A Toast to Murder

by Allyson K. Abbott

  “I understand why you’re worried,” I said. “But what good is it going to do to bring the police in at this point? None of the evidence we’ve collected is usable, so what are they going to do? They can’t arrest Suzanne Collier. We don’t even know for sure that she’s the one behind it. All of the evidence we have is circumstantial, correct?” It was a rhetorical question, and as such, I didn’t give Mal time to answer. “And even if we assume we’re right about Suzanne, there’s still the second person to consider.” I shook my head, frowning. “We need a better plan, Mal. We need to figure out a way to expose who’s behind this once and for all. And I have an idea about how we may be able to do that.”

  He eyed me with a mix of worry and skepticism . . . and maybe a hint of hope. “What have you got in mind?”

  Chapter 20

  As I explained my idea to Mal, we went into my office to drop off our newly acquired evidence and shed our coats. I thought Mal would buy into my idea right away, but he had some reservations. “I don’t know, Mack, it seems dangerous. There’s so much that could go wrong.”

  “Have you got any better ideas?”

  He didn’t, and after a few seconds of pouting, he admitted it. “I think we should run it by Duncan,” Mal said. “And update him on this latest note.”

  “I tried to call him yesterday and got his voice mail. I asked him to call me back, but he hasn’t yet. I’m not sure he wants to talk to me.”

  “Do you want me to call him?”

  “Would you?”

  He made the call on his cell, using the speakerphone option so I could hear. Duncan answered on the second ring, confirming my suspicion that it was me he didn’t want to talk to.

  “I’ve got Mack here with me on speaker,” Mal informed Duncan.

  “Oh, good. Hey, Mack, I was just about to call you.”

  I didn’t believe him, but his voice tasted sincere, and then he offered up an explanation that seemed reasonable, so I was forced to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “I left my cell phone at home yesterday,” he said, “and didn’t leave the station until this morning. And then I had to charge it because the battery was dead. I just listened to your message a few minutes ago.”

  “No harm done,” I said, feeling a twinge of relief. Things would no doubt still be strained between us after our last conversation, but at least he hadn’t written me off completely.

  “Mack and I followed up on another clue today,” Mal said. “I’m afraid things have taken a turn with this letter writer. There was no clue this time, just a note saying Mack had broken the rules and would now pay for it.”

  “Damn,” Duncan muttered. “I think it’s safe to assume that the letter writer saw the article in the paper. I’m so sorry, Mack.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’m tired of being pushed around and bullied by Suzanne Collier and whoever is working with her. We need to bring this situation to a close.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Mal said, “our latest clue was buried in the dirt at The Domes. Apparently, they’re falling apart, and Suzanne Collier is part of a committee formed to support and save the structures. So we have another connection to her.”

  “A connection isn’t proof,” Duncan grumbled. “Did you guys preserve the items for evidentiary processing?”

  “As best we could,” Mal said. “But I think we all know the odds of finding anything are slim to none. I think it’s going to take a different approach to bring some closure to this case, and along those lines, Mack has an idea.”

  “Lay it on me,” Duncan said. “At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

  Mal proceeded to fill him in on my plan, with me adding in bits where needed. We also told him about my discussion with the members of the Capone Club and my employees to inform them of the letter writer situation.

  “We managed to rule out a couple of people,” I said. “But our list of possible secondary suspects is still pretty long, and we’re no closer to figuring out who it might be. That’s assuming we’re right about it being someone from that list. Given the contents of this last letter, I feel like we have to make a move of some sort.”

  Duncan said, “There are a lot of problems with this plan, but I get why you want to do it, Mack. And it might finally bring things to a close.” He paused and sighed heavily. “I say we go ahead with it. I’ll take care of things on my end. In the meantime, can you stay there with Mack for now, Mal?”

  “Not a problem at all. I already told her I would. And I’ve also told her she needs to stay in the bar until we can implement this plan.”

  “That’s good,” Duncan said, “though she’s just stubborn enough not to do what you tell her.”

  Having the two of them talk about me like I wasn’t in the room annoyed me.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got Mack covered,” Mal said, finally acknowledging me with a wink. “I’m going to be hanging around here anyway because I’ve taken on a construction project that we’re starting today.”

  “Yes, Mack told me. You’re putting in an elevator. I think it’s a great idea.”

  Mal glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a bunch of guys I know coming by to help with the demolition this afternoon,” he said. “You’re welcome to join us. Destruction can be very therapeutic.”

  “Tempting, but I can’t,” Duncan said. “Have a good whack at something for me.”

  “Will do,” Mal said.

  “Mal, I have one more favor to ask of you,” Duncan said.

  “Fire away.”

  “Can you let Mack have your phone, and give us a few minutes of privacy?”

  “Sure.” He handed me his phone and said, “I’ll be out at the bar. Is it okay if I let my guys in when they get here if you’re still tied up?”

  “Of course.”

  I waited until Mal was gone and the door had closed behind him. “Okay, I’m alone,” I said.

  “I want to talk to you about what happened the other day, about our discussion.”

  “Okay.” I said this tentatively, not sure where it was going to go.

  “I’ve given it some thought, and you were right. Courtney is a problem, one I’ve turned a blind eye to up until now. In fact, I think you may have been on to something when you said we should consider her a suspect. I know she is friends with the Collier family, and she certainly has the motive for specifying me in those letters.”

  “I agree. So what do we do about it?”

  “I will make it very clear to her that she and I are done, and insist that she stop contacting me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I don’t want to do it right away.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed in frustration.

  “I think we should involve her in your plan.”

  This was an interesting twist, I thought. “How?”

  He told me what he had in mind.

  “It might work,” I admitted. “I can’t say I like the idea of being around her, but if it will help clear things up, then I say we go for it.”

  “Consider it done. Keep your fingers crossed that it will work.”

  “It has to,” I said. “I’m so sick and tired of being manipulated.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Duncan said, “Are you and I okay, Mack? I’ve felt awful about the fight we had. Things have been so stressful between the two of us, between job demands and this damned letter writer thing.”

  “I think we need to sit down and talk some things through once we get past all this,” I said. “But for now, we’re okay. Let’s focus on resolving this situation once and for all. Then we can pick up the pieces and move on from there.”

  “Fair enough. In the meantime, stay safe and listen to Mal. Don’t go doing anything rash or stupid.”

  “Are you calling me stupid?” I said in a teasing tone.

  “No, I’m just scared to death of something happening to you. You mean the world to me, Mack. I know I haven’t been around much lately, and things have been
less than ideal, but I want you to know that. I need you to know that.”

  “Thank you, Duncan. I needed to hear that.”

  “So we’re good?”

  “We’re good. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I ended the call and went out to the main part of the bar to find Mal. He was sitting at a table with four other guys, and there was an assortment of pickaxes and sledgehammers on the floor beside them. Mal waved me over.

  I handed him back his phone and then took a closer look at his destruction crew. They were dressed in jeans, work boots, and an assortment of shirts, most of which looked grungy. One of the guys was wearing a do-rag on his head; another was covered with tattoos. They were a scary, motley-looking bunch.

  “Meet your destruction crew, Mack,” Mal said. He went around the table and introduced each of the men to me. “They’re ready to go. Shall we?”

  They all rose from their seats and grabbed their tools, and Mal led them into the newer section of the bar and toward the basement stairs. He opened the door to the stairs and directed the men below.

  As soon as they were all down there, Mal said, “This demolition stuff is fun. Want to try it?”

  I gave him a hesitant shake of my head. “I don’t know anything about construction,” I said.

  “This isn’t about construction; it’s about destruction,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Whole different animal. Go on down.” I negotiated the stairs carefully and slowly with my crutches. When we reached the bottom, Mal gave a brief outline of what had to come down. Then he pointed toward a cinder-block wall and told the guys to “have at it.” Moments later the deafening sound of metal hitting concrete echoed through the basement. Each bang filled my mouth with a metallic taste, not unlike blood.

  We watched them go at it for a few minutes, and then Mal steered me over to one end of the wall, where a fellow named Robbie had created a large hole. Mal stepped behind me and slipped his hands beneath my armpits, shoving my crutches away.

  “I’m going to hold you up,” he said. “Robbie, hand her your sledgehammer.” Robbie did so, and I winced at the weight of the thing. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall or put too much weight on that bad leg,” Mal said. “You swing that thing as hard as you can toward that hole in the wall.”

  Mal’s hands on the sides of my chest felt strong and secure. I gave the hammer a tentative underhand swing toward the wall, just to get a feel for it. It hit the wall and bounced back, sending a resounding jolt up my arm. But it also left a chipped area in the cinder block.

  I took a moment to prepare, reviewing all the things in my life of late that had upset or irritated or angered me: my father’s death, Ginny’s death, the betrayal of someone I had once trusted, the letter writer, Lewis’s and Gary’s deaths, and the recent issues with Duncan and Courtney. As I mentally ticked off each item, I could feel my frustration and anger build. At the peak of this crescendo, I flexed my arm muscles, braced my shoulders, hoisted the sledgehammer over my head, and brought it down hard into the hole.

  This time I was more prepared for the jolt, though I felt it all the way down to my toes. With it, a hazy window of cracked glass appeared around my field of vision. My effort had knocked a satisfyingly large chunk of cinder block loose from the wall, and the piece tumbled out toward me. In an instant, Mal lifted me up and out of the way. He set me back down a couple of feet away, and the chunk of wall plodded to a stop inches from my feet.

  I stood and stared at it a moment, feeling a grin start to spread across my face. My body tingled from the jolt of the hammer against the wall, and the cracked glass visual began to shimmer, growing brighter.

  “Want to do it again?” Mal’s voice was warm in my ear, close and soft.

  I nodded and felt his hands tighten their grip as he lifted me again and placed me within striking distance of the wall. Once again, I lofted the hammer and swung it, with the same satisfying results.

  Four swings later, my arms were shaking from the effort, my muscles protesting. Over the years, I’d managed to develop some decent biceps and triceps, hauling around heavy liquor cartons, beer kegs, and fountain canisters. But this, fun as it was, was more than my arm muscles were used to. I let the hammer hang at my side, leaning back against Mal.

  “I’m done,” I said, a bit breathless from my efforts.

  “It’s a great release, isn’t it?” Robbie said with a crooked smile.

  “It is,” I agreed with a big, tired smile. I held out the hammer to Robbie. “I’ll trade you this for my crutches.”

  Robbie gathered them up from where they had fallen on the floor and held them out to me with one hand while taking the hammer with the other. Once I had my crutches tucked back under my arms where they were supposed to be, Mal let me go. My body felt conspicuously cold where his hands had been, and I was vibrating from the muscle exertions and hammer blows.

  I turned and gave Mal an appreciative, grateful smile. “Thank you for letting me do that,” I said. “It was surprisingly relaxing in a violent, damaging kind of way.”

  “It’s good to let go every once in a while,” he said.

  “Indeed,” I agreed with a satisfied smile. “I’ll leave your guys to their fun now, but let them know they can have whatever they want to eat or drink on the house. Just be careful they don’t get drunk and start destroying stuff we need to keep.”

  Mal arched one roguish eyebrow at me. “We’ll try to contain our enthusiasm,” he said with a wink. “And I won’t let them have any alcohol until the job is done for the night. Thanks for the offer. I know they’ll appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I started to head up the stairs, but Mal grabbed my arm, halting me. “Listen, Mack,” he said, “I would feel a lot better down here if I knew you were safe in your apartment.”

  “I won’t go outside the bar, but I’m not going to hide away in my apartment. The doors are locked for now, and I don’t think anyone will try anything in the midst of the bar crowd later.”

  Mal frowned at this, but nodded, no doubt knowing that further argument would be a waste of his time and breath.

  Feeling exhausted yet oddly refreshed mentally, I crutched my way over to the stairs and climbed them back to the first floor. Just before I closed the door after I reached the top, I heard a loud grunt from below accompanied by a resounding crunch. I then recognized Mal’s chocolate-flavored voice utter a milky-smooth “Oh, yeah.”

  The work of the men in the basement was evident not only from the noise they were making, but from the vibrations that could be felt in the floor and walls. I busied myself making signs to post around the bar explaining and apologizing for the noise and mess created by the construction.

  My staff showed up between four and five—Debra, Billy, Rich, and Linda. Linda was her usual friendly but mousy self, with no hint of the anger she had expressed during our phone call. I informed her and Rich about the New Year’s Eve party plans, and they both said they would be happy to attend. But Linda did express a reservation.

  “So I won’t be working that night?” she said.

  “No.”

  “I was looking forward to that money.”

  “Would it help if I told you I have bonuses planned for all of you?” I asked her.

  “You do?” she said, her eyes wide.

  I nodded. “It should more than make up for any money you lose by not working.”

  “Then count me in,” she said.

  We opened the doors at five, and in typical fashion, Cora, Joe, and Frank showed up minutes later. They were eager to sit by the warmth of the fire, so they headed up for the Capone Club room right away. Others trickled in over the next couple of hours, including several members of the club. I wasn’t sure who was going to come back after last night’s revelations, and wouldn’t have been surprised if most of them had stayed away, so I was glad to see several of them had returned.

  I avoided the Capone Club room for most of the evening, though I knew who was up there be
cause I had either seen them come in or Cora had texted me to keep me informed. Carter, Sam, Holly, Alicia, Dr. T, Kevin, and Stephen McGregor had all shown up and gone to the room to join the brothers and Cora. Apparently, the letter writer hadn’t scared any of them into hiding, but, not surprisingly, Greg and Sonja were both no-shows. And since Nick and Tyrese had worked the night shift, I figured they were sleeping and would come in later.

  Cora texted me to let me know she had talked to Tiny about the need to establish an alibi for the time of Lewis’s death, and he had told her he was at work pulling overtime and had shown her his paycheck and time card to prove it.

  One more name crossed off the list.

  Since Dr. T was here and hadn’t been the night before, I did head upstairs toward the end of the night to talk to her, feeling I owed her the respect of telling her face to face. Not surprisingly, the others had already clued her in, so I offered her the same apology I’d offered all the others and asked her if she had any questions. She asked if she could speak to me in private.

  Curious, I agreed, and the two of us stepped out of the room and went into the other room I had upstairs, one I used for large group rentals on occasion or for overflow seating on busy nights. It had been closed for the past week.

  Once inside, she said, “Do you have a suspect in mind for who’s behind this letter thing?”

  I nodded. “All the evidence we have is circumstantial at this point, and I’m not sure this particular person is the one behind it, though there are a lot of things pointing to it.”

  “Do you think it’s someone from the Capone Club?” she asked.

  I gave her a small look of surprise. “Interesting that you asked that,” I said. “We have reason to suspect that there are actually two people involved because the primary suspect couldn’t have killed Lewis Carmichael. We considered the possibility of a hired gun, of course, but some things have happened that make us think the second person might be someone from the group.”

  “I assume you have a list of suspects?”

  “I do.”

  “Am I on it?”