Death By Bourbon by Abigail Keam

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