“Why didn’t you tell the police that you’d borrowed Mrs. Granger’s gun and that it had been stolen?”
“Have you checked my records?”
James frowned. “What records?”
The old man shut his eyes, as if remembering something from long ago. “My prison records.”
James waited, then asked. “Felon?”
A deep sigh. “Yes, over forty years ago for car theft.”
Finally, James understood. “So you’re a felon and you’re not allowed to possess or use a gun. Is that why you didn’t tell us about it?”
“Would it have mattered? What would you have done to me that hasn’t been done before?”
James leaned toward Owen, his voice strong and sincere. “It would’ve helped with our investigation into Anderson Bowles’ murder, Mr. Winters. Hiding your involvement just makes things worse for you. We now know that gun was shot in the boat Bowles’ died in.”
“I had nothing to do with that!” Owen’s voice climbed higher with desperation. “You can test my clothes, my hands, whatever you need, but I swear to you that I did not pull the trigger on that gun to kill Bowles!”
“I guess we’ll see. So you say that it was stolen from your fruit stand. Did you see anyone steal it?”
Owen sagged in his chair, all the fight in him seemingly gone. “No. I had several people come by for pears but when I saw that kid next door climbing over my back fence I turned around to yell at him and drag him home to his parents, and by the time I got back the gun was gone.”
“Where was it?”
“I had it on the very top of the fruit stand. I had just put it up there and poof! Five minutes later it’s gone.” He turned to James, his face reflecting his fear. “I only borrowed it to shoot the squirrels who were eating the nuts from my trees. I would never shoot a person.”
James looked into the old man’s eyes, seeing desperation. “I’ll need you to wait here, Mr. Winters. I’m going to call for a search warrant.”
Owen sat back in his chair, his mouth now a thin, hard line. “Do what you’ve got to do.”
***
After the police had thoroughly searched Owen Winter’s house, he was told not to leave town, and James had to admit that they hadn’t found a single thing that tied him to the murder. There was nearly a week where Amanda didn’t see James, and there was nothing new in the investigation until a break in the case came from the most unexpected of places.
It came from the police chief’s eight-year-old daughter, Danielle.
One night at dinner George was talking to his children about their schoolwork, and when his wife, Amy, chimed in with a story about a boy in one of her classes years ago who had cheated on a test, Danielle squirmed a bit in her chair and piped up.
“Daddy, what if someone stole something bad? Would that be cheating?”
Her father’s eyebrows went up. “Well, yes, Danielle, it would be a type of cheating. Remember how we talk about the commandments and how we’re not supposed to steal?”
Danielle looked down at her plate and sucked a bit of air through the gap where her front teeth were missing.
“If I saw someone steal something, do I have to tell? Is it tattling?”
By now her siblings were looking at each other, wondering which one of them the little girl was going to out. George nodded at Danielle.
“Yes, Danielle, you need to tell someone about it. It’s not tattling.”
The story that Danielle told that night shook George’s normally cool composure, and he had to focus on keeping calm as his daughter told him that she’d seen a tall blond man take a gun off the top of Owen Winter’s fruit stand. She’d been riding her bike and noticed the man reaching onto the top of the stand when Owen was escorting his unrepentant neighbor boy back home. Danielle had looped her bike around a second time to take a look at the tall man, but when he glared at her she took off, pedaling like mad for the safety of home.
When George had shown his daughter a few photos, she’d instantly identified Anderson Bowles as the man who’d stolen the gun. A quick phone call to James, and Owen Winters was officially off the suspect list.
James carefully listed his reasoning on the report. The evidence supported the theory that Anderson Bowles had taken the gun into the boat with him, and when he’d started to hallucinate he’d stripped his clothes off and shot wildly, sometimes from the bottom of the boat, finally throwing the gun and all his belongings except a sweatshirt into the waves.
It was a sad ending to a bad life but it only answered questions about the bullets. Why was Anderson Bowles hallucinating in the first place?
Chapter 24
Some rainy days are best spent with a friend eating pizza and solving everyone else’s problems. Crammed into a back booth at Heinrich’s, Lisa and Amanda split a medium size pizza with the works, still steaming from Heinrich’s brick pizza oven. Amanda had tried to balance out the calories by ordering one of Heinrich’s fabulous green salads, but the handmade dressing and garlicky croutons on the top definitely didn’t help her plan.
“I can’t believe Owen Winters is a felon. Did you know about that?” Amanda handed a plate to Lisa so she could shovel a gooey piece of deliciousness onto it.
Lisa shrugged. “It was over forty years ago. I figure he’d paid his debt to society and he’s been a solid citizen here, so there was no need to talk about it.”
“Even the police didn’t know.”
“No reason for them to know. It was over and done with.” Lisa’s voice was firm, her mind obviously made up. She could see that Amanda disagreed with her, so tried to change the subject. “Did I tell you no one’s seen Truman in over a week? His store’s been locked up tight.”
“Really?” Amanda frowned. That wasn’t like Truman at all.
“Oh, and one last thing. Did I tell you that I did some research on the heart medicine you told me about? Digoxin?”
Amanda set down her slice of pizza. “No, you didn’t. What did you learn?”
“It turns out that it isn’t very easy to detect. I’m actually impressed that the medical examiner found it at all. Its half-life is just over a day.”
“Really? Anything else?”
“Yeah, it turns out that it’s been in use at one time or another for years. They used to grind up plants to make it.”
Amanda felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “What did they call it?”
“Um, digitalis.”
Amanda pulled out her phone and started searching the internet. With the very first page of results, her mouth turned down at the corners. She knew that plant. It was beautiful, and she’d seen it before.
“Could someone use pieces of digitalis to make Digoxin?”
Lisa looked surprised. “I don’t think they’d have to. It’s basically the same thing.”
Amanda closed her eyes, the image of the plant and its cascading flowers burned into her memory.
“I’ve got to go,” Lisa said, shoving a hand down the sleeve of her coat and shrugging it on. “I promised I’d pick Mrs. Bitterman up from the garden club meeting, and then give her a ride down to Petrie’s to get some straw for mulching her garden.”
“You’re going to fit a bale of straw in the back of your Honda?” The mental image of the two women wedged into Lisa’s small car with a backseat of bristling straw was laughable.
“Hey, it’s got a big trunk, and besides, how else is she going to get around? With that cast on her foot, she can’t drive her Model A for a while, so I’m happy to help out when I can. Owen would help her out but his little pickup isn’t running too well.”
Something clicked in Amanda’s head, and the events of the past couple of weeks came into sudden stark clarity.
She looked at her salad, covered with dressing and croutons. “She can’t drive,” she said to herself, but Lisa seemed confused.
“Well, not for a bit but once the cast comes off she can drive a clutch again. It’s just temporary. That old car is
just really hard to shift, even when the driver’s in great shape.”
It was all coming together, and Amanda’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. Means, motivation, and opportunity. The weight of her realization nearly crushed her. She squinted her eyes closed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the headache she could feel gathering.
“Amanda, are you okay?” Lisa’s voice held a genuine note of alarm.
“No,” her friend replied with a shaky sigh. “I’m not. I’ve got to go confront a killer.”
Chapter 25
Mrs. Granger’s little house was bright and clean, the exterior freshly-painted with soft Wedgewood blue and highlighted with scalloped white trim. New pots of bushy red geraniums were on either side of the white door and a row of brightly-colored hummingbird feeders hung from the eaves, and as Amanda stood on the welcome mat she didn’t see any of it. Her hand was trembling a bit when she finally raised it and used the knocker. James stood three feet behind her and Lisa stood behind him, both a silent support to what she had to do.
She wasn’t surprised when her friend Meg answered the door, happiness on her face. “Amanda! I didn’t know you were interested in the gardening club. You’ve got perfect timing; we’re just starting to talk about how to announce the prizes for best produce at the Harvest Festival. Want to come in?” She gestured at them and stepped aside a bit.
Amanda nodded glumly, even though the truth was that she’d rather be anywhere other than visiting Mrs. Granger’s house today.
Happy voices floated from the front parlor, and she could smell some sort of buttery pastry, probably set out for the guests. As she poked her head around the archway, Mrs. Granger instantly spotted her.
“Amanda, my dear! And James! Come on in. You’re just in time for Mrs. Bitterman’s famous blueberry coffeecake.”
Mrs. Bitterman beamed. “I won three blue ribbons at the county fair with that recipe, and next year I’m going to try it out at the state fair in Salem.”
Amanda took a deep breath. “Mrs. Granger, I hate to do this here, but it just can’t wait.” She turned to Mrs. Bitterman. “I need to talk to you about how Anderson Bowles died.”
The dozen or so people who were perched on chairs in Mrs. Granger’s neat-as-a-pin parlor gasped. There was a rustle of clothing as some leaned forward in expectation, not going to miss a single word of what Amanda was about to say. Owen Winters’ eyes were wide in shock, and Jennifer Peetman shifted in her seat. Truman drifted in from the kitchen, a small plate of cake in his hands.
“Truman, where have you been?” Lisa’s voice came from behind James, and Truman looked surprised, then annoyed. “I needed some time away so I went up to my cousin’s place in Salem. Why?”
Mrs. Bitterman interrupted. “Tea, Amanda? Can’t your news wait?” There were beads of sweat peppering her upper lip.
“I’m afraid it can’t. You see, Mrs. Bitterman, you’re not the only person in town who had a reason to want to kill Anderson Bowles – “
“What are you doing, Amanda? There are all sorts of people who were happy to see that creep dead, and there’s no reason for you to interrogate my friend!” Amanda had never seen Mrs. Granger so upset, slamming her walker forward with every angry step.
“She’s not the only one who wanted him dead, but she’s the only one with a motive who also grows foxglove in her garden.” Amanda’s gaze never wavered from Mrs. Bitterman’s face, even though she could feel Mrs. Granger bristling with rage beside her.
Amanda took a deep breath and continued, as much as it hurt. “There’s another name for foxglove. In Latin it’s called digitalis.”
Jennifer Peetman looked confused, as if searching for something. “I’ve heard that name before somewhere. It’s a name of –“
“It’s the name of a medicine for cardiac patients, Jennifer. If someone gets too much digitalis it can lead to hallucinations and confusion, and eventually to their death.”
Mrs. Bitterman’s eyes were huge, her mouth working in near-silent protest. “I would never poison someone with foxglove! I’m always very careful with it, even when I handle it!”
“You knew what it would do to people, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Bitterman seemed to shrink at the question. “Well, yes, but I would never harm anyone.”
“The girl who was at Truman’s college, who left after she’d had a date with him, she was your granddaughter, wasn’t she?”
The old lady’s face crumbled into pain and sorrow, and Amanda instantly felt like a heel for bringing it up, but she had to keep going.
Sighing, she put a gentle hand on the older lady’s arm. “I know you wouldn’t normally want to kill someone, Mrs. Bitterman, but I had to come here and do this, and I’m sorry.”
She turned to Owen Winters, who had halfway risen to his feet, his forgotten teacup in hand and his face a mottled gray.
“Owen, you killed Anderson Bowles.”
There was a general outcry from several people, and the loudest was Mrs. Bitterman.
“How could you know that? Owen would never hurt anyone, would you, Owen?” Mrs. Bitterman’s words had an edge of desperation to them, wanting him to deny everything.
“You stop this right now, young lady!” Mrs. Granger’s voice, now so commanding, was shaking with rage. “You stop before it’s too late!”
Owen set his teacup down. At first, his face was unreadable, but it finally sagged into lines that showed the truth.
“Yes, I killed him.”
Amanda nodded. Even without him moving forward she was glad she had James behind her in case things got even more tense.
“You’ve been making Mrs. Bitterman’s herb and veggie deliveries to Heinrich’s Pizzeria since she broke her foot and can’t drive her old car. Even a few piece of foxglove leaves in someone’s salad or on someone’s pizza could give them heart problems, and you knew that, didn’t you, Owen? You’ve been talking to her for years, and you knew how careful she was around that plant.”
“I never meant to kill –“
“I know, Owen, and I believe you.” Amanda’s voice as almost soothing. “I think you saw Anderson Bowles in the pizza place and used that opportunity to poison him. Maybe you were just trying to scare him or drive him away. You put those foxglove leaves into Anderson Bowles’ food to protect someone, didn’t you? You did it to protect someone you love.”
The old man stood as if carved in stone for a heartbeat, maybe two, before he turned to Mrs. Bitterman.
“Yes, I did.” His face was full of pain, every year of his life evident in every line. “I’m so sorry, Ruth.”
The room was silent, stunned, until James intervened. “You don’t need to say anything else, Owen. You’ve got rights that protect you and you can stay silent if you want to.”
“I’ve been silent for the last twenty-two years, and I’m not going to do it anymore.” His gaze had never left Mrs. Bitterman. “I loved you even before your husband died, but I knew that it could never work out. I was an old ex-con who had no future and no way to deserve you so I tried to be happy just living next door to you. When you told me what had happened to your granddaughter, well, I –“his voice broke – “I just couldn’t stand it. No woman should be treated that way, and no man should get away with it. When I saw him walk into Heinrich’s Pizza I knew there was a way. I still had the trimmings from your garden in a bucket in my truck, so I chopped up some of the foxglove leaves and added them to his salad. I just wanted to make him sick. I never meant to kill him.”
James stepped forward and laid a large hand on the top of Owen’s arm. “Time to go, Owen,” he said, but the older man ignored him, still talking to the stunned woman he’d loved in secret for so long.
“I knew the police suspected several people but I would never have let them arrest anyone else. I didn’t think they’d have enough evidence, since I’d used foxglove.” His face flushed as he looked at Mrs. Bitterman. “I would never have let them accuse you. I would’ve confessed
on the spot. Can you forgive me, Ruth?”
Mrs. Bitterman’s eyes welled with tears and she took two steps forward, then leaned over and planted a soft kiss full on Owen Winters’ mouth. Ignoring James’ restricting hand, Owen wrapped his arms around the quivering woman and kissed her back, years of unspoken longing finally expressed. At last, he pulled back and gently leaned his forehead onto Mrs. Bitterman’s. “Write to me?”
“Don’t you worry, Owen. I’ll make sure everything turns out okay. You did this for Evelyn. I know that now.” There was a softly whispered sentence or two that Amanda could not hear, and then James was guiding Owen through the small crowd and out the door to the waiting sheriff’s car that had just pulled up. Through the lace curtains in the front window, they could see James handing Owen off to another officer and giving him instructions before the officer carefully handcuffed Owen and put him in the back seat.
Mrs. Granger turned toward Amanda, fire in her eyes and her lips pulled tight. “That was completely unnecessary!”
Amanda’s heart twisted within her chest at the anger Mrs. Granger directed at her, but Mrs. Bitterman was the one who intervened. “She had to do it this way, Katherine. It’s okay. She had to have us together so she could pretend to confront me, so it was all laid out for Owen.” She turned to Amanda, tears still at the corners of her eyes.
“You knew he was in love with me, didn’t you?”
Amanda shrugged, almost apologetic. “I’d suspected. Owen doesn’t talk to many people, but sometimes I’d catch him looking at you when you didn’t know it, with a soft expression in his eyes. I’d never seen him look at anyone like that.”
“And if you knew I grew foxglove and had the motive to kill Anderson Bowles, how did you know I wasn’t the killer?”
Amanda took a deep breath. “You had motive and means, but you didn’t really have the opportunity. You couldn’t do your normal deliveries because you can’t drive a stick with that cast on your foot. I saw Owen at the pizza place delivering herbs that day, and I eat there often enough to have seen him deliver your herbs before. He had means, motive, and opportunity.” She shifted foot to foot, nervously. “I figured if I came here and talked to you about digitalis that he’d probably come forward and tell the truth.”
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