Death By Bourbon (5 page)

“Precisely,” Meriah continued. “So Doreen pushes through, starts calling Addison’s
name before she could see who it was. It’s the timing of her awareness of Addison
that is off.”

“Maybe she stood on her tiptoes. Maybe she stood on a chair to look into the room.”

Meriah shook her head. “I tried standing on my tiptoes and I could not see. And there
was no chair out of place in the hallway that I noticed.” Meriah stepped into the
room and began pacing. “And all that crying and moaning and carrying on when Addison
died. I don’t buy it. Most women would have been weeping for sure but they also would
have been in shock . . . in disbelief.”

“They would have wanted someone to comfort them, like a family member.”

Meriah snapped her manicured nails. “Quite right. She didn’t ask anyone to call her
daughter. Matt just took that upon himself.”

“And she didn’t go to the hospital that night either.”

“Well, she was sedated.”

“Was she? I saw her in the upstairs hallway as I was leaving. She was wide-awake,
watching from above. And I talked to Amelia just a moment ago. She told me that she
found a white pill in the heat register this morning when she was tidying up.”

“A sedative pill?”

“She confirms that the doctor gave her a pill, not a shot, and that Doreen must have
hidden it in the closed heat register when no one was looking.”

“Does she have the pill?”

I shook my head. “She has emptied the vacuum cleaner. It hadn’t occurred to her that
the police might be interested in this pill.”

“Or perhaps that June gave the order to destroy any unusual contents in that room.
She doesn’t want the coroner to rule anything but accidental.”

We both were quiet, preoccupied with our own thoughts, until Meriah spoke. “You have
contacts in the police department. Why don’t you give them a call?”

The thought of getting involved in another murder was overwhelming. I was still worn
out like an old dishrag. “Sorry. I have other fish in the frying pan. You will have
to go solo on this.” I wheeled towards the door before turning. “Meriah, I do wish
you and Matt well. I hope you find happiness.”

Meriah’s fine features softened. “Thank you, Josiah. I wish you well too.”

I nodded and left, harboring no ill feeling against Meriah anymore. She may have been
beautiful and rich but she was alone, wary of the future and doubtful of her ability
to meet it head on. She needed backup, which was Matt.

I knew what it was to be alone. After Brannon left me, so did most of our friends.
Only Matt and Lady Elsmere had stuck by me. She once left a fifty thousand dollar
check on my Nakashima table to “tide me over.” I never cashed it, but it’s in my drawer
of keepsakes.

Things went into a tailspin after Brannon left. He refused to give me money, instead
wanting me to sell the Butterfly. With co-workers and students cruelly snickering
about Brannon’s affair at work and meetings, I retired from teaching, feeling humiliated.
Then I found Richard Pidgeon dead in one of my hives . . . you know the rest.

Yes, I harbored no resentment against Meriah. How could I? She was afraid, just like
me.

I was getting used to my Velcro splint so I was flying solo while Jake took much needed
time off. Charles helped me into my golf cart and put the wheelchair in the back as
I was leaving the big house.

“Charles, do you know what Addison was drinking the night he died?”

“Bourbon neat.”

“Are you sure? Maybe he had something different in the library?”

“Addison DeWitt drank bourbon neat that night. He didn’t even have champagne for the
engagement toast as he refused the glass I offered. I make it my business to notice
what people drink at these parties. It’s my job.”

“Where was Doreen during the toast?”

“Standing next to Mr. Addison and she was drinking champagne for the toast.” Charles
thought for a moment. “She was also drinking the same bourbon that night as her husband.”

“It stands to reason that maybe he was holding her bourbon drink while she toasted
the champagne to the engaged couple.”

“Maybe. I didn’t notice. You came in and I went to get drinks for you.”

“Yes. I remember. Just one more thing. If Addison wanted his drink freshened, would
you have given him another in a new glass or topped his off?”

“There weren’t that many people there, so I didn’t need a bartender. I just freshened
people’s drinks or they could do so themselves at the little bar in the drawing room.
Glasses were not being switched out.”

“Was port or brandy served in the library?”

“Mr. Addison didn’t like either of those drinks. He was strictly a bourbon man.”

We chatted for another moment about the party before I headed for June’s training
track. Charles told me that Shaneika and Mike Connor were there watching Comanche
workout.

I headed over, dodging workers walking with horses along the way, until I spied Shaneika,
Mike . . . and Velvet Maddox, the dowser. Beside Mike’s towering figure, she looked
like one of the “wee people” the Irish reminisce about.

Slowly edging the golf cart towards them, I stopped at the railing, remaining quiet
as they watched Comanche sprint around the track. After the sweating horse passed
us, Mike pushed on the stopwatch. I could tell that Shaneika and Velvet were not happy
by what they saw on the watch.

“What do you think?” asked Mike of Miss Velvet.

“I don’t know at this moment. He has all the makings of a champion but he just doesn’t
seemed interested.”

“Do you think something is wrong with him?” asked Shaneika in her British clip.

“Not physically,” replied Velvet, scratching her chin. Her skin’s consistency reminded
me of biscuit dough. “I’ve checked him out and he’s sound as a bell. What does your
vet say?”

“That he is just a dud.”

“Did you tell Miss Velvet about Comanche’s companion goat getting murdered in front
of him?” I asked, interrupting their conversation.

“What was that?” asked Velvet, looking surprised. “He saw his friend being murdered?”

I quickly relayed how George Fanning snuck into my barn and tortured one of Comanche’s
companion goats, finally slitting her throat. Then Comanche was moved to another training
facility where a man was murdered and hung from the rafters.

“Well, that’s the place to start,” replied Velvet. “This horse could be traumatized.”

Mike snorted in disbelief, upon which Miss Velvet turned on him. “I’ll thank you to
keep a civil tongue in your head, Mike Connor. You don’t understand everything there
is to know under heaven and earth.”

Looking chastised, Mike coughed up, “I didn’t say a word.”

“I heard you loud and clear. You have no idea the pain we cause animals without blinking
an eye at the harm we do. Do you not think a person would be sick at heart if he had
seen two murders? Horses are just like people in being very sensitive to their environment.”

“What would be the plan of action?” asked Shaneika. “Everything I’ve got is tied up
in that horse. I can’t quit now.”

Miss Velvet narrowed her eyes. “You may have to. If that horse doesn’t have it in
him to win, you would just be throwing good money at him. I will have to talk to him
and see what is up.”

Shaneika shot a curious look at Mike.

“Of course, you can beat him with a crop until he does what you want,” said Velvet.

The jockey brought Comanche to where we were gathered. Comanche reached over to nuzzle
Shaneika for peppermints, which she always kept in her pocket.

“I’m not going to beat an animal to make him perform. You just better come up with
something,” demanded Shaneika.

The jockey and Mike exchanged comments until the jockey started the horse towards
the stable.

“I’ve got tomatoes to can so I’ll be off,” announced Miss Velvet. “I’ll be back tomorrow
morning. No training, you hear.”

“Yes ma’am,” replied Mike.

Shaneika started to object but thought better of it. She didn’t seem to want to take
Miss Velvet on. She waited until the tiny woman had hopped into her huge pickup truck
and blazed down the gravel road.

“I swear that old bat is crazy,” she said turning on Mike. “She is gonna ‘talk’ to
Comanche?”

“Okay. Do things your way but that old woman understands things that ordinary people
just don’t. I’ve seen her work wonders with horses.”

“Any horses that won a race?” Shaneika stumped off muttering, “Crazy old white woman.
Crazy Irishman.”

I started to laugh until I saw Mike’s fallen face. Uh oh. Mike had the look of a puppy
that had been denied a juicy bone. I bade my goodbye to Mike, who barely took notice
of me as he watched Shaneika storm away. I hurried away in my golf cart, not wanting
to witness Mike’s humiliation. I sure hoped Velvet Maddox made good with the horse
– or Mike would never make good with Shaneika.

Asa sat in the parked SUV and checked her makeup. It was perfect. Instead of the usual
kohl rimming her eyes, there was minimal of mascara and just a hint of lipstick. Her
face was scrubbed free of makeup into a fresh hue, allowing the freckles on her nose
to show. A brown curly wig, giving her a soft feminine look, concealed her dark long
hair.

Instead of the usual black that she wore, Asa had chosen carefully. She was wearing
beige slacks, a white silk blouse and a cardigan sweater with horses on it. Her jewelry
was demure – gold post earrings, an emerald-cut engagement ring and a gold bracelet.
Her bag and shoes were expensive but not over the top. She looked like the perfect
up and coming Junior League wife.

Her companion commented, “You look just like the girl next door.”

Asa blew him a kiss.

They both got out of the SUV and, acting like a loving couple, entered a popular Lexington
restaurant in the Lansdowne Center.

The hostess, having been generously tipped previously, placed the couple in the middle
of the room, where everyone could see them.

Even Ellen Boudreaux, who was having her usual Thursday lunch with her girlfriends.
Ellen caught sight of her as soon as Asa entered the room. “I can’t believe she would
show her face in this town after what she did to me,” growled Ellen, staring in partial
disbelief.

“Who?” asked a girlfriend.

“Asa Reynolds!”

The entire table rubbernecked to where Ellen was pointing.

“That doesn’t look like Asa Reynolds. You must be mistaken,” declared another girlfriend.

“I’m telling you that is Asa Reynolds over there,” spit Ellen, her face contorting
into a Feliniesque mask. “I should know what my stepdaughter looks like.”

Several of the women glanced at each other, knowing that Ellen never actually married
Brannon Reynolds.

One of her girlfriends placed a hand on Ellen’s arm. “Now, you have no proof that
she broke into your house,” she warned. “Just ignore her. We’ll finish our lunch and
then leave.”

Worried, another woman commented, “Don’t look, Ellen. People are starting to stare.”
She waved her hand at their waiter, wanting to get the bill and get out.

Asa laughed at something the man said.

“You have no idea of what she has done to me. My finances are all screwed up because
of that bitch. I have to pay everything in cash until this identity theft mess is
over and I’m told it is going to take months to straighten out, never the mind the
valuables she took. Jewelry that Brannon had given to me. A valuable painting.”

The others murmured in sympathy. It’s not that they didn’t believe that Asa had been
behind the robbery at Ellen’s house, but being lawyers’ wives, they also knew that
knowing something was not proving it. And they simply didn’t like Ellen enough to
be caught in a public fight with Asa Reynolds . . . if that was really Asa.

They quickly paid for their half-eaten lunches and pulled Ellen with them as they
began to leave. But Ellen was just as Ginny Wheelright had described at Franklin’s
party – cunning but not bright. She just couldn’t resist the temptation of confronting
Asa.

She pulled away from her friends’ grip and strode over to Asa’s table. “I can’t believe
you would show your face in Lexington,” sputtered Ellen.

Asa looked up in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me. After what you did to me, you show up like nothing’s happened. Everyone
knows you did it.”

The man posing as Asa’s fiancé interrupted, “Excuse me, Miss, but you’re upsetting
my fiancée. We don’t want any trouble.”

“Your fiancée?” sneered Ellen. She grabbed at Asa’s ring hand.

“Stop it!” cried out Asa, pulling away. “Go away. Please.”

Calling for the manager, the fiancé threw down his napkin. But before the manager
could rush to the table, Ellen had picked up Asa’s water glass and thrown water in
her face.

The entire restaurant, which was now watching, gasped.

The boyfriend threw himself between Ellen and Asa, making sure he did not touch Ellen.
He turned and helped Asa wipe the water off her clothes. The manager grabbed Ellen
by the arm and escorted her to her friends waiting in the parking lot.

The friends murmured a few goodbyes after checking that Ellen was okay, but then took
off like bats out of hell on a hot night. They certainly didn’t want to be standing
with Ellen if Asa Reynolds came out. She was known to have a hair-trigger temper.

Seeing that she was alone, Ellen reluctantly got in her Mercedes and left. Without
her friends to cover her back, she didn’t want to encounter Asa either. Confused and
angry, she drove out of the parking lot.

After waiting several minutes, Asa and her companion threw a couple of twenties on
the table and left the restaurant. Asa was plainly in tears – that is, until she got
in the car. With the plan going as intended, she headed to the police station to file
an assault complaint against Ellen. Now Asa just had to wait for the rest of her strategy
to take place.

About a half hour later, when they had finished their lunches, five young drama students
sitting in five different areas of the dining room paid for their meals and left.
Each thinking that they had been contacted by a flash message earlier that day to
tape a theater performance at a local restaurant, they went directly to their computers
to download Ellen’s attack on Asa to YouTube. Five different perspectives. Five different
angles. Then they buzzed it to their friends, who enjoyed it and then sent it to their
friends . . . and so on. It wasn’t long before it went viral.

Yes, Ginny Wheelright was intuitive about Ellen – not too bright.