Marigolds for Malice

by Bailey Cattrell

  I found a note on the counter. A receipt, actually. It listed the wine bottle, an intact wineglass, and the pieces of the other, as well as the potted jimsonweed from the greenhouse. It was signed by Detective Lupe Garcia.

  That made me feel better, not only because Danielson had involved a detective, but also because it meant that even if he’d been there, Max Lang hadn’t had the run of my house by himself.

  As I ran up the stairway, I checked my phone and saw Lupe had left me a text. I’d been so discombobulated when I awoke at the clinic that I hadn’t even checked. It said she’d call me in the morning.

  Dressed in soft warm clothes, I relocked the house, pocketed the key, and went to grab Gessie’s aromatherapy blend and my corgi. I took Thea’s Terra Green pickup, hoping she might be at the nursery so I could return it. I caught her about to go check on Ritter in her personal hatchback. We left the truck parked in front of the retail shop, and she drove me back to my Wrangler, which was still in the parking lot across the street from the shop. I updated her on her brother’s condition on the way. Then she left for the clinic, and I boosted Dash into the Jeep so we could head to our next stop.

  The stables were on the far north end of Corona Street, near a curve in the river. Back in the day, it had been the heart of transportation in Poppyville, before the railway had been added to the mix. Now Gessie offered trail rides to visiting dudes, along with hayrides complete with bonfires and chuck wagon feeds. In addition to catering to tourists, she boarded horses, gave both Western and English riding lessons, and occasionally hosted hunter jumper and dressage competitions.

  Hay dust and horse musk greeted my nose as we pulled into the parking lot and got out of the Jeep. Gessie was in the outdoor arena with a young helmeted woman on a bay gelding. It appeared the rider was having difficulty with her mount, which would pause every few steps to crow-hop to one side. She was frustrated, and even from where I was, I could see her tension wasn’t helping the situation.

  Suddenly the horse bucked, and I saw sunlight between the rider’s posterior and her pancake saddle. She landed back on the horse without falling but was half splayed across its back and tugging hard at the reins.

  Gessie stepped directly in front of the horse and held out her hands to each side, low and with her palms facing the animal. Everything about her radiated calm. I could hear her quiet, wordless murmur to the horse before she said flatly to the rider, “Get off.”

  The horse hopped to the side again as the young woman swung her leg over and swiftly dismounted, but she made it to the ground. Her eyes were wide as she handed Gessie the reins.

  Immediately, the horse quieted. Gessie murmured again, then approached it and rubbed it along the withers. Her hand continued to the cinch that went under the horse’s chest to hold on the saddle, and she frowned. Quickly, she loosened the leather strap and turned to her student.

  “This is pushing against the grain of his hair. Bob here is sensitive, and if he’s uncomfortable after you tack him, he’ll try to throw you when you’ve been working him awhile. Next time make very sure the hair is lying smoothly under the leather. But don’t let him bully you. Believe me, he’ll try it.” She patted the horse, and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a comical smile.

  She grinned and handed the reins to the woman, who took them with a nod.

  “Okay, I’ll remember,” she said. “Come on, Bob. We’re going to be friends yet.”

  Gessie came over to the fence where Dash and I waited. “Ellie! Bit early for you, isn’t it?”

  I briefly explained about the previous night’s adventures as I dug out the bottle of essential oils from my bag and handed it to her.

  “Good lord,” she said when I’d finished telling her about Ritter’s ordeal. “That’s horrible. I’ve got coffee on. You look like you could use a cup.”

  “Another cup. Yes, I could. And Astrid wanted me to give you these.” I handed her the container of brookies.

  Her eyes lit up. “Well, this is a treat!”

  I followed her while Dash went to romp with Gessie’s Bernese mountain dog. Her office was a crowded space across the barn aisle from the tack room. The shuffle of horse hooves and whuffle of their breath joined the strong flavors of leather and saddle soap in the air.

  Over my second steaming mug of caffeine, I settled onto a folding chair across from her desk and asked about Eureka.

  CHAPTER 22

  YES, Eureka was here,” Gessie said. “She was asking about a death that occurred here in the stables back in the gold rush days.”

  Half-jittery from sugar and caffeine, I scooted to the edge of my chair. “A death?” That fit with what Maria had said Eureka was researching at the library—only she’d called it a tragic death.

  She gave a little nod. “Said Eliza Scott told her to check with me, but I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. Nothing I’ve found here referred to anything like that.”

  Frowning, I considered for a moment. “Did she give any details about the death? Was it an accident?”

  “Suicide.”

  I blanched. “Oh.” Tragic indeed.

  “What else did she say?”

  “She wanted to see my safe.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “Whatever for?”

  “Because it’s old, I guess.”

  Gessie got up and squeezed past me. I rose and followed her into the tack room. Bypassing the cubbyholes stuffed with grooming tools, bits, rope halters, and leg wraps, she shoved aside a pile of brightly colored saddle blankets to reveal a huge, four-foot-by-four-foot safe.

  It was black, with a combination smack-dab in the middle of the door over the words Thayer & Edwards. It looked as old as the Heritage House cabin. She grabbed the door and it swung open easily to reveal a pile of paperwork.

  “This thing was here when I bought the place a couple decades ago. Lock was busted then, but the door closes, so it’s still fire safe. Mostly, I keep vet records, breeding papers, sales records, and things like that in it.”

  “Wow. It looks like it should be in Heritage House,” I said. “Is that why Eureka wanted to see it?”

  She shook her head. “I’d told her about it when we were putting together the displays, and she said it was just too big for the space. It’s not in very good shape, either, as you can see.” Her eyebrow quirked up as she looked over at me. “No, Eureka wanted to measure the inside of the thing. Said she wanted to see if something would fit in there.”

  I blinked. “Like what?”

  Gessie closed the door and replaced the blankets. “I have no idea. She acted very mysterious about the whole thing, but she seemed quite pleased after measuring it.”

  Baffled, I followed her out to the barnyard.

  Her Bernese mountain dog and my corgi had been joined by a broad-faced man who smelled of tobacco and earth.

  “Hey, Bongo Pete,” I said.

  “Hey, Elliana Allbright. Thanks for bringing Dash to see me.”

  “He likes to visit,” I said.

  Pete smiled at me, a sweet, gentle expression that was part quiet innocence and part unease. I knew I wasn’t making him uneasy, and neither were Gessie or the dogs, whom he loved. Pete was extremely sensitive to the world around him, to the point where it grew painful and overwhelming at times. At least, that was what I’d gathered from our conversations.

  Today, however, I was getting a strange feeling from him. A shiver ran down my back like a mouse. It was familiar in a way. With a start, I realized it was the way the Xavier manuscript had made me feel.

  And then I remembered seeing Bongo Pete going into Raven Creek Park right before Eureka’s memorial. He could have easily come around the back side of my fence to the back porch of my house. Come inside. Found the wine.

  But why? He wouldn’t hurt a fly. And it wouldn’t explain how he got the jimsonweed from my greenhouse. He wasn’t at Eurek
a’s memorial.

  Though I’d just told Astrid an hour earlier that it would be easy for anyone to go into the greenhouse from the Enchanted Garden. It was never locked.

  That still didn’t explain why. No, Bongo Pete wasn’t my poisoner. So what was this feeling I was getting from him?

  “Hey, Bongo Pete,” Gessie said in the same easy, low tone she used with her horses. “You want to help me muck stalls this afternoon?”

  His face lit up. “Can I?”

  She smiled. “You bet.”

  “You like to muck stalls, Pete?” I asked.

  “Bongo Pete,” he said, just as he always said it when you forgot to call him that. And sure enough, he turned around to show the back of his T-shirt, which read KING OF THE BONGOS. He had a collection of them, gifts from Biddy’s T-Shirt Emporium. “I love it. The horses say thank you, and Gessie always makes me a big ol’ pile of sandwiches to take down to my tent.”

  I wasn’t really listening anymore, though. When Pete had turned around, I’d seen something unusual sticking out of his pocket.

  Parchment.

  “Pete?” I started. “Sorry—Bongo Pete? Can I see what’s in your back pocket?”

  “Sure.” He strode over, pulled the folded pages out of his pocket, and handed them to me.

  It buzzed against my skin like a gentle live wire. Oh so carefully, I unfolded the roughly bound book.

  Gessie looked over my shoulder. “Uh-oh.”

  I raised my head and met her eyes, then looked back down at the Xavier manuscript Pete had unaccountably been carrying around in his jeans pocket.

  “Pete . . . Bongo Pete? How do you happen to have this?” I asked.

  He looked alarmed for a second, but when I just smiled and waited, he relaxed. “Found it. It doesn’t say much.”

  It fell open to the same page I’d seen briefly after the mayor had taken everything out of the time capsule. It showed the marigold and the now familiar depiction of the tree of life.

  Pete’s voice deepened as he said, “Cruelty. Grief. Jealousy. Malice.”

  My head jerked up. “You can read this?” Because he’d just recited the words that spiraled around the marigold. Words that neither one of us should have been able to read.

  “Nah. I can’t read. Least not very good.” He leaned over and looked at the page in my hands. The smell of tobacco grew stronger as he said, “Violent death.”

  I started. There was something like that on the page. And I remembered those words in my grandmother’s spidery penmanship in her journal.

  Gessie put her hand on my arm. “No one can read that, Ellie. Don’t pay him any attention.”

  “Well, I can’t read, but I can see. I can tell,” Pete said, obviously insulted.

  “I believe you,” I said, ignoring Gessie. “See this symbol?” I pointed to the tree circled with spirals.

  “Kell,” he said.

  I involuntarily took a step back.

  Gessie caught my arm. “Ellie?”

  Violent death times three

  Will summon thee

  Daughter of Kell

  “This is Kell?” I asked, pointing to the picture of the tree again.

  He responded with a sweep of his arm. “It’s all Kell.” He smiled widely and leaned his head back, so the sun shone directly into his face. “All of it. The trees, the grasses, the plants. You know, Elliana Allbright.”

  And somehow, I did.

  Could it be true? Bongo Pete was talking about nature, the whole of the natural world, but not just that. Could it be true? Could he also mean Kell included the plant energies I’d always been able to sense, like my mother and her mother before her?

  Still, that didn’t explain what “daughter of Kell” meant.

  “Bongo Pete, I’m not sure I understand. Who is Kell’s daughter?”

  He shrugged and grinned at me.

  “Oh, now,” I said. “Come on. I bet you know.”

  He frowned, and I could see he was becoming agitated.

  “Ellie, what is wrong with you?” Gessie muttered at my elbow. “You know this is all nonsense.”

  Bongo Pete looked over my shoulder, and his eyes grew wide.

  “Oho! I come to ask Ms. King here about a note we found in Eureka Sanford’s house about some old safe, and this is what I find.”

  I whirled to Detective Max Lang approaching from the parking lot. He stopped beside me, gazing down at the Xavier manuscript I held in my hand like it was manna from heaven.

  “Well, lookie here. It’s the missing parchment from the time capsule that you were so very fascinated by. Right there in your hot little hands.” He laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I knew you took it.” He grabbed it away.

  “She didn’t take it!” Pete said, stepping forward. He was shaking, and I could feel his combined rage and fear.

  “It’s all right.” Gessie stepped to his side and put her hand on his arm.

  He shrugged her off. “You leave Ellie alone!”

  “Got a new boyfriend, Allbright?” Max sneered, the manuscript crinkling in his fist.

  “Please be careful of that,” I begged. “None of us should be touching it with our bare hands. The oil in our skin—”

  “So, she didn’t take it,” Max said, ignoring my plea. “Does that mean you took it, Pete?”

  “Bongo . . . ,” he began, then stopped. He shook his head. “I found it.”

  Sudden hope soared in my chest. “Where?” I demanded. “Where did you find it?”

  “I’ll ask the questions here,” Max said, sounding like a caricature of himself. He turned to Pete. “So? Where’d you find it?”

  Pete glared at Max and clamped his mouth shut.

  Thanks a lot, Max. I wanted to pummel the idiot.

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  Pete shook his head.

  “Well, then, I guess I was right about Ellie. Come on, Allbright. Let’s go to the station.”

  “No!” Pete said.

  Max smiled that joyless smile again. “Then maybe I should take you to the station instead.”

  Gessie stepped forward. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Detective Lang. Stop badgering the man.”

  “I need to know where this was.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Give us a minute.” She led Pete several feet away and began speaking to him earnestly.

  “What did you find at Eureka’s?” I asked Max.

  “What?”

  “You said you came here to ask Gessie about something you found at Eureka’s.”

  He gave me an unbelieving look. “You think I’m going to tell you?”

  “Why? Are you afraid I’ll solve her murder before you do?” I regretted the words the second they were out of my mouth. This was not the time to poke this particular bear.

  “Careful,” he warned. “I don’t think you’d want Chief Gibbon to know you said that.”

  I bit back my retort and looked away.

  “Now, don’t start crying.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I blinked rapidly. I was running on too little sleep and food, and too much caffeine and worry about Ritter. I couldn’t help it if I felt a little . . . fragile.

  Gessie and Pete returned to where we stood. “Bongo Pete,” she said. “You can go ahead and tell them what you told me.”

  He looked at the ground. “By the dumpster at the Grill.”

  “The Roux Grill?” I asked. “You found the manuscript by the dumpster in the alley.”

  “Allbright,” Max gritted out.

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  But Pete was nodding.

  “Maybe the rest of the stuff from the time capsule is still there!” Gessie said.

  “Behind the Roux Grill,” Max said.

  Pete nodded.

  �
��Okay. I’m taking this”—he held up the Xavier manuscript in his hand—“as evidence. And, Pete? Don’t you leave town, you hear?” Max turned on his heel and strode toward the parking lot.

  Bongo Pete’s brow furrowed as he looked between Gessie and me. “Why would I leave Poppyville? I like it here.”

  CHAPTER 23

  I BROKE the speed limit all the way to the Roux Grill, but Max beat me there. So did Lupe and Chief Gibbon. They were all standing around the dumpster as if they were waiting for a bus. Harris was with them.

  Leaving Dash in the Wrangler, I hurried to join them.

  “What are you doing here, Ms. Allbright?” Chief Gibbon asked.

  Max squared his shoulders and said in a respectful tone, “She was there when the homeless guy told me he found the papers from the time capsule here, boss.”

  “Mm.” Gibbon regarded me dispassionately for a few moments.

  “Just have to stick your nose it, don’t you?” Harris asked.

  I ignored him. “Are the rest of the items from the time capsule here?”

  Lupe glanced at the chief, then shook her head. “No. Nothing is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The trash was taken away this morning. Pete must have found it yesterday,” Gibbon said.

  “Are you telling me it all could be in the landfill?”

  Lupe nodded. “Looks that way. We were hoping there might be some video footage back here, but Mr. Madigan”—she nodded toward Harris—“explained that he’s seen no need to install security cameras in the alley.”

  “It’s Poppyville!” he protested. “The only nefarious things going on in this alley are my busboys sneaking out for a cigarette and the local cats prowling for scraps.”

  I leaned my back against the brick wall, suddenly tired and very sad. Running my hands over my face, I sighed. At least the Xavier manuscript had been recovered. Even if it was in a police locker someplace, and I couldn’t get to it, I was still thankful.

  When I looked up, everyone was watching me.

  “What?” I asked.