“Did you know Caroline was self-medicating for her migraines with belladonna?”
Allegra’s lips froze in a pucker around her straw. “Mmm?”
“It’s not that uncommon.”
“Oh, my word. I’ve never heard of anything so crazy.”
CHAPTER 16
By the time Julia and I reached the police station, I had decided that Allegra wasn’t our killer. Partly because even an Oscar-winning actress couldn’t have faked total ignorance of Caroline’s migraines or belladonna use so well. And apparently, mega-doses of caffeine loosened Allegra’s inhibitions, acting as a truth serum of sorts. So she was telling the truth about the belladonna and Caroline’s migraines, as well as everyone knowing, by the time of the garden party, that Caroline had been chosen as the new host of Front Range Gardening.
But more than that, she was the only one among our suspects who didn’t have a strong motive to kill Caroline. With Caroline in the picture, Allegra would rise to mini-stardom as her TV assistant and perhaps supplant her in the months ahead. Without Caroline, Allegra’s future was uncertain and quite possibly going nowhere.
Underhill was at the front desk, thank goodness. I presented him with the donut box, but before I could pump him for news on the coroner’s report, Gilroy popped out of his office, strode to the desk, and plopped down a couple file folders.
“Did you smell the donuts, Chief Gilroy?” Julia asked, a little too pleasantly.
“I didn’t, Mrs. Foster,” he said.
Wow. Talkative.
“Chief?” Underhill, with one hand already on a jelly donut, passed the box to Gilroy.
“No thanks. Later,” he said.
“I heard the coroner was surprised by Caroline Burkhardt’s stomach contents,” I said. The idea of stomach contents made my skin crawl, but I wanted to get this conversation over with.
Gilroy’s eyebrows went up a tad.
“Word gets around,” I said.
“The results will be public soon enough,” Gilroy said. “The berries in her stomach were dark, ripe blueberries, not belladonna. They look similar, and masticated pieces of it—”
“Are indistinguishable,” Underhill said. “It’s not the coroner’s fault. He had only a few specks to work with.”
I couldn’t stand it any longer. I grabbed a jelly donut from the box and took a bite. Julia looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I didn’t care. Gilroy or not, murder or not, I wanted that donut and I was going to eat it.
“I don’t understand,” I said, still chewing. “The coroner said he found belladonna. He tested for it.”
“There was belladonna in Mrs. Burkhardt’s mouth and blood,” Gilroy said. “Just not from the berries.”
“That reminds me.” I set my donut on the desk and fished the plastic bag from my purse. “Someone put this on Julia’s porch late last night. It looks like a belladonna berry, but now I’m not so sure. Holly thought it looked like a black currant or dark blueberry. Whatever it is, it was meant to scare us.”
Gilroy examined the berry through the bag. “It probably is belladonna,” he said after a moment. “To me it looks exactly like the berry from the greenhouse, and a plant expert at Colorado State confirmed that was belladonna. He had a look at the roots you dug up too, and he suspects belladonna, though with his limited tools he can’t be sure about the roots.”
“So there was a belladonna plant in Stella’s greenhouse, but Caroline didn’t eat a berry from it,” I said. “That puts a new twist on things. How did she end up with belladonna in her system?”
“Distilled belladonna,” Gilroy said. “Liquid form from crushed berries. That’s the coroner’s guess.”
I picked up my donut and took another bite. I was sure Julia was about ready to tear that pastry from my hand.
“Mrs. Burkhardt had liquid belladonna in her house,” Underhill said. “For those migraines she had. It’s an over-the-counter med, so we can’t tell if someone stole some. Not like we could with prescriptions.”
“And here I’ve been trying to imagine the party in my mind, over and over again,” I said, “trying to figure out when and how someone placed poison berries on Caroline’s fruit tart and making sure she ate that very tart. And all along . . .”
“All along it wasn’t the tart,” Underhill said, stuffing the rest of his donut in his mouth. “It looks like it was her whiskey-tea drink.”
“She was drinking whiskey, tea, and honey,” Gilroy explained. “The test results from her glass came in. Supposedly, some people like that mix. Don’t ask why.”
“There was almost no tea left in her glass after she dropped it,” Underhill said, “but forensics found a trace of belladonna in it. At first the coroner thought it was backwash from the berries she was eating. You know, if you eat belladonna berries then drink tea, some belladonna flows back into your glass.”
“He just assumed it was backwash,” I said.
“Anyone would have,” Gilroy said. “And remember, his first report about belladonna was preliminary. He found the remains of what looked like belladonna berries, found a trace of belladonna in Mrs. Burkhardt’s mouth, and found it in her blood.”
“Tart or tea, someone poisoned her,” Julia said. “This fascination with how and by what means isn’t helping. We need to know who.”
There was a long silence, the only sound—echoing in the small lobby—being Underhill happily licking his lips and fingers.
“Caroline and Stella were killed by the same person,” I said. “And instincts tell me Valerie couldn’t have stabbed Stella in the neck with shears to cover up her murder of Caroline. It was Lucas or Doyle.”
Gilroy tilted his head and smiled that hardly-there smile of his. The one other people missed because they didn’t know him like I did.
“How about that?” Underhill said. “That’s what the chief thinks.”
Gilroy shot him a sideways look.
“Sorry, Chief.”
“Did you identify the fingerprints in Stella’s greenhouse?” I asked.
“Just Doyle Charming’s and Stella Patmore’s,” Underhill said. “And prints from some neighbors we’re not concerned about.”
“Lucas Siegler claims he’s never been inside that greenhouse,” I said, “and I believe him. If he’d seen Stella’s house and greenhouse, he’d have known Stella had a lot of money and he never would’ve let her borrow his good shears. He would’ve told her to get her own.”
“Why didn’t she?” Underhill asked.
“She was one of those penny-pinching rich people,” Julia said. “I know the type.”
“Maybe the penny pinching is why she had money in the first place,” I said. “Does the coroner know how long it took for Caroline to react to the liquid belladonna?”
“His best guess is no more than a minute or two,” Gilroy replied. “Her asthma and the belladonna she was already taking accelerated the effect.”
I whipped back to the coffeemaker, intending to pour myself a quick cup, but the sight of that black sludge Gilroy called coffee put me off. “She was poisoned by liquid belladonna,” I said, repeating the obvious as I stared at the carafe. I turned back to Gilroy. “I remember her with that glass in her hand when she came out of the house with Lucas. And at one point, Doyle said Lucas was inside the house fixing drinks.”
Underhill’s hand hovered over the donut box. “Mind if I have another donut?”
“Sure,” I said. “When I first met Valerie, she was drinking iced tea.”
“We tested her glass too,” Gilroy said.
“I didn’t know that.”
“We just got the report. There was nothing but tea in it.”
“Or I would’ve told you,” Underhill said.
Gilroy shot him a sterner look.
“I mean, I would’ve told you if I’d run into you by accident and you’d asked,” Underhill said.
Julia patted Underhill’s hand. “Eat your donut, dear.”
Gilroy rubbed his jaw wearily. �
�There was no trace of belladonna in any of the other food at the party, or any of the other glasses. Before we left, we took samples of everything, including the whiskey bottle in the Sieglers’ kitchen. We even searched the trash, and that was before we knew Mrs. Burkhardt had been poisoned.”
He watched me as he spoke, directing his words at me, not Underhill or Julia. He valued my opinion. More than that, I thought, he trusted me.
“And I was sure it had to do with plates and tarts,” Julia said. “I was beginning to think the killer poisoned their own tart and then switched tarts with Caroline. Or not switched. They could have walked by Caroline and put the poison tart on her plate or napkin when she wasn’t looking. They could have put it right in her hand. Caroline wouldn’t have been suspicious, and besides, no one would have noticed.” She shrugged. “I didn’t. I didn’t notice anything.”
“You’re more observant than you give yourself credit for, Mrs. Foster,” Gilroy said. “That’s not a bad idea, either, the murderer walking around with the tart on his own plate until he can place it just right.”
I took a huge and jelly-filled bite of my donut.
“Huh,” Underhill said. “Keeping possession of the tart until it’s safely transferred.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“Do you need a napkin, Rachel?” Julia asked.
I shook my head, held up my finger, and forced myself to swallow. “I know what happened. The belladonna was in his own glass until he poured it out in the sink. Then he rinsed out his glass. He left no trace of it in his own glass.”
Julia gave a little gasp.
“You did see something,” I told her.
“And you told me when I interviewed you,” Gilroy said. He turned to Underhill. “Call Turner in. You and I are paying a visit to Doyle Charming’s house.”
I knew then that Gilroy had already dismissed Lucas Siegler as a suspect, before I’d even entered the station. He’d been zeroing in on Doyle, but he’d wanted to hear what I had to say.
Underhill phoned Turner, and as he spoke, the confusion that had lined his face seconds before began to melt away. The light was dawning on him.
“Doyle put the belladonna in his own tea and waited until it was safe to transfer it to Caroline’s tea,” I said to Gilroy. “They were both drinking tea. Do you realize the enormous dose he could have given her, even with half an ounce of his tea?”
“Of course,” Julia said, sinking into one of the lobby’s plastic chairs. “Doyle held that glass of tea the whole time I was in the kitchen. I don’t remember him drinking it once before he poured it out.”
“Excellent job, Mrs. Foster.” Underhill plunked the rest of his second donut in his mouth.
Julia’s eyes lit up on hearing the officer’s unexpected compliment.
“He must have brought the belladonna with him to the party,” Gilroy said. “Maybe in a little bottle—what do they call them?”
“Vials,” I said. “You can buy them anywhere.”
“A vial,” Gilroy said. “He distilled his own belladonna. Mrs. Foster, who else was with you when you saw Mr. Charming with his tea?”
“It was just me and Lucas at first,” Julia answered. Her eyes grew wide and she clutched her collarbone. “Doyle came in and said Caroline wanted a drink! He was holding his glass of tea at the time—and a blue plate with fruit tarts on it. He didn’t take a single drink of his tea. I was looking at the fruit tarts on the table and trying to ignore Lucas because he kept complaining about Allegra trying to steal his job. I think Lucas fixed the drink and left it on the kitchen island, then came over to the table to talk to me again. Then Doyle left, Caroline came in, and I left. Why didn’t I think of it until now? I couldn’t remember the order of events.”
“Because there was no reason to pay attention that closely,” Gilroy said. “No one does, especially at a party.”
“Question is,” Underhill said, “how do we prove it was Charming who poisoned Mrs. Burkhardt’s drink? It could have been Lucas Siegler.”
Gilroy sighed and stared out the station window, his expression blank. I kept quiet rather than break his train of thought. I knew he was on the verge of putting all the pieces together. “The fingerprints on the inside handle of the greenhouse door,” he said after a moment.
“Yes!” I said. “Lucas told the truth. He was never in the greenhouse. Of course. But Doyle—”
“Wouldn’t have worn gloves to sew belladonna seeds in the raised bed.”
“Stella probably turned her back for a second and he dropped them. Not so easy with gloves on, and besides, gloves raise suspicions.”
“Even if he planted bulbs or transplanted a seedling he started at home, he wouldn’t have worn gloves.”
“Doyle is going to have a devil of a time explaining his fingerprints,” I said. “Oh, and his clothes!” I slapped a hand to my forehead. “That’s why he was wearing a T-shirt and jeans at Wyatt’s. He looked so weirdly uncomfortable in them, but some of Stella’s blood must have spattered on his fancy clothes. He must have killed Stella, rushed home, and changed clothes quickly to keep his lunch date with Allegra.”
“And the belladonna plant,” Gilroy said, moving for his office. “Underhill, bring a couple trash bags—fast,” he called over his shoulder.
I turned to Julia. “Doyle hasn’t had time to dispose of the belladonna plant. Even if he tossed it on the way home, there’ll be trace evidence in his car—leaves, dead blossoms, berries.”
“And Stella’s blood,” Julia said, her anger mounting. “Let him try to dispose of that.”
CHAPTER 17
Underhill entered the station first, dragging a handcuffed and snarling Doyle Charming behind him.
“My only regret is that Lucas wasn’t drinking tea that day too,” Doyle sneered. “I could have killed two birds with one stone.”
“Whoop-tee-doo for you,” Underhill said. He pushed Doyle against the front desk and then turned back to the door. “Sorry, ladies,” he said.
“No problem,” I said.
“What happened?” Turner asked. “You guys roll down a hill or something?”
Doyle was a disheveled mess of a man. His semicircle of white hair, neatly combed when last I’d seen him, stuck out from his scalp as though he’d jammed his thumb in a light socket, and the knees and chest of his tan pants and expensive-looking blue shirt were stained grass green. He must have felt quite ill at ease.
Julia and I had been sitting by the coffee machine, but I stood, thinking Gilroy was right behind Underhill.
“Oh my, it’s Rachel Stowe and Julia Foster,” Doyle said. “Who were so very sure there were poison berries on a tart.”
“Where’s Gilroy?” I asked Underhill.
Doyle chuckled.
“He’s coming,” Underhill replied. “Turner, start processing this meatball.”
“I’m seventy-four,” Doyle said. “Seventy-four.”
“You’re lucky the chief knows that,” Underhill said. “Doubly lucky I wasn’t the one reading you your rights or you’d have a little nosebleed problem about now. We’ll add the charge of assaulting a police officer. How does that sound? Turner, add that to the murder charges.”
“He tripped over the chair!” Doyle screeched. “I couldn’t help throwing it—people were shouting at me. Instinct took over.”
I heard the station door open and turned to see Gilroy enter the building, moving with a bad limp and a bloodied right knee. Suppressing the urge to gasp and ask what had happened—he would’ve died if I’d done that—I sat down again and put my hand on Julia’s arm to shush her. At least he was far less disheveled looking than Doyle, who really did look as though he’d tumbled down a hill.
“I’ve added assaulting a police officer to the charges,” Underhill said.
Gilroy grimaced and came to a halt, shifting his weight to his left leg. “Excellent idea, Underhill. Adding two years to a forty-year sentence doesn’t mean a lot, especially at Mr. Doyle’s age, but let’
s play it by the book.”
Underhill smiled. “He assaulted me too. Look at me. Grass all over my uniform.”
“Hang on, look at me!” Doyle said.
“Two counts of assault,” Gilroy said. “And let’s see if there’s a statute against paying a teenager to trespass onto someone’s property and leave a poison berry on their porch. You never know.” He started for his office.
“And look at you, Gilroy,” Doyle said with contempt. “I’m seventy-four.”
Gilroy hobbled toward Doyle until he stood directly in front of him. “Yes you are, Mr. Charming. And you may not believe me, but I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry you have to end your days this way.”
Doyle opened his mouth, but he seemed unable to speak. Then his face crumpled.
“Take him to the back, Underhill.”
“You got it, Chief.”
Underhill took Doyle by his arm, and as he led him to a cell at the back of the station, I heard Doyle’s voice rise in another complaint. Something about a senior citizen being roughed up and he knew his rights.
Before Gilroy made it to his office, Holly came flying through the station door, as breathless as if she’d run the whole way from her bakery. “What happened? Tell me.”
“Gilroy and Underhill made an arrest,” I said.
Her shoulders slumped. “I thought I heard a commotion.”
“You did,” Turner said. “Mr. Charming here is a noisy meatball.”
“Huh?” she said.
“Underhilll’s term. And he assaulted the chief.”
“Oh no!” Holly cried.
Gilroy held up a hand, fending her off. “I’m fine. I just need to sit down a minute.”
“Maybe some pastries would help?” I said to Holly. I was joking, but she nearly exploded.
“Not now, Rachel! I’m not leaving on your life. I can’t take this anymore!”
Julia, stiff from sitting too long, struggled to her feet. “What in heaven’s name is going on with you?”
“It’s . . . It’s . . .” Holly pointed at Underhill as he walked back to the lobby. “You can’t leave me hanging. I want to hear how you knew it was Doyle. And where you found him. And why you’re all bloody and covered in grass. Chief Gilroy, you look like my son after a baseball game.”
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