Poisoned (The Alex Harris Mystery Series)

by Elaine Macko

  “Chantal, John did call though I haven’t seen him, and Mr. Kaminski is doing fine. They moved him to a private room and he should be allowed to go home maybe tomorrow.”

  “I’m so glad.” Chantal heaved a sigh of relief. “He’s such a sweetheart. Well, that’s certainly good news.” She took off her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair in my office before continuing. “Detective Maroni came by my house last night to get the key to the house. He said they needed to do another search of the yard.”

  “That’s odd. It seems like they did quite a bit of searching yesterday. I wonder what they wanted. John never mentioned anything when I spoke with him.”

  The bell out front rang and, knowing that Millie was occupied, I got up to go check. A few seconds later, I walked into the office with John. He and Chantal exchanged pleasantries.

  “Mrs. Bradbury, have you heard from Mrs. Brissart?”

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve called Mrs. Platz’s sister’s home in Hartford several times, but never got an answer. I’m beginning to worry. They don’t have an answering machine, I’m afraid. And neither Mrs. Platz nor Mrs. Brissart has a cell phone.”

  “We’ll have to keep trying. I’m sure she’d like to be here for Mr. Kaminski. In her absence, perhaps you might be able to help me with something.”

  Chantal looked at me and then turned back to John. “Sure, if I can.”

  “I talked with Mr. Kaminski last evening. He was quite shaken, but I think he’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure the attack was by the same person responsible for putting the cyanide into the cookies.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Reasonably sure.” John told us what had happened. “Poor Mr. Kaminski. Never knew what hit him. He just heard the crunching of leaves and then got bopped on the head.”

  “So he didn’t see anything?” I asked.

  “No, but he definitely heard someone approaching.”

  “What was he doing out there?” Chantal asked.

  “He got up early, as usual. Guess he’s a morning person. It was still dark. He made a cup of coffee and took it out on the porch and sat there drinking it and looking out over the plants. Said he heard a dog bark in the distance. The folks in the area tend to have dogs they keep inside, especially when it gets cold, so he wondered about the barking dog but didn’t pay much attention.”

  I folded my arms in front of me. “How did he get hit on the back of the head?”

  “He told me he sat there for about a half hour looking over the garden toward Bradley’s tree house and he started to think that maybe Bradley had some belongings up there and no one bothered to check. So he walked over to the tree and climbed a few steps. He said he could see something white. Couple pieces of paper.”

  “Could he see what was on the papers?” I asked, wondering what all this had to do with cyanide and jequirity beans.

  “Not up in the tree house, so he came down and walked a ways toward the house where it was lighter. He had his back towards the house holding the paper above his head trying to get the light to hit it just right.”

  “Could he make out anything?”

  “No, but not because he couldn’t see but because it was all in French.”

  “French? Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Said he remembered it from the war. Saw a lot of it then in the newspapers and stuff.”

  “Then what happened?” Chantal asked.

  “That’s when he heard the leaves crunch. He said something odd, though. He said he didn’t really think he had been hit all that hard but then he fell and he hit the rock and that was that.”

  I looked at John. “What do you make of it?”

  “I called Detective Maroni and we searched Mrs. Brissart’s house again, but to tell you the truth, I’m not sure what we’re looking for. Maybe Mr. Kaminski got it wrong and he wasn’t sure what he saw. What would papers written in French have to do with anything?” John asked.

  That’s when Chantal let out a yell.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Of course! The family history. Those papers in French were probably research that Bradley had done or maybe found,” Chantal explained.

  “Did Bradley speak French?” John asked.

  “A bit. He had it in high school and college. We tried speaking with each other a few times, but he was rather rusty. That happens if you don’t have a chance to use it. Doesn’t matter how long you took it, if you don’t practice, it just goes.”

  “Could he read it?”

  Chantal folded her hands in her lap and thought a moment. “I’m not sure, but reading is easier than speaking, at least for me. Though my French is pretty good on all levels thanks to my mother.”

  “Mr. Kaminski said the papers looked like they were photocopies of something. You typed things up for Bradley, was anything in French?”

  “No. Nothing. You know, now that you mention it, the Monday that Bradley came over, he said he had something he might need my help with but he wanted to work on it a bit more himself. And then he went out to the tree house. Yes, that’s right,” Chantal smiled, obviously happy to have thought of something else. “He gave me some history to type, which Alex worked on, and then he went out. I never saw him again.”

  “He gave no indication as to what he needed?”

  “No. None at all. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” John turned to me. “Alex, you left papers for him?”

  “Yes. I left them in a folder.”

  “We never found anything. Are you sure you printed them up?”

  “Positive. I even wrote a note asking Bradley to review them and let me know if there were any changes.”

  “I’m positive we don’t have them,” John said. “Can you tell me exactly what they were all about?”

  “I have a copy.” I reached for my purse. “I found it fascinating and wanted to use it as a template for maybe doing something like this with my own family.”

  John gave me a doubtful look and I figured the jig was up.

  “Okay. I took a copy home because I thought maybe there was a connection. But I’ve read through it several times and I just don’t see anything that would lead to murder. It starts at the beginning of the family history. Who came over from France, how they started their business, and how the family became so prosperous. Nothing ominous in any of it if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “This is an exact copy of what you left on the desk?”

  “Yes. This is what I typed up that day. All these people came here a long, long time ago, John. How could any of that matter now?”

  “We’re not sure if it means anything, but Bradley got killed for some reason. You don’t poison someone by accident unless you’re a very bad cook. Whoever put the cyanide in the macaroons did it with one reason in mind.”

  “You said the papers Mr. Kaminski found were photocopies,” Chantal asked. “Where are the originals?”

  “Good question. We’ve gone over Bradley’s apartment and the study at Mrs. Brissart’s and we didn’t find a thing. If they’re something from a long time ago, then we’re talking about some very fragile paper.”

  “I hate to mention this, and I do not believe it for one minute, but if Kendra is involved, it might be conceivable that she took the papers when she left town.” I felt guilty suggesting it, but Bradley was dead and Mr. Kaminski had come very close to the afterlife as well.

  “I thought about that, Alex, but then who hit Mr. Kaminski over the head?” Chantal asked.

  “Maybe she didn’t leave?”

  John nodded. “Maybe.”

  “Or,” I began again, “maybe Bradley left the papers over at her apartment and she didn’t even know what they were or meant. After all, she did leave before you decided Bradley was the intended victim after all.”

  “Good point. Maybe I’ll have one of my men talk with her parents and find out exactly where she is.”

  “Another place you might want to try is the old house in
Farmington,” Chantal added. “Bradley and Kendra went out there a lot, and if it’s old papers you’re looking for, that might be a good place to start.”

  “I think you’re right, Chantal. Do you know where the house is?”

  “Yes. I’ve been out there with Mrs. Brissart. It’s really not that hard to find. You can ask anyone if you get lost.”

  “How about a key?” John asked. “I don’t want to have to break in. Maybe June has one.”

  “I doubt it. The old house doesn’t belong to the whole family, just Mrs. Brissart. But you know who has one, is Mr. Kaminski. He went out there to change the lock on the front door a few weeks ago. Bradley said that it— Oh, my God. That’s right.”

  “What is it, Chantal?” I almost jumped out of my seat.

  “Bradley went out to the house earlier in the month and I remember him telling Mrs. Brissart the lock on the front door was loose or something. I know he said it would be very easy for someone to get in. So don’t you see? He was out there. Maybe that’s when he found the papers.”

  “Yeah, but how did he make the copies? Does the house have a copy machine?” I asked thinking that a copy machine didn’t fit in with what I imagined the decor to look like.

  “Well, no. Not that I know of. But he could have gone into town and made his copies and then put the papers back where he found them.”

  “Chantal, write down directions and then I think I’ll stop by the hospital and see if Mr. Kaminski has that key.”

  I gave Chantal a pad of paper and watched while she wrote down the directions and explained everything to John. It seemed pretty straightforward except for a narrow road obscured by thick overgrowth.

  Armed with the crudely drawn map, John and I went into the reception area where Millie sat behind her desk. John walked over and gave her clown nose a tweak. “Where’s Sam?”

  “The elementary school. The kids are having Halloween parties and Sam baked pumpkin cupcakes. She should be back later. Listen, John, tonight’s Halloween. Do you think you might be able to get away and help me give out candy?”

  “If I can get away, I may pass out candy at my place for a bit. I thought that my house is too big and scary and they probably wouldn’t come, but then that’s what Halloween’s all about. There aren’t too many kids in the area, little ones, anyway, and then I’ll try to come by. I figure if any kids show up it will probably be early. So maybe I can come by about seven-thirty.”

  I could hardly wait for him to move in and then there wouldn’t be any of “your place and my place.” I kissed him good-bye and hoped I would see him later.

  It was almost lunch. The three of us sat in my office and ate leftover stew that Millie had made the previous evening.

  About one-thirty, a deliveryman arrived with an order of office supplies, and Millie went out to help him.

  “Well, I guess I should be going and let you get back to work.” Chantal put on her coat. “Let me know if John finds something. If he does, and it’s all in French, I can translate.”

  “Thanks, Chantal, for all your help.”

  She left the office and a few minutes later came back.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “No. Well, yes, I did. I should have told John. Maybe if he calls you can let him know.”

  “What is it?”

  “Bradley stayed over with his grandmother every Monday evening and sometimes on other nights, too. Especially if Kendra had an acting class or something.”

  “And you’re wondering if he could have left the originals in his room at Mrs. Brissart’s?”

  “Exactly. We have a copier so he could have made copies and then put the papers back up in his room. It makes perfect sense if the papers are indeed old and fragile. He probably wouldn’t have wanted to handle them very much.”

  I was already standing and reaching for my purse. “Do you still have the key?”

  “To Mrs. Brissart’s? Yeah. I had two, can’t remember why. I gave Detective Maroni one last night. But Alex, we can’t just go and look in Bradley’s room, can we?” Chantal asked with a smile spreading across her face.

  “Why not? Maybe by the time John gets back from Farmington, we’ll have the papers in-hand. Besides, I’ve been dying to check in the computer to see if there were any items of interest about the history. I wanted to ask you about it yesterday, but well, with the police around, and Mr. Kaminski in such a bad state, I didn’t think it the right time. And,” I added as I pulled on my coat, “I don’t think Mrs. Brissart would mind, not if it helps in finding her grandson’s killer. And we can call her when we get to the house and ask if it would make you feel better.”

  “Okay. I must admit I am rather curious. And it makes sense if I look because I can translate.”

  I liked her logic. I knew I hired her for a good reason.

  By the time we reached the old house, the sky had become gray with a layer of clouds. Rain wasn’t in the forecast, but then again weathermen were known to be wrong. I always thought that if they just looked out the window before they announced the weather each morning, they could save a fortune on machines and other weather-finding equipment.

  There were no other cars in the driveway and we parked my black Honda close to the front door. Chantal took the key from her purse. The lovely old house seemed foreboding with no one present. Maybe it was just the weather and being Halloween, but I had the creeps.

  “First, let’s call Mrs. Brissart. I’ll feel better.” I followed Chantal down the hall to the study. The red eye of the answering machine blinked and Chantal pressed the button for the message.

  “It’s Roberta,” Mrs. Brissart’s soft voice filled the room. Chantal lowered the volume on the machine and got a pencil ready. “Ralph, are you there? Where is everyone? Virginia’s sister had a bit of a setback and we’ve been at the hospital most of the time. Should be back to Indian Cove in a few days. Virginia’s sister is doing much better.”

  The machine clicked off, and reset itself. Chantal dialed the number in Hartford, and getting no answer, she turned to me. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to go have a look.”

  We went back out into the hall and took the staircase up to the second floor. With no one around, the heat had not been turned on and it felt very cold. We left our coats on and were glad we had both worn slacks. I had never been up here and it surprised me to see it was very bright and freshly painted. The walls were white from the baseboard to the middle and then a soft pale pink striped wallpaper finished to the ceiling. The carpet was a deep rose and there was a window at the end of the long hall that ordinarily would have let in a stream of sunlight.

  Chantal wasn’t sure which room was Bradley’s, having been upstairs only a few times herself. All the doors stood open. She knew Mrs. Brissart and Mrs. Platz each had rooms on this floor and Mr. Kaminski had a small apartment off the kitchen, which had been converted for him many years before. She peeked into each room with me right behind her satisfying my nosy streak. A room on the left toward the end of the hall looked as if it might be Bradley’s. It was painted in a tan color and the furniture was dark and seemed more masculine.

  “What do you think?” asked Chantal.

  “Looks like it could be his. All the rest are very feminine.”

  We entered the room and began our search.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Chantal and I took off our coats. The lifting of the mattress was the final straw and we felt too hot from our labors. So far, we found nothing of interest. I felt odd going through Bradley’s things though there really wasn’t all that much; a few changes of clothes, and a selection of paperbacks, but it still felt like snooping and of course it was.

  We looked under the oriental carpet, in the closet, and under all the drawers because as I told Chantal, this was always where the police found stuff in the movies. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be the choice in real life. Chantal even looked behind the drapes, thinking that maybe Bradley had sewn the papers into the fabric on a par
ticularly boring evening. Nothing.

  “I think maybe we’ve made a mistake. Help me get this mattress back up,” Chantal said brushing a piece of her hair out of her eyes. “You know, why would Bradley hide the papers to begin with? I can understand him making copies so he could make notes on them, but why did he feel the need to hide them if in fact he did?”

  “You have a point. Maybe he didn’t. They’re probably not even here but I am an optimist. It does not seem too much use being anything else.”

  “Huh?” Chantal looked at me.

  “Oh, nothing.” I didn’t feel like enlightening Chantal to my quirky Churchill-quoting habit so instead I just helped her put the bed back together, placing the chenille bedspread on top. “I can’t imagine he would want to hide something from his grandmother. After all, they probably belong to her in the first place though he could have been hiding them from the likes of May and June.”

  “Well, they do come over quite a bit, but they very rarely come up here.”

  “Maybe John found something up at the house in Farmington,” I said, hoping his luck turned out better than ours. What was left of the sun disappeared for the day and I walked over to the wall and turned on a switch illuminating a large floor lamp while Chantal turned on the bedside lamp. “Well, I guess that’s it.” I plopped myself onto the freshly made bed.

  “Do you think we should check anywhere else?” Chantal asked.

  I sat for a moment staring off into space. “I wouldn’t feel right going into Mrs. Brissart’s room. Maybe we should wait until we get in touch with her.” Something caught my eye and I slowly stood up, a smile spreading across my face. “Bingo!”

  “Bingo? What are you grinning about, Alex?” Chantal watched as I walked across the room to where the floor lamp stood. I reached underneath the burgundy shade and turned it off using the knob attached to the base.

  I reached inside the shade and slowly peeled away a piece of tape. “Well, well, well. What a clever boy.” I went back to the bed where Chantal still sat, and placed an envelope on the spread. “This is like Christmas.” I gently opened the envelope even though it wasn’t old and tipped it allowing three smaller envelopes along with something that looked like a deed of some sort to fall onto the bed.