The Long Island Iced Tea Goodbye

by Emily Selby

"What the heck are you doing, Heather?" James asked, exasperation brimming in his voice.

  "Checking if anyone has been to my bedroom," she replied, clambering back to her feet and dusting her jeans off.

  "Why would anyone have been to your room?"

  "Because they want something that is supposed to be here? How would I know? I'm not even sure if this person came here the other day when I was out, or if I imagined it."

  James crossed his arms, his jaw worked back and forth.

  "You suspect someone might have broken into your flat, but you didn't tell me?" he said heavily.

  "I'm telling you now. I thought about telling you at the time, but then I doubted myself."

  She gave him a brief account of her suspicions.

  "That's why I set all these little traps here and in Josephine's flat. And that's how I know."

  "Nothing's gone missing?"

  "As far as I can tell, not from my place. I can't tell for Josephine's."

  "We can ask her," James said, pushing himself away from the wall he had been leaning against. "Right, you're coming with me."

  A bolt of adrenaline shot into her bloodstream.

  "Whoa, mister, I am so not," she fired back. "I'm staying home and having dinner."

  "Not now," he replied. "I'm not leaving you alone in this house. It's clearly not safe."

  Heather wanted to protest but didn't find a good argument to counter James' assertions. And on top of that, she was curious to see Josephine's reaction to the note.

  This, however, didn't prevent her from pouting and stamping her foot, which she did twice, with delight.

  "Okay, I'm done," Heather said, flashing him a smile and a wink. "We can go now. I'm dying of curiosity."

  James stared at her for a second and sighed.

  "Good, let's go."

  They travelled to the hospital in his car—another Nissan. Clearly Nissan was a popular manufacturer in New Zealand. His was a younger model than hers, and it was definitely tidier.

  Fair enough, Heather shouldn't have kept her maps on the floor. She should have also picked up all the candy wrappers. And the empty soda bottles. Two. Maybe three. The third was still unopened.

  She'd clean it tomorrow. Sure, she would.

  James' car was not only tidy, with nothing littering the floor, but the dashboard shone like Josephine's wardrobe on a furniture-polishing day.

  They chatted a little about the weather, and then James fell quiet. Heather watched how two deep lines formed on his forehead.

  "Are you alright?" she asked.

  "Yes, sorry, I'm just trying to think something through."

  "Care to share?"

  He set his jaw.

  "Maybe on the way back."

  Something tugged at Heather's gut.

  Curiosity or a new idea?

  "Maybe I can help you ask the right questions?"

  He glanced at her and held her gaze for a couple of seconds.

  "Thanks for the offer, but I need more clarity first," he replied facing forward to watch the road again.

  "Ready when you are," Heather closed.

  Maybe she should consider her own questions for Josephine.

  But apart from wanting to express her disbelief in what the note said, she couldn't think of any.

  Not at this moment. Her head was muddy again. The dashboard clock showed 7 pm, which meant 3 am in New York.

  She'd blame it on the jetlag.

  They reached the hospital without incident, parked and walked to the ward in silence.

  "May I ask a question when I have one?" Heather asked while they waited for the nursing staff to open the ward door.

  He drew his eyebrows together.

  "I'd normally say no, but if you think you've got something important and I haven't asked it yet, and it fits in neatly into the conversation, fire away. Otherwise, please try to keep quiet. Believe me, I have honed my interviewing skills over the past years."

  Heather raised her hand to tip a non-existent cap.

  "Yes, sir."

  James nodded and winked.

  "Thank you, Sarge."

  Heather's cheeks burned. She opened her mouth to ask when she got promoted, but the door to the unit opened. A stout female nurse appeared in the doorway.

  "How can I help?" she asked.

  "I'm inspector James Matthews from Auckland police, here to see Josephine Barry on an urgent police matter. This is Heather Hampton, Josephine's neighbor."

  How nice he remembered her name and introduced her. Heather smiled.

  The nurse inspected James' ID, let them in and then brought Josephine. They all settled in the interview room.

  Josephine was looking a little paler than she had when Heather first met her, but walked with her usual gait. Her glasses were dangling on the golden chain, as usual.

  Heather smiled. This was one tough woman!

  James got straight to the point.

  "Is this your handwriting?" he passed the note to Josephine.

  She put her glasses on and looked at the piece of paper.

  Her eyes opened wide, her mouth dropped.

  "Is this some sort of a joke, Inspector?" she asked, giving James her "from above the glasses" stare.

  "You tell me, Josephine. Is this your handwriting?"

  Josephine huffed.

  "It looks like mine, from years ago, when my hands were a little steadier. But I can assure you," she snorted, passing the note back to James. "I did not write this pack of lies."

  "No?" James asked, retrieving the note. "Who did then?"

  "I've no idea. What are you suggesting?"

  "I'm not suggesting anything, Josephine. This note was found under your bed earlier this evening."

  Josephine sat back, folding her arms across her ample chest. She threw her chin up.

  "I didn't write it. And I didn't cut the brake lines in Maree's car. We might have argued a lot. And yes, we argued about the café, but those last months, it wasn't the café we argued so much about."

  "What did you argue about?" James asked.

  Heather shifted in her chair. Her stomach was clenched.

  Josephine blew out a breath. "We argued about Liam, my nephew. Maree was of the view he was up to no good."

  Heather tensed.

  Liam? Up to no good?

  James gave a short nod. "What made her think so?"

  "Initially, I wasn't listening. I thought she'd made it up. She said she'd seen him hanging out with the wrong crowd. But you know what it's like in Dolphin Cove. It's a small town. If you grew up here, as Liam did, your friends are who they are. They may be the wrong crowd, but there aren't that many other crowds to hang out with. In fact, there aren't many crowds at all," she carried on her tirade.

  "What crowds has he been hanging out with?" James asked simply.

  Josephine's face turned red. She pursed her lips.

  "I am not telling you. I've no idea. No evidence. And simply can't remember."

  James leant forward, putting his elbows on his thighs. He clasped his hands and stared at Josephine for a while.

  "Josephine Barry, I have sufficient evidence to arrest you on the suspicion of causing the death of Maree Walmsley," he said calmly, but his voice would turn a hot flush into an icicle in a split-second. "All the pieces of the puzzle fit. We can run a graphology analysis of this note, but they are never one hundred percent conclusive. You either give me real stuff to prove your innocence, or you're coming with me to police headquarters."

  A chill ran down Heather's spine. This was serious stuff.

  Josephine winced.

  "Are you threatening me, young man?" she snapped.

  "I'm older than I look, and I don't threaten suspects, I warn them. This is a warning."

  Suddenly, Josephine's eyes shifted toward Heather, a mix of hesitation and desperation in her expression.

  "And what are you doing here?" she asked calmly.

  "I-I... found the note. Under your bed. Someone broke into your f
lat. And into mine, or maybe Maree's, searching for something."

  Josephine blinked. She sat up, glancing sideways.

  "Someone broke into my sleep-out?"

  Heather nodded.

  "Anything gone missing?"

  "No idea," Heather answered.

  Josephine looked away.

  "It would... I suppose," she said eventually and paused again. "Did anything go missing from Maree's flat?" she asked after a while.

  "Not that I can tell," Heather replied. "What could it be?"

  "A photo," Josephine said quietly.

  "A photo?" Heather and James asked in unison.

  Heather glanced at James, worried this was one of those moments when she should keep her mouth shut. But he nodded.

  Heather took it as an encouragement. "A photo of what?" she asked.

  Josephine shrugged.

  "Don't know exactly, but there should be some people in it."

  A flash of clarity struck her.

  "Including Liam?" Heather asked.

  "Yes, with others. The wrong crowd, I guess. She wanted to show it to me as evidence. Because I didn't believe her."

  "But why would it matter now?" Heather asked.

  "No idea. He denies everything. He just laughs and says 'But Aunt Josie, I'm not really friends with them. I talk to everyone, particularly trouble makers. It's my job to keep an eye on the riffraff.'"

  "What does it have to do with Maree?" Heather pushed on. Her gut was aching, as if there was something emerging from it.

  "I think she might have made some comments to Liam, but he denies it."

  "So, if there is a photo-" Heather said

  "She took it to the city to have it developed. I've never seen it. That was a while ago," Josephine said quickly.

  Heather felt as though she'd reached the end of her trail. Something was still missing, but the jetlag fog had raised its ugly head again. Heather leant back on the chair and glanced at James.

  He arched his eyebrow, which she interpreted as an acknowledgement.

  New Zealanders seemed to use their eyebrows for communication rather a lot. She needed to find out if it was really a thing, or her imagination.

  "How would that connect back to your poisoning? And to Maree's accident?"

  "I don't think Liam would have done anything as stupid as fiddling with someone's car to kill them. But he might have told one of those potheads, who hang out on the beach in the evenings, smoking the stinking stuff and spoiling the environment and everyone's enjoyment."

  Yeah, people spoiling the beach... Heather could say something about that.

  And people hanging out on the beach at night.

  The missing pile of rubble... Had James found out what happened?

  "What about the morphine in your glass?" James asked.

  "I've told you it wasn't me."

  "Who then?" James insisted.

  "I've told you that, too. I have no idea."

  "You must have some suspicions."

  Josephine shook her head so vigorously, her glasses slid off her nose.

  Thank heavens for the chain.

  "Someone wanted you dead, Josephine, but why?" James insisted.

  "I've told you, I've rubbed a lot of people up the wrong way."

  James exhaled loudly. He slapped his hands on his thighs.

  "Right, we seem to have reached the same impasse."

  "Sorry," Josephine said meekly. "I honestly don't know. You've arrested Gordon Archer. I thought you've had evidence against him."

  "I have," James admitted. "But he couldn't have broken into your flat to plant the note, now could he?"

  He stood and headed for the door. Heather followed him.

  "How do you know, the person who broke in came to plant the note?" Heather asked once they’d closed the door on Josephine.

  "A guess. Since you're adamant the break-in was fresh, and Josephine never mentioned a note before. I'd imagine, if the guilt was so strong to drive her to take her own life, the guilt should have still been there, at least a little."

  "Makes sense," Heather admitted. "So, what now? You'll drop me off home?"

  "No, I'll take you to the café, so that you can pack up a bag and I'll drop you off at the nearest safe place where you can stay for the night. Okay?"

  "That's ridiculous!" Heather exclaimed and stomped her foot. This time, she was being serious. Her legs were aching from holding it together. All she really wanted to do was go home, eat something and fall into bed.

  James turned to face her. He put his hand on her forearm. His fingers were warm and strong.

  "Heather, I'm not letting you stay in that place while the murderer is still on the loose. And this is coming not only from a cop, but a fellow foreigner who also wants to start his life afresh. If you want to live, you'd better do what I say."

  He give her a look that pierced her chest and squeezed her heart like a freezing cold hand.

  13

  By the time they reached the café, it was already dark outside. James parked the car under the trees. The evening was quiet, with only the odd chirping of a cricket or a nocturnal bird. The sky was only partially covered with clouds, and a chill filled the air. Heather hugged her cardigan as they walked from the car to the café.

  She unlocked the door and flicked on the light.

  It was good to be back in familiar surroundings. Strange, how the café and the flat above had quickly become a place to call home.

  "I'll go and put the sauce on the stove okay?" she said.

  "No, come back," James called. "I left something in the car. Stay in the doorway, in the light, okay?" he said, his voice stern.

  Heather shrugged and stayed in the doorway. But as soon as his back was turned, she headed inside.

  This was home. This was her place to live. And James was only a shout away. Besides, what could go wrong?

  She switched on the kitchen light.

  So, what was the photo Maree had talked to Josephine about? It must have been a photo of Liam, since all their recent arguments had been about him. Maybe Liam had broken into the café. He would have known how to navigate inside. He would have known that the window in Josephine's bedroom was not secure.

  All that made sense, but... Did it have anything to do with Josephine's poisoning? And furthermore, was she, Heather Hampton who had no idea about the previous issues, involved as well?

  Nah, it didn't make sense. Heather had no idea about the past events, no idea about the photo. And Liam was a well-known policeman in town, doing his job and, as far as Heather could see, doing it pretty well. He wouldn't be so stupid to risk his reputation, and maybe even his job and liberty by harming anyone. Besides, he wasn't at the table the night someone poisoned his aunt. He arrived the following morning in response to a phone call from Josephine. That had been confirmed. A call had definitely been made to him from Josephine's cell phone, and he'd received and answered it.

  The photo could still have been worth a lot to him, though...

  Where could it be?

  Nowhere obvious, of course, otherwise it would have been found by now.

  How did she know it wasn't? Because the burglar returned and searched Josephine's flat at least twice.

  A thought popped in Heather's head.

  "Just need to check something upstairs," she shouted out and ran up the steps.

  James shouldn't be too far away.

  When the yellow glow from the lightbulb above her head filled her bedroom, Heather stood in the middle. She scanned the walls.

  If the photo hadn't been found, and actually existed, it must have been hidden in plain sight.

  Hidden in a way that would make it look natural.

  Like the pictures on the walls.

  But the pictures were paintings and prints, mostly of the local flora and the beach.

  The painting above her bed, for example, was almost certainly that of the local beach. Done by Maree herself.

  Heather approached the wall and stared h
ard at it.

  Quite well done. Obviously, that was before the pile of rocks was destroyed, because it was still there.

  Heather took the picture off the wall to look at it closer.

  Nah, just a painting, but... A sudden thought crossed her mind.

  She flipped the frame and...

  "Oh," Heather groaned. "Here you are..."

  On the back of the painting was a photograph–of the same part of Dolphin Bay. It seemed to have been taken from the window in Maree's bedroom. Heather didn't know much about photography, but it was a night shot, taken with long exposure, as the water looked misty. The limited light - silvery and soft - must have come from the moon.

  In the background, on the beach, close to the pile of rocks, the same ones that disappeared recently, there was a group of people. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, standing with his side to the camera, displaying a characteristic hunch. Heather would have said it was Josephine, but a memory flashed in her head.

  Liam?

  The hunch might run in the family.

  Heather raced down the stairs, holding the picture.

  "James, I've found it," she yelled.

  But James wasn't downstairs. The door was still open. The air had become as chilly as outside.

  What was taking him so long?

  "James?" she called. "Where are you?"

  Something sprang out from under the stairs, brushing against her legs. Heather jumped backwards, wobbled and fell to her knees.

  "Kitty ... what are you-"

  A shot ripped through the house, directly over her head.

  Heather froze. Her heart stopped for a couple of seconds and then kicked back into a gallop.

  Someone was inside the house. Someone armed and shooting!

  She pushed the cat under her cardigan and, holding it with one arm, ducked under the kitchen counter.

  Another shot.

  Heather's chest tightened.

  The cat curled up. His claws sank into the skin on Heather's chest.

  She winced but otherwise ignored the pain. She shuffled quietly into the corner, where Josephine kept empty jars.

  The house was quiet again.

  James! He had to have heard the shot.

  Fighting the trembling of her fingers, Heather pulled her phone out of her pocket and flicked it to silent. Last thing she needed was the shooter to find her because of the stupid phone.