Dial P For Poison (Movie Club Mysteries, Book 1): An Irish Cozy Mystery

by Zara Keane

The sergeant’s nostrils flared, but he knew I was right. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but only a squawk came out. “Fine,” he snapped, pinning me in place with his hostility. “If you’re so keen for me to question the suspects, as you call them, let’s start with you.”

  10

  If Sergeant O’Shea was under the impression that the idea of a police interrogation would intimidate me, he was a greater fool than I’d thought.

  “Of course,” I said smoothly. “I made Sandra’s drink, after all. If you’re interested in seeing last night’s guest list, I took a photo of it with my phone.”

  The police officer’s face contorted, and his hammy hands balled into fists. “It seems you’re well prepared, Ms. Doyle. Seeing as you’re so keen to be questioned, let’s make this a formal interview and record it.”

  I regarded him with intense dislike. “Naturally, but we’ll need to wait for my lawyer to get here first.”

  Sergeant O’Shea let out a roar of indignation. As I’d suspected, he had no intention of wasting his Saturday evening waiting for a lawyer to show up. “Fine. Let’s make it informal.”

  I nodded. “Mack, would you mind staying? I’d like an impartial witness present at my ‘informal’ interview.”

  “Sure. First, I’ll text my sister. She’s a barrister in Cork, and she’s staying with my parents for the weekend. We’ll have her come by and wait outside.”

  “Okay, fine.” The sergeant held up a hand. “No interview, formal or otherwise. Just give me the list of people at the film last night.”

  After a few minutes of the sergeant fumbling with his cell phone, he received a copy of the guest list. “Have you filled any prescriptions for codeine recently, Mack?”

  “Not in the last few days.” The pharmacist glanced at me. “I checked when the test on the cocktail came out positive. If you get a warrant, I’ll have a list of all prescriptions containing codeine that we filled in the last six months waiting for you. Of course, a black market source is always a possibility.”

  “All right,” the policeman grunted. “We need to find out where the codeine came from.”

  Oh, boy. I hadn’t been looking forward to this moment, but I’d known it was inevitable the instant Mack had called with the test result. “I have an idea where the codeine could have come from, but not who put it into Sandra’s glass.”

  Both Mack and Sergeant O’Shea stared at me.

  I cleared my throat. “Noreen had her wisdom teeth removed yesterday morning in a hospital on the mainland. They prescribed Solpodol pills for her.”

  “Solpodol?” Sergeant O’Shea addressed Mack. “Is that like those Solpadeine soluble thingies my wife takes for her migraines?”

  Mack nodded. “Solpadeine and Solpodol are both painkillers containing a codeine phosphate and paracetamol mix, but the dosage of codeine is much higher in Solpodol. Therefore, it’s available only on prescription.”

  Sergeant O’Shea turned to me. “I take it your aunt had her Solpodol with her last night.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes.” I hesitated for a moment before plunging on. “When she woke up this morning, she discovered that several pills were missing.”

  Mack eyed me sharply. “How many?”

  “About ten.”

  He whistled. “That’s enough to kill a person, and fairly quickly.”

  “Is it feasible for Sandra to have ingested the Solpodol just before the start of the movie and to be dead by the end of the movie?” I asked the pharmacist. “It seems fast.”

  “What time did you serve her the cocktail?”

  “I served her two cocktails, actually. Sandra was one of the last guests to arrive. I served her the first cocktail at around eight-thirty, and she ordered a second one shortly before the movie began. That must have been nine-fifteen or thereabouts.” I screwed up my forehead. “The thing is, Sandra was showing signs of being drunk after the first cocktail, and that was apparently unusual for her. I wonder now if she wasn’t displaying a reaction to the Solpodol. Is it possible for traces of the drug to have stayed in the glass and contaminated the second cocktail enough for it to test positive for codeine?”

  “The forensic toxicology lab will be able to confirm, but I’d have thought it more likely that the Solpodol was added directly to the drink I tested.”

  “Could it have been slipped into both cocktails?” I wondered aloud. “If so, the killer was taking a heck of a risk.”

  “Or Sandra was making sure she got the job done,” Mack suggested gently. “She could have put the Solpodol in her own glass both times.”

  Sergeant O’Shea cleared his throat with theatrical exaggeration. “When did the film start?” he asked, finally showing genuine interest in the proceedings rather than expressing his annoyance at having his Saturday evening plans disrupted.

  “We’d planned to start the movie at nine,” I said, “but we were running late. It must have been around nine-thirty by the time we’d gotten everyone seated and the intro credits were rolling. The movie ran for an hour and forty-five minutes, assuming the information on IMDb is correct.” Seeing the incredulous expressions on their faces, I added, “I checked after Sandra died.”

  “Interesting,” Mack mused. “What time did you discover the body?”

  “At eleven twenty-five,” I said without hesitation. “I glanced at my watch as I walked down the aisle toward Sandra’s seat. I gave up on CPR and checked my watch, and I’d been attempting resuscitation for fifteen minutes.”

  “Was she cold when you found her?” Sergeant O’Shea asked.

  “She felt…clammy. Yes, that’s the right description.”

  The policeman turned to Mack. “Could Mrs. Walker have died within an hour of taking an overdose of Solpodol?”

  “Honestly? I’m not sure.” Mack scrunched up his forehead. “I suppose it’s possible, especially if the person was in poor health and mixed the Solpodol with alcohol, but I’d have thought the timing would be more accurate if she’d been poisoned with her first cocktail, the one Maggie served her at half-past eight.”

  “Wait a sec,” I said, reliving the events of last night in my mind. “We usually served each drink in a fresh glass, but if I recall correctly, I took Sandra’s original cocktail glass without thinking and used it for her second cocktail. She ordered a Peppermint Cream cocktail on both occasions.”

  “Was there anything left from her first cocktail when you poured in the second?” Mack asked. “The test I ran this evening is designed to pick up any trace of codeine. It doesn’t specify the amount. That requires more rigorous testing in a lab.”

  I pictured the scene in my mind. “Maybe a drop? There was certainly some of the foam from the original cocktail left in the glass. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific, but I was moving on autopilot by that point. We had more guests than I’d anticipated, and I was responsible for making the most popular cocktail on the menu.”

  “What did this cocktail contain?” Sergeant O’Shea asked.

  “Apart from a lethal dose of codeine?” I quipped.

  Judging by his enraged expression, the sergeant was not amused. “This isn’t the moment for levity, Ms. Doyle.”

  I tried to look contrite. “Sure. Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood. Ahem. Okay, Peppermint Creams contain crème de menthe, white crème de cacao, milk, Baileys Irish Cream, and hazelnut cream liqueur.”

  “Those sound delicious,” Mack said, and then catching the sergeant’s thunderous expression, he added, “The crème de menthe alone would do a good job at disguising the taste of the Solpodol.”

  The police officer grunted. “Looks like I’m going to miss tonight’s golf club dinner.”

  “You guys live well,” I said. “This is, what, your second night in a row out with them?”

  “No,” Mack said. “The golf club only meets for dinner once a week on Saturdays. My father is a member.”

  “Oh, but I thought…” I trailed off. My gaze met the sergeant’s, a
nd his red face turned even redder. I could have sworn he’d mentioned dining at the golf club yesterday evening when he’d been so upset to have his evening’s plans disrupted by my demand that he attend to Sandra Walker’s dead body. Had he lied about where he’d been? If so, why?

  Sergeant O’Shea’s bristly mustaches convulsed. “Seeing as Ms. Doyle is so keen to have me interview all the people with access to Sandra Walker’s drink, let’s start with the most obvious person.” He sneered at me, and my shoulders tensed. “I suggest you get your pal, Mack McConnell, to call his barrister sister. Your aunt might have need of her services.”

  11

  Sergeant O’Shea hauled Noreen in for questioning at seven o’clock the following morning. When it reached noon and there was still no word from her, I was becoming seriously worried. The former police officer in me knew that Noreen had to be questioned, especially if Sandra’s cause of death was confirmed to be a codeine overdose, but I was uncomfortably aware that Sergeant O’Shea had latched on to Noreen as a person to bully just to annoy me. By discovering the codeine in the cocktail, I’d humiliated him, and he wasn’t a man who took kindly to being shown up in public, especially by an outsider.

  I removed a tray of vegan raspberry-and-coconut scones from where they’d been cooling on the kitchen counter and gave them a cautious sniff. Mmm…not bad. Once I scraped the blackened edges off them, people might even eat them.

  I glanced at the clock. The café only opened for the morning crowd on Sundays, and I’d close in fifteen minutes. Until then, the demand for Noreen’s baked goods was brisk. So brisk, in fact, that I’d run out of the dough she’d prepared yesterday and had to resort to making some from scratch, resulting in oatmeal muffins that were as dry as sandpaper. After I’d arranged the scones in a display basket, I turned to go back out to the café.

  “Maggie?” Lenny stood in the kitchen doorway, an uncharacteristic tension in his lanky frame. “Mack says Noreen is at the garda station. What’s going on?”

  “The what?” I blinked in confusion before comprehension dawned. Between guards, garda, and gardaí, I could never keep the Irish terminology straight. “Oh, you mean the police station. Didn’t Mack tell you the results of his tests on the cocktail glass?”

  Lenny shook his head. “For a stand-up dude, Mack can be annoyingly discreet at times. He told me to ask you.”

  “Well, you’d have heard soon enough—I expect Sergeant O’Shea will want you to give a statement. Long story short, Sandra Walker’s cocktail was laced with codeine, and Noreen discovered that her prescription medicine containing codeine was half empty after the Movie Club meeting.”

  Lenny let out a slow breath. “Whoa. Poor Noreen. First, Sandra pops her clogs in Noreen’s movie theater, and now it turns out her meds did the job.”

  “We don’t know that for sure yet. Sandra’s body was sent to the mainland for an autopsy, but the formal toxicology results will take weeks.”

  “Weeks?” Lenny’s eyebrows rose. “Why so long? It never takes that long on CSI.”

  I snorted. “TV and movies always get that part wrong. Toxicology test results take ages. The lab will supply a preliminary report in a couple of weeks, but the formal results will take longer. However, there’s enough circumstantial evidence to indicate Sandra’s death wasn’t natural. Unless Sergeant O’Shea is a total fool, he has to start inquiries now.” I maneuvered past Lenny and placed the scones on the counter.

  Lenny followed me and cast a surreptitious glance around the half-empty café. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “The idea of Noreen killing someone is totally out there.”

  “I agree, but Noreen’s feud with Sandra is well known.”

  “Who didn’t have a feud with Sandra at some point? The woman was notorious.” Lenny scratched his beard. “If Sandra didn’t kill herself and no one bumped her off, it’s got to be the establishment, man. They’re trying to cover up an alien abduction. That explains why the doctor and Sergeant O’Shea weren’t keen on you wanting Sandra’s body examined.”

  Yeah, we were back to the aliens. I suppressed a sigh. “Lenny, no aliens were involved in Sandra Walker’s death.”

  “That sucks.” Lenny looked glum. “I’ve never been present at an alien abduction. It would be so cool.”

  “Maybe you and Mack will get lucky on your next alien spotting expedition,” I said, deadpan. “In the meantime, let’s focus on clearing Noreen’s name. Do you have time to stick around after I lock up? I’d appreciate a sounding board while I go through the list of suspects.”

  “Sure.” Lenny gestured behind him to the two remaining tables of customers. “Want me to start turfing the geriatrics out of here?”

  “I heard that,” yelled Gerry Two from his usual seat at the Cary Grant table.

  “Geriatric, indeed,” muttered Gerry One. “I’ll have you know, young man, that I’m only eighty-five.”

  “As if you’d let me forget it, Granddad.” Lenny grinned at my incredulous expression. “Yeah, this old codger is my grandfather. He’s Gerald Logan, and his pal there is Geroid Sullivan. As you’ve probably gathered, everyone calls them the Two Gerries, but the geriatric description fits just as well.”

  “Cheeky pup.” Gerry One grunted and turned his attention to me. “That scone you served me earlier wasn’t half bad, Maggie. A definite improvement on yesterday’s batch.”

  I preened in the beam of his compliment and thanked my lucky stars that he hadn’t ordered an oatmeal muffin. “Why, thank you.”

  Lenny picked up a scone from the batch I’d just prepared and sniffed at it cautiously. “Are you sure this is Noreen’s vegan raspberry-coconut recipe?”

  “Of course,” I said indignantly. “I followed the recipe.”

  He took a bite and recoiled, gagging.

  “Oh, heck.” I handed him a bowl. “Don’t tell me you’ve been poisoned as well?”

  “Those,” Lenny said between gasps, “are not vegan. What did you put into them, Maggie?”

  I examined his discarded scone. It looked fine to me. Of course, I hadn’t tasted one yet. I took a cautious bite and chewed slowly. “Tastes fine to me. That is,” I amended, seeing the incredulity on his face, “it’s revolting, but it’s the vegan recipe. My hopes weren’t high.”

  “Maggie,” Lenny said severely, “did you mix up the almond milk with cow’s milk?”

  I stopped chewing. “Oops.”

  “Exactly.” Lenny grabbed a pen and a sticky note from behind the counter and stuck an amendment onto the label of the basket of scones.

  “Non-Vegan Vegan Raspberry Scones,” I read aloud. “Impressive, Lenny.”

  “So says the woman who just tried to poison me with dairy.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’d better make a start on cleaning up.”

  In the distance, the church bells chimed the hour. As if on cue, the Spinsters and the Two Gerries bid Lenny and me a cheery farewell and shuffled off to do whatever it was that geriatrics did in Smuggler’s Cove on a Sunday afternoon. Lenny helped me to clean the tables and sweep the floor. I’d just put the dishwasher on when Noreen walked in, accompanied by Bran and Sister Pauline.

  “Noreen,” I exclaimed. “They finally let you go. Why didn’t you call me? I’d have collected you from the station.”

  “I know you would have, love, but I needed you here to run the café. Sister Pauline was dog-sitting Bran and she was kind enough to give me a lift.”

  “You look exhausted.” I pulled out a chair and gestured for my aunt and Sister Pauline to take seats at the Grace Kelly table. “Can I make you a pot of tea?”

  Noreen and Sister Pauline exchanged looks of alarm.

  “Well, I—” Sister Pauline began.

  “My tea-making abilities have improved over the last couple of days,” I interjected. “Pinkie swear.”

  “Just don’t touch the non-vegan vegan scones,” Lenny drawled.

  Sister Pauline patted me on the arm. “Why don’t I make the tea while yo
u finish cleaning up? And I’m sure you want to have a word with Noreen.”

  Noreen collapsed onto a chair, and Bran lay at her feet, clearly delighted to be reunited with his mistress. “Before you start interrogating me, could you get me a glass of water? Mack was kind enough to slip me a few extra Solpodol to replace the ones that—” her voice caught, “—went missing.”

  “Sure.” I grabbed a clean glass from behind the counter and filled it with sparkling mineral water before giving it to my aunt. “Would Bran like to try one of my oatmeal muffins?” Maybe I could use the dog to get rid of a few of the bad batch. I put one on a plate and placed it at his feet. Bran sniffed the muffin and stared up at me balefully. I put my hands on my hips. “Seriously? Not even a lick? That’s the last time I let you haul me around the countryside.”

  “Smart dog,” Lenny said. “He has survival instincts.”

  I stuck my tongue out at Lenny, and then turned to my aunt. “Don’t leave us in suspense. What happened at the police station?”

  Noreen shook two pills onto her palm and swallowed them before she met my questioning gaze. “There’s no news, love. Sergeant O’Shea asked a lot of questions that I couldn’t answer. After a few hours of him asking the same questions over and over, Patricia McConnell told him to charge me or let me go home.” Her smile was tight. “Given that Sandra’s autopsy is being performed this afternoon, Sergeant O’Shea has nothing to charge me with.”

  Thank goodness he was finally moving ahead with the autopsy. Melanie would throw a fit. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this mess, Noreen. When the cocktail tested positive for codeine, I couldn’t not mention your missing pills.”

  “I know, Maggie. You did the right thing. I just hope the district superintendent has the good sense to send someone out to Whisper Island to take over the case. O’Shea is a bumbling buffoon and far too beholden to his golf club cronies to be trustworthy.”

  I inclined my head in agreement. I’d surmised as much from my brief but memorable encounters with the sergeant. “Speaking of Sergeant O’Shea not being trustworthy, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. On the night Sandra died, O’Shea claimed he’d come from a golf club dinner, but Mack said they only meet on Saturdays. Why would O’Shea lie about where he was on Friday night?”