Wicked Is the Whiskey: A Sean McClanahan Mystery (Sean McClanahan Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

I put Erin and John Miller's Donora address into the GPS system in my phone, then drove like mad. I had an hour drive ahead of me and phoned both of Erin Miller’s numbers. There was no answer. 

The house sat at the bottom of a long driveway in the valley on a large wooded lot. I walked to the front door and tried it. It was locked. I tried all the doors and windows on the first floor and the basement, but had no luck. I yanked at the garage door, but that, too, was locked. I looked all around the house until I saw a solarium window on top of the roof.

I grabbed hold of the gutter and, standing on a door handle and then the door jam, I shimmied my way onto of the roof. I tugged at the vinyl solarium window, but it didn’t move. I pushed on the top of it with my foot and it bowed. I pushed harder and my foot went through making quite a racket. 

Silent as a cat, eh, McClanahan? 

With my hands I busted up a hole in the vinyl that was big enough for me to enter. I looked inside and, sure enough, a kitchen island was directly below me. I grabbed the sides and lowered myself inside — thankfully the roof was low and my feet landed squarely in the center of the kitchen island.

Once inside, I quickly searched the small house. I found no one in the kitchen, dining room or living room — though the house was a mess. All the drawers were out, utensils everywhere. The furniture was overturned and cut. Tony and Terry had clearly been looking for something.

I pulled my Glock out as I moved up the stairs to the second floor. There were three small bedrooms with clothes thrown all over the place, the mattresses cut up and dresser drawers lying on the floor. I found nothing in the first two bedrooms. But in the third, the “master,” there was a photo lying on the floor, its frame bent and its glass front shattered. It was a picture of Johnny Miller and his wife Erin on their wedding day — taken only a week ago.

I began to descend the stairs into the basement. It was dark down there and I moved cautiously. I flipped the light switch at the top of the steps, but the light did not go on. 

Then I heard a faint mumble.

“Who is there?” I said.

I heard it again.

“Speak.” I said.

I moved as swiftly as I could away from the sound. I felt myself up against a back wall. I felt a door handle. I opened it. It was a door into the garage and as I opened it the light coming in through the garage door windows illuminated the basement.

Erin Miller sat in the center of the room. She was tied to a chair, a bandanna wrapped around her mouth.

I raced over to her and untied her. She was woozy and dazed. She was not fully aware where she was or who I was. Her eyes kept fading. She had hypodermic needle on her arm.

“Erin?” I called to her, gently touching her face.

Her eyes opened, but she did not acknowledge me.

“Erin? It is Sean McClanahan. I'm taking you out of here.”

I shook her lightly and she began to wake. She opened her eyes again and looked to me. She was in a faraway place.

I picked her up and carried her up to the first floor. I looked out the window to make sure no one was outside. I saw no one.

I opened the front door and carried her out moving as quickly as I could up the steep slippery hill toward my truck. The jostling caused her to rouse.

“Key chain,” she said, her words, slurring.

I stopped. She was awakening.

“Key chain,” she said. “Key chain.”

She pointed toward the house.

“What key chain?”

“In kitchen.”

Against every instinct I had — against my best judgment — I carried her back into the house. I carried her into the kitchen. It had been as torn apart as the rest of the house. There were busted plates and silverware on the floor. They dumped the contents of all the drawers onto the floor. Somebody was clearly looking for something.

“Leather key chain,” she said pointing to the mess on the kitchen floor.

I set her down in the chair, making sure she wouldn't fall, then worked through the mess looking for anything that looked like keys. There were old batteries, spare change, rubber bands… and then I saw a key chain with a brown leather strap. 

I brought it to her and put it near her face where she could see it. She nodded.

“We can go?” I said.

She nodded again.

I put the key chain in my pocket and placed Erin over my shoulder. I looked outside the front door carefully. No one was outside. I opened the door and moved as fast as I could up the hill.

I carried her through the woods a half mile back to my truck, careful not to slip. I was breathing hard by the time I got her inside the vehicle. Once I had her settled in and strapped on the seatbelt, I fired up the ignition and drove out of there.

She was barely conscious as I drove her to a drug treatment center in Pittsburgh. At times, she seemed momentarily lucid, then she’d wander off in a daze barely able to keep her head up.

Thankfully, Dr. Joe Ramsey, who I’d befriended while on the force, has done a lot of work with drug addiction. I’d phoned him at his home as we drove and he agreed to greet us at the treatment center, where he began treating Erin immediately.

An hour later, Joe asked me to join him in his office.

I told him what had happened to her — that Tony and Terry likely injected her several times daily during the past week. 

“She'll be OK?” I said.

“There’s no way to know how much they injected her with, but judging from the marks on her arm, it was no small amount,” said Joe. “I injected her with a dose of Narcan, an antidote that blocks the effects of opioids. The Narcan will offset some of the effect of the drugs. She’s sleeping now and her vitals are OK, but I want to keep a close watch over her for for the next three to seven days, depending on how well her detox goes.”

“What will she experience in detox?” I said.

“After the initial effects of the drug fade, she’ll become drowsy for several hours,” said Joe. “Her basic body functions, such as breathing and heartbeat, will slow. That’s why we need to keep an eye on her. The effect of the drug can last five hours or more and it appears that she had her last injection just before you found her.”

“The withdrawal will be painful?” I said.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “Hours after the drug effects have decreased, Erin will likely begin to crave more. Withdrawal symptoms include restlessness, aches and pains in the bones, vomiting and severe discomfort. She’ll experience extreme depression, as well. She will likely be in a world of hurt the next week or two as she goes through detox.”

“I can’t wait to get my hands on the bastards that did this to her,” I said.

“The worrisome part is that she may suffer a mental addiction to the drug that may be there forever,” he said. “Former addicts who have used heroin have to be vigilant to stay away from the drug. It is not unusual for an addict to lapse two or three times, and unfortunately, some of them, many of them, never make it and wind up as an overdose or suicide. Right now all we can do is hope for the best.”

“Is it possible they were trying to make her addicted to get her to talk?” I said.

“There are several classic evil uses of this drug,” he said. “Pimps use it to force women into prostitution. An addict, when addicted will do anything for the next fix. If they wanted to know what she knew or who she told what she knew to, heroin could accomplish this over time.”

“That she’s still alive tells me she didn’t give them what they wanted,” I said. “Which means they’re surely going to be looking for her.”

“She’ll be safe here,” said Joe. “We’ll take good care of her. You’re free to visit as you wish.”

It was about 11:00 p.m. when I returned to the pub.

I went into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich, when I heard pounding on the rear door.

I looked through the kitchen window to see Rosie Ramirez, Preston’s first employee, standing in the alley. I unlocked the door and let her in.

“Sorry for the late visit,” said Rosie, “but I wanted to wait until your pub was closed to be sure nobody would see me. I would have called you but I wouldn’t be surprised if Hall was bugging my phone.”

“Come in,” I said.

I locked the door behind her and led her to the booth by the hearth.

“Would you like some coffee?”

She nodded. I poured us a few cups then sat across from her.

“Tell me about Victoria Hall.”

“I think she had John killed.”

“Why might she do that?” I said.

“John suspected she was up to something,” she said. “Things have been awful since she joined the company four years ago. She is a control freak. She has the main building on our rigged with security cameras. And something fishy is going on in one of the smaller buildings near the river.”

“Fishy how?” I said.

“Hall has leased one the buildings on the campus to one of her business entities,” said Rosie. “Cars are going in and out of it all hours, with license plates from all over the country. None of us are allowed near it, but Hall goes in and out of it all the time. And then there’s that hand-written ledger Hall is always working on.”

“What kind of ledger?” I said.

“I found it odd that she was always putting handwritten notes and entries into that thing,” she said. “All of our finances are electronic like any modern company. So I snuck into her office one day and got the ledger out of her desk drawer — I know where she hides the key — and Xeroxed the entire book.”

“Do you have the copy?” I said.

“No, I gave it to John. He got angry with me for making it, but he was grateful, too.”

“Do you know what John did with it?”

“He told me he would keep it in a very safe place,” she said.

“What did you see inside the ledger?”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” said Rosie. “It was hand written in some kind of code using very strange symbols.”

“When was the last time John met with Hall?” I said.

“The day before they claim he jumped in the river. He visited with me after he met with Hall in her office.”

“Hall lied to me,” I said. “She told me she hadn’t seen him in weeks. That he wasn’t coming into the office.”

“Well, John wasn’t around much of late,” said Rosie. “But he most definitely met Hall before he visited me.”

“Do you know what they talked about?”

She shook her head.

“What did you and John talk about?” I said.

“He told me he was going to have a press conference the following day,” said Rosie. “He thanked me for my long service and friendship. He hugged me, then walked out the front door. That was the last time any of us saw him.”

Her eyes teared up.

“It makes me so mad,” she continued. “I swear every day I’m going to sneak into that building by the river and get the goods on Hall. Maybe I can make another copy of that ledger.”

“Please don’t do that,” I said.

“John would never take his own life,” said Rosie. “I have a sense that Hall had something to do with his death — she and her two security bozos.”

“These two bozos wouldn’t happen to be a large man with black curly hair and a small man with red hair?”

“That’s them. You met them?”

“Yes, Rosie. And I can’t wait until I meet them again.”

“You found Erin!” said Elizabeth Preston, hugging me tightly in the entryway of her large home the following morning. “Is she OK?”

“She's been through a lot,” I said as I peeled myself away from her. “She’s resting now. She’ll have a rough week as she detoxes, but the hope is that she’ll be just fine.”

She led me into her study and sat on the couch. I stood.

“I have a lot to tell you,” I said. “It is not pleasant news.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, smiling at me like an eager child.

Her hair was slightly matted and her face was pale — it was the first time I'd seen her without makeup. She was wearing her silk robe again.  

“I'm going to tell you everything I know,” I said. “You’re already aware of some of these details, but this will likely be painful for you.”

She nodded.

I explained that the two fellows who knocked me out and abducted Erin Miller were employees of Victoria Hall.

“I knew it.” said Elizabeth. “I knew she was behind all of this.”

I told her Hall lied to me about the last time she had met with John — that she met him the day before he allegedly jumped into the river. 

I told her about Bob Meinert and how he helped me track down some oddities about John Preston — that his name wasn't really Preston. That John had assumed his uncle's name when his uncle died. That his real name was Johnny Miller.

“Johnny Miller?” said Elizabeth. “He never told me any of this. Why would he not tell me?”

“When he was a boy, he had a very abusive father,” I said. “One night when his father was drunk and abusing his mother, Johnny retrieved a shotgun and killed him.”

Elizabeth grabbed her throat with her right hand. Her face grew pale.

“He killed his father?” she said. “How did you learn these things?”

“A man in Wheeling told me about it and John's mother told me,” I said.

“His mother?” said Elizabeth. “John had no mother.”

“But he does” I said. “His mother's name is Gertrude Miller. She lives in Wheeling.”

“I can't believe this. After all these years. Why didn't he tell me?”

“There’s more,” I said.

“More?”

I nodded. She took a deep breath.

“John really is married to Erin Miller,” I continued. “They were married under his real name a week ago.”

Her eyes locked with mine. She didn't move, didn't blink

“Married?” she said, barely able to utter the words.

I nodded.

Her eyes began misting up.

“He told you nothing about any of this?” I said.

She shook her head. Her eyes were filling up fast now, the tears running along the wrinkled lines in her face. 

“No,” she said. “We were to meet for lunch the same day as his press conference. I suppose he planned to drop this bombshell on me then.”

She began sobbing. I felt horrible for her but didn’t know what to do.

“You and John were never married?” I said.

“No,” she said, sobbing. “My real last name is not ‘Preston.’ We never said we were married. People thought we were. We never corrected them.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

As Elizabeth sat there speechless, I walked about the house checking the windows to make sure they were locked. The old mansion was built like a fortress — all the basement windows were made of glass block. Breaking into that old place would be no easy feat, which helped alleviate some of my concerns.

“A lot is going on right now and I don’t know what Hall may do,” I said, as I returned to her. “If she thinks you know some things that John knew, she may send her goons to visit you. I want you to keep this house locked up and call me right away if these two try to visit you.”

She nodded.

“Are you OK?” I said standing above her.

She looked up to me.

“I'll be fine,” she said.

I let myself out the front door, making sure it was locked when I closed it. I could hear Elizabeth sobbing until the door was latched shut.

I jumped in the truck and headed back to the pub.