“Do you have any ideas about how the manuscript might have found its way into the trash?” Chief Gibbon asked me.
“Well, I sure didn’t put it there.”
“I wasn’t implying that you had. But you were talking with Mr. Wong about it yesterday.” He nodded toward where the smell of bacon and onions wafted from the back door of the restaurant. “In there. Detective Lang and I witnessed it.”
“He’s an antiques dealer,” I said. “We thought he might know something about how a thief would get rid of a rare piece of stolen property like that.”
Gibbon and Lupe exchanged looks.
“And I was particularly curious because Dylan Wong was arrested for doing just that a few years ago. Which you apparently already know.”
Max and Harris looked at each other and smirked, but the chief simply nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell us to help the investigation?”
He wants my help? Really?
Too bad there wasn’t anything I could tell him. “Nothing you don’t already know.” After all, Lupe knew about Warren and Trixie Perez, and I didn’t want to bring Trixie up in front of Harris in case he didn’t know he’d hired a murder suspect.
“I don’t suppose you’ve made any progress toward finding out who tried to poison me last night and ended up sending Ritter Nelson to the clinic,” I said.
Harris’ eyes widened.
Lupe grimaced. “Sorry, Ellie. Nothing so far. There were only two sets of fingerprints on the wine bottle Danielson and I took from your house. One matches yours, and the other matches the set Ritter submitted for a background check for a grant application years ago. The wine is being tested, but given what you told us and what Dr. Scott confirmed, there’s little doubt that the poison was jimsonweed. We also found a set of fingerprints on your back door.” Her gaze cut to the chief then, and she fell silent.
I sighed again and pushed away from the wall. “Speaking of Ritter, I need to check on him.” Turning, I waved my hand in a general farewell as I left.
“Hang on, Ellie.” Lupe trotted to join me, and we walked toward my vehicle together. “How’s he doing?”
“Okay, so far. The doc gave him something to counteract the jimsonweed poisoning, and then tranquilized him so he’d sleep all night. She seems to think he’ll be fine in another day or so.”
She let out a breath. “That’s good news.” She was silent for a few beats. “Who do you think did it?”
I stopped by the door of the Wrangler, and Dash jumped over to my seat to hang his head out the window. Lupe obliged by scratching his ears.
“I don’t know. You were at the memorial, so you know who was there . . .” I trailed off. “You know, Chief Gibbon said he heard Astrid and I talking yesterday afternoon at the Roux about how the thief might sell the manuscript. Dylan said it would be dangerous to keep it. He spoke fairly loudly.” I paused, remembering. “There were an awful lot of people in the restaurant who might have overheard him, and many of them ended up at the memorial, too.”
“Like who?” Lupe asked.
“Well, Dylan himself. Could you please tell Astrid to be careful? She doesn’t listen to me.” And then, one by one, I counted off the same people I’d listed to Astrid that morning: Warren, Trixie, and Odell. “Who has an alibi,” I finished. “So, really, we’re down to the Perezes and Astrid’s latest fling.”
Lupe nodded. “You won’t be surprised to learn Warren and Trixie are our prime suspects. Warren’s business is in serious trouble, so they have lots of financial motive—which also fits with the chief’s theory that whoever killed Eureka really wanted that gold nugget to start with. But they also benefit from her death, and their alibis for each other are a bit sketchy.”
Relief whooshed through me, followed by anger when I thought of Ritter still lying in bed at the clinic. “You really think they did it?”
She gave a slow nod. “We’re building the case.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “We’ll find out if Trixie or Warren knows anything about jimsonweed, and I’ve submitted the prints we got from your door to the state lab. They’ll get back to us within a week.”
“That long?”
“That soon.”
“Oh.”
“Be careful and give Ritter my love.” She hugged me.
I hugged her back, hard.
* * *
• • •
IT was nearly nine o’clock by then, and I had just over an hour before I had to open the shop. I drove home and took a quick shower, keeping an eye on Dash to make sure he wasn’t tempted to explore the wine stain under the rug. He completely ignored it. When I was dressed, I scrambled up three of the little eggs Larken had brought me, and ate them out of the pan over the sink. Then I hurried out toward the Wrangler again.
Halfway through the Enchanted Garden, I paused, eyeing the stalks of wallflowers growing near the mosaic retaining wall. On an impulse, I went over and grabbed a set of pruners from my supply near the faucet and cut several stems. Inside Scents & Nonsense, I rummaged under the counter until I found a vase the right size, and quickly arranged the multicolored blooms in it.
Leaving Dash in the shop, I went out and wedged the flower container behind the driver’s seat, then headed to the clinic.
Nurse Higginbottom was keeping an eye on Ritter between helping Dr. Scott with patients. She waved me back to his room, where I found him sitting up. He’d changed out of the clothes he’d worn for the memorial and our dinner date, and now wore an examination gown tied in the back.
I grinned. “Best hold that thing closed if you wander out of here.”
“Thanks for the advice.” His tone was wry.
I put the flowers on a counter and perched on the side of the bed. “How are you feeling, big guy?”
His pupils were normal, and the color had returned to his face.
He took my hand. “A little confused, actually.”
“What about?”
“I don’t remember what happened.”
“On the way here?” I asked. “Well, for one thing, you told me you turned down a research project in Glacier National Park.”
His eyes widened. “I told you that?”
“Yep. And you are going to call them back and say that you’ll do it.”
He made a face.
“I mean it, Ritter. I want you to call them. You can’t give up your work because of me. And, Ritter . . .” I paused. “You have to trust me, okay? I love you, too.”
He hesitated, and then, God help me, he blushed.
“Say okay.”
“Okay.”
I smiled. “Good.”
“But I still don’t remember what happened. Not since I got up after sleeping all day yesterday.”
“What? You don’t remember any of yesterday afternoon?” I asked, appalled.
“Ellie, don’t panic,” Dr. Scott said from the doorway. “It’s not uncommon for people to have a period of temporary amnesia after ingesting jimsonweed.”
I took a deep breath and tried to quiet my heartbeat. “You sure?”
She nodded. “But I want to keep an eye on Ritter for at least the rest of the day.”
“Yes. Okay. Of course.”
“Oh, Doc,” he protested.
“No,” I said. “You’ll do as you’re told.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Okay, boss.”
I kissed him, adjusted his covers, and kissed him again.
“I have to go,” I murmured.
“I know. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,” he said.
I nodded, loath to leave him there, but stood anyway. “I’ll check on you soon.”
When I was in the doorway, he said, “Elliana?”
I turned.
Gesturing toward the bouquet of flowers I’d brought, he asked, “What do those mean?”
I smiled.
“Come on. I know they mean something,” he insisted. “All your flowers mean something, right?”
“Wallflowers mean fidelity in adversity,” I said.
He held my gaze for several seconds, then said, “I like that.”
“Me, too,” I said.
* * *
• • •
BACK home, I showered and took another whiff of the energizing peppermint, rosemary, and eucalyptus blend. It worked its wonders, and soon I’d brewed coffee, set out Astrid’s delicious brookies, and fed Nabby and Dash. Right before opening Scents & Nonsense, I returned the call to the boutique hotel owner who wanted lavender air spray for her guests, and we came to a lucrative agreement.
Next, I tidied the shop and was on the computer researching greeting card companies when the phone rang.
“Scents and Nonsense,” I answered.
“It’s Maria.” There was something in her voice.
I put down the mouse and turned away from the computer screen. “What’s up?”
“A couple of things. One is that Professor Radcliffe is here, and he wanted to know what Eureka had been looking at. Ellie, I think he’s trying to replicate her most recent research.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Well, we can’t really stop him, can we?”
A few beats of silence, then: “No, I suppose not. And for all I know, Eureka would have wanted him to continue her work. But her work is related to the other thing I wanted to tell you. Actually, I wanted to show you.”
“I’ve got something to show you, too. I’m at the shop.”
“It needs to be here. It’s Charles Bettelheim’s journal. Ellie, it’s not what we thought.”
My ears perked up at that. “Maggie will be here in about an hour. I’ll come over then.”
“Okay. And, Ellie, this is something I’m not telling Professor Radcliffe. At least not yet. Not until you see it and tell me what you think.”
Thoroughly curious, I hung up. Abandoning the computer, I went out front to soothe myself by mixing everyday essential oil blends to sell off the rack.
* * *
• • •
I HEARD a rumor they may have found Eureka’s killer,” Maggie said as she breezed into the shop at eleven.
I raised my eyebrows.
She tsked as she tied on an apron. “Not that I know who . . . wait, do you know who it is?” she asked with a sharp look.
Warren and Trixie Perez. I wonder if they’ve heard the rumor. Slowly, I shook my head. It was just a gesture, after all. Not an outright lie.
“Well, I must say, whoever it is, I’m glad they are going to be heading to trial and prison.” She bustled over to the coffee urn and poured herself a cup.
I smiled. “Me, too. Listen, I have to go over to the library. Maria wants to show me something. Oh, and apparently, someone else might end up writing the book Eureka was working on when she was killed.”
She grabbed a couple of dirty mugs and took them into the bathroom to wash. “You mean that Dr. Radcliffe?”
“The very one. You know him from the Roux, I take it?”
She came out with the mugs and went behind my work counter. Grabbing a dish towel off the pile tucked under the counter, she bobbed her head. “Lord, that man loves my margaritas. A little too much, if you ask me.”
“Oh, does he now?” I grinned. “I saw him at happy hour the other day. Yesterday,” I corrected myself.
“Yep. His daughter drinks tea, and he drinks tequila. Had three Cadillacs on Wednesday night, and he didn’t start early, either. I bet he wasn’t too chipper the next day.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Because you know how I mix a Cadillac margarita, and most people never dare more than two.”
I laughed.
Then I suddenly stopped.
“Hang on. You said Wednesday night?”
She nodded.
“What time?” I asked, my pulse beating a little faster.
“It was ten o’clock, at least, when he came in. Hardly anyone in the bar. If it completely empties out, sometimes Harris will let us go home. But not that night. The professor didn’t leave until after midnight.”
Then understanding dawned. “Oh! So, you’re part of his alibi.”
She looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Lupe said Odell had an alibi for the time of the murder . . .” I trailed off. Lupe had said Haley was her father’s alibi. She hadn’t said anything about him being at the Roux Grill.
Maggie blinked. “I don’t know anything about that.”
I forced a smile, my mind racing. “Oh. Well, maybe I’ve got it wrong. Anyway, I’m going to head over to the library now.”
“What would you like me to do while you’re gone?” She rubbed her hands together as if she couldn’t wait to get to work.
Distracted, I said, “It’s slow. Take it easy. Hang out in the garden if you want. Just listen for the bell over the door.”
“You are the worst boss ever,” she joked as she settled onto a stool and pulled a magazine out from under the register.
* * *
• • •
ON the way to the library, I called Lupe. For once, she answered instead of letting it go to voice mail. “Hey, Ellie. You’ll be relieved to know Chief Gibbon is working with the district attorney in Silver Wells to make that case against the Perezes.”
“Don’t be too sure it was them,” I said as I dodged a woman pushing a baby stroller.
“Meaning?”
“What was Odell Radcliffe’s alibi during the time of Eureka’s murder again?” I asked.
“His daughter, Haley. She said he was in their suite that evening.”
I blew out a breath. “Lupe, that’s not any better than Warren and Trixie vouching for each other!”
“But they don’t have the room service call.”
“Oh?”
“He called at eight thirty, and the Empire Room delivered dinner to him and his daughter at nine. One of the waiters came and got the dishes from outside the room at ten and heard the television.”
“Just one problem, Lupe. Odell Radcliffe was in the Roux Grill drinking Maggie Clement’s margaritas from ten o’clock until after midnight. She told me. If Haley’s claiming her father was with her at the hotel the whole evening, she’s lying.”
There were a few beats of silence, then, “Crap. I’ll be by your shop in an hour.”
“I have a better idea. I’ll meet you at the Hotel California in an hour. I’m, uh, running errands right now.”
She sighed. “Fine. See you then.”
CHAPTER 24
BRIGITTE pointed toward Maria’s office when I came in the door of the library. As I passed the reference room, I saw Odell Radcliffe poring over some of the same items the librarian had shown me the day before, including the Bible.
Did you kill Eureka to get to her research? Did you hit her over the head with a shovel, then go break into her house and steal her laptop with her research on it, then top it all off with tequila and lime? No wonder you had three drinks.
I shuddered and kept going.
Maria was sitting at her desk with Charles Bettelheim’s journal open in front of her. She looked up when I knocked and let myself in. I sat down across from her.
She shoved the diary over to me without so much as a hello. “Start on page sixty-eight.”
I began to read. Page sixty-eight was a litany of everyday life on a Sunday. Taking a bath, doing laundry . . .
Wait. Laundry on a Sunday? I suddenly remembered Mayor Ward saying something about Sunday being laundry day. He’d just taken a single page from a diary out of the time capsule.
A shiver ran down my back. I looked up at Maria, who was watching me with quiet intensity. “I’d fo
rgotten there was a page from a diary in the time capsule,” I said.
She nodded very slowly, a small smile playing at her lips. “And if you look toward the front of that journal in your hands, there’s a page missing.”
Stunned, I flipped back a few more pages and saw where a shred of paper still adhered to the stitched binding.
I ran my hand over my face. “How could there be a page in the time capsule while the rest of the journal ended up stuffed behind some old school primers?”
But I was already thinking hard as I asked the question. Remembering how easily the lid of the butter churn had come off at the ceremony even though Officer Danielson had been prepared with a chisel and hammer. In fact, he’d seemed puzzled at how easily the seal was broken.
“Eureka and Felicity took the time capsule to the police station, right? We saw them leave,” I said slowly.
Maria didn’t look happy. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking Eureka couldn’t wait to see what was in that butter churn, and somehow managed to get into it before the ceremony?”
Her lips pressed together, and then she sighed. “Yeah.”
“Hang on a sec.” I retrieved my phone from my daypack and brought up Felicity’s number.
She answered on the second ring, and I heard voices in the background.
“Hi,” I said. “I have a quick question for you.”
“Fire away,” she said.
“Did you and Eureka make any stops on the way to the police station with the butter churn?”
“Um, no. Where did you have in mind?”
“And you were together the whole time?” I asked.
Across the desk, Maria leaned forward.
“Sure,” Felicity said. “Well, sort of. I mean, I left her to take the time capsule into the police station while I went to talk to the mayor.”
I gave the librarian a triumphant look and said, “So Eureka was alone with the butter churn for a little while.”
“Well, jeez. Not very long. I left her in front of the police annex. She must have taken it right inside.”
Marigolds for Malice Page 21