The Gift

Sasha closed the door to her room and immediately went to work removing the foil cover and label from the bottle of Pinot Noir she had purchased earlier that day. Next, she retrieved a small needle and syringe from her makeup bag and injected its contents into the wine via the exposed cork. She then took a replacement label and foil wrapper from between the pages of a book, stuck them to the bottle, and voilà—a $25 bottle of Pinot Noir was now a $6,000 bottle of Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru, 1949.

Now it was time for her transformation. After wriggling into a specially designed bodysuit which increased her girth by four dress sizes, Sasha slipped into a pair of black work trousers and a button-down shirt, complete with a fictitious delivery company logo. The last phase of the metamorphosis included a blonde wig and brown-tinted contact lenses to disguise her blue eyes. Sasha was now Angie, a courier of expensive goods.

At precisely 8:30 p.m., Jason Cabot’s doorbell chimed. Jason was alone, as usual. His housekeeper had left for the evening several hours ago. With no one around to physically answer the door, he picked up his smartphone, tapped into the feed from the doorbell camera, and asked, “Can I help you?”

“I have a delivery for Jason Cabot from Andrew Buchanan,” replied the woman standing on the stoop.

“Leave it at the door and I’ll get it later. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s not possible. My company has strict orders from the sender to hand-deliver this package and stay until you sign a document verifying that you’re satisfied with the gift.”

“How will I know if I’m satisfied if I don’t know what it is? Alright, wait a moment, I’ll be right there.” Jason hoisted himself out of his favorite chair and walked down the hallway. He opened the door and was pleased to see an attractive delivery lady. The door cam did not do her justice.

“Andrew is the last person I would expect a gift from.”

“Please read this letter, sir. I’ve been told it will explain everything.”

“Okay, let’s see what old Andrew has to say for himself.” He extended his hand for the letter.

Dear Jason,

I feel I must apologize for the abrupt way the board meeting ended two weeks ago. Please accept this gift as a token of my friendship. I understand you are a wine connoisseur, so I hope this offering will be to your liking. I asked the courier to remain while you sample the bottle. If it’s not to your taste, they will return it to me with your suggestion for a replacement.

Regards,

Andrew Buchanan

Jason, amused by Andrew’s shameless attempt to buy his vote, said to the courier, “Please come in. Let’s see what’s in the box.”

He opened the door wider and motioned for her to enter. She stood by quietly while he opened the package, revealing the rare wine. “I really shouldn’t open this. It’s too precious.”

“Does that mean you want me to return the gift, sir?”

“I said I shouldn’t open it, not that I won’t.”

Jason felt as giddy as a child on Christmas Day as he uncorked the bottle. He poured a measure of wine into a glass and held it to the light, inspecting its color as he swirled it around and inhaled the aroma. He looked at the courier, smiled, and raised his glass to her.

“Thank you for bringing this to me.” Jason poured a second glass and offered it to the courier. She feigned a sip. He almost made it to his favorite chair before the poison took hold. Angie took the glass from him before it dropped to the floor and helped him into his chair. Semiconsciously, Jason watched her until he slowly slipped into oblivion.

Confident his dosage was fatal, she retrieved the bottle, washed the glasses, and replaced them in the wine glass rack. Next, she took Jason’s pulse. Satisfied he was dead, she searched his phone for any trace of a recording but found none. She placed the bottle complete with cork, box, and letter in a backpack and left the house, locking the door behind her.

Sasha used a burner phone to text an agreed-upon code. Payment would arrive in her account within the hour.