“No, but Mr. MacInnes was rather an untidy gentleman, so it would be hard to tell if something were out of place. I hung up some clothing and folded some others. Gathered up the used towels and washed and dried the dirty glasses.”
“How many glasses?” I asked.
“Two.”
I ignored the look Michaelson gave me. “Both used?” I went on.
“Yes, but one was in the bathroom and one on the bedside table. The third one was still clean and by the ice bucket. Didn’t seem like he’d had company, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Who delivered the chocolates to the rooms?” Michaelson said, reclaiming his interview.
“I did, along with Arthur from the mailroom.”
“Did you deliver Mr. MacInnes’s?”
“Yes.”
“And where did you leave them?”
“We were told to leave the boxes on the coffee table along with a card.”
“Was the box there when you came in for turndown?”
“Yes.”
“Had it been opened?”
Sophie paused to consider the question. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you touch anything in the room when you came in this morning?”
“No, sir.”
“Was the window open when you came in last night?”
“No.” Sophie hesitated slightly. “I mean, I couldn’t swear one way or the other. The drapes were already drawn. It’s hard to notice everything. I’m responsible for all the rooms on this floor and the two floors above.” Sophie’s voice was getting sharper and higher. “I know I was running behind a bit, but we’re operating with reduced staff at the moment, and—”
“Right. That’ll do for now,” Michaelson interrupted.
“One other question, Sophie,” I said, speaking over Michaelson’s sigh. “I notice the doors are designed to take both the old-fashioned keys and the key cards. When I checked in, Mr. Larson let me in with a large brass key. Are there brass keys for all the rooms?”
“Not all the rooms. Some have been lost or stolen by now. But most of them, yes. We just don’t often use them because most folks prefer the key cards. Easier to carry round, and if you lose one, they’re easy to replace—you just ask at the front desk and they print you a new one.”
“Which do you use?” Michaelson asked.
“As staff we all have key cards with our own unique number. It’s really just some of the older guests who’ve been coming for years who like the old-fashioned keys. Makes ’em feel special-like. And Mr. Larson uses them when he wants to play the part of the Old World host.”
“Where are the brass keys kept?” I said.
“In Mr. Larson’s office.”
“But most guests use the key cards,” Michaelson reiterated.
Sophie nodded.
“Mr. MacInnes has several cards next to the TV,” I began.
“Do they deactivate old keys?” Michaelson interrupted.
“If you’ve lost it, yes. But if you know where the key is and just locked yourself out, they don’t cancel the old key,” Sophie explained. “You just end up with extras.”
“I noticed the other day you had the door propped open when you were cleaning Mr. MacEwen’s room. Is that usual?”
“Yes, we’re required to.”
“So anyone could walk in.”
“Well, yes, I suppose, but we keep an eye on the door while we’re cleaning.”
You can’t all the time, I thought. Easy enough for someone passing the room to nip in and help themselves to a key. From what we’d seen so far, the security at the Lodge was virtually nonexistent. Sophie was right, the management obviously thought that any danger would come from without and not within.
I escorted Sophie to the door and, as I returned to the room, Liam scooted in behind me. I pointed to the rug by the door and said, “Sit.” Usually he would’ve ignored me, but instead he lay down with a soft whine.
“What now?” I asked Michaelson.
He bagged the glass on the bedside table and then the collection of key cards by the TV.
“Autopsy and a once-over by forensics. And I’ll need to speak to Patrick and then Trevor Simpson again.”
I was painfully aware that Patrick was now more of a potential suspect than ever. The last one in Richard’s room, the last one to see Richard alive, close friends with his brother, and the provider of the chocolates that may well have poisoned a second judge.
I had to wonder how seriously Michaelson was taking the idea of Patrick as a suspect. “Your victims are both judges,” I mused aloud.
“But I don’t believe that’s why they were killed. I might buy accidentally killing Sir Richard over a judging issue,” Michaelson said, dusting the window frame, “but two times is no accident. This was intentional, and it requires a deeper motivation than a whisky contest.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with him about the motive. If Richard was murdered because he’d found out that the contest was rigged, Archie could’ve been killed for the same reason. In theory, that put any judge not participating in the scam at risk, including Patrick. But I was willing to acknowledge that there could be an even stronger motive out there. “If not two judges, maybe two business associates?”
“Better, but still much more likely personal,” Michaelson insisted. “That’s where the real passionate motives come from. No one can piss you off like family and friends.”
I cast a sideways glance at Michaelson. The scowl on his face suggested he spoke from experience, and recent experience at that. But then the implication of his words registered: he was still focused on Trevor.
“Family can be a bugger,” I agreed, “but surely it’s worth looking into the business connections between the two men?”
“I’m looking into the business and personal connections thoroughly. And I appreciate your input on the business and the judging issues, but you need to steer clear of Trevor as a suspect and leave that to me. Especially while Patrick continues to be a peripheral suspect.”
I nodded without conviction. Michaelson was right up to a point, but it wasn’t going to stop me from digging around.
I heard a sound and looked over in time to see Liam edging toward the plate of kippers. “Don’t you dare. That’s evidence.”
“I told you to keep that damn dog out of here.”
Liam dodged my attempt to grab his collar and slipped between the settee and the coffee table. I heard a loud crackling noise even over my own pleas for cooperation, and Liam bent his head to sniff, retrieving a cellophane wrapper from the floor.
“Drop it,” Michaelson scolded loudly. Liam shrunk back in surprise, depositing the plastic wrap on the floor at his feet.
Michaelson picked the item up with a gloved hand and examined it before bagging it as evidence.
“Do you think it was the wrap from the box of chocolates?”
“Could be.”
“Why would the killer leave it here?”
“Maybe didn’t notice, maybe didn’t think it mattered. I’ll have it dusted for prints, though not sure we’ll get much from it other than dog saliva.”
“Sorry.”
Michaelson extended an arm, sweeping Liam and me toward the door. “That’s enough for now. Get me those pictures as soon as you can.”
“What else can I do to help?”
“Stay out of trouble and stay close to Patrick.”
“To protect him?”
“To make sure he has a decent alibi going forward.”
Chapter 11
I headed slowly back to our room to break the news to Patrick. I didn’t know which was worse, telling him he was even more of a suspect or telling him he was even more of a potential victim. Either way, it was bad news.
I let myself in quietly and found Patrick getting dressed
.
“You were up and out early,” he said.
“Not by design,” I said quietly. “There’s been another death.”
Patrick’s hands fell from his tie as he sank down onto the settee by his side. “Who is it this time?” he said, staring at me in disbelief.
“Archie MacInnes.” I watched a parade of emotions slide across his face. Grief, anger, and finally apprehension. I hated to pile it on, but I needed to warn Patrick. “It looks like he’d been eating the whisky truffles.”
“The Journal’s truffles?”
I nodded grimly.
Patrick got to his feet and started pacing. “And Michaelson thinks they were poisoned?”
“He won’t know till he gets the toxicology report, but it seems like a good bet.”
“Shit.” I could tell Patrick was frightened, and so was I. “What about all the rest of the boxes?” he asked.
“They’re being pulled from the guest rooms.”
Patrick looked like someone had just punched him in the gut. “Who would do something like this?”
“Why would they do it?” I countered.
Patrick continued to pace. “A second judge,” he pointed out, just as I had.
“Two old friends with a lot of history,” I countered. “Michaelson knows the connections between Richard and Trevor; now he wants to know what may have been going on between Archie and Trevor.”
“For a fleeting second there, I thought it might make him give up on Trevor,” Patrick sighed. “I mean, why would Trevor want to kill Archie? He’s like a second big brother to him. Michaelson’s barking up the wrong tree, I’m sure of it.”
“Is he? Mrs. Easton saw you in Archie’s room yesterday with Trevor. She heard an argument going on. What was that about?”
Patrick placed a hand on his head and sat back down.
“That bad?”
“Yeah. But I still say it isn’t Trevor,” Patrick insisted. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone Richard and Archie. I know I have no real proof, but you have to believe me.”
“I want to believe you, but if not him, then who?”
“I don’t know.” Patrick groaned.
“So tell me about this argument. Is there some way to explain it away?”
“You have to understand that Archie and Trevor were both very fond of Richard. They each looked up to him in their own way. There was some jealousy and they had little rows all the time, but it didn’t mean anything.”
“Michaelson isn’t going to go for that.”
“I know.” Patrick looked strained. “It all goes back to when Richard helped Archie sell the family distillery to Central Spirits about seven years ago. Central had been after Edenburn’s for years, because Edenburn produced the main component in several of Central’s blended malts, and they were keen to control the output.”
Patrick was a bundle of nervous energy, compulsively stacking and restacking the coasters on the table in front of him. “When Archie was finally ready to sell, Richard negotiated a heck of a deal for him. Including options on a significant number of shares in Central for Archie so he could stay involved with the whisky business even after selling his family business. But when the time came to exercise the options, Archie couldn’t afford to buy the full allotment, so he went to Richard. Richard fronted the money and Archie bought the shares. After the sale was finalized, Archie transferred half the shares to Richard.”
I was starting to get impatient. “What does all that have to do with Trevor?”
“That’s where yesterday’s argument comes in. Archie knew that Richard’s will left most of his property and assets to Trevor as his only living relative, but Richard had promised to leave the shares of Central stock to Archie, as they were meant to be his originally. The shares are now worth quite a bit.”
“And Trevor knew this?”
“I don’t know if he was aware before, but he knows now. Archie was telling him yesterday that he couldn’t do anything with the shares for the first thirty days after Richard’s death.”
“I presume Archie was to get the shares as long as he survived Richard by at least thirty days,” I said thoughtfully. That had been the condition of my own inheritance when it came to Abbey Glen. It’d been enough to inspire me to suspect Grant of trying to bump me off early on. Had Trevor been desperate enough to try to get rid of Archie to gain control of the shares? “What did Trevor have to say?”
“Basically, ‘Don’t treat me like a child. I’m not touching your bloody shares.’ There was a bit of puffing and blowing, and then Trevor took off. He’s still shaken up by Richard’s death. It’s been a lot for him to take in.”
“Whew. Hard to explain that one away. You have to tell Michaelson, but it looks terrible for Trevor, especially if he gets the Central shares now that Archie’s dead.”
“I know.” Patrick picked up a bottle of whisky from the table in front of him, poured a shot into his empty teacup, and downed it in one go. He was trying to keep it together, but I could tell he was losing his natural equilibrium.
“What about an alibi for you? Where were you from the time you handed over the boxes of chocolate to the concierge yesterday and now?”
Patrick ran his hands through his hair. “You know, I’ve hardly had a minute to myself.”
“That’s good, then.”
“I was with one or the other of the judges all day,” Patrick said, ticking his movements off on his fingers. “I came up here to get changed for dinner and I was with you.”
“Did anyone see you come up here?”
“I walked up with Grant.”
“Perfect.”
“Then I was with you when we went down to dinner.”
“What about after you left me in the lobby bar?”
“Followed Archie and Trev to the club. I took the shuttle over like you said. The driver should remember me.”
“What about after?”
“Came back with Archie and Trev and then came to bed.”
“Came back with the victim and the other suspect. Not your best alibi there.”
“Guess not, but it’s the truth.”
“I know.” I sighed. “It would have been easier if you’d had a rock-solid alibi, but we’ll just have to come up with something else. Michaelson wants solid evidence, not just my intuition. We need a motive for these killings that doesn’t involve you or Trevor.”
“I feel so useless. What can I do to help?”
I walked over and gave Patrick a hug. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something. You’re my master hacker. Start by seeing what else you can dig up on Richard and Archie’s recent business dealings. This Edenburn deal, and anything else they were involved in together—successes, failures, lawsuits, the works. And look at who Richard might have run over to get to where he is now and see if any of them are a part of the whisky brotherhood.”
“Right.” Patrick looked relieved to have something concrete to do.
“No chance someone has a specific beef against you and Hinata?” I mused. “After all, it was your products that were laced with poison.”
“Anything’s possible, but I don’t see why. And if so, some or all of the rest of the bottles and presumably truffles would also contain poison. Did they?”
“So far none of the bottles, but they’re still checking.”
“What else?”
I wracked my brain looking for other potential connections between Archie and Richard other than friendship and the sale of Archie’s family distillery. On a whim I asked, “Would Hugh Ashworth-Jones have been on the board of directors of Central when Archie sold Edenburn?”
Patrick thought for a moment. “Yes, that would have been during his tenure.”
“Seems an odd coincidence that three out of our five judges were involved in the Edenburn deal in one w
ay or another. Why don’t you see what you can find out about Hugh’s role in that deal.”
Patrick reached for his phone.
“You still keeping an eye on Mark Findley and Gordon Craig?” I asked.
“Much as I can. They’ve been hanging out in the tasting room for the most part, but I did see them having lunch with Hugh yesterday.”
“Interesting. What about last night? Did they show up at the golf club bar?”
“Yes, all the judges were there plus the folks from the Society, but they were all playing nice under the circumstances. Suddenly no one had a bad word to say about Richard and his views. You know how it is, the dead are always saints, at least in a large group.”
“Hm. I was afraid of that.”
I heard a noise in the bathroom and went in to find Liam vomiting on the memory foam bath mat.
Patrick looked disgusted. “That’s what happens when you let him drink too much whisky.”
“I didn’t let him. He was led astray by your lot.”
I placed a hand on Liam’s nose. It was warm and dry. Not a good sign. More than that, he looked quite miserable, not his usual self at all. I’d have to keep a better eye on him.
Patrick went to answer a knock at the door while I mopped up Liam’s mess. The joys of being a dog mom.
I could hear Michaelson’s voice from the other room and went in to join the conversation just in time to hear him ask, “Where were you last night after dinner?”
Patrick was perched on the arm of the settee, looking uncomfortable. “I had a coffee with Abi in the lobby bar before going over to the Aerie to help plan a tribute to Richard Simpson along with some of his friends, including Archie MacInnes. About twelve thirty I walked back with Archie and Trevor and went to bed.”
“Are you sure?” I interrupted. “Not earlier?”
“No, at least twelve thirty, maybe closer to one o’clock.”
Michaelson looked at me. “Why do you ask?”
I felt silly explaining that I’d jumped off the lift on the wrong floor carrying a dog, but it had put me outside Archie’s room right at midnight. “Someone was in there,” I said, “and it seems pretty clear it wasn’t Archie.”
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