"No, I can't honestly say I've had any personal dealings with Boris at all. Dealing with Prescott was bad enough, and I've heard Boris is as greedy and unscrupulous as Horatio."
"Maybe it's time you found out for yourself what kind of guy Boris is. Stand up to him, try to cultivate a friendship with him, and then tell him the story in the same manner you just relayed it to me. Boris seems a bit gruff, but he may be more understanding than you'd think. What have you got to lose at this point? You can't allow things to go on like this forever, can you?"
"No, I can't. You're right, Lexie. Maybe it's time I did just as you've suggested," Harry said. He ambled over and sat down on the veranda's swinging bench as if his knees would no longer support his body. After a long, awkward silence, Harry looked up at me and nodded. "I'm going to take your advice. Bless you, my girl. You've given me the confidence to do it. I'll speak with Boris about the situation and deal with the consequences. However it turns out, I know it will be easier than living with this hanging over my head another day. If Alma divorces me, I can always sue her for alimony—and move to another state where no one knows me."
I suddenly wished I had kept my mouth shut and prayed the suggestion I'd just made didn't blow up in Harry's face. The more I thought about it, the more I thought it was quite likely Boris had known about the blackmailing all along. He'd surely questioned Horatio about Harry Turner's payment being deposited in D&P's account on the first of every month. It wouldn't surprise me, now that Horatio was gone, if Boris didn't up the ante and demand a higher payment from Harry to continue to keep the photo a secret.
Oh, my, why did I always have to butt into other people's problems? When would I learn I couldn't shape the world and mould all of its inhabitants? I don't know why I felt it was my responsibility to persuade Harry to confront Boris about the blackmailing. I did know one thing, though. I would give just about anything I had to be a mouse in the corner of the room when this discussion between Harry and Boris transpired.
Chapter 10
I was back in the basement with Stone following my conversation with Harry Turner. Stone had found little more of interest in the trash bag other than some vague information on bank accounts in Switzerland.
"Why are Swiss bank accounts so popular with money launderers?" I asked Stone because he seemed to know a little about everything.
"Due to Switzerland's neutrality, their banks tend to be the safest in the world," he said. "They allow depositors to be identified by a number known only to themselves and a minimum of bank officials. A private fortune can remain a secret because of this practice. If a bank employee violates this trust, he can be fined and imprisoned."
As Stone spoke, he continued to cram handfuls of shredded paper back into the trash bag, stopping for a few moments to inspect a small paper cut on his index finger. I watched him for a time, impressed once again with his vast knowledge. Then I remembered the phone number I'd jotted down on my wrist. Quickly I told Stone about my forage into Boris's room and about my close call in almost being caught going back for the bank statement papers. I dialed the number on my cell phone. While I listened to the phone ringing on the other end, I glanced at Stone. He didn't seem too pleased with me. He was shaking his head with a look of disapproval and running his fingers through his hair repeatedly.
The phone rang for a fourth time. I was disappointed when the call was answered by a voice mail recording. "Leave a message," was the extent of the coarse message. I'd hoped for something a little more informative, like, "You've reached Joe Blow, President of Embezzlers Anonymous. I'm currently away from the phone, doing time in Leavenworth on an extortion charge. You may contact my attorney at 1-800-G02-JAIL or press one to record a voice mail after the beep." But, unfortunately, "Leave a message," was all I got.
"Damn!" I said out loud.
"No luck, huh?"
"No." An earlier thought about being a mouse in the room when Harry confronted Boris crossed my mind. Maybe I couldn't actually be a mouse, but I might be able to hide like one. "Say, Stone, do you think there's enough room under the bed in Boris's room for me to hide while he takes that six o'clock phone call tonight?"
Stone shook his head in dismay. "Yes, there's enough room, and no, you aren't going to try something risky like that. Sneaking into Boris's room while he showered was risky enough and not very sensible on your part. The success of this inn is nowhere near so important to me that I'm going to let you put yourself in any more dangerous positions like the one you put yourself in today. So erase the idea from your mind and forget about it, Lexie. I mean it. It's much too dangerous. Men like Boris Dack can be ruthless and unpredictable."
I nodded, but in the back of my mind I still tossed the idea around. I couldn't help it. I was bristling with curiosity about the phone call Boris was expecting. An impulsive nature like mine was very hard to keep in check. I'd had to deal with the consequences of that fact my entire life.
Crystal had the master key to his room. I could come up with some excuse to borrow it while she was busy frying chicken for supper. Supper was at 6:30. I'd surely be back in the kitchen by then. I assumed Boris would return to the parlor after taking his phone call and partake in the social drinking before the guests gathered in the dining room for supper. If I remembered right, the bed in his room was like mine. It was a large, four-poster bed, set high off the floor, with a dust ruffle hanging quite low. I didn't think Boris could bend over far enough to peer under the bed, even if he wanted to.
And didn't I owe it to Stone to help him in any way I could? He'd certainly sacrificed a lot to help me when Wendy had been abducted in New York the previous fall. I managed to convince myself that when it was all over and nothing bad had happened to me, he'd see the whole thing differently.
* * *
I was still feeling a bit weak from the tansy oil poisoning, so I took a short nap in the afternoon. Following a series of nightmarish dreams, I woke up drenched in sweat. None of the dreams made any sense at all, but they were enough to scare me in to a wide-awake state. In one dream Cornelius, who was dressed only in a g-string and cowboy boots, was chasing me down an alley.
I shook my head to clear it and took several deep breaths. I then quickly showered, changed, and went downstairs to help Crystal prepare the evening meal. If nothing else, the power nap had boosted my energy level.
Happy hour wouldn't begin for another hour, but Rosalinda, Cornelius, and the Poffenbargers were already having drinks in the parlor. This wasn't unexpected, for there was little else to do at the inn except indulge in social drinking and visit with other guests. Our guests seemed to be well schooled on drinking and idle chatter.
"Getting a head start on happy hour?" I asked the group in a cheerful voice.
"For now we're just having some lemonade to wash down a few crackers," Patty said. Otto nodded, as he executed an open-aired quasi-toast in my direction. Cornelius followed suit, and Rosalinda nodded also but kept her glass tightly clutched between her hands. She was taking no chances on letting her drink make an escape.
"Otto, as a botanist, you might be just the person I need to answer a question for me," I said. I sat down on the armrest of the sofa as I spoke.
"I'll do my best, Lexie," Otto said.
"As I'm sure you've heard, I somehow ingested a toxic substance called tansy oil last evening. Oddly enough, the same substance was found in Horatio Prescott's system during his autopsy."
"You don't say! I'd heard about your experience, but I didn't know Horatio had been poisoned, too. How extremely odd!"
"Yes, I thought so, too. What can you tell me about tansy oil? I've never heard of it before." Otto knew all about the toxic quality of the autumn crocus, so I hoped he was well versed in tansy oil, as well. I wasn't disappointed.
"Tansy is an herb which was once regarded by gypsies as a cure-all for numerous medical conditions like expelling tape worms, preventing miscarriages, and easing dyspepsia."
"Dyspep—?"
"Indigest
ion. But tansy oil can be highly lethal. As little as one or two tablespoons can cause death. Tansy oil is high in thujone, a poison that causes convulsions, seizures, vomiting, organ degeneration, or even respiratory arrest." Otto spoke in a monotone, as if reciting information from a textbook. "Tansy is also known as bachelors' button and scented fern."
"Are you kidding? I have bachelor button plants in my flower garden. Where would one purchase tansy oil around here? I assume the extraction of the oil is a complicated procedure an average layperson like myself wouldn't even try to attempt."
"The oil is extracted by steam distillation. I imagine most people would obtain it through a specialty store." Otto said this in a tone indicating he obtained his own toxic oils by steam distillation, and looked down upon anyone who had to stoop to buying their tansy oil at a store. He went on to say, "I'm sure the Rockdale Farm and Ranch Supply store has a limited herb section, so it's possible they might carry it, but I doubt it. You might ask Cornelius, though. He's one of the managers of the store and has worked for them for years, since they first opened their doors."
Hmm. So Cornelius might have easy access to tansy oil? Could the Don Juan of manure be acting out of retribution for the loss of his beloved Ethel? I put "visit Farm and Ranch store" on my mental list of things to accomplish tomorrow.
"The Latin name for tansy is 'tanacetum.'" Otto continued, but I had tuned him out. My mind was racing ahead to other matters I needed to attend to.
Patty swallowed the last of the cheese crackers on the snack tray and yawned. "Shut up already! Ms. Starr doesn't care what the Latin name is, nor does anyone else in the room. You can be so utterly boring, Otto. Sometimes, I don't know why I put up with you. No one is impressed with your ability to recite tedious details."
I hated myself momentarily for agreeing with Patty. I felt bad I had caused Otto to be subjected to Patty's sharp tongue, but Otto seemed unaffected. He was accustomed to insults and the brash treatment he received at regular intervals from his wife.
I smiled at Otto and said, "Thanks for the info, Mr. Poffenbarger. I was fairly confident you'd be able to answer my question. Relax and enjoy your lemonade, everyone. I need to help Crystal with supper. Hope you all like southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and zucchini squash."
"I, for one, am not at all hungry," Patty said. "The stress of this whole ordeal has put me 'off my feed,' as they say. But despite my lack of appetite, I guess I'll have to try to eat a few bites. For the sake of my health, you understand."
"Of course. I understand. I'm sure you'll manage to get something down, Mrs. Poffenbarger," I said, exiting the room.
* * *
Crystal was in the kitchen paring potatoes. She looked fresh and energetic. I felt like a slug with salt raining down on me in comparison. I needed something other than coffee to perk me up, something cold and refreshing. Lemonade sounded good to me.
"Do we have any more lemonade, Crystal?"
"No, except for a few cans still in the freezer. I just served the last of it to Mr. Walker and the Poffenbargers."
"And Rosalinda? Isn't she drinking lemonade, too?" I asked, reaching into the refrigerator for a can of Diet Coke in lieu of lemonade.
Crystal chuckled and said, "Not hardly. But I'm sure there's so much vodka and so little orange juice in her screwdriver that it looks like lemonade. Rosalinda's happy hour started just after lunch, Lexie. I can't believe she's still conscious."
"She was clinging to her glass as if it were the only thing keeping her upright."
"I can well imagine. How are you doing, by the way?"
"I'm much better. I'm sorry I wasn't around to help you this morning," I said.
"No problem. And it's not like you could help it. I'm just sorry to hear about what happened to you last night. I couldn't believe it when Stone told me all about it early this morning right after I arrived," she said, placing the pan of potatoes on the stove and the paring knife in the dishwasher as she spoke. "I'm lucky Stone was up and about early today. I forgot my key at home. I sat it down on our kitchen table at home while I opened the back door to let the dogs inside, and then I forgot and left without it."
"Maybe we should consider hiding a spare key under a flower pot or something. Any one of us could accidentally lock ourselves out," I said.
"Yeah, maybe we should," Crystal said. She moved around the room like a ballerina while I staggered around it like a wild boar on tranquilizers. Crystal glanced at me, concern showing on her face, although she made no comment about my sluggishness. I was still feeling the effects of the tansy oil I'd ingested the night before.
"Why would anyone poison you?" Crystal asked. "Who would want to do something like that?"
"I wish I knew," I said sincerely. I sat down heavily on the chair Crystal offered.
"By the way, Lexie, I found something that might be of interest to you while I was cleaning the guest rooms this morning."
"What's that?"
"I found this," she said, pulling a thick manuscript from a kitchen cabinet. She placed it on the counter beside me.
"Is this Mr. Prescott's book?" I asked, in a soft whisper.
"Yes, but it wasn't in Mr. Prescott's room," Crystal whispered back. "It was in the Poffenbargers' room, inside Otto Poffenbarger's suitcase. I found it when I picked up the suitcase to vacuum under it. The weight of the manuscript caused the suitcase to plop open, and the papers scattered all over the floor. I put them all back in order and brought the manuscript down here to hide in the cabinet. I didn't want Mr. Poffenbarger to know I was the one who confiscated it. I'm still worried about what will happen if he finds out. Whoever's responsible for all that's happened is obviously capable of doing anything to anyone who gets in his way."
"That's true," I said. "But it's interesting that Otto would have Horatio's manuscript in his baggage. Otto's writing a book similar to the one Horatio was writing."
"I know. That's what Stone told me this morning. Which is why I thought it was odd to find the manuscript in Mr. Poffenbarger's suitcase."
"I think it's odd, too. You don't suppose—?"
"I don't know," Crystal said, still whispering.
"Why don't you put this back up into the cabinet for now, okay?" I said. "I'm going to talk to Stone and see if he thinks we should alert the authorities. I'll be back shortly to lend a hand in the kitchen. And don't worry about Mr. Poffenbarger finding out. We won't tell him it was you who found the manuscript in his bag and turned it over to us."
"Thanks, and take your time. I shouldn't need much help with supper, Lexie. I'm ahead of schedule as it is. I'd rather you took it easy tonight. Put your feet up and rest a while after you speak with Stone. You had a nasty experience yesterday, and you don't want to overdo it and bring on a relapse."
I knew she'd been speaking with Stone. He'd made the same comment, verbatim, just minutes earlier. I thanked her, left the kitchen, and detoured back through the parlor to find Stone. By now, Rosalinda was asleep, or passed out, in the over-stuffed chair facing the fireplace, and Cornelius was lounging in the chair across from her. The Poffenbargers were just rising from the matching couch. Patty let out a loud grunt as she hoisted herself off the cushion. "We're going to go back to our room to shower and freshen up. Maybe I can work up an appetite before supper," she said. I forced a smile in response to her comment and turned toward her slim husband.
"Otto, remember telling me yesterday that Mr. Prescott was writing a book about the proper way to go about restoring historic homes, a book similar to the one you're working on?"
"Yes, of course, I remember."
"The investigators indicated they'd like to look at the manuscript for potential clues, but they haven't been able to locate it. Have you any ideas where he usually keeps it?"
"I've never known him to leave home without it," Otto said. "I'll bet money he brought it with him to the inn to work on in his spare time. I know he was being pressured by the publishing house to complete it. The investigators mu
st have overlooked it. It's surely in his room or, at the very least, somewhere here at the inn. I'd suggest they search this entire place again."
Otto sounded so sincere, I found it difficult to believe he could have snatched the manuscript from Horatio's room. Would he have said Horatio wouldn't have arrived without it if he didn't want anyone to know it was missing? Would he suggest the investigators should search the entire inn again if the manuscript was in his possession, in his unzipped luggage where it could be easily detected? It didn't make any sense to me at all. But could I trust Otto Poffenbarger? Could I trust any of the Historical Society guests? There was at least one person here I couldn't trust; that much was obvious. As Crystal had said, that particular person was capable of doing anything to anyone who got in his way. And somehow I had to determine who the person was before he made another attempt at killing me—and possibly succeeded.
Chapter 11
I found Stone on the back deck visiting with Boris Dack, who was nervously puffing on a pencil-thin, horrid-smelling cigar. Boris checked the time on his watch at least seven times during the five minutes I was outside on the deck. Stone winked at me when Boris glanced away for a few seconds. We both knew Boris was anxious not to miss his six o'clock phone call, but only I knew I was planning on not missing it either.
"Good evening, Mr. Dack," I said. Once again I used the weather to make idle chatter. "I see it's beginning to snow again. Big flakes too, aren't they?"
"Yeah, big flakes."
"That's sure an unusual scent for a cigar, but I like it. What kind is it?"
"Cuban." Boris was clearly not interested in discussing snowflakes or cigars with someone he considered nothing more than a chambermaid. He had more important things on his mind than the scent of his tobacco—like positive news from Shorty about some "damn birds."
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