8 The Witch Who Saw a Murder

by Emma Belmont

  As she started for the shop in order to make her request and pick up lunch, she wondered if maybe Rudy was the only person who actually knew how to run Superior Hardware.

  31

  To end her round of visits, Maris parked in front of Inklings New & Used Books. It’d be good to touch base with the Pages and see how they were doing. She shouldered her purse, entered the spacious store, and immediately found Alfred stocking books, and Minako behind the counter watering the lush wall of plants.

  “Maris,” Alfred said, setting the carton of books aside. “Two visits in one week. Aren’t we the lucky ones?” Then he paused, his forehead furrowing as he stared at her. “Or are we?”

  Maris smiled and held out her hand. “I am not the bearer of bad tidings, believe me.” Alfred seemed to relax a little. “I stopped by to see how you two were doing.”

  Alfred laughed a little, though it sounded a bit forced. “A bit jumpy still, I guess.” He ran his fingers through his light hair. “I understand there’s been a second death.”

  As a customer mounted the staircase steps to the second floor, Minako came over and went to her husband’s side. “Rudy Schmid?”

  Alfred craned his neck to see the edge of the plaza through the bookstore’s front display windows. “Superior Hardware is still closed.”

  Maris nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid so—and it was another case of botulism poisoning.”

  “Oh no,” Minako said, and put a hand to her mouth.

  “How dreadful,” Alfred said, pulling her close.

  “But I hasten to add,” Maris said quickly, “that it doesn’t look like an accident. In other words, I don’t think there’s any risk of people being accidentally poisoned.”

  “Or that it’s just spreading somehow?” Minako asked.

  Maris shook her head. “Absolutely not. It doesn’t really work that way.”

  “Well,” Alfred said, sounding tired. “We’ve only eaten at home since…”

  “Picnic Day,” Minako said quietly.

  “Honestly,” Alfred said. “We were feeling pretty lucky not to have had any of Joy’s salsa.”

  Minako gave her husband a crooked half smile. “It wouldn’t have gone with our bento lunches.”

  “Oh no,” he agreed. “Of course not.”

  Maris recalled the bag of tortilla chips, the box of pizza, and the half-eaten tuna sandwich. “She brought her own lunch, a sandwich and chips, as I recall.”

  “Right,” Alfred said.

  “She wasn’t much for cooking,” Minako added.

  “Oh?” Maris said. Perhaps putting together the ingredients for salsa wasn’t quite considered ‘cooking’ but she’d at least gone to the trouble of making it.

  Minako shook her head. “She never had time, with her teaching schedule at the school.”

  “So, she mostly ate out then?” Maris asked.

  This time Alfred shook his head. “That was too expensive.”

  “And the restaurants in Cheeseman Village aren’t as good as the ones here,” Minako said.

  Alfred shrugged a little. “Although that Mexican place is nice.”

  Minako crinkled her nose. “It’s too spicy.” She regarded Maris. “Joy thought so too.”

  Her husband gazed down at her. “You know, I’d forgotten that. That one time we went there, I liked their Salsa Colorado…”

  “But Joy and I thought it was much too spicy,” Minako finished.

  “Hmm,” Maris said. “Maybe that’s why she made her own. She was on a budget and wanted it to be less spicy?”

  For a moment the three of them looked at each other, until Minako and Alfred shrugged. “I don’t know,” they said.

  Maris smiled at the two of them. “So you’re eating at home and feeling well?”

  “So far,” Alfred said, his smile returning. “We take turns making lunch…”

  “And dinner,” Minako said. “It’s been nice to spend more time in the kitchen.”

  Maris grinned at them. Of course they took turns. She looked over to the cash register. “How is business?”

  “Very good,” Alfred said, indicating the carton he’d been emptying. “Maybe even a little better than usual.”

  “Really,” Minako said, looking out the display windows, “it’s the restaurants that might be more affected.”

  Maris had to nod. “I think you’re right.” She noticed the green, white, and red colored coupons for the pizzeria’s opening on the counter next to the register. “Do you think you’ll be going to Pizza del Popolo’s grand opening?”

  Minako’s smile matched Alfred’s as they both nodded. “We were planning on it,” she said. “He’s such a nice person.”

  Maris smiled back. “I agree.” She adjusted the purse on her shoulder. “Then I’ll let you get back to work, and see you there tomorrow night.”

  32

  As Maris made her way back out onto the sidewalk, she paused and looked across the grass at the adjoining stretch of plaza. Through the pizzeria’s window, she could see Max bustling about, near one of the ovens. Next door, however, a ‘Closed’ sign still hung in the window of Superior Hardware. Maris paused, frowning at the two stores.

  Max was no doubt getting ready for his grand opening, but he must have one less customer these days, since Guy wasn’t working next door. In fact, she’d just seen the pizzeria’s best customer coming out of Flour Power with sub sandwiches.

  The conversation with Mac while she’d been parked outside Jude and Fab’s shop flashed through her mind: the hardware store’s database and the obvious syringe. She glanced back over her shoulder. Joy thought the salsa at the Mexican restaurant was too spicy.

  As a thought began to gel in her mind, Maris looked back at the hardware store’s ‘Closed’ sign. The sheriff hadn’t asked them to stay closed.

  Quickly, she dug in her purse, yanked out her phone, and dialed Mac.

  33

  By the late afternoon, the sheriff had contacted and then assembled all of the interested parties at Superior Hardware. He and Maris had found the store’s stock of folding chairs, as well as a few patio chairs and arranged them in a U-shape in the only space big enough to hold everyone—right in front of the door.

  Maris stood at the open end of the horseshoe along with Mac.

  “Thank you all for taking the time to come by,” he said. “There have been a few developments in the recent botulism cases.”

  As always, Minako and Alfred sat together holding hands. Max sat next to them, followed around the top of the U by Guy and finally Heather, opposite Minako.

  With a sad smile, Maris turned to the bookstore owners. “Joy Castro was not the target of a botulism poisoning.”

  Alfred’s eyes got big behind his large glasses. Although his mouth dropped open a little, it was Minako who spoke. “But she died of botulinum toxin poisoning.”

  “You said so yourself,” Alfred managed to add.

  “Oh yes,” Maris said. “Without a doubt that’s what killed her.” Maris glanced at Heather, but then looked back to Alfred. “After the argument at the picnic, we’d wondered if she’d been targeted.”

  Maris looked to Mac, who nodded. “After tracking down every last scrap of evidence, there is nothing to suggest that there was any connection between Rudy Schmid and Joy Castro. None at all.”

  “But,” Alfred said, frowning, “if she wasn’t the target…”

  Minako gasped. “Are you saying it was us?” She turned a shocked expression to her husband, and then back to the sheriff.

  “No,” Mac assured them. “Neither of you was the target either.”

  Frowns deepened all around the circle. Max raised his hand, as though he were in a classroom.

  “Max,” Maris said, “you have a question?”

  “Those three sat together, eating,” he said, likely voicing what the others were thinking. “On the same blanket. If Joy was not targeted, and the Pages were not targeted…”

  “We’ll come back to that,” Mac sai
d, causing Max to exchange a puzzled look with Alfred.

  “Heather,” Maris said to her.

  The newly widowed woman grimaced a little. “I was wondering when you’d get around to me.”

  Maris crossed her arms in front of her. “And why would you be wondering that?”

  Heather snorted. “Well I essentially admitted that the love had gone out of my marriage a long time ago, didn’t I?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “And I’m not a particularly good actress. There’s no point in me trying to pretend that I’m distraught.”

  Maris dropped her arms. “It’s not your marriage that interests me. It’s your canning.”

  The woman blinked at her. “My what?”

  Mac gestured toward her. “You’ve described your partnership with your deceased husband. While he worked and ran the store, you took care of the home.”

  “That’s right,” she said, regaining some of her calm. “I took care of the home and my husband. He took care of–”

  “But the number one way to get botulism,” Maris said, stopping her, “is from improperly canned food.”

  Heather scowled back at her. “Oh this is ridiculous.” She glanced around the circle, only to find the others staring at her. “Look,” she said, putting her hands flat on her thighs as though she was stabilizing herself. “I may not be the best cook or the most inventive canner out there, but I do know the rules.” She leveled her gaze at Maris. “And I regularly eat my own canned food.” She glanced at the sheriff. “And if there’s some test or other that you want to do on me or my pantry, that’s fine.” She looked back to Maris. “I know how to can goods safely.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Maris said to her, and pointedly turned to Max.

  The Italian chef cocked his head back. “Me?” He put both hands over his heart. “You suspect me?” His flabbergasted look shot around the group. “But…but…” he sputtered and then groaned. “No, mi amici, no.”

  Minako spoke up in the silence. “But I thought that his pizza from the picnic was tested and cleared?”

  The sheriff hooked his thumbs behind the front of his utility belt. “Correct.”

  Max turned a grateful look on Minako. “Thank you,” he said, bowing his head a little.

  “Besides,” Heather said, “why would a restauranteur start poisoning people with botulism when he’s trying to get his restaurant going?”

  Max looked at her as though it was his first time seeing her. “Grazie, signora.” He gazed around at the entire group and threw his hands up in the air. “I have said it from the start. My humble pizzeria has hardly started before it begins to sink.”

  Maris turned to Guy. “Despite support from your next-door neighbor here.”

  Guy smiled at her and then at Max. “You can’t argue with good pizza.”

  “You know,” Maris said to the hardware store employee, “I saw you at Flour Power today, picking up some subs. I tried to say hi but you’d already gotten in your car.”

  “Oh,” he said, surprised. “I didn’t see you.”

  “I know,” she said simply. “But it got me wondering.” She glanced at Minako and Alfred. “Joy was a teacher in Cheeseman Village and living by herself on a budget. You say she didn’t eat out much.”

  Alfred and Minako nodded. “That’s right,” they said.

  Maris turned back to Guy. “And yet Max says you’ve turned into his best customer. Then I see you at Flour Power. If I check with the smokehouse, would I find you patronize them as well?”

  Guy shrugged his big shoulders. “I like good food just as much as the next person.”

  Maris nodded. “Naturally. But I wonder how you’re able to afford it?” She glanced around at the hardware store. “I’m sure it’s a nice place to work, but Rudy probably couldn’t have afforded a lot in terms of a salary for a hardware clerk.”

  His smile slipped a little. “I get by.” He glanced between her and Mac. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but I owed Rudy my job.” He nodded at Heather. “Your husband was the only person willing to take a chance on an ex-con.”

  “I wonder why the hardware store never seems to have enough stock on hand?” Maris said abruptly.

  Guy glared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I bought the last box of medium nitrile gloves,” she said and glanced at Max. “Bear had to improvise the fix on your oven when Superior Hardware didn’t have the supplies he needed.” She looked back to Guy. “When I discovered Rudy’s body, you were with a customer who couldn’t find what he wanted. In fact, more and more, Bear has to shop in Cheeseman Village.”

  Guy shrugged again. “I’m not in charge of ordering or the inventory.”

  “Ah,” Maris said, holding up a finger. “That’s right. The first morning that I visited, Rudy was out on the dock doing just that, taking an inventory. I would guess he found something amiss. The goods on hand didn’t match the database—by a lot.”

  When Guy made no reply, the sheriff spoke up. “You’d have plenty of spending money if you were selling stolen goods, like pricey tools and supplies.”

  Maris watched Guy’s jaw clench, and he seemed rooted to the folding chair. “Maybe it’s not a love of good food that leads you to eat out so often. Maybe it’s fear of your own kitchen.” She paused, watching him. “You know. That place where you let the botulism bacteria grow.” When he didn’t react, she elaborated. “It’s ridiculously easy to make if you know what you’re doing, because the bacteria is everywhere.”

  “Had Mr. Schmid caught you stealing?” Mac asked him.

  “Wait a minute,” Heather said, shaking her head. “You’re talking about murder. Over what? Some stolen tools?”

  Mac shook his head slowly. “Not just over some stolen tools.” He looked at Guy. “I’ve pulled your criminal record, Mr. Koch. You were incarcerated for selling pot, but you’ve also done time for assault and battery. Another conviction in this state means three strikes and you’re out. You’d go back to prison for life.” The sheriff touched the side of his own eye. “That scar of yours. Did you have a teardrop tattoo removed?”

  Maris stared at the small spot.

  Alfred glanced between the two men, and finally asked, “What’s a teardrop tattoo?”

  The sheriff never took his eyes from Guy. “In some prison cultures, it stands for a murder.”

  Though Guy said nothing, an ugly sneer twisted his upper lip.

  Maris turned to the Pages. “There was no evidence of botulism found at Joy’s home. Someone had to have given her the salsa.” She looked at Guy. “To make up for the fact that she was thrown out of the store? Or simply as a gift, from a single man to a single woman?”

  The ex-con’s biceps were bulging and his neck took on a strained and stringy look.

  Mac stepped forward. “Guy Koch, I’m placing you under arrest for the murders of Joy Castro and Rudy Schmid.” The sheriff quickly removed the cuffs from his belt and took the ex-con by the arm. Guy’s shoulders sagged and he bowed his head low as he stood. Maris had the brief impression this was something he’d been through many times. As Mac moved his wrists behind his back and put on the handcuffs, he said, “I’ve also obtained a search warrant for your apartment. If I’m not mistaken, we’ll find not only botulism, but the items missing from the store’s inventory.” With one hand on the cuffs, and one on Guy’s shoulder, he moved him toward the front door. “Let’s go.” Though the ex-con shuffled, he didn’t resist.

  Mac gave Maris a small nod as they passed her, and then they were gone. She could hear his voice fading as he read Guy his rights.

  “But,” Minako said, standing. “I don’t understand about Joy. She didn’t have anything to do with this store, let alone the stealing.”

  “It’s true,” Maris said to her, as the others also stood. “Guy didn’t target Joy—or anyone for that matter. He simply wanted someone else to die of botulism. She was simply a distraction, meant to create confusion.”

  “Che disgustozo,” Max m
uttered, his face screwed up as though he’d tasted something awful. “That’s disgusting.”

  “So any one of us could have died?” Alfred asked.

  Maris nodded. “I’m afraid so. I don’t think Guy was picky.”

  As the group slowly filed out, Maris thought back on Mojo’s Ouija clue. Guy had served time for assault and ‘battery.’ The man on the tarot card had certainly looked like he’d gotten away with something—not just theft but murder as well. When Heather hung back, Maris stopped just outside the shop’s door and turned back to her.

  Heather held up a set of keys. “I’m just going to lock up.”

  34

  The big day had arrived, and Maris found she was excited. Using a hand truck, she wheeled her heavy box along the Towne Plaza’s sidewalk. Cookie strode alongside her, a potted plant with a luxurious bunch of herbs in her hand, and a serving tray under her other arm. The evening had turned pleasantly cool and the last violet rays of the dramatic sunset were giving way to a Prussian blue.

  “Beautiful night for a grand opening,” Cookie said.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Maris said. “I’ve really been looking forward to this.”

  But even from a few stores away, Maris could see that there was hardly anyone in the vicinity.

  “Wait,” Cookie said. “What’s this?”

  Maris realized she was walking alone, stopped, and looked behind her. The diminutive chef was looking up at something. A temporary vinyl sign was hung over the hardware store’s real sign.

  “Heather’s Hardware,” Cookie read. She turned to Maris and smiled. “Interesting.”

  Maris grinned back. “Interesting indeed.”

  But they didn’t have to wait long to get some answers. The only person in the pizzeria was Heather Schmid. When Max saw them, he threw his arms open wide.