Deadly Dram

by Melinda Mullet

  “He’s a friend of a friend,” I snapped, my voice rising in irritation. Liam moved to my side again in a gesture of solidarity. “Besides, this isn’t just a gut reaction. There’s plenty of logic behind my position.” I stood there defiantly counting off my points on my fingers. “One, if Trevor wanted to get rid of his brother, he could’ve killed him at any time. Why here and now with all these people around? Two, if he’d planned this crime in advance, he would’ve had a better alibi for the times in question, and three, there’s no way he’d have left an incriminating vial of vape liquid in his own room.”

  “All good points,” Michaelson conceded, “and I will be taking a good look at Bruce Keenan today, but until I can prove it’s not Trevor, he remains a person of interest.”

  I was tired and my nerves were frayed. “I’m no inspector,” I fumed, “but it can’t only be about DNA and fingerprints and hard data. You have to give instincts and feelings their fair due. I accept that Trevor could’ve killed his brother. Greed is a strong motive—we all feel greed. The question is: Do we act on it? My gut says he wouldn’t. Facts and feelings. You need both.”

  “You aren’t allowed to have feelings in this business,” Michaelson said, the intensity of his voice rising to match my own. “Professional or personal.” I could see the anger seething beneath the surface. “You can’t get close to people, and you sure as hell can’t have any kind of normal life. Kids, birthdays, friends—they all get swept away in the flood.” Michaelson paced around the bathroom, his hand subconsciously covering his mouth as if to force back the words that had escaped.

  I felt as if I was really seeing Michaelson as a human being for the first time. It was the middle of the night and we were both displaying our true selves for a change. Not the polite, composed faces we assumed in the light of day.

  I’d really only ever interacted with his professional persona. The part of him that was unwavering in his pursuit of crime. I thought back over the past few days. He’d been distracted and irritable, and it wasn’t just this case. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in what was happening around me, I would have noticed sooner.

  “Being a policeman is a thankless and lonely job,” I said, abandoning my aggressive tone. “It’s not my place to judge.”

  The silence stretched on between us as Michaelson visibly struggled to regain his composure.

  “What did you miss tonight?” I asked softly.

  “My daughter’s fourteenth birthday,” he said finally. The bitterness came through loud and clear. “I was supposed to take her to dinner, but instead she sat home alone while I was stuck at the station questioning a suspect till gone eleven. And just as I was about to head home to try to talk my way out of yet another screwup, I got called back here.”

  I had no idea what to say to this outburst, but I had a feeling it had been brewing for some time. A simple “I’m sorry” seemed inadequate, but it was the best I could come up with.

  “So am I,” Michaelson said quietly. The storm passed as quickly as it had come.

  “It’s the same with any job where you make a difference,” I pointed out. “You pay a price. It’s one I’ve paid for years. At least you have a family. I never even had one to disappoint.” Other than Ben, I thought.

  Michaelson had a daughter, but I noticed no mention of a wife. Was he a single father? I had no idea. We’d been together in stressful times so often this year, and yet I’d paid no attention to the man behind the badge.

  “Most days it doesn’t feel like I make a difference,” Michaelson said wearily.

  “For what it’s worth, I think you do.”

  Michaelson roughly stowed his gear back in the backpack he carried and said, “When Patrick returns from the hospital, I want the two of you to stay in this room. Don’t eat or drink anything that you didn’t get from a trusted source, and for God’s sake, keep your heads down.”

  I didn’t want to risk getting him worked up again. “We’ll behave,” I promised.

  Chapter 17

  I watched the clock turn to four a.m. as Michaelson left to pursue his inquiries. I climbed into bed, but I couldn’t even think about sleeping, so I sat up stroking Liam’s head, waiting for Patrick to return.

  Michaelson had said he would be taking a closer look at Keenan later today. At least he’d agreed, even if it hadn’t fully exonerated Trevor. But Trevor was out of the running now, as far as I was concerned. The points I made to Michaelson had registered with my subconscious mind but hadn’t spilled out until I was forced to rationalize my position. But it made me realize that there was a logical underpinning to my gut feelings about Trevor, and others, even if I wasn’t always able to articulate them immediately.

  A soft knock at the door pulled me out of my own head, and I padded across the carpet to check the peephole. Mrs. Easton stood outside with a tray.

  I opened the door and she swept in.

  “The inspector asked me to come up and check on you,” she said.

  Michaelson must have realized how distressed I was about Grant, and in his own way he was showing concern. I appreciated the gesture.

  “I thought you might like a cuppa if you were still awake.” Mrs. Easton set the heavy tray on the desk and carried the teapot and a cup over to the table by the fire. “What a wretched few days you’ve had, lass. What must you think of us?”

  I hesitated slightly over the cup she handed me.

  She patted my shoulder. “Not to worry. I made it myself, dear. Just like the inspector asked. No one else has touched it.”

  “Please come join me,” I said, sitting down on the settee and curling my feet up underneath me to keep warm. Liam left the bed and came to settle next to the two of us, hoping for a late-night snack.

  I took a sip of the tea and let the sweet warmth run through me and chase away the chill. Poor Mrs. Easton. Her job was as bad as Michaelson’s. Always on call. “Do you ever get to go home?” I asked.

  “This is home,” she said with a smile. “It’s the best and the worst part of the job. I have a small flat here on the property. Never know when I’ll be needed, so it only makes sense.”

  “You never get away from the job, then, do you?”

  “Not really, but I don’t mind.” Mrs. Easton brushed an invisible speck of dust off the settee. “I’ve been a widow since I was quite a young woman, and this job has become my life.”

  “No children?” I asked cautiously.

  Mrs. Easton shook her head and looked down at her hands.

  I could sense the sadness that lingered around her like an aura. No husband, no children, even the dog was gone. “Have you lived around here all your life?” I asked.

  “No, I grew up in England, near Dover, but after my husband passed I decided I needed a change. A real change. We’d come up to Scotland for our honeymoon.” Mrs. Easton had a faraway look, and her eyes filled with tears. “We had such happy times here,” she said. She drifted off into her own memories for a moment before coming back to me. “I decided to come back up here and try to find a new life. Didn’t know what I was going to do when I came, but I landed on my feet. Took a job with the Lodge and twenty-six years later I’m still here.”

  “Can’t have been all bad if you stayed that long.”

  “Worked my way up from Sophie’s level to head of housekeeping,” Mabel Easton said with pride. “I have a lovely place to live, a good job, and over the years the staff has become like family to me. I’ve watched them meet, and marry, and have kids of their own.” She pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jacket and dabbed her eyes. “I suppose that’s why all of this is so distressing. It’s as if someone is out to damage our family reputation.”

  We sat for a few minutes watching the fire burn, both lost in our own thoughts but glad for the silent warmth of companionship.

  Mrs. Easton probably knew Sophie better than most. The
circumstantial evidence was heavily against her, but it didn’t jive with my sense of Sophie. My instinct said she wasn’t the type to be led astray, but Mrs. Easton would probably be a better judge. “What can you tell me about Sophie?” I asked.

  “Sophie? Well, she’s a hard worker, that’s for sure. She never gets much of a break. She and Ethel were the only two maids here midweek. We try to give the rest of the staff a bit of time off when we have two crazy weekends in a row, but Sophie always wants the hours. I made her go home at eight last night. She was exhausted, but she’s due back in another couple of hours.”

  “Is Sophie from around here?”

  “Her people are from up near Inverness. Her mum and dad run a B&B up there, but her sister lives close by, in Stirling.”

  “It must be tough to live on your own on a maid’s wages,” I said, thinking of the down payment Sophie had made recently on the cottage. Maybe she and her sister were planning to get a place together.

  “They pay well here, better than most, but it’s no fortune, that’s for sure. Sophie shares a flat in the village with three of the other girls who work in the spa. It’s the best way to make ends meet for the young ones.”

  “What does her sister do?”

  “Some kind of social worker, I believe. I remember Sophie mentioning that she got an award for something not long ago.”

  So the sister wasn’t a big wage earner either. I poured myself another cup of tea, disappointed that there was no easy explanation for Sophie’s largesse.

  “I was so sorry to hear about Mr. MacEwen’s accident,” Mrs. Easton said with a sad shake of the head. “Is there any more news?”

  “He’s stable.” I didn’t want to alarm Mrs. Easton or engender any more gossip. “They’re doing some more tests now, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.” I raised a fervent prayer as the words crossed my lips.

  “Poor man,” she clucked.

  I nodded, stifling a yawn.

  “Well, I’ll let you get some sleep now. You and wee man curl up under the duvet and try to get some rest. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Easton. You are truly a treasure.”

  * * *

  —

  An hour later I was dead on my feet but still couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing. Was this the vengeance of a copycat from the whisky competition angry that I’d helped to shut down a cheating scam, or a killer frightened that I was getting too close to the truth. I could see irate whisky nationalists wanting to get back at me, but I couldn’t see them being able to design and execute a scheme to plant poison in my room at such short notice. Whoever did this had the tools at hand, and already had a means for entering guest rooms. I was sure of it. I’d been targeted tonight because I was getting too close to the killer, and the person I was pursuing was Keenan.

  Cam had eyes on Keenan for most of the evening, so it was unlikely he’d entered our room himself. It would be much simpler to have enlisted his accomplice. Could Joey have found our room, entered, and made it back down to return the key to the office without Norman seeing by nine fifteen when I got to the front desk? It would be tough but not impossible. Easier still for Sophie to go in while she was cleaning, and she was the one with an unexplained source of income of late.

  I looked at Liam lying next to me. He’d been in the room alone tonight. He’d have barked the place down if a stranger came in. Someone would surely have heard and complained. But if whoever entered the room was someone he knew and trusted—he wouldn’t bark then. My heart sank. I was weary and frankly unable to determine at this point whether my instincts about Sophie and Joey were sound or whether I simply just didn’t want them to be guilty.

  Liam lifted his head at the sound of a card in the door. Patrick staggered in, kicked off his shoes, and crawled between the sheets fully clothed.

  “How’s Grant?” I demanded.

  “Stable, but they’ve put him into an induced coma to give the swelling a chance to go down,” Patrick said wearily.

  A chill passed over me. “A coma? That’s serious.”

  Patrick raised a weary hand. “It’s just a precaution for the next day or so. They can bring him round when they want, but it’ll give his body a chance to heal in a less stressful way.”

  I buried my face in my hands. “I feel like I dumped him in it all over again.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Who knew he’d run out of toothpaste and end up borrowing yours? It was just a freak accident.”

  I ran my hands through my hair, pulling it back from my face. “That toothpaste was meant for me.”

  “But why?”

  “Michaelson thinks I got too nosy and the killer came after me.”

  Patrick pushed up on one elbow and looked at me. “You have been asking a lot of questions. Maybe you should back off for a bit. Leave the police to do their job.”

  “You’re the one who asked me to help prove your innocence and Trevor’s. Speaking of which, the only good news from tonight is that Michaelson’s ruled you out as a suspect.”

  “Thank God,” Patrick said, covering his face with his hands. I could tell that the police suspicions had been more stressful than he admitted. “Is Keenan the number one suspect now?”

  “As far as I’m concerned.”

  “Then back off and let Michaelson work.”

  “You know I can’t let this go. Besides, I’m on my guard now. I’ll be fine,” I said dismissively. “If you want to help, can you reach out to that friend of yours at Scotland Yard and see what he can find on Bruce Keenan as well as anything we might have missed on Richard, Archie, and Hugh? While you’re at it, have him run a quick check on our friends Sophie and Joey.”

  “Sure. Can it wait till the morning?”

  I leaned forward and fixed my eyes on Patrick. “We’re fast running out of time,” I reminded him. “It’s Friday already. The final day and night of the competition. If Keenan is the killer, he was thrown off pace last night by our interference. If I’m right and he is after the three key players in the Edenburn deal, he has one more night here and one more victim to go—Hugh Ashworth-Jones. If we have any hope of stopping him, we need to hit the ground running first thing in the morning.”

  Patrick rolled over and reached for his phone. “Alright, I’ll send Matthew a text.”

  “Did you give Brenna a lift back here?” I asked, watching him type.

  “No. She stayed. She was dozing on the couch in the waiting room when I left.” Patrick put his phone back on the charger. “You should try and get some sleep yourself. There’s nothing you can do until the morning.”

  Patrick collapsed back on the bed and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I lay awake listening to Liam’s soft breathing next to me until the first light of morning crept over the horizon. I couldn’t wait to get moving, and I knew one person who’d be up at this ungodly hour.

  * * *

  —

  Liam was enjoying his luxury vacation more than the rest of us, but for a change he was less than enthusiastic about walking out in the snowy slush. I could see his mind turning back to the warm duvet and the soft bed he’d been yanked out of so rudely. As we crunched along the path to the kennels, our breath streamed out behind us in soft clouds like puffs of cigarette smoke. It made me think of nicotine. Such a simple and readily available substance, and yet so potentially deadly. Two lives gone and another standing on the brink. I picked up my pace.

  It was still painfully early when we arrived at the academy, but the dogs were already frisking around in the outdoor run. That should mean that Joey was here. I sent Liam through the gate and he joined the pack, happily running and jumping over the training obstacles. I tried the door to the kennels and it opened easily. It was the first time I’d been all the way inside the building. The door from the outside opened into a mudroom with two faucets and shallow d
rain pans for washing off muddy pups. Beyond the mudroom was a large, open space with two rows of stable-like quarters on either side. Each dog’s place had a water bowl and a large plaid cushion. Their names, inscribed in chalk on a board mounted to the front of the wooden gate, all hailed from Norse mythology. Balder and Odin were in their rooms. Their gray muzzles told of advancing age, but they both looked up and wagged hopefully as I passed.

  I continued down the hallway toward what I hoped would be the office. The door was ajar, and when I entered I saw Joey, his back to me, locked in an embrace with a woman whose face I couldn’t see. Obviously not the right moment for company. I started to back away, and with my usual grace ran into the doorframe with a thud. The noise startled the couple, and they broke apart as if they’d been doused with cold water. Sophie stood, looking back at me, her face crimson, her eyes wide.

  It took me a second to process what I was seeing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said.

  Joey grabbed me by the shoulder, pulled me in, and closed the door behind me.

  “Are you alone?”

  “Just Liam,” I replied, wondering if I should be nervous.

  “Please, please don’t tell anyone,” Sophie whispered desperately. “We’ll both be fired, and we really can’t afford to lose our jobs right now.”

  Was Sophie panicked by seeing me up and around, or was it merely the stress of being caught with Joey? “It’s nobody’s business but yours,” I said. “No one at the hotel will hear about this from me.”

  Joey looked flustered. “Usually no one’s around here this early in the morning. Just me and the dogs, but Soph was upset.” He paused. “Was there something you needed?”

  I had come down full of purpose, but now I wasn’t sure what to say. I couldn’t just ask point-blank why Joey was loitering under a dead guest’s window, or if he was helping a killer find his way into guests’ rooms. Sophie’s presence was a surprise, but it made me realize as I looked at the two of them together that they might both be involved. “I couldn’t sleep,” I said finally, “so I thought I’d bring Liam down for a run.” It sounded feeble, but it was the best I could do.