A Whisker of Trouble

Chapter 19

“Hi,” I said, hoping nothing in my face gave me away. I held up my phone. “I was just making a list of what we’re going to take back to the shop.”

Ethan reached over and took my cell from my hand. My heart began to pound in my chest. “I’m not finished, but hang on a sec and I’ll find it for you,” I said, reaching out to get the phone back.

Ethan glanced at the screen and dropped it into his pocket. “Nice try, Sarah,” he said. “But we both know you’ve figured out that I killed Ronan Quinn.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Paul called you.”

Ethan shrugged and gave me a smile that reminded me of nothing so much as a crocodile. “He lets me know what’s going on over here and if he wants to come over when his kid’s asleep and have a cigarette or a beer, I figure it makes us even.”

I thought of Paul and Alyssa outside playing hockey on the lawn. “You and Paul played hockey together.”

Ethan nodded. “For a couple of years. He wasn’t as good as I was.”

“Why did you do it?” I asked. Keep him talking, I told myself. Build a rapport. Stall. Look for a way to gain an advantage.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured that part out yet?” He glanced in the direction of the wine bottles.

“Those missing bottles,” I said slowly. “You sold them, didn’t you? You passed them off as the real thing and sold them.”

Ethan didn’t say anything, but one eyebrow went up and he gave me a sly smile. “They belonged to me. And if people are too stupid to do their due diligence, well, that’s hardly my fault.”

I brushed a strand of hair away from my face and shot a quick glance to the left to see if there was anything I could use as a weapon. There wasn’t. “Did Thorne Logan really approach you about buying one of those bottles, or were you just trying to steer us in his direction?”

“Both, actually,” he said.

Elvis pressed against my leg, watching Ethan intently. The warmth of his small body helped keep my legs from shaking. “Quinn found out what you were doing.”

Ethan sighed. “It wasn’t any of his business. I hired him to tell me what those bottles were worth. That’s it. He started talking about lawsuits and I thought I might get some of my money back. Then I found out the chances of that happening were pretty slim.”

“The day before he was killed, that afternoon you were here, he noticed the missing bottles, didn’t he?” I could see the back door out of the corner of my eye, but there was no way I could get to it.

“I’d paid him. I thought he was leaving town.” An ugly expression flashed across his face. “Then he wants to come out here to check on the glue that was used for the labels.”

“You’d already had a plan to slowly sell all that wine to people just as unsuspecting as your father had been. You’d already started.”

Ethan held up both hands. “Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!” he said. “Give the lady a prize!”

“So why did you kill him?” I asked, clenching my hands in my pockets to keep them from shaking. “Why didn’t you just tell him the missing bottles got broken?” I pretty much knew the answer, but it was another way to buy a minute or two and I was going to grab every one I could.

“Because he wouldn’t let it go at that!” He sucked in a deep breath and raked his hands back through his hair. “He just would not let it go! He threatened to have me arrested. He wouldn’t do what he was hired to do and just go home.” He looked at me again. “Remind you of anyone?”

“He must have made you crazy,” I said, ignoring his last comment.

He looked at me and gave a snort of humorless laughter. “Oh, don’t pretend you understand so we can build a connection.” He made air quotes around the word “connection.”

I shook my head. “I really don’t understand. Why couldn’t you just wait to sell those bottles?”

Ethan looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “Wait? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting? I’ve been waiting for years to get out of this Podunkville little place, waiting for the day when I didn’t have to play the dutiful son, waiting for the day when that old man who was never satisfied with anything I did would just die.” His voice got louder and his manner more agitated with each word. “And when he did, you know what I ended up with? A wife who pretty soon isn’t going to be able to walk, another freaking millstone around my neck, and an inheritance that is worth less than what I’d get for taking the bottles to the recycling center.” He shook both hands in the air. “Don’t tell me to wait. I was a good son. I’m a good person and the whole damn thing backfired on me!”

“Is that why you’re going to Hawaii? Because you’re tired of waiting?”

Something changed in his expression and the manic behavior disappeared as if a switch had been thrown in his head. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to Hawaii and that’s why I won’t be coming back.” He exhaled and smiled. “It’s going to be very sad, really. I’m going to have an accident learning to surf and my body will never be found. And I’ll finally get to live the life I was meant to live all along without my old man and everyone else dragging me down.”

Some of what I was feeling inside must have shown on my face.

“Don’t give me that look,” Ethan said, a heavy edge of sarcasm in his voice. “It’s not my fault. Why couldn’t Quinn just stay out of it? Why couldn’t you?”

“You can’t kill two people in this house,” I said. “People will get suspicious.”

“I know,” he said, “but I don’t recall saying you’re going to die here. I am going to kill you, but not here.” He made a sad face. “You’re going to have a tragic accident on the way back to your store.” He put a hand to his chest. “So very tragic.”

Then his arm snaked out and whipped around my neck like a rope. He pulled a small plastic bottle of ginger ale out of his jacket pocket with his free hand, managed to unscrew the cap and pressed the opening to my mouth. “Drink,” he ordered.

I pressed my lips tightly together.

Ethan slapped my face. Tears filled my eyes, but I kept my mouth tightly closed.

He grabbed my nose, pinching it between his thumb and index finger.

I held my breath as long as I could, but eventually I had to open my mouth to breathe.

Ethan forced some of the liquid into my mouth. I sputtered and spit, but some of it went down. He repeated the process twice more.

“I’m going to vomit,” I choked out. I wasn’t, but I needed a moment to breathe, to think.

He let go of me and took a step back. “That’s probably enough,” he said. I was bent over, hands on my knees, trying to get my breath. “You don’t have . . . to . . . do this,” I managed to gasp out.

“You sound like Quinn,” Ethan said. “The thing is, neither one of you gave me a choice. He was going to call the police. I would have lost my job. And he would have made all the rest of those bottles completely worthless to me. What choice did he leave me? It was him or me and I picked me.”

He looked away from me again and shook his head as though he were seeing himself back in the kitchen with Ronan Quinn. “It was poetic justice, you know, him being killed with a bottle of wine that cost less than ten dollars.”