A Suspicion of Strawberries (Scents of Murder Book 1)

by Lynette Sowell

  “Okay, this is miles away from soap. Sort of.”

  “I was thinking that, as far as I know, the scrub container wasn’t dusted for fingerprints. Jerry has the bowl of Charla’s scrub. He took it so they could test it. Hang on for a second.” I slipped back to the workroom, put my gloves on, and took down the ill-fated cherry scrub container.

  Di followed me into the workroom. “So where are you going with this?”

  “If they didn’t expect anyone to suspect foul play, maybe—just maybe—their fingerprints are on the lid, on the container. They wouldn’t have bothered to wear gloves. We could be looking at some valuable evidence here.”

  “You need to bag it.”

  “Right.” Once I grabbed a trash bag and stuffed the container inside, I glanced at my hand. “You know, this container has my prints all over it, too. Sure hope I haven’t smudged any of the killer’s prints since the breakin.”

  “Did you touch it a lot?” Di stared at the trash bag. “Just to look at the scrub, when I sifted some strawberry seeds from the soap flakes awhile back.” I could see the wheels turning in Di’s head as I spoke.

  “Which brings me back to another big question: How would the killer get strawberries into a powdered form that would blend right in with the soap flakes?”

  “Well…” Di scanned the room as if the answer were hidden near my workbench or in the storage cabinets. “Something that would leave the seeds behind, for sure.”

  “I already figured it couldn’t have been strawberry essence, oil, or a gel. Not with those seeds in the scrub.”

  “How about mashed?”

  I shook my head. “There was nothing in those dry flakes that made them look any different at first glance, not until I sifted them. Mashed would have still been wet and mushy the next morning. Plus, the flakes would have dissolved and there would have been a mess in the containers.”

  “So, dried.”

  I shrieked, then ran to the front of the store where Di had left her Baggie of dehydrated bananas on the counter. “Wait, I’ve got it. It’s been in front of us.”

  When I returned to the workroom, I held up the bag to show Di. “She could have used a food dehydrator.”

  “Wow. It makes sense.” Di held up her hands as if in self-defense. “But really, I didn’t do it!”

  “Right, you and most of the other women in Greenburg.” I chomped on a few slices of dried banana. “Thank you, Di, for caving to this latest fad. So, she dehydrated some strawberries, tossed them in a blender—which happened not to grind up the seeds— then brought the powdered strawberries and dumped them in the scrub.”

  For the first time in a while, I felt closer than ever to figuring out the means this killer used to murder Charla Thacker. I felt very close to tracking down a killer who still thought she got away with it.

  Di grinned. “So does this mean I can start giving you beef jerky again?”

  “Moo!” was all I said. No way would I share this news with Jerry just yet. His reluctance didn’t welcome my ideas. But I was determined to find some evidence he couldn’t ignore.

  Chapter Nineteen

  So what if seventy-five percent of the adult women in Greenburg owned food dehydrators they’d purchased at Value-Mart? The store had discovered a huge marketing gold mine. I didn’t bother to calculate how much the store made selling food dehydrators in Greenburg at nearly forty dollars each.

  I bit my lip as I drove to the house Emily and Melinda shared. Maybe I could ask if either of them owned one. Wouldn’t hurt.

  Then I smacked my forehead. Di had been so enthusiastic about our breakthrough that morning, but neither she nor I had contemplated how I’d broach the subject with either woman. What was I thinking— that I’d just hop in the Jeep and head out for a friendly visit—uninvited—with two women I barely knew?

  It would be extremely tacky of me to offer them some coupons for the store, or free samples of bath salt. If they still considered me the source of the sorrow in their lives, if in fact either of them truly sorrowed over Charla, any reminders of how she had died would only cause their wounds fresh pain. Then again, if one of them was a murderer, it might force her hand.

  I decided to show up, ask about Melinda, and watch to see what happened. When I arrived at their house, only one car remained in the driveway, and it wasn’t Melinda’s. I parked the Jeep behind Emily’s vehicle and got out. The place looked cozy, with hanging plant baskets and a swing on the front porch. Music blared from somewhere in the back.

  I rapped on the screen door. “Hello?” Maybe she’d hear me above the drums. I heard pounding feet on a hardwood floor growing closer.

  Emily, clad in a T-shirt that was missing the lower half and ended miles above her low shorts, leaned against the doorway. “Oh, hey there. You looking for Melinda?”

  “Yes, actually. I wanted to see how she was doing.”

  “Better.” Emily smiled. “She’s back at work already. Should get home later on, but she mentioned something about dinner with friends.”

  “Oh, okay.” I swallowed and tried to think of what to say next. “I’m glad, then. Tell her I stopped by.”

  “I sure will.”

  Before I turned to go, I decided to take a chance. “Hey, I was wondering something. This might sound like an odd question, but have you ever used a food dehydrator? I’m, uh…”

  “No way.” She shook her head. “And if I never see one of those things again, it’ll be too soon. Melinda got one awhile back. We had dried fruit and beef jerky coming out our ears.”

  I gave Emily a sympathetic smile as my heartbeat shifted into overdrive. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. My sister has one, and she’s always dropping off Baggies of her latest concoctions. I told her if she started passing out dried fish or bugs, she could forget it!”

  “That’s so gross,” Emily said, laughing. “I feel your pain. After a while, both Charla and I were ready to pitch her dehydrator out on the front lawn and take a sledgehammer to it.” Emily chuckled, a wicked light in her eyes.

  “Ooh, such violence. Don’t let my brother-in-law hear that. You’ll give him ideas.” I tried to sound glib. “Would you believe my sister is still dropping Baggies of fruit off? Just this morning she brought dried bananas. I’ve got to say, the pineapple is pretty good.”

  “You sound close to your sister.” Emily’s expression changed as a shadow crossed her face. “Melinda and Charla were, and since Charla died, Melinda hasn’t been the same.”

  “You’re worried about her, aren’t you?” I was still trying to figure out if Emily was a true friend, or the kind who played on a friend’s struggles and used them to her own advantage.

  “Yes, I am. I don’t know how else I can help her. I suppose it’s normal, what she’s going through…”

  I nodded. “After Charla, and the baby…” I shut my eyes and tried not to groan. Big mouth. The roar of a neighbor’s lawnmower pierced the air.

  When I opened my eyes, Emily was staring at me, her jaw lax. “You knew? I thought I was the only one.”

  “Yes. Actually, I thought that’s what you were talking about on the Fourth of July, when I saw you. I found out purely by accident the day Melinda went to the emergency room.” I shifted from one foot to the other. This wasn’t how I’d planned the conversation. Come to think of it, I’d had no plan. I screamed a silent prayer for help out of this one. “Which is why I’ve been doubly concerned about her. Did she…lose the baby after all?”

  Emily nodded and sighed. “She quit doing all the fun things she used to do, the things that made her happy. Piano. She dropped out of the civic theater’s play. Even put away that stupid dehydrator. You know, she used to sing while loading that thing with fruit and stuff.” Her sad smile touched my heart.

  “Grief really rips people apart, doesn’t it?” I spoke not from experience, but from watching those around me. A sigh came out and surprised me. “Well, I ought to go. I’m sorry for bringing up everything about Melinda. I
shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” I left without looking back, but I could feel Emily staring after me the entire time.

  Different scenarios spun through my head and left me breathless. I had to force my attention to the road. Melinda, singing as she filled the dehydrator. Melinda, loaded down with a double load of grief. Melinda, forsaking two of the things she loved and excelled at, drama and music. Perhaps her acting abilities had served her well, and this new grief, a genuine grief at losing a child had pushed her to a new level of vulnerability.

  But what about Emily? What if she was tilting this situation to her own advantage, especially with me asking about the food dehydrator?

  Evidence. Jerry needed evidence, and right now all I had was a pile of hearsay and hunches that pointed in one direction at two people. My head hurt, and I decided to cancel my budget diet for the moment and stop by Higher Grounds for the biggest, strongest coffee Trudy could fix for me.

  The bell clanged when I entered the store, and Trudy welcomed me with a warm smile from behind the glass counter. “Hey there. I knew you’d be in eventually.”

  “Give me a double-shot mocha, extra tall, please.”

  “Whew, I sense a bit of stress in your voice. Right away.” Her forehead wrinkled as she scanned my face. “You all right?”

  “I’m just here to unwind for a little bit. It’s hard to think and drive.”

  “Ha. Good one.” The machine whirred as Trudy whipped up my coffee. “Do you need to talk about it?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, though.” The way my mouth had run off earlier with Emily made me afraid to say anything else to someone who had no clue about the situation. Who knows what I’d blurt out?

  An empty café table with a solitary chair waited in the corner of the shop, so I grabbed it before someone else did. The table gave me a view of Main Street and the life that rushed past the coffee shop.

  “Here you are.” Trudy set my cup on the table and placed a plate of biscotti next to the steaming, tall mug. “Oh, I didn’t order the biscotti.”

  “It’s on me. Enjoy.” With that, she whirled on sandaled feet and went back to her post at the counter.

  “Thanks,” I called after her. The sip of whipped cream that floated on top of the coffee was very soothing.

  I played out the scenarios before me. Sure, I could tell Jerry about the dehydrator. The idea sounded a bit farfetched to me, but what if it were true? He’d have to get a search warrant, go through a lot of questioning, and maybe get nowhere. Or I could try to get the dehydrator myself. I shot this idea down quickly. I didn’t know much about the process of gathering evidence, but if I snooped around and grabbed it myself from Melinda’s garage or something, any evidence probably would get tossed out just as if Jerry had blazed in there demanding to see the dehydrator. Like he’d try that.

  Ouch. Now my head really hurt. A sip of the coffee made my senses perk up, and I realized the silliness of my ruminations. Emily didn’t say Melinda had thrown out the dehydrator. She’d only said she’d put it away.

  I downed my coffee and thanked Trudy once again. Time to pay a quick visit to Jerry for two reasons. I wanted to bounce my theory about the food dehydrator off him, and I wanted to see if he knew what in the world was going on with Ben.

  But before I left, I ordered a tall double espresso for Jerry. Maybe bearing a gift of coffee would help.

  It did. Besides the fact that the hour was creeping up on suppertime, Jerry looked worn to a frazzle when I showed up at the station. His hair stuck out wildly, overdue for a cut. But he lit up when he saw the covered cup of coffee I extended in his direction.

  “Come on back. Tell me something funny. I need some humor today.”

  I followed him to his office. “Okay, this isn’t a joke, but I think Melinda Thacker could have murdered her sister by putting dehydrated strawberries into my scrub. She has a food dehydrator. She had motive. Now I just need to find her means of getting into the store.”

  Jerry almost spit out his sip of coffee. “Try to be a little more direct, why don’t you?”

  “I bagged that container of scrub that I believe was tainted. I tried to tell you about it before. What if I bring it to you, plus you dust the bowl that held Charla’s scrub? Now, if I can just find that food dehydrator Melinda has…or had. And if we find the same prints on all three…this would point to the means. And her opportunity is the breakin.”

  “Sit down.” He gestured to the chair by his desk. “I see what you’re getting at. But I need a motive.” At least now I had his interest.

  I grinned, sat down, and crossed my legs. “Melinda had no business being in my workroom. She never went in there the day of the facial. If her fingerprints are on the large container, she can’t explain that.”

  “You’re right.” He took another sip of his coffee and looked at the cup. “Good stuff.”

  “Oh, and I have a strong suspicion that Melinda Thacker was pregnant with Robert Robertson’s baby. Charla’s fiancé. That would be a strong motive right there to get rid of Charla.” Momma, you’d be so mad at me right now for talking like this. My face flamed.

  “Whoa.” Jerry sank onto his desk chair. “That makes the whole scenario a bit more interesting.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “But do you know it was Robert’s?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but if it’s true, I believe she loved Robert, and he didn’t know about the baby. So when she sent Emily to talk to him on her behalf after Charla died, it was one final attempt to keep him. Which didn’t work.” I didn’t add that I believed Robert had already moved on to Emily. Part of me wanted to warn the young woman, but perhaps that would be for another day. I’d already said enough. Even though Jerry had a right to know this information, I still didn’t like hearing the sordid tale out loud.

  “This is all quite a pile of information.” Jerry steepled his fingers under his chin. “Your theory is possible, although it is a bit farfetched. I’ve got a medical examiner’s signed statement verifying her cause of death as accidental anaphylactic shock.”

  “I’ve been around that a hundred times, but what if I’m on to something? If I can get you that evidence, can you at least check it out? If I’m wrong, I’m wrong.”

  “I have a budget that keeps getting slashed year after year, Andi.” His sigh told me of the long hours he worked and the frustration with a system that wore him down. “I can’t use taxpayers’ money, performing investigations on every single unfortunate death in Greenburg. People have the craziest requests. One time, Doris Flanders wanted me to set up a stakeout for whoever was stealing her watermelons a few summers ago before she passed on.” Jerry shook his head.

  “I know you’re in a tough position, but my gut tells me this whole scenario surrounding Charla’s death is wrong.” I felt like a bulldog gnawing on a bone. “I’ll even do the legwork myself.”

  He gestured at the files on his desk. “If you don’t mind, I need to see to a few things here.”

  I stood to leave. “Have you heard from Ben lately?”

  `He shook his head. “Nah. I usually don’t, unless he’s going to be in later than he planned. He just left last night.”

  “I know. Has he been, um, acting strange lately?”

  “He seems a bit preoccupied, but I think that’s understandable. Got some business in Jackson that has him tied up.” Jerry paused, looked as if he were going to continue, then stopped.

  “Okay.” I could see his expression lock down, and I wasn’t about to act like a pining schoolgirl trying to get scraps of information about the object of her affection. “If you hear from him, could you ask him to call me? Please? I think there’s something wrong with his phone.” I slung my purse onto my shoulder.

  “Will do.” Jerry had started writing some notes on a legal pad. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  As I entered the l
ate-afternoon heat, I allowed myself a grin. Jerry had listened. No, he wasn’t going to launch an all-out investigation, but now I knew I had to hatch a plan to get that dehydrator. Or see if Melinda still had it.

  Once I arrived home, the long evening hours stretched ahead of me. Seth came to mind again, so I called the county jail. Since I wasn’t Seth’s lawyer or family, I couldn’t speak to him. I didn’t even know if the message I left got through. I tried, though, and that was something.

  I tried calling Ben, too, and ended up listening to his voice mail several times. My cell phone had only one message, from Di, asking about what happened with Melinda and Emily. Tonight I didn’t feel like calling Di back. I’d already talked myself out with brainstorming with Di, interviewing Emily, and then talking to Jerry in his office.

  The next morning, promptly at eight, my home phone rang with a collect call from the county jail. I accepted the charges.

  “Miss Clark, it’s Seth Mitchell.” I heard shouts in the background. “Could you please come to the jail? Visiting hours start at one. Because I really need to talk to you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The only time I’d ever been to jail was in another lifetime that was high school, when my Criminal Justice Careers class took a tour of the county lockup. At the time I’d been toying with the idea of studying criminal justice in college. For some reason I changed my mind, but today as I sat in the jail parking lot, kitty-corner from the county courthouse, the whole setting came flooding back to mind.

  I filled out some paperwork, had my ID verified, and my purse checked. Once I was escorted to the visitors’ room, I waited outside until my name was called shortly after three. An officer pointed me to one of several steel tables in the room. On one side was a chair for a visitor, and on the other a chair for the individual in jail. Security was minimal, but strict protocol had to be followed. I took a seat and waited along with other visitors, each of us at our own table.