curiosity piqued, Heather couldn’t help herself. She was going to check on the progress of his investigation—even if Liam tried to stop her.

  5

  Heather returned to the house and grabbed her cell phone. She looked up the number for the local police station and punched it in.

  Just as Liam said, she was transferred to his phone. She waited out the recorded introduction and left him a message to call her back.

  The front door opened and a young woman appeared in the doorway.

  "We're closed," Heather called, getting up.

  "I know," the wo
man replied. "That's why I'm here. You must be Heather. I'm Chrissy Lamberton. I help Josephine with various jobs around the place."

  Heather approached the young woman and shook Chrissy's hand. She tried very hard to ignore the girl's stunning beauty. Her face was oval, with symmetrical features and a golden-brown complexion typical of Pacifica people.

  "Nice to meet you, Chrissy," Heather said. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

  As Heather gave a brief account of the events of the early morning, Chrissy's hand flung to her throat and she shook her head.

  "That's awful. Poor Josephine. How could that have happened?"

  "That's what we've been all trying to work out."

  Chrissy turned her flawless, golden-brown face away, but Heather still could see that the girl's big brown eyes brimmed with tears.

  "This café is cursed. I told her to ditch it after the accident," Chrissy said quietly, dabbing at her eyes.

  "Cursed?" Heather picked up. "By whom?"

  The young woman shrugged. "No idea," she replied in such a way that made Heather wonder if Chrissy in fact, did have an idea.

  "Do you mind if I get on with my job?" Chrissy asked, grabbing the nearby bucket.

  Heather would prefer to hear more about the curse, or any other gossip, but it seemed that the time wasn't right.

  "Yeah, sure," she said. "What are you going to do?"

  Chrissy moved towards the rear exit.

  "Josephine's plan was to clean all the tables and chairs outside and prep them ready for the season. We got them out of the storage a few days ago. Would you like me to work on them today?" she asked in a matter-of-fact way.

  "I-I ... I don't know really. I'm a bit all over the place. Still jetlagged and, frankly, shocked," Heather admitted.

  "I think the best way is to find a distraction. Work is an excellent distraction," Chrissy explained. "By the way, Josephine is in the big hospital, in the city, right?"

  "That's what the paramedics said."

  "I'll call my big sis. She's a nurse there."

  "But you're not family, are you?"

  Chrissy smiled, showing two rows of perfectly regular pearly whites. "We're all one big family here. We call it 'whanau'. Leave it to me, I'll sort it out."