Dr. Hallie Malone Cozy Mystery (4 Book Box Set)

by Liz Turner

  “Yet, you could believe that Bert was capable of killing John to get Tina just a year ago,” Hallie said.

  “Yes, but I was just…” Debby gave a helpless shrug. “I was just talking. I didn’t mean it. I don’t think he’s bad deep down, really.”

  “Someone is,” Hallie sighed. “Someone was desperate enough, or angry enough, or greedy enough, to kill John. But who?”

  “Gladys told me it could be Ed O’Hara,” Debby said. “John fired the man for being a drunk not two weeks ago. Maybe he held a grudge. Gladys thought it would have been easy for him to slip unnoticed through the back and poison the stew, too.”

  “So it would,” Hallie said. “Almost too easy. Is Ed a well-read man?”

  “Ed?” Debby looked surprised. “No. He rose up to foreman at the factory mainly because of his brawn, not his brain. Ed flunked out of school early and got a job in John’s factory as a young man. He was always a hard-drinking, hard-fighting sort. He got much worse these last few years. But I understand. It’s hard on a man when you lose your son to war.”

  Hallie felt a twinge of pity for him. “Poor fellow. Was his son very young?”

  “Henry’s age. Twenty-two.” Debby sighed. “Poor fellow indeed. Most people are only one tragedy away from coming undone, I think. Makes me grateful for my life.” She crossed herself and said a short prayer.

  Hallie had a lot to think about as she went up to bed that night. John’s face kept flashing in front of her eyes—the way he’d looked at Sheila, the way he’d looked at Henry, the happy laugh he’d given as he read out a quote from that book. What manner of man had John been? Hallie wasn’t quite sure. But she was sure of one thing: he didn’t deserve to be murdered.

  Chapter 11

  The Librarian

  T he library was a square colonial with Greek-style pillars at the entrance and a red-brick facade. It was boring and staid, but certainly solid and dependable. School children lounged about on the steps outside, showing off marbles and discussing comic books.

  “Henry?” Hallie was surprised to see Henry leaning against one of the pillars, whistling and playing one-handed catch with a tennis ball.

  “Oh—hello.” He looked alarmed to see her and dropped the ball as he suddenly stood straight. He fumbled the ball as he bent to pick it up, before saying, “What are you doing here so early in the morning?”

  “I could ask you the same question. It’s only seven am.”

  “I—I’m just—” Henry bit his lip, then shrugged. “I was bored.”

  “You looked like you were waiting for someone,” Hallie said, trying to keep her voice neutral. Henry was lying again, she was sure of it!

  “Me? No.” Henry gave a thin, forced laugh. “I mean, yes, my buddy was supposed to meet me here, but I don’t think he’s coming. I’ll see you later, then.” With a tilt of his head, he walked off, his pace increasing.

  Hallie wondered what that was all about. Why was Henry acting so weird? She didn’t have an answer, but she made a mental note to confront the young lad as soon as she could and figure out what he was really doing. Bypassing the children standing around the entrance, she went straight to the first floor, where she found Edith Hastings dusting off a bookshelf.

  Edith gave a startled little coo when Hallie appeared and nearly toppled off the step-stool she’d been standing on. The librarian was wearing a checked gingham skirt and a pink blouse with a huge bow in the front. Her cat eye glasses skewed a little before she adjusted them.

  “Did I disturb you?” Hallie asked apologetically.

  “No, no. I just get lost in my own thoughts sometimes,” Edith said. “How lovely to see you again. It was rather a sad night when we last met—poor John.”

  “Poor John.” Hallie nodded. “I’m just glad that you, Gladys, and Bert are alright again.”

  “Has Gladys been released from the hospital?” Edith asked. “I was so worried about her. I know she’s much older than us all and—” Her voice faltered. “I couldn’t have borne it if something had happened to her too!”

  “She’s back home and fit as a baby monkey.” Hallie smiled. “Twice as naughty too. I caught her teaching Oswald how to catch a toad this morning. Poor Debby will have a boatload of them under her pillow tonight, I wager.”

  Edith laughed. “Gladys is… unique. Poor Debby. Anyway, what brings you to the library? Anything I can help with?”

  “Yes, I was wondering if you have any textbooks related to poisonous plants. I’m trying to research hemlock. My own textbooks aren’t nearly detailed enough.”

  “Hemlock.” Edith paled a little. “That’s what was in the stew, wasn’t it? Sergeant Johnson came around asking me questions about dinner that night. It’s awful! He seems convinced that John was murdered.”

  “Don’t you think so?” Hallie asked.

  “Of course not! It was clearly an accident. Why else would it be in the communal pot? Johnson will just stir up hysteria if he goes on with this line of investigation.”

  Hallie considered this. Of course, Edith could not know about the two doses of poison found in John’s body, and so she probably thought that John had simply suffered a more severe reaction than the rest of them. Naturally, the sweet librarian would opt to believe the least distressing option, that it was all an accident. Hallie knew otherwise.

  But she still had a lot of questions: How had John been poisoned, for one? And why had the murderer gone about the poisoning in such a roundabout way? Why not drop a pill in his whisky and be done with it?

  A few possibilities presented themselves to her, but none seemed plausible. Right now, the person she suspected the most was also the person she liked the most amongst all those she’d met before—sweet, young Henry Blackstone.

  Edith, meanwhile, was walking through shelves of books, muttering something to herself, until she stopped at one row and exclaimed, “There you are! Poisons, Plants and People: A Medical Reference Guide by Dr. J. Thomas Watkins.”

  “Hold it!” Hallie exclaimed, as Edith reached out to pull the book from the shelf.

  Edith froze with her hand on the book. “What is it?”

  “Do you remember when you last dusted this particular bookshelf?” Hallie asked.

  Edith flushed. “I’m afraid dusting books is my least favorite activity. I try to stay on top of it, but—”

  “Edith, I’m not criticizing you, I’m asking because this could be important to the case,” Hallie said, a little impatience creeping into her voice.

  “Oh.” Edith’s eyes widened. “Well, I’d say I dusted it about a month ago, maybe even two. Why?”

  Hallie swiped a finger across the shelf and showed Edith the layer of dust that accumulated on her finger. “See? Dusty. Now look at that book. It’s as clean as a girl on her way to church.”

  Edith gulped. “Are you saying that…”

  “Hemlock’s effects are well known, but given how expertly the killer divided the poison, I’d say he or she definitely consulted a book.”

  “You think this is the book?” Edith asked, she put a hand to her heart and shuddered. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Would you do me a favor and call Sergeant Johnson?” Hallie asked. “Ask him to come up here and bring a fingerprint kit with him. If we’re lucky, we might catch the killer soon!”

  “A fingerprint kit? What’s that?”

  “It’s a recently invented technology,” Hallie said, quite proudly. “The grids and loops on our fingers are unique; each of us has a distinct pattern. Every time we touch an object, we leave this pattern behind. You can’t see it with the naked eye, but we’ve found a way to capture it, alright.”

  “I’ll go immediately,” Edith said. “Oh, this is so exciting—and so scary, too!”

  “Wait, Edith—” Hallie called, as Edith scuttled away. “Could you also look through your records and see who last used this book?”

  Edith paused and turned around. She shook her head. “It’s a reference book, it can’t be lent o
ut,” Edith said. “In-library use only.”

  “Oh.” Hallie bit her lip. “In that case, I suppose you couldn’t tell me who else was here? I mean, do you remember seeing anyone from our dinner party in the library last week, or the week before?”

  Edith scratched her chin and tilted her head. “Here in the library? Why, everyone was here. We had our preliminary meeting of the Warrenton Historical Club here last week. Bert, Sheila, John, Gladys, and I were all here for it.”

  “Oh.” Hallie sighed. “What did you talk about?”

  “We discussed the funding, mostly. John had made a sizeable donation as had others in the town. We also talked about the name, banner, and long-term goals. John wanted us to publish a book, but Bert thought a magazine might be better and easier.” Edith crinkled her eyes as she tried to remember more. “I have the minutes of the meeting somewhere if you’d be interested in reading them. Although it might be quite boring for you.”

  “I’d love to read them,” Hallie said. “Edith, did Henry come to the library in the last week?”

  “Sure. There’s not a day when Henry isn’t here. The boy’s a bookworm, stays here all day. I asked him once why he didn’t read at home. I mean, John’s book collection rivaled ours here at the library.” Edith smiled. “Henry said he just liked this place better.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Hallie frowned even more, remembering the way he’d acted earlier today. “Well, I’ll stay here until Sergeant Johnson comes. Do call him, would you Edith?”

  “Right away.” Edith clapped her hands. “I’ll just do that.”

  Hallie sighed and turned back to the bookcase, wondering whether her deduction would prove to be correct. If it was as she suspected, then the killer’s fingerprints would still be on the book, or perhaps, they’d even get some explanation of how that mysterious, additional amount of poison was introduced directly to John’s bloodstream.

  Drawing a pair of surgical gloves out of her purse, Hallie put them on so as not to leave any prints and flipped the book open. She shuffled through the pages until she reached the entry about hemlock. The book had an illustration of the hemlock plant and a list of places where it was commonly found—it grew wild over much of the United States, if the author were to be believed. Hallie stared at the illustration and realized with a gasp that she’d seen the plant, too. It grew in patches all over Morton’s field! How easy, once the murderer knew, for him or her to slip down to the field in the middle of the night and pick the plant. Easy enough, too, for him or her to grind it into a powder and add it to the stew.

  She was intensely focused on the book, so focused that she didn’t notice a shadow creeping up to her, nor the hand that raised a club behind her.

  All she felt was the world slipping into darkness as she collapsed on the floor in a heap.

  Chapter 12

  A Headache

  H allie’s head was pounding when she woke up. She blinked and found herself surrounded by Dr. Livingstone, Sergeant Johnson, and a distressed Edith.

  “Where am I?” she managed to say.

  “You’ve suffered blunt force trauma, with a possible concussion.” Dr. Livingstone frowned. His normally jovial face was drawn into a tight ball of anger. “In simpler terms, someone played pinball with your head, Dr. Malone.”

  “Oh, this is horrible. Just horrible!” Edith had a handkerchief out and was trembling slightly. “I’m so sorry I ever left you alone, Hallie! I—you could have been killed!”

  “How did…” Hallie shook her head, trying to clear it, and found herself swaying a little. Dr. Livingstone immediately steadied her. “Easy,” he said. “I think you should go home and rest for a few days. We want to make sure there’s no permanent damage.”

  “I was speaking to Dr. Livingstone about the postmortem results when Ms. Hastings called,” Sergeant Johnson explained. “We both came over immediately. But we didn’t get here fast enough. You were unconscious on the floor when we reached the bookshelves.”

  “The book!” Hallie exclaimed, remembering why they were here. “Where is the book? Did you check it for fingerprints, Sergeant?”

  “The book was lying next to you,” Sergeant Johnson said. “It’s totally devoid of fingerprints. The killer must have hit you and then wiped it clean.”

  Hallie groaned. “He snatched the clue right out of our hands.”

  “Did you happen to catch a glimpse?” Sergeant Johnson asked, without much hope in his voice.

  “I wish I had,” Hallie said. “But the killer is lucky, I suppose.”

  “His luck won’t hold out too long,” Dr. Livingstone said, his voice grim. “This is absolutely unacceptable. He attacked Dr. Malone in broad daylight! Something must be done, Johnson.”

  Sergeant Johnson nodded. “I’ll talk to Debby, see if I can move into the house for a few days, until—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Hallie said.

  “You need protection,” Dr. Livingstone argued. “It isn’t safe for you, if the killer’s made you his next target.”

  “It’s not me the killer wanted, it’s the evidence.” Hallie sighed. She recounted to Sergeant Johnson the events of the previous day, how she and Henry had almost caught the thief. Sergeant Johnson nodded. “Henry already came to me with the scrap of paper,” he said. “I know all about it.”

  Dr. Livingstone was most interested. “A thief? Blackstone thought someone was a thief?”

  “I can’t believe it.” Edith shuddered again. “A thief, a poisoner, and now a cold-blooded murderer. What has happened to Warrenton? We used to be a safe place. An innocent town, even in the middle of the war.”

  “Let’s go talk to the mayor,” Dr. Livingstone said. “I won’t stand for this, and neither will the other townspeople. If we need to impose a curfew, or start a neighborhood patrol—”

  “I’m sure we don’t need to go quite that far.” Sergeant Johnson tried to calm the doctor.

  But Dr. Livingstone seemed outraged. “Dr. Malone is new to town. She’s come here because we promised her safety after the atrocities of war. What does she get instead? A fine welcome! Blackstone’s death, and then an attempt to murder her. The worst part is, we still have no idea who the murderer is.”

  “I promise, I’ll make an arrest soon,” Sergeant Johnson said. “Let’s not get too worked up over this.”

  “I’m canceling that party, and calling a town meeting,” Dr. Livingstone said. “I don’t think I have the patience to wait anymore, Sergeant Johnson. You mean well, but this killer must be apprehended immediately.”

  Edith looked from one man to the other before saying, “None of this explains how the killer got in without me seeing him.”

  “I checked the library,” Sergeant Johnson said. “There’s a window open near the back.”

  “It rained last night,” Dr. Livingstone said. “There must be footprints in the soil outside!” He sounded excited. “Let’s go check, Johnson.”

  “One step ahead of you,” Johnson sighed. “That was one of the first things I checked. But there weren’t any footprints in the soil.”

  “He might be cruel, but this murderer is as cunning as a jackal,” Dr. Livingstone sighed. “I don’t know how you’ll ever catch him, Johnson.”

  Johnson hesitated, then said. “I will—I promise. Very soon.”

  This proved to be true. Less than two hours later, as Hallie was relaxing on her favorite armchair with a bandage wrapped around her head and a book in her hand, Debby came bursting into the room. The housekeeper looked flushed and excited, her hair escaping from its bun and dancing like Medusa’s snakes around her face.

  “Did you hear?” she exclaimed. “It’s shocking! They’ve made an arrest.”

  Hallie sat up a little straighter. She knew who it was likely to be, yet she hoped that the next words out of Debby’s mouth wouldn’t confirm it.

  “They’ve gone and arrested Henry Blackstone for the murder of his father!”

  Hallie didn’t say a word. Gladys, w
ho was sitting across her on the sofa, gave a muffled exclamation as she hastily finished the last bite of the strawberry muffin she’d been eating. “Not Henry!” she said. “The lad’s not capable of it!”

  “Well, my brother seems to think he is,” Debby said with a sigh. “I heard the full story from Bert’s housekeeper Rita. Her husband works on the force, you know. She said Henry isn’t talking and wants a lawyer.”

  “Smart move,” Gladys said. “I want to go see him immediately.” She stood up and brushed off the crumbs from her dress.

  “Oh, but it’s terrible. I almost can’t believe it myself, but in light of the evidence, I really do think he did it,” Debby sighed. “Apparently, he used to hang out in the library all day—only he wasn’t reading. He was canoodling with Mayor Jackson’s daughter Eva.”

  “Eva!” Gladys exclaimed. “So that love story never died, eh?”

  “Never died?” Hallie looked confused. “Am I missing something?”

  “Everyone in town knows the story,” Gladys said. “Henry and Eva were in the same class together, growing up. My class, as a matter of fact. They were always sweet on each other. Poor things. Their parents—well, you know of the animosity between Blackstone and Jackson, don’t you?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Hallie said, and something suddenly clicked together for her. Henry had been so emphatic when he said that the fights of a previous generation shouldn’t affect the current one. So that’s what he’d meant! He was in love with the Jackson girl—a star-crossed romance in the tradition of Romeo and Juliet.

  “Well, Eva and Henry grew closer no matter how their parents tried to keep them apart. And all this at age twelve.” Gladys sighed. “I never approved of the parental interference, but I couldn’t really say anything. It wasn’t my place to. Then, when Henry turned fifteen, he was caught kissing Eva in the back of the school.”

  “Dear me,” Debby said. “Is that why John sent him away to boarding school? I thought… well, I thought he’d gotten into trouble for something far more serious than kissing a girl.”

  “Oh, I think Principal Jones would have been happier if he’d been caught trying to set fire to the school.” Gladys sighed. “John and Jackson both marched into the school, full of rage. The two men were at each other’s throats. John accused Eva of being a gold-digging little—well, never mind. Jackson, meanwhile, was convinced that Henry was trying to ruin his family’s honor. I’ve never seen anything like it.”