A Toast to Murder

by Allyson K. Abbott

  “I can drive him home,” I said. “I’m up at that hour anyway, so it’s no problem.”

  “That would be wonderful, if you’re sure you don’t mind,” Whitney said. This time her smile looked more genuine. “We girls do need our beauty sleep, you know.”

  “It’s not a problem at all,” I said. “I’m happy to do it. Billy is the best bartender I have.”

  Whitney looked momentarily puzzled by this statement. “What is it that makes him the best?” she asked.

  My answer to that question was probably driven by some mean streak inside me, some part of my personality that I don’t like to admit is there. “Well, he’s fast, efficient, and knows his mixology. Plus, just look at him. The women all love him. He brings them in by the droves.”

  Mal, who must’ve found a parking place, came walking up the sidewalk. He nodded at Billy and then looked at Whitney. At the moment, Whitney’s face looked like a thundercloud—no doubt because of what I’d just said—and I saw Mal’s brow draw down with a mix of curiosity and concern.

  Mal had never met Whitney, so I did the introductions. Whitney quickly resurrected her charming personality for Mal and even flirted with him a little by tilting her head and giving him a coquettish smile.

  Fortunately, Billy brought an end to this awkward gathering by glancing at his watch and then saying, “I’d best get to work before I’m late.” His long-legged stride got him to the door in two steps, and he disappeared inside.

  “Always good to see you, Whitney,” I lied, with what I hoped was a convincing smile.

  “Nice to meet you,” Mal said.

  Whitney nodded at us, spun on her heel, and headed back to her car. We, in turn, headed inside the bar. I heard Whitney peel away before the bar door closed behind me. I didn’t need any special senses to tell me the woman was irritated and angry. Oddly, I found this highly satisfying.

  I headed straight for my office, with Mal behind me, and as soon as we were inside and the door was closed, I turned to him with a worried look.

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  I reached up and stuck my gloved hand beneath his nose. “Smell that. Do you recognize it?”

  Mal looked a bit taken aback, and he shook his head in confusion. “I’m not sure what it is you want me to smell,” he said. “I detect a faint scent of some sort of perfume. Is that what you mean?”

  “It is,” I said. “That’s the smell of Opium.”

  I watched Mal’s face as he processed this information and figured out what had me upset. “Whitney?” he asked.

  I nodded grimly.

  “Interesting,” Mal said, pulling at his chin. “I don’t know anything about the woman. Does she have any motive?”

  “Pretty much the same motive Suzanne Collier has,” I told him. “She’s engaged to Billy and hates the fact that he works here. Her family is well-to-do, and she’s very class-conscious. She considers this place, Billy’s job, me . . . hell, this whole section of town as beneath her. She has made her disdain known every time I’ve seen her.”

  Mal thought about this for a moment, his brow drawn down in a concerned V. “So she’s a snob,” he said. “It’s a big leap from that to becoming a murderer.”

  “I know, I know.” I sighed and shook my head. “But I don’t think we can ignore the possibility. At the very least, I should have Cora look into her, see how many things she might have in common with our victims and the recipients of the packages. And I should probably get Duncan to see if she has an alibi for the time when Lewis Carmichael was killed.”

  “I suppose so,” Mal said, but he didn’t sound concerned.

  I shrugged off my coat and tossed it over the arm of the couch. Then I dug my cell phone out of the pocket and called Cora. “Cora, it’s Mack. Can you come down to my office?”

  Not surprisingly, she was upstairs in the Capone Club room. “Of course. Be there in two shakes.”

  By the time Cora arrived, I was settled in the chair behind my desk, and Mal was out at the bar getting us some drinks. Cora came in carrying her laptop, which functioned as a fifth appendage for her.

  “What’s up?” she asked, setting the laptop down on my desk and settling into the chair across from me.

  “Lots of stuff,” I told her, rolling my eyes. “It’s been quite a day so far. I’m not even sure where to begin.”

  “Start with your visit to Clay,” Cora prompted as Mal came in carrying two glasses of wine. He set one down in front of me and the other in front of Cora.

  “You didn’t get anything for yourself?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “I’d rather wait until later.”

  “So what did Clay want?” Cora asked, clearly impatient.

  I filled her in on the surprise guests who had been at Clay’s house and then summarized my discussion with them.

  “That’s an interesting turn of events,” Cora said when I was done. “It could certainly make life a lot easier for you.”

  “Perhaps,” I agreed, “but it could also complicate things. Too many cooks in the kitchen, you know?”

  “Indeed I do,” Cora said. “Obviously, I would rather not have those guys knowing the sort of stuff I do for you since I sometimes skirt the law, but you can probably find a way to do what they want without involving me, don’t you think?” Before I could answer her, she continued on. “I can see where this could be a big benefit for you. It would make things easier all around if you plan to continue with this crime-solving stuff. Plus, it sounds as if it could be a new source of income for you, too.”

  “I’m less interested in the monetary aspects than I am the overall dynamic,” I said. “But I agree, it will make things easier. And I promise you I won’t give away any of your trade secrets. Anything you do for me stays strictly between us.” I paused, realizing that wasn’t entirely true. “Well, it will be strictly between me, you, Duncan, Mal, and the Signoriello brothers,” I clarified.

  Cora grinned. “Yeah, I’ve kind of let that cat out of the bag already,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to make things difficult for myself or my company, so I’d prefer to operate a bit more surreptitiously from here on out, assuming you decide to go ahead with this.”

  “I’m going to tell them yes, but I’ll set a time limit on it for now,” I told her. “I think it will be smarter to do it for a trial period to see how it goes. I don’t want to lock myself into something I’m going to hate.”

  Cora nodded sagely. “It will definitely eliminate some of the pressure between you and Duncan,” she said carefully, shooting Mal a quick sideways glance. She then grabbed her Chardonnay and sipped it, studying our reactions over the rim of the glass.

  I didn’t know what my own facial expressions might have given away because I was looking at Mal to gauge his. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood and stared down at his feet. Something inside my chest shifted a little with this display of obvious discomfort from him, and I had a sudden, strong urge to get up, walk over to him, and hug him. I did none of those things, however. Instead, I looked back at Cora and addressed her last comment.

  “Perhaps in the long run this new arrangement will make things easy for me and Duncan, but until we solve this letter writer debacle, we’ll need to keep things under wraps. Besides, after that whole business this morning with Duncan’s ex-fiancée, I’m not sure where our relationship stands right now.”

  “When do you plan to tell Dixon and Holland your decision?” Cora asked, deftly changing the subject.

  “Tomorrow. I’ll sleep on it to make sure I still feel this way in the morning, and if I do, I’ll call Holland straightaway.”

  “Okay . . . moving on,” Cora said. “What else happened?”

  “Billy’s car broke down, so he had Whitney drive him into work. I ran into them out front just a bit ago. And I noticed something about Whitney that has me a bit rattled.”

  “You mean something other than her usual obnoxious, snobby, pretentious attitude?” Cora said w
ith a sneer.

  I smiled, but it faded quickly. “She was wearing Opium,” I said. “And she told me it’s the only perfume she ever uses.”

  Cora took this in, and I watched her process the information. Several seconds ticked by. Finally, she said, “Okay, we talked about how there are probably hundreds of women in the Milwaukee area alone who wear Opium. It doesn’t mean anything.” She glanced over at Mal and then back at me. “Does it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said wearily. “But when you get right down to it, she has as much motive as Suzanne Collier does. She also has money like Suzanne Collier does. I think it would be foolish of us to dismiss her before we check to see if she has any other commonalities with Suzanne Collier.”

  Cora nodded. “Of course.” She started tapping on her laptop keyboard.

  I said, “I know she has connections to the university because Billy told me she’s teaching a class there next semester.”

  Cora nodded again, still tapping away.

  “Maybe the two women are working together,” Mal suggested. “It seems rather unlikely, but they do have a motive in common, and I imagine they run in a lot of the same social circles, so it’s not unreasonable to think they may have crossed paths in the past and shared a conversation or two. Although I’m not sure why either of them would have put in the stipulations about you working with Duncan.”

  “Here’s one path they’ve crossed together,” Cora said. “Whitney Sampson and her family are supporters of Boerner Botanical Gardens, just as Suzanne is.”

  One of our previous clues had involved some plant samples that would have been hard to come by at this time of the year unless someone had connections to an indoor horticultural display.

  “And Whitney’s law firm provides legal counsel for the university,” Cora went on. “That could give her access to all kinds of information, including the names, addresses, and schedules of our package recipients.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It seems far-fetched to think that these two women would be working together in some sort of murder plot. Besides, Duncan told me that whoever attacked and killed Lewis had to have been either a very strong or a relatively large person . . . perhaps both. And neither one of these women fits that description.”

  “I don’t know,” Mal said. “Whitney appears strong and fit. She looks like someone who works out on a regular basis.”

  “She does belong to a gym somewhere,” I said. “I’ve seen her carrying a gym bag and dressed in workout clothes before when she’s stopped by the bar.”

  Cora stopped typing for a moment and gave Mal a questioning look. “Lewis wasn’t a big man, but he was muscular. And from what Duncan said, whoever killed him beat him quite severely around the head and face. Do you think either of these women could have done that?”

  “It depends on what Lewis was beaten with. If it was fists, I’m inclined to say no. But if it was an instrument of some sort, like a pole or a bat, then I think it’s possible.”

  “Maybe we’re looking at a team effort,” Cora suggested. “Maybe there are more than two of them involved. Maybe the two women hired someone to do their dirty work.”

  I groaned and closed my eyes, massaging my temples. There was a small, throbbing pain in my forehead that was slowly getting bigger and stronger. “I can’t begin to entertain that possibility,” I moaned. “It was bad enough when we thought there might be two people. The idea that there could be three or more makes me want to throw my hands up in defeat, pack my bags, and run off somewhere to hide for the rest of my life.”

  Mal walked over, placed his hands on my shoulders, and began to gently knead them. “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he said. “You know, given your conversation with Holland and Dixon today, maybe it’s time to take this thing to the police. While this latest clue seems reasonably tame, the one before that made it sound like the letter writer was escalating, tiring of the game and the threats. We’ve done as much as we can on our own; maybe it’s time to bring in the big guns.”

  I shook my head vehemently. “No. I don’t want to risk that yet. We’re reasonably certain we know the meaning behind the last clue, and unless our interpretation proves to be totally wrong and we come up empty-handed at the museum, I’d rather wait and see what the next one says.”

  Mal sighed, and I could tell he disapproved of my decision.

  I decided to change the subject. “On an unrelated matter, there’s something I want to run by you. I need your construction expertise. Would you mind?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  I looked over at Cora. “Feel free to stay here in my office as long as you like. I’m going to take Mal out to the new section to show him something, and then I’ll probably head upstairs to the Capone Club room.”

  Cora nodded and said nothing. She was focused on the screen in front of her.

  “I’ll also tell Billy your drinks are on the house for the night.” That, at least, garnered me a smile.

  Chapter 10

  I hoisted myself out of my chair, grabbed my crutches, gave Mal a sideways nod of my head to indicate he should follow me, and headed out to the main area of the bar.

  Billy flagged me down, and I made my way over to him. “Hey, boss,” he said, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for the comments Whitney made outside. Sometimes she gets a bit full of herself.”

  “She does come across as a bit of a snob at times,” I said. “I have to say, you and she don’t seem to be a great fit.”

  “She isn’t always that bad,” Billy said defensively. “Her parents are terrible snobs, and whenever Whitney spends time around them she tends to adopt their behavior. She’s a totally different person when I get her away from them for a while.”

  “Don’t let it worry you too much,” I said. “I’m not that easily offended.”

  “I know you’re tough,” Billy said. “But I also want you to know that I don’t approve of the way Whitney treated you. And I will let her know that.”

  “I appreciate that, but don’t do it for me; do it for yourself.”

  Billy nodded, a sage look on his face. I started to turn away and then remembered my offer to Cora. “By the way,” I said, “Cora’s drinks are on the house for today.”

  “Gotcha, boss.” Billy gave me a snappy salute, flashed me that dimpled, charming smile that made all the girls drool over him, and then went back to work.

  Mal and I made our way through the main area of the bar and into the new section. For now, this area was set up with tables and chairs, and on the far side of the room was a stairway to the upper level, which housed the Capone Club room, a gaming room, a larger room that could be used for private parties, a bathroom, and a second bar area. Both the Capone Club room and the gaming room were quite popular, so the upstairs stayed fairly busy. My waitstaff complained regularly about having to run up and down the stairs, and I was none too happy myself with the climb, thanks to my crutches and cast.

  I led Mal to the far back corner of the room beneath the stairs. Here there was another door, one that stayed locked, which led to the basement. Just before I bought the adjoining building to expand the bar, I discovered that my basement and the basement of this neighboring building were connected by a small tunnel. Rumor had it Al Capone had used the bar back in his day as a hiding place for his bootlegged booze. This rumor was verified when I discovered a hidden cache of old liquor in one of the basement rooms. That discovery had led to the naming of the crime-solving group and the room they met in.

  I took my keys from my pocket and unlocked the basement door. Reaching inside, I flipped on the light to reveal another set of stairs leading down to the cellar. Carefully, and slowly, I made my way down with Mal behind me.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a large, essentially empty storage room. I had plenty of storage on my side of the basement and hadn’t yet put this side to use. In a far corner of this room were the mechanicals for this half of the building: furnace, water heater, water softener, and an ai
r-handling unit. Above this portion of the basement was an open area with a built-up stage section on the first floor, and above that was the second-floor landing and bar area. Behind the second-floor bar area was more space that I had yet to utilize. At one time, I had thought I might install a second, smaller kitchen up there, but now I had another idea.

  “Wow,” Mal said looking around the room. “I’ve never been down here before. You have a lot of room.”

  “I know. I’ve had different ideas about what to do with it, but I haven’t settled on anything yet.” I pointed to a door at the back of the room, which led to an adjoining room. “In the room behind that door there is a hidden tunnel that connects the two basements. It was used by Al Capone.”

  Mal’s eyes widened. “No kidding?”

  “I swear,” I said.

  “That’s both intriguing and spooky.”

  I gave him a grim smile. “You have no idea. Remind me to tell you the story about that tunnel one of these days.”

  I walked Mal around the room, pointing toward the ceiling in different areas and explaining to him what was above each spot. When I was done, I looked at him and said, “So here’s my big question. I want to put in an elevator, one that will run from here to the first and second floors. How difficult would it be, and am I crazy for even considering the idea?”

  I half expected Mal to bust out laughing and look at me like I was insane. But he didn’t. He arched one eyebrow, his expression intrigued. He scanned the room and pulled at his chin. After a few seconds, he walked over toward the area of the basement that was below part of the dance floor on the first level and the vacant area behind the bar on the second level.

  “This would be the place to put it,” he said. “Can it be done? Absolutely. Are you crazy for thinking of it? Maybe, but to be honest, I think it’s a great idea. Not only could it help your staff, it provides access to the second level for handicapped people.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “That said, it won’t be cheap. It will run you around twenty grand just for the elevator itself, and that doesn’t count retrofitting it in and setting up the necessary mechanicals. And it will require closing off part of your bar on the first floor during the construction.”