A Suspicion of Strawberries (Scents of Murder Book 1)

by Lynette Sowell

  The door opened to Robert’s inner sanctum.

  “Mr. Robertson is ready to see you now, ladies.” His receptionist greeted us with a flat voice.

  I had told the receptionist I needed to speak with Robert about a legal matter concerning the store. This secured me a prompt appointment, without my lying to the man.

  Di’s eyes grew round as marbles, and I choked on my breath when we entered Robert’s office. We shook hands with him, and I tried not to stare too hard. Robert gestured to a pair of wing-back chairs facing his mahogany desk. I settled onto the leather chair, which groaned as if in response to Robert’s appearance.

  I should explain. Greenburg is not completely a hick town. We have a few urban touches, even on the Tennessee River. A few men like Robert get manicures (though they probably drive to Jackson to get one) and possibly wear pink shirts when they get a wild hair. But these men do not wear makeup of any kind. And today Robert wore it badly.

  The area under Robert’s left eye had been carefully covered with some kind of concealer, but I didn’t miss the hemorrhage from a ruptured blood vessel in his eye. A bruise still glowed from under the flesh-colored cover-up on his left cheek. The effect wasn’t toned down any by his neutral suit and coiffed hair. I wanted to turn the ceiling fan up a notch to see if his hair moved at all.

  Daddy would have said a real man doesn’t try to hide his wounds. But to Robert, image was probably everything.

  “So, Ms. Clark, how may I help you today?” The words rolled off his tongue like honey. Aside from the black eye, I could see how Charla fell for his polished Southern charm. Just a year or so past thirty, with the promise of aging well with a great head of hair.

  The man could have been an A-list actor on the big screen. I’ve heard that practicing law is a form of acting, so I supposed a man like Robert enjoyed being a star on the small stage that was our county. I felt Di press the tip of her shoe onto my toes peeking out the front of my sandal. It dawned on me that I was staring. This jogged my brain back to the purpose of our visit.

  “First, I wanted to say…” I focused on his nose, which was a very fine nose. “…I’m sorry about what happened to Charla. I don’t know how she could have had such a reaction—she and I mixed that scrub together… .” Great, Andi. Rub salt in the wound seeping from his broken heart.

  “I don’t blame you at all. Around here, we’re attempting to continue life, life without her.” He sighed and gave me a sad smile. I sensed that his thoughts were light-years away from the office. “So, what exactly is the purpose of your visit?”

  “Well, I needed to ask you about my business. I’m wondering if there might be ramifications to the accident with…with Charla.”

  “Legally?” His eyebrows rose, making his black eye more prominent.

  “Yes. I have insurance on my inventory, as well as liability insurance to cover accidents, if someone slips or falls, for example. But I don’t own my building. I rent. Would my landlord be subject to any litigation?” I felt Di’s gaze on me as I spoke. A drizzle of sweat snaked down my spine. If Robert ever ran for office, the ladies would swoon.

  “That’s hard to say, really. Anyone can file a lawsuit nowadays.” His drawl wasn’t fooling me, though. He seemed like he didn’t really want to talk. Right then I realized that if I really wanted answers for these questions, I could have chosen another lawyer. Robert probably realized the same thing. Might as well go for broke, since my pretense for coming just crumbled.

  I glanced at Di and leaned forward. “What would you say if I thought someone tampered with the scrub for Charla’s party? My store was broken into that morning, and cash was stolen from the drawer. I think that could have been a cover for someone putting strawberry in the scrub, knowing it would give Charla a fatal allergic reaction. Can you think of someone who would do something like that?”

  A gurgling noise came from Di’s throat. I shot her a soft glare.

  “Ms. Clark, I knew Charla probably better than anyone.” Robert paused, his gaze flicking downward to the right. I tried to remember what I’d heard once about body language. “She might have been flighty in high school and college, but like all of us, she was desperate to be loved. And I loved her. I also respected her. Men often pressure women to compromise…themselves. But I didn’t pressure her. Throughout her life, I’m sure her beauty and charm made a lot of people jealous.” This was not new information to me. Momma had definitely been right about Charla being misunderstood, if what Robert said was true.

  “I know that, Mr. Robertson. But can you think of anyone specifically who might have hated her enough to kill her? Someone who went to an awful lot of trouble to do it quietly, and make it look like an accident?”

  He looked at his desk as if he’d rather tend to the papers scattered across its surface.

  “There was a former boyfriend,” Robert finally said. “When Charla broke up with him, he really scared her.”

  “Who?” The muscles in my back twinged, I’d sat so far forward in the chair.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” His features closed up.

  I pounced on my chance. “What about Mike Chandler? I heard she sued him last year for allegedly trying to poison her.”

  “Oh, that.” He waved my question off, as if he were brushing a fly from his beloved desk papers. “It’s true, she did sue him. And yes, he was the man she was afraid of.”

  “Did this case actually go to trial?”

  Robert’s eyes made a series of rapid-fire blinks. “Last September. The judge dismissed the suit as frivolous and hearsay.”

  “I wonder if Mike could have nursed a grudge all this time.” I ignored Di’s sharp glance. “If you could tell me, please, how did Mike allegedly try to poison Charla?”

  Robert gave another slow sigh. His secretary had said the first consultation was free when I scheduled the appointment, but still I hoped he didn’t have the inclination to start charging me by the hour.

  “I don’t see what relevance her lawsuit against Mr. Chandler has to her death.” Now Robert looked bored.

  “I’m not saying there is a direct connection; I’m just trying to get some questions answered. If you’d just tell me, I wouldn’t have to track the information down through the courts. Or the newspaper.” I wasn’t sure about the newspaper angle, but I figured a Thacker would make sure they were in the news.

  “All right. Charla came to my office in tears last summer, after she’d been released from the hospital. She’d had a severe allergic reaction. She said Mike did it after she threatened to break up with him.”

  “So how did he supposedly try to poison her?”

  “With strawberries, of course.” Robert’s eyes shone bright. “I helped her file a restraining order against Mike. I couldn’t help falling for Charla. One thing led to another, and we were together ever since.”

  I made what I hoped sounded like a sympathetic noise. Yes, we would definitely check out Mike’s story. But I decided to try another angle when Robert started shuffling papers as if we weren’t there.

  “Well, thanks for your time. I appreciate your help and advice.” I scrambled to my feet. “By the way, Mr. Robertson, where were you last Saturday morning?”

  He stood and placed both hands on the desk.

  “My best man, groomsmen, and I were at the River Valley Country Club, playing golf. You can verify this if you want to. We played golf from seven until I got the call… .” A wave of grief rippled over his face.

  “Where’d you get that shiner?” I made no effort to disguise my stare. Someone had decked Robert but good.

  “I fell in the shower.”

  “And where were you the night before Charla’s party?”

  “You know, none of this is really any of your business.” He shook his head and gestured to the door. “Have a nice day.”

  When Di and I stepped to the front office, I glanced back over my shoulder toward Robert’s open door. He was scoping us out as if we were walking the beach. Then,
he winked at me.

  Di waved her arms in the parking lot. “He’s covering up something. I just know it!”

  “I almost want to apologize. I was pretty nosy there at the end.” I moved to whirl around and head back inside the building, but Di caught my arm.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. He didn’t want us there, his answers to your legal questions were vague, and I can hardly blame him for being irritated, even if I don’t believe him.”

  “Di, he was checking us out when we left, too. Some grieving fiancé—ugh!” I rubbed my arms. “Part of me feels like going back and letting him know what I think about that, too.”

  We didn’t speak as we roared down the road in my Jeep and back to the bank, where Di was due at work. She hopped out once I pulled up to the curb.

  “You should call Jerry,” Di suggested as she grabbed her purse from the floor of the Jeep. “I wonder if Robert’s black eye has a better explanation than falling in the shower.”

  “I thought of that. In fact, I’ll head right to the station and see if Jerry can tell me anything.”

  “Well, call me and tell me what you find out.”

  I grinned and waved, leaving Di standing on the curb.

  Greenburg PD was its usual hive of small-town activity, which meant Jerry was on the phone, another officer was filling out a small mountain of forms, and Anna, the clerk, was corralling clusters of people into the waiting area. The fax machine spit out paper, its sound covered by murmuring voices.

  “Morning, Andi.” Anna motioned a young couple to a bench by the counter. “Here to see Jerry?”

  “Yeah, just for a minute.” I could see him behind the glass that separated his office from the main part of the station. He caught my eye, waved, and shifted his concentration back to the phone.

  “Go ahead. You’re practically family anyway.” She refocused her attention on the others in the room.

  I rounded the corner to Jerry’s office in time to hear, “And that’s all I have to say about the matter. Have a nice day.” Jerry hung up the phone with a clatter. He glanced at me as I entered. “You didn’t happen to bring anything from Higher Grounds, did you?”

  “Nah, I skipped a trip this morning. Had an appointment.” I shook my head when Jerry gestured to the chair at the desk. “I won’t be long. I just have a couple of questions.”

  “Go ahead. I have a few minutes. Maybe ninety seconds, but I need a breather.” He sat down on his wooden chair, which complained with a squeal.

  “Have you heard anything from the lab?”

  “About… ?”

  “My scrub, Jer.”

  “No, it’s still waiting its turn.”

  “Well, I discovered something interesting in my main container of scrub. Strawberry seeds. I think someone found a way to get strawberry into the cherry scrub. Someone who knew Charla was allergic.”

  “At the very least, that would be a mean prank.”

  “At the very most, it would be murder, or perhaps involuntary manslaughter since she died, even if whoever did this hadn’t meant to kill her.” The realization dawned on me. What if whoever did this had only meant it as a cruel prank that backfired?

  “I see what you’re getting at. But what motive? Charla seemed to be well liked—on some levels.” Jerry seemed ready for me to go.

  Silence hovered between us.

  “Andi, I don’t have a lot of time this morning. Everyone’s here complaining about a well-intentioned rookie in the next office, and I’ve got some fires to put out, so to speak. I think your theory is interesting, but until we have concrete evidence—”

  “I’ll bring the scrub in and show you if I have to… .”

  “It doesn’t prove anything. There’s no case. I need more than some seeds in some soap flakes.”

  I tried not to bristle. “Do you know much about Mike Chandler? He was an ex-boyfriend of Charla’s with a bad temper. And Robert, her fiancé, is sporting a rather large black eye this morning.”

  Jerry sat up straight and stared at me. “Matter of fact, I do. Mike was just released from the lockup this morning.”

  Chapter Nine

  I changed my mind about not sitting down and took the seat across from Jerry’s desk. “Why?”

  “We got a call to Robert Robertson’s office last evening. Turns out Mike showed up and got into an altercation with him.”

  “I saw that someone had landed quite a punch.” My heart pounded in my chest. “And Robert wouldn’t talk about what happened.”

  “Same here.” Jerry tilted back in his chair. “In fact, he wouldn’t press charges for assault. We only had enough to slap Chandler with disturbing the peace.”

  “It’s got to be about Charla.”

  “When Tim got there last night, Mike had already worn off his rage. Came along pretty quietly.” Jerry shrugged. “In fact, he’s probably the only person not complaining about Tim this morning.”

  I stood before I started mulling over the idea of Mike slugging Robert because of Charla. It didn’t add up, but then crimes of passion usually didn’t. On one hand, Mike would have wanted to watch her suffer, but on the other hand, attacking Robert? The pieces had to fit somehow, but I had the feeling I still lacked a few from this puzzle.

  “Thanks, Jerry. You’ve been a big help. Next time I’ll bring you a tall, double-shot latte.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. Glad I could help somebody today.” He stood, relieving the poor desk chair, which groaned again. “Say hi to Ben next time he calls. And tell him that contractor gave him an estimate.” I nodded, then left the station.

  Ben liked his routines and was a big boy, capable of making his own decisions. But I thought we’d been together long enough that we’d share major decisions with each other. When I decided to start the soap business, Ben had helped me every step of the way. His good sense kept me from going in ten different directions. I figured he would include me, as well. But a contractor? An estimate? He said he wasn’t in a hurry, if I remembered right. He’d have some ’splaining to do once he got home, and I’d ask him in the nicest possible way. Although I wasn’t sure what he needed to explain.

  I thought back to the interview with Robert and continued pondering the hunch that had come over me in his office. I had felt his grief, noticed the redness in his eyes that wasn’t from getting punched. I’d noted the fine lines of weariness, too, that signaled lack of sleep. He’d loved Charla and lost her, and appeared to be trying to piece together life without her.

  Yet, I reminded myself, he was an actor of sorts. What if Robert had been trying to throw me off about Mike? Robert knew the details of Charla’s lawsuit against Mike. Although Mike had been cleared, I wondered if pointing a finger at Mike would be a way for Robert to cover his own tracks.

  Ridiculous. I started the Jeep and headed for the store. The man had been a week away from marrying Charla. What possible reason could he have for breaking it off, let alone trying to kill her right before the wedding? At this point, I couldn’t venture to guess why.

  I sat at my desk at the store and watched my e-mail in-box fill up with Internet orders from the Tennessee River Soaps Web site. I allowed myself to smile at this bright spot. No one in Bangor, Austin, or Ocean City cared that someone had keeled over amidst the soaps in my shop. The deposits to my account would help bridge the gap in slow sales at the store.

  No, I had not forgotten about Mike Chandler and the black eye. Most sleuths have to earn a living. I knew I did. I couldn’t run around chasing leads with a business to run. Which is why, since talking to Jerry, I’d spent a few days going through inventory, brainstorming promotions, and shoring up the crumbling foundation of my business. That, and waiting for Ben to come home.

  “Miss Clark?” Sadie appeared in the doorway between my office alcove and the front of the store. “I finished those displays for you.”

  “Thanks.” I stood and stretched. “Let me take a look at them.” Sadie, the thoughtful teen from my Sunday school class, had volunteered t
o give me a hand at the store. We’d already brainstormed a few print ads for the newspaper.

  We walked onto the sales floor together. She’d arranged the soaps by floral, fruit, and miscellaneous scents. She’d used some seashells and sand to make a summer tabletop display.

  “This is super.” I smiled at the teenager, and she glowed. “Did you say you were going to college for design?”

  She nodded. “I start at Vanderbilt this fall. Interior design.” The briefest hint of a shadow crossed her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Kyle.”

  “Kyle?” I couldn’t remember him from Sunday school class, although I did recall one young man looking at Sadie with puppy-dog eyes while they talked in the hall at church.

  “I—I don’t want to leave him.”

  “What’s he planning to do?”

  “He said he’s going to stay here and work, but I was hoping he’d put in a transfer and come to Nashville to work. We could still see each other while I’m in school, and I know he could make it in the music business. Miss Clark, he’s so talented. He writes songs and plays the guitar and sings…” Sadie’s voice trailed off. “But at the same time…”

  “Yes… ?”

  “We’re so young, and I’d hate for him to come out there just for me and get disappointed. You and Mr. Hartley have a long-distance relationship, with him being on the road so much, don’t you?”

  I wanted to say, “Yes, and Ben and I are twice your age,” only I didn’t.

  “And you’ve made it work, right?” She swirled the sand in the Summer Fun display with her finger.

  “Now that’s the ten-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?” I wasn’t sure how to answer her question. I didn’t want to raise her hopes and tell her, yes, they could make it work, too. “Ben and I have been together three years. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we pray a lot. We make each other a priority, even when we’re apart.”

  “So are you going to get married?” Her voice held a teasing tone.