Anton looked at Rhonda, who handed it over. The document wasn’t long and the list of items was short—leaves, seeds, and stems of something called Datura stramonium. Used in the commission of a felony, murder one.
While a team of state and local officers swarmed in and out of the house and scoured the fields, Grammie and I watched from the back porch swing. On the surface, Grammie appeared her usual calm self, but the hand lifting her mug shook.
“Why on earth do they think we have jimsonweed growing in our fields?” she asked. “Your grandfather made a point of removing any noxious weeds. Otherwise the hay would be ruined.”
“I’m guessing Elliot was poisoned by it.” Now Anton’s questions about Elliot’s food and drink the day he died made sense.
Using my phone, I found a site discussing the poisonous plant, which looked perfectly innocent with its bell-like white flowers and serrated leaves. Datura had hallucinogenic properties, as mentioned in books Carlos Castaneda wrote in the 1970s. Alternative names were colorful—devil’s trumpet, angel tulip, and locoweed. According to the site, symptoms of an overdose from the seeds or dried leaves were gruesome and sometimes fatal. For Elliot to die, he must have received a very powerful dose.
Something struck me. “Why did the killer use jimsonweed? How did they even think of it? There are tons of other poisons.” I wondered if it had some meaning to the killer, perhaps a connection to Elliot’s past. Unfortunately a past Grammie shared with him.
“You’re right, Iris.” She reached out and grabbed my forearm. “What if Elliot’s death is revenge for Star?”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” I searched my photo gallery for the Uncle Henry’s listing to make sure it was still up. Later today I would go to Liberty, I resolved, to look at linens and, most important, visit the old commune.
The officers didn’t find anything in the fields as far as I could tell, but they did haul away Grammie’s containers of herbal tea and even some spice bottles.
Mid-morning, Anton came to the house to tell us they were done. “No arrest yet, huh?” I said, ticked off they had put us through the humiliation of searching our home. “I could have told you that before you invaded our privacy so early in the day.” The sprinkles had become almost a downpour, and Anton looked miserable in his police-issue slicker, raindrops dripping off his hat brim.
The chief pressed his lips together, not bothering to defend the department’s actions. “I wanted you to know that we’re searching the store again. So it will be another day or two before we release it and you can go back inside.”
“You think Grammie concocted her devil’s trumpet tea at the store?” I couldn’t hold back a jibe. “Or maybe it was left over from the party days. What’s the half-life on jimsonweed anyway?”
“Iris. You know I’m only doing my job.” He looked with longing toward the SUV.
But I wasn’t finished yet. “Why are you so focused on Grammie? I overheard Ted Perkins and Elliot fighting the other day, about business. And Ted was sweet on Star. He cried over her death.” I thought about throwing Nancy and Charlotte into the suspect mix but I had only rumor and hearsay concerning them. I actually heard Ted and Elliot argue and, yes, I saw Ted cry.
He turned away with a sigh, muttering something about not being in charge of the case. As he plodded to his vehicle, head down, remorse stabbed me. It was only because of our friendship that I dared poke at him.
Inside the house, Grammie was building a fire in the living room fireplace. “Want to go on a road trip with me?” I asked. “The rain is supposed to stop.” The radar map revealed that, in an hour or so, this big batch of clouds would be out of here.
“I’d rather not, Iris.” She crumpled balls of newspaper and tucked them under the crisscrossed kindling. “I have a call scheduled with Cookie and, like I said earlier, I also need to finish reading the diary. This latest turn of events has made one thing perfectly clear. We need to get a move on and solve this thing before they decide to throw me in jail.”
Maybe my trip to the commune was a sidebar. But then I thought, no. At the least, I would be doing something—however small—to investigate Star’s death. And maybe, as Grammie and I thought, her murder was connected to Elliot’s. After all, he’d been infuriating for decades, why kill him now?
“That all makes sense, Grammie,” I said. “I’ll see if Madison wants to go with me.” I really didn’t want to walk into a strange situation by myself. In the back of my mind, banjos played any time I thought of venturing deep into the countryside. That old Burt Reynolds flick had a lot to answer for, even if it was set in Georgia, not Maine.
I sent Ian a text first, heart in my throat, to let him know that the storefront was still off-limits indefinitely. Then I held my breath, wondering if I’d get a reply back saying he quit. Or telling me where to go. But there was … nothing. Not even a rude emoji.
With a sigh, I texted Madison about the trip to Liberty, hoping she wouldn’t ghost me too. Although she didn’t have a reason, the way Ian did. The memory of his mother’s cold stare prickled whenever I thought of it, like a burr caught in my collar.
But Madison wrote right back, saying she was in a kickoff meeting at the Sunrise Resort but would gladly go with me later. I was excited for her, since she had been trying to win a contract with the resort for months. Obviously she had succeeded at last.
This good news cheered me, and with a lighter heart, I headed upstairs to do business paperwork. But I had barely turned on the computer when Bella called. Since she usually texted me, I picked up immediately. “Iris,” she said. “Are you free for the next hour?”
I glanced at my messy desk. Nothing was terribly urgent, I decided. “I can be. What’s up?”
She lowered her voice. “Nancy Parker is coming in for a fitting. I was hoping you could do her alterations for me.”
I still hadn’t told Bella I would have to stop doing alterations once our store opened. I’d better do that today. But yes, I had time for one last customer, especially one up to her neck in two murder investigations. I told her I would come right down.
Bella’s store was cool and fragrant, a respite from the bustle of Main Street on a summer day. “Iris.” Bella came around the end of the counter and greeted me with a hug. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”
“No problem.” I returned her hug, then took a deep breath. “I hate to tell you this, but I won’t be able to help you after the store opens.”
She nodded. “I expected that would happen. I’m already putting out feelers for a new seamstress.” She glanced out the window. “Nancy isn’t here yet. Do you want a lemon water?”
“Sure.” I followed her to the back room, where she had a small refrigerator. She poured two tall glasses of ice water and added slices of lemon. “Of course, I’m making the assumption that we’re still going to open. The police searched our property today for the murder weapon.” Even saying the words out loud made my stomach churn.
Bella frowned as she handed me a glass. “Murder weapon? I don’t get it.”
“The autopsy showed that Elliot was poisoned, not strangled,” I said, keeping an eye on the door for Nancy. “Someone fed him an overdose of jimsonweed, which grows around here. Who knew.”
She continued to frown as she absorbed this. “So they still think your grandmother is guilty.” She shook her head. “Ridiculous. Not only is she innocent, of course, but other people had much stronger motives. Why aren’t they focusing on them?”
Good question. But before I could respond, the front door opened with a jingle and Nancy entered, pushing sunglasses up into her hair. Suddenly nervous, I put a hand on Bella’s arm. “Is she going to want to see me?”
Bella pressed her lips together. “Don’t worry. It will be okay.” She set down her glass and arranged her features in a welcoming smile, then swept into the main room. As for me, I lingered in the doorway, hoping that Bella was right.
“Nancy. How nice to see you.” Bella greeted
her in the Italian manner, with air kisses on each cheek. “You’re looking well.”
Nancy made a face as she gazed into a nearby mirror. She pulled off the sunglasses and patted her hair. “Really? I feel like such a mess.” She tucked the sunglasses into her bag, which was crafted of soft mustard-colored leather.
“That’s totally understandable. Again, so sorry for your loss.” Bella paused as Nancy nodded in acknowledgment. “Remember that lace dress we altered?”
“The one I wore to the Governor’s Ball?” Nancy said. “It fit like a dream. And such delicate fabric, too.”
Bella linked her arm through Nancy’s and turned her to face me. “Iris did the alterations, which were masterful. And I’ve asked her to help me today since we have some complicated garments to try on and alter.”
“Hello, Nancy.” I braced myself for her reaction. After all, my grandmother was the chief suspect in her husband’s murder.
But to my surprise, although her expression remained dour, she merely nodded. “Iris. Good to see you.” Well mannered to the core, I had to give her that.
“Nice to see you too,” I murmured. I tagged along as Bella gathered several dresses off a rack and carried them into the largest changing room.
Black dresses. For a widow to wear.
Nancy was already shucking her pleated shorts and seersucker blouse, revealing her plain but expensive bra and panties. She took the first dress Bella handed her, but instead of putting it on, her face screwed up and she burst into tears. Still clutching the garment, she hugged Bella and then me, her tears dripping onto my neck.
“I miss him so … so much,” she said, her voice rising to a wail that rang in my ears. “How can he be gone? He was everything to me.”
As I patted her shoulder, which was still quite firm for a woman aged seventy or so, I felt pretty certain that Nancy hadn’t killed her husband. Her grief felt authentic to me. After all, this wasn’t the first time I had consoled a bereaved woman.
CHAPTER 22
Madison and I were on U.S. Route 1, halfway to Liberty and the Bards commune, before I finished telling her about the early-morning visit from the police to search our property and my encounter with Nancy at Bella’s. The skies had cleared, the clouds chased away by a brisk wind, and sunlight sparkled on the ocean.
“Wow, what a morning,” Madison said. “I would have understood if you wanted to make this trip another day.”
Sure, I was basically running on fumes at this point but I wanted—no, needed—to make some progress. Everything that we learned only raised more questions. “I can’t stop now. They might decide to arrest Grammie anytime.”
Madison’s eyes darkened. “That is so not going to happen. I won’t allow it.”
Her brave words made me choke up for a second. I had the best friends in the world. “I thought maybe we could use this ride time to talk through everything. Think about who else might be guilty. Figure out what we know and what we don’t.” I was desperate for a breakthrough.
Madison fished around in her bag and pulled out a small notebook and a pen. “Want me to take notes?” She grinned. “I promise they won’t fall into enemy hands. I’ll eat them if I have to.”
I laughed. “That won’t be necessary, I hope. Why don’t you finish your email to Sunrise while I get us something to drink?” I flicked the turn signal, preparing to pull into a convenience store and gas station.
A few minutes later, bottles of iced tea in hand, we set off again. “Okay,” I said. “We have two murders to solve. The first question is, are they connected?”
Madison wrote the names of the two victims in the notebook, at the head of a page. “You mean, did the same person commit both?”
“Or is Elliot’s murder revenge for Star’s?” I took another sip. “How weird that someone killed him right after she was found.”
“As opposed to another time?”
“Yes. From what I’ve gathered, Elliot wasn’t exactly husband of the year. And if the way he treated Grammie over the land is any indication, he must have had enemies.”
“My dad didn’t like him,” Madison said. “Actually, what he said was that he ‘had no use for a blowhard egoist throwing his weight around.’”
“Wow.” Dr. Horatio Morris was the most levelheaded, reserved, discreet man I knew. “That doesn’t even sound like him.”
“I know, right?” Madison laughed. “They got into it at the yacht club. Elliot was trying to run roughshod over the other members about something, I forget what.”
“So, write down all the members of the yacht club,” I joked. “No, I think it was someone a little closer. Like Ted Perkins.”
“Ted is connected to both victims, right?” Madison said.
“He’s top of the list right now,” I admitted. “Even though I kind of like him. But I got the feeling he cared deeply about Star when I talked to him at his house. And he was angry with Elliot over their business dealings.” I remembered what I had learned about other band members. “Gary Ball liked Star too. And guess what, so did Fergus Stewart.”
“Ian’s granddad?” Madison’s pen scratched across the paper. “Star was quite the femme fatale, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Gary said that both Fergus and Papa dated her. But Papa never did, according to Grammie.” Well, Grammie hadn’t said that exactly, only that she and my grandfather were a hot item when Star was killed.
“I remember Gary saying that,” Madison said. “What a jerk.” She tapped her pen. “But his motive for Elliot’s death?”
“I don’t know of any,” I admitted. “Unless it was the revenge thing.”
“Duly noted. And Fergus passed away,” Madison said. “So that lets him off the hook, regarding Elliot at least.”
The mention of Fergus brought me to the tender topic of Ian. “Speaking of the Stewarts, I really feel bad about Ian. He’s probably never going to talk to me again.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” Madison studied me with sympathy. “He likes you or he never would have offered to fix the motorcycle.”
My heart sank even further. “That was so nice of him. Then I turn around and report him to the police.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Madison said. “Talk about a rock and a hard place. You had to tell the police about the key and the truck. They don’t like it when you hold out on them. He’ll understand.”
“I hope so.” But I had plenty of doubts.
“If he’s half the guy you think he is, he will,” she said crisply. Then she gave a soft grunt. “Now I get why his mother gave you the evil eye the other day. I couldn’t figure it out.”
So I didn’t imagine Fiona’s attitude. Hopefully I could mend the relationships once the murders were solved. And Ian was cleared of using his truck to terrorize us. There was that. “Okay,” I said. “Moving on. Who else has motives? Baggie Bevins of course. That’s why we’re taking this field trip. Oh, and by the way, Anton is doing a records search on Bevins.”
Madison wrote “Baggie Bevins,” then began doodling on the page. “Iris, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I slowed our speed as we approached Belfast, a midsized town once known for chicken farms. Now it was a thriving and artsy destination. Soon we would leave Route 1 to head west. Liberty was one of many small rural towns dotting the countryside between the coast and Maine’s metropolitan areas of Augusta and Bangor.
She continued to doodle hearts and flowers. “I’m kind of getting a vibe from Anton. Think I’m imagining it?”
Uh, no. “I picked up on that too.” I studied the road signs, not wanting to miss the turn. “But what do you think? Are you interested?” I navigated through the intersection.
Madison didn’t say anything, and when I glanced over, she was gazing out the window. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Maybe.”
I gave her advice I had received so often. “Take it slow. Be his friend.” The local traffic going in and out of shopping centers thinned and I hit the gas.<
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She was quiet another long moment. “All right, back to business. Obviously Nancy is a suspect, right? And maybe Charlotte?”
“They were both at the breakfast meeting, so yes. Although I can’t imagine what Charlotte’s motive would be. She was complaining to me that Nancy is now her landlord.” And I supposed she was ours too. But we hadn’t heard from her.
“I’ll put her down anyway.” Madison tapped her pen in a pensive manner. “What about Nancy? You really think she’s innocent?”
I thought back to the scene at Bella’s. “Either that or a fantastic actress. Her grief seemed totally genuine. She’s devastated. I mean, crying on my shoulder? I barely know the woman.”
“Hmm.” Madison thought about that. “But they do say it’s usually the partner, right?”
“Yeah, they do,” I agreed.
We lapsed into silence the rest of the way to our first stop, the woman selling old linens. Her house was a ranch on a side road, probably built in the late 1950s, I guessed from the style. The place was in good condition, which encouraged me to believe the inventory would be as well.
I was right. An hour later, we drove away, thrilled with a stash of sixties flower-print sheets and barkcloth tablecloths and kitchen linens. A few hostess aprons rounded out the sale, and with the interest in mid-century modern, those would go fast.
Madison kept turning around to admire an aqua barkcloth tablecloth and napkins in a boomerang-and-guitar print. “I want that.”
“And you shall have it. Early birthday present.” Her birthday was in June.
With a squeal, she lunged in for a hug then thought better of it. “Sorry. You’re driving.” She looked out the window at woods and fields. “Where are we going next?”
We crested a rise and a cluster of about six buildings appeared. Liberty’s tiny village. “I have no idea. The Bards commune isn’t marked on the map.” I pulled into the library parking lot. “So hopefully someone here can help.”
Hems & Homicide Page 17