Death By Bourbon

by Abigail Keam

  “No. I’m hoping that he will make me kind.”

  I gave Meriah a long hard look. She was a drowning woman clutching onto the only thing floating in the ocean. She was looking to Matt to save her from herself. I understood. I was doing the same with Jake. When the possibility of happiness comes your way, you grab onto it. It was human nature.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay what?”

  “A truce. I won’t interfere and I wish you both happiness. If this is what Matt wants, then I want it for him.”

  Meriah sighed. “Thank you. Your acceptance will make things easier for Matt.”

  “Where will you live?”

  “We are going back to my house in California after we are married. Matt already has a job offer in a good law firm there. He’ll fit right in.”

  “I see.”

  Nothing stayed the same forever. I had to accept it.

  “Now that is resolved, I want to mention something that has been troubling me.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s about Doreen DeWitt.”

  “Go ahead.” My mind was still reeling from the fact that Matt was going to move across the country, but I would give Doreen a go.

  “Was there anything that troubled you about Addison DeWitt’s death?”

  “I got a creepy feeling that night.” I searched for the right words. “Something seemed icky about the entire situation.”

  “Icky? A former college professor like you uses the word icky?”

  “I think icky describes accurately what I was feeling.”

  Meriah pushed back her honey-streaked hair. “I was feeling something icky too, but about Doreen. When we heard the commotion, I was first out the door as I was the closest. Doreen was way on the other side of the room. She would have been one of the last to enter the hallway.” She paused for a moment and then went to stand in her own doorway. “Now I stopped right in the doorway, didn’t I?”

  “I guess so. I was really paying attention to Addison.”

  “Well, I did. You even said so the other night. Now I stood in the doorway with a couple of other women who were not Doreen DeWitt.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now out of nowhere, Doreen pushes through and runs over to Addison DeWitt.”

  “That I remember,” I concurred.

  “Here’s what is icky. How did she know it was Addison on the floor? I am taller than she but I couldn’t see who was on the floor because the couch was in the way as were men also blocking my view.”

  “That’s right. I had to wheel around the couch and there were men standing between the couch and Addison on the floor. I couldn’t tell who it was until I pushed through the group of men.” I paused for a moment. “She must have heard Matt yell to Charles in the hallway that Addison was having a fit.”

  Meriah shook her lovely head. “No one heard exactly what Matt said. It was muffled. We just heard the commotion and Doreen certainly didn’t react to anything until we get to the library door.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said correcting myself. “Matt didn’t mention Addison’s name. He just said someone was having a fit, so Doreen couldn’t possibly have known he was talking about Addison.”

  “Precisely,” Meriah continued. “So Doreen pushes through, starts calling Addison’s name before she could see who it was. It’s the timing of her awareness of Addison that is off.”

  “Maybe she stood on her tiptoes. Maybe she stood on a chair to look into the room.”

  Meriah shook her head. “I tried standing on my tiptoes and I could not see. And there was no chair out of place in the hallway that I noticed.” Meriah stepped into the room and began pacing. “And all that crying and moaning and carrying on when Addison died. I don’t buy it. Most women would have been weeping for sure but they also would have been in shock . . . in disbelief.”

  “They would have wanted someone to comfort them, like a family member.”

  Meriah snapped her manicured nails. “Quite right. She didn’t ask anyone to call her daughter. Matt just took that upon himself.”

  “And she didn’t go to the hospital that night either.”

  “Well, she was sedated.”

  “Was she? I saw her in the upstairs hallway as I was leaving. She was wide-awake, watching from above. And I talked to Amelia just a moment ago. She told me that she found a white pill in the heat register this morning when she was tidying up.”

  “A sedative pill?”

  “She confirms that the doctor gave her a pill, not a shot, and that Doreen must have hidden it in the closed heat register when no one was looking.”

  “Does she have the pill?”

  I shook my head. “She has emptied the vacuum cleaner. It hadn’t occurred to her that the police might be interested in this pill.”

  “Or perhaps that June gave the order to destroy any unusual contents in that room. She doesn’t want the coroner to rule anything but accidental.”

  We both were quiet, preoccupied with our own thoughts, until Meriah spoke. “You have contacts in the police department. Why don’t you give them a call?”

  The thought of getting involved in another murder was overwhelming. I was still worn out like an old dishrag. “Sorry. I have other fish in the frying pan. You will have to go solo on this.” I wheeled towards the door before turning. “Meriah, I do wish you and Matt well. I hope you find happiness.”

  Meriah’s fine features softened. “Thank you, Josiah. I wish you well too.”

  I nodded and left, harboring no ill feeling against Meriah anymore. She may have been beautiful and rich but she was alone, wary of the future and doubtful of her ability to meet it head on. She needed backup, which was Matt.

  I knew what it was to be alone. After Brannon left me, so did most of our friends. Only Matt and Lady Elsmere had stuck by me. She once left a fifty thousand dollar check on my Nakashima table to “tide me over.” I never cashed it, but it’s in my drawer of keepsakes.

  Things went into a tailspin after Brannon left. He refused to give me money, instead wanting me to sell the Butterfly. With co-workers and students cruelly snickering about Brannon’s affair at work and meetings, I retired from teaching, feeling humiliated. Then I found Richard Pidgeon dead in one of my hives . . . you know the rest.

  Yes, I harbored no resentment against Meriah. How could I? She was afraid, just like me.

  9

  I was getting used to my Velcro splint so I was flying solo while Jake took much needed time off. Charles helped me into my golf cart and put the wheelchair in the back as I was leaving the big house.

  “Charles, do you know what Addison was drinking the night he died?”

  “Bourbon neat.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe he had something different in the library?”

  “Addison DeWitt drank bourbon neat that night. He didn’t even have champagne for the engagement toast as he refused the glass I offered. I make it my business to notice what people drink at these parties. It’s my job.”

  “Where was Doreen during the toast?”

  “Standing next to Mr. Addison and she was drinking champagne for the toast.” Charles thought for a moment. “She was also drinking the same bourbon that night as her husband.”

  “It stands to reason that maybe he was holding her bourbon drink while she toasted the champagne to the engaged couple.”

  “Maybe. I didn’t notice. You came in and I went to get drinks for you.”

  “Yes. I remember. Just one more thing. If Addison wanted his drink freshened, would you have given him another in a new glass or topped his off?”

  “There weren’t that many people there, so I didn’t need a bartender. I just freshened people’s drinks or they could do so themselves at the little bar in the drawing room. Glasses were not being switched out.”

  “Was port or brandy served in the library?”

  “Mr. Addison didn’t like either of those drinks. He was strictly a bourbon man.”

  We chatted for another mome
nt about the party before I headed for June’s training track. Charles told me that Shaneika and Mike Connor were there watching Comanche workout.

  I headed over, dodging workers walking with horses along the way, until I spied Shaneika, Mike . . . and Velvet Maddox, the dowser. Beside Mike’s towering figure, she looked like one of the “wee people” the Irish reminisce about.

  Slowly edging the golf cart towards them, I stopped at the railing, remaining quiet as they watched Comanche sprint around the track. After the sweating horse passed us, Mike pushed on the stopwatch. I could tell that Shaneika and Velvet were not happy by what they saw on the watch.

  “What do you think?” asked Mike of Miss Velvet.

  “I don’t know at this moment. He has all the makings of a champion but he just doesn’t seemed interested.”

  “Do you think something is wrong with him?” asked Shaneika in her British clip.

  “Not physically,” replied Velvet, scratching her chin. Her skin’s consistency reminded me of biscuit dough. “I’ve checked him out and he’s sound as a bell. What does your vet say?”

  “That he is just a dud.”

  “Did you tell Miss Velvet about Comanche’s companion goat getting murdered in front of him?” I asked, interrupting their conversation.

  “What was that?” asked Velvet, looking surprised. “He saw his friend being murdered?”

  I quickly relayed how George Fanning snuck into my barn and tortured one of Comanche’s companion goats, finally slitting her throat. Then Comanche was moved to another training facility where a man was murdered and hung from the rafters.

  “Well, that’s the place to start,” replied Velvet. “This horse could be traumatized.”

  Mike snorted in disbelief, upon which Miss Velvet turned on him. “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Mike Connor. You don’t understand everything there is to know under heaven and earth.”

  Looking chastised, Mike coughed up, “I didn’t say a word.”

  “I heard you loud and clear. You have no idea the pain we cause animals without blinking an eye at the harm we do. Do you not think a person would be sick at heart if he had seen two murders? Horses are just like people in being very sensitive to their environment.”

  “What would be the plan of action?” asked Shaneika. “Everything I’ve got is tied up in that horse. I can’t quit now.”

  Miss Velvet narrowed her eyes. “You may have to. If that horse doesn’t have it in him to win, you would just be throwing good money at him. I will have to talk to him and see what is up.”

  Shaneika shot a curious look at Mike.

  “Of course, you can beat him with a crop until he does what you want,” said Velvet.

  The jockey brought Comanche to where we were gathered. Comanche reached over to nuzzle Shaneika for peppermints, which she always kept in her pocket.

  “I’m not going to beat an animal to make him perform. You just better come up with something,” demanded Shaneika.

  The jockey and Mike exchanged comments until the jockey started the horse towards the stable.

  “I’ve got tomatoes to can so I’ll be off,” announced Miss Velvet. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. No training, you hear.”

  “Yes ma’am,” replied Mike.

  Shaneika started to object but thought better of it. She didn’t seem to want to take Miss Velvet on. She waited until the tiny woman had hopped into her huge pickup truck and blazed down the gravel road.

  “I swear that old bat is crazy,” she said turning on Mike. “She is gonna ‘talk’ to Comanche?”

  “Okay. Do things your way but that old woman understands things that ordinary people just don’t. I’ve seen her work wonders with horses.”

  “Any horses that won a race?” Shaneika stumped off muttering, “Crazy old white woman. Crazy Irishman.”

  I started to laugh until I saw Mike’s fallen face. Uh oh. Mike had the look of a puppy that had been denied a juicy bone. I bade my goodbye to Mike, who barely took notice of me as he watched Shaneika storm away. I hurried away in my golf cart, not wanting to witness Mike’s humiliation. I sure hoped Velvet Maddox made good with the horse – or Mike would never make good with Shaneika.

  10

  Asa sat in the parked SUV and checked her makeup. It was perfect. Instead of the usual kohl rimming her eyes, there was minimal of mascara and just a hint of lipstick. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup into a fresh hue, allowing the freckles on her nose to show. A brown curly wig, giving her a soft feminine look, concealed her dark long hair.

  Instead of the usual black that she wore, Asa had chosen carefully. She was wearing beige slacks, a white silk blouse and a cardigan sweater with horses on it. Her jewelry was demure – gold post earrings, an emerald-cut engagement ring and a gold bracelet. Her bag and shoes were expensive but not over the top. She looked like the perfect up and coming Junior League wife.

  Her companion commented, “You look just like the girl next door.”

  Asa blew him a kiss.

  They both got out of the SUV and, acting like a loving couple, entered a popular Lexington restaurant in the Lansdowne Center.

  The hostess, having been generously tipped previously, placed the couple in the middle of the room, where everyone could see them.

  Even Ellen Boudreaux, who was having her usual Thursday lunch with her girlfriends. Ellen caught sight of her as soon as Asa entered the room. “I can’t believe she would show her face in this town after what she did to me,” growled Ellen, staring in partial disbelief.

  “Who?” asked a girlfriend.

  “Asa Reynolds!”

  The entire table rubbernecked to where Ellen was pointing.

  “That doesn’t look like Asa Reynolds. You must be mistaken,” declared another girlfriend.

  “I’m telling you that is Asa Reynolds over there,” spit Ellen, her face contorting into a Feliniesque mask. “I should know what my stepdaughter looks like.”

  Several of the women glanced at each other, knowing that Ellen never actually married Brannon Reynolds.

  One of her girlfriends placed a hand on Ellen’s arm. “Now, you have no proof that she broke into your house,” she warned. “Just ignore her. We’ll finish our lunch and then leave.”

  Worried, another woman commented, “Don’t look, Ellen. People are starting to stare.” She waved her hand at their waiter, wanting to get the bill and get out.

  Asa laughed at something the man said.

  “You have no idea of what she has done to me. My finances are all screwed up because of that bitch. I have to pay everything in cash until this identity theft mess is over and I’m told it is going to take months to straighten out, never the mind the valuables she took. Jewelry that Brannon had given to me. A valuable painting.”

  The others murmured in sympathy. It’s not that they didn’t believe that Asa had been behind the robbery at Ellen’s house, but being lawyers’ wives, they also knew that knowing something was not proving it. And they simply didn’t like Ellen enough to be caught in a public fight with Asa Reynolds . . . if that was really Asa.

  They quickly paid for their half-eaten lunches and pulled Ellen with them as they began to leave. But Ellen was just as Ginny Wheelright had described at Franklin’s party – cunning but not bright. She just couldn’t resist the temptation of confronting Asa.

  She pulled away from her friends’ grip and strode over to Asa’s table. “I can’t believe you would show your face in Lexington,” sputtered Ellen.

  Asa looked up in surprise. “What?”

  “You heard me. After what you did to me, you show up like nothing’s happened. Everyone knows you did it.”

  The man posing as Asa’s fiancé interrupted, “Excuse me, Miss, but you’re upsetting my fiancée. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Your fiancée?” sneered Ellen. She grabbed at Asa’s ring hand.

  “Stop it!” cried out Asa, pulling away. “Go away. Please.”

  Calling for
the manager, the fiancé threw down his napkin. But before the manager could rush to the table, Ellen had picked up Asa’s water glass and thrown water in her face.

  The entire restaurant, which was now watching, gasped.

  The boyfriend threw himself between Ellen and Asa, making sure he did not touch Ellen. He turned and helped Asa wipe the water off her clothes. The manager grabbed Ellen by the arm and escorted her to her friends waiting in the parking lot.

  The friends murmured a few goodbyes after checking that Ellen was okay, but then took off like bats out of hell on a hot night. They certainly didn’t want to be standing with Ellen if Asa Reynolds came out. She was known to have a hair-trigger temper.

  Seeing that she was alone, Ellen reluctantly got in her Mercedes and left. Without her friends to cover her back, she didn’t want to encounter Asa either. Confused and angry, she drove out of the parking lot.

  After waiting several minutes, Asa and her companion threw a couple of twenties on the table and left the restaurant. Asa was plainly in tears – that is, until she got in the car. With the plan going as intended, she headed to the police station to file an assault complaint against Ellen. Now Asa just had to wait for the rest of her strategy to take place.

  About a half hour later, when they had finished their lunches, five young drama students sitting in five different areas of the dining room paid for their meals and left. Each thinking that they had been contacted by a flash message earlier that day to tape a theater performance at a local restaurant, they went directly to their computers to download Ellen’s attack on Asa to YouTube. Five different perspectives. Five different angles. Then they buzzed it to their friends, who enjoyed it and then sent it to their friends . . . and so on. It wasn’t long before it went viral.

  Yes, Ginny Wheelright was intuitive about Ellen – not too bright.

  11

  Kentuckians howl with righteous indignation if outsiders refer to us as a violent, quarrelsome people . . . but we are. In fact, we are the only state in the nation with the dubious reputation to have assassinated our duly elected governor. On the sidewalk to the State Capitol of the morning of January 30, 1900, some Republicans decided that they didn’t want a Democrat governor, so they shot the man instead. Who cares what the voters wanted.