“Just maybe not during a particular three days a month!” I suggested hurriedly.
The Chief and I had crossed one suspect off our list, but we still had work to do. We graciously excused ourselves and left Portia’s crumbling manor.
We each grabbed our own brooms from their posts against the wall.
“That was nice of Portia to help Rad out, even if they never actually tied the knot. Portia’s okay,” Chief shook his head as he straddled his broom.
While I agreed that Portia had done one good deed, I wasn’t one hundred percent sold that she hadn’t balanced her moral ledger out by performing a bad one. A late night butterfly flitted in front of my face and landed on the pokeberries in Portia’s garden. As the insect alit on a bright, violet berry then down onto a verdant, broad leaf, a question nagged at the back of my mind. I decided that tomorrow’s first order of business was to pay a visit to Verdantia Eyebright’s greengrocer stall at the market. Somewhere in all of the clues and evidence, the solution to this mystery was hiding.
Twin cannonballs of black rocketed onto the back of my broom as Shade and Jet zoomed out of nowhere.
I shrieked for the third time that night. You might say I was feeling a little edgy.
drop dead gourd-geous
I hadn’t slept very well after the cats and I had gotten home from Portia’s. I kept rolling the facts of the case over and over in my head, and something was not making sense. Maude Dulgrey had said that Spithilda had been poisoned with the pokeberry plant. I had closed my eyes and replayed the premonitory dream that I’d had, where I had been Spithilda.
I remember scratching at my tongue with the tip of the quill. Maude had even pointed out the stains and markings on Spithilda’s tongue at autopsy. Certainly, if Spithilda had been using pokeberry ink as she wrote, the toxins could have gotten into her bloodstream via the self-inflicted tiny nicks and cuts she was effecting on her tongue with the sharpened nib of the quill. But, it hardly seemed like it could be enough to cause her death.
I could remember accidentally confusing a pokeberry with a blueberry as a small child. I had gotten very sick – in fact; it was probably the first time Grammy Chimera had ever given me Cronewort Tea – but I certainly hadn’t died. And the juice from a single, ripe berry surely equaled the toxin level that Spithilda had potentially ingested.
Wait! I thought. Cronewort Tea. Carbon’s tummy troubles! The sudden revelation prompted me to place a early morning call to Maude at the morgue. Thankfully, the old pathologist was still at the lab.
“You’re absolutely right, Hattie. It is very unlikely that Spithilda ingested enough toxins from her quill to cause her death. But, there’s no doubt about it. Pokeberry is definitely what did her in. I’m not changing my findings on that. But, yes, she would have had to have had just about a plateful to make it a fatal dose,” Maude confirmed, cheery as ever to be talking about death and dying.
“Thanks, loads, Maude. You’re the best!” I thanked her wholeheartedly.
“Aw, golly, Hat. You’re making a ghoul blush. Good luck with the case!”
“You betcha!”
A whole plateful, huh?
“Polk Salad Annie. Gators got your Granny.” Polk Salad Annie. The 1970 Elvis tune riffed through that old mental jukebox.
I suddenly upended several of my sleeping kitties on the bed and shoved my feet into my fuzzy slippers. One of the slippers didn’t take too kindly to the abuse and yowled sleepily.
“Why am I not surprised?” Gloom groaned as I accidentally mistook her for my left slipper. “Guess that’s all I am to you. A Doormat to be walked all over. I see how it is.”
I gritted my teeth. “Sorry, Gloom. Didn’t see you there.”
She yawned mightily. “Typical.”
I found the actual slipper and bounded down the stairs to grab one of Grammy Chimera’s books. Garden Herbs: Not Just for Salads by Morag Wyrmwood. I rapidly flipped through the pages.
“Pokeberry. Pokeberry. Pokeberry,” I mumbled as I ran my finger through the index pages.
Midnight padded into the room. “What’s happenin’, Cap’n?”
He was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed compared to his seven sleeping siblings upstairs. The Witching Hour was his beat.
“I think we’ve been going about this all wrong,” I informed him. “This whole time we’ve been looking for someone with access to pokeberries! But, there are other parts of the pokeberry plant that are just as toxic and just as deadly as the berries themselves. Spithilda’s killer might have been staring her right in the face, in the form of a well presented culinary di.. Ha! There it is!”
I jammed an insistent finger down on the open page. Midnight jumped up on the counter and looked over my shoulder at the recipe listed.
“Poke Sallet?” Midnight sounded confused.
“Yup!” I declared somewhat gleefully. “Delicious dish made from the leaves of…guess…that’s right! The pokeberry plant. But, if not prepared correctly, it can be fatal.”
“Oh!” Midnight exclaimed. “Like fugu!”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Like fugu. Delicious, but deadly.”
“So, now you just have to find someone who’s had access to pokeberry leaves.”
“Oh,” I sighed heavily. I dropped a heavy chin in my hand. “You mean, like everyone who shops at Verdantia Eyebright’s greengrocer?”
“Oh,” Midnight agreed somberly.
“I’m going there next. It was on my list of things to do.”
“Well, just be sure to take Shade along,” Midnight suggested.
“If he finds out you go see Verdantia without him, he won’t speak to you for a year. He thinks she is the most beautiful creature anywhere in the Coven Isles.”
I momentarily consider the pros and cons of Shade remaining silent for a full three hundred and sixty-five days, but I finally cave.
“Okay. Got it. Shade! Shade!.” My groggy, sleep filled cat appeared at the door, crumpled and dazed looking. “You cool, boss lady?” he mumbled sleepily.
“Wanna take a quick trip to Verdantia’s?” That’s all it took; I didn’t need to bribe him further. He shook and stretched and padded after me without comment.
Take a pause on an early weekend morning at Verdantia Eyebright’s greengrocer, and you will find yourself awash in an ocean of sensory experiences. Brightly colored banners flutter in the breeze, announcing to one and all that a celebration of life is happening among the well-stocked stalls. And a rainbow of fresh fruit and vegetables arcs widely in front of you, just waiting to be sampled.
A cloud of pleasant smells soaks into your nostrils. The pungent aroma of freshly ground, organically-grown local coffee. The sweet, earthy smell of sage. The peppery, savory aroma of thyme.
Your taste buds will quiver in anticipation as you bite into a plump wedge of citrus, the sugary sweet juice running free-flowing down your chin. It’s a pleasant weekend gathering place where friends can meet and swap recipes for squash stew or three-bean vegetarian chilli, or find some of the most unique, hard-to-find fruits and vegetables that might not ever grace the shelves at your major chain stores. Pluots, purslane, and papalo, nestled among the fairy tale eggplants, the Lady apples, and the dragonfruit.
For the curious, a pluot is an unusual cross between a plum and an apricot. Purslane, otherwise known as hogweed, is a small-leafed succulent with a slightly salty and sour taste that can be eaten in salads or stews and can have more Omega-3s than certain fish oils. And papalo has its origins in Mexico, a strong tasting green also known as Bolivian coriander.
But, papalo wasn’t the green I had come to Verdantia’s to discuss.
I searched for Verdantia among the bodies and bobbing heads of the Gless Inlet inhabitants who had come out to support their local farmers and growers and get some really spectacular deals of some incredibly fresh, delicious produce and farm goods.
I wasn’t the only one looking for Verdantia. Shade weaved like a snake between my legs. He jumped up on stalls and
craned his skinny little neck over the flowered hat of a would-be tomato connoisseur. Not satisfied with a wayward chrysanthemum atop the hat that was blocking his view, he flattened the flower with a steady paw.
“Oh, my gracious!” hat lady cried, uncertain of the proper farmer's market etiquette for dealing with a cat that had hat issues.
I grabbed Shade and promptly set him down on the ground where he was, again, off like a shot, in search of his paramour du jour.
“I’m so sorry ma’am,” I mumbled apologetically, trying to straighten the crushed flower on her hat. I finally just grabbed a bouquet of fresh mums from a nearby vendor, handed him a folded bill, and gave the old woman the bouquet. Then, I took off after my crazy cat.
When I finally caught up with him, it was in front of the pumpkins. The stall was overflowing with enough pumpkins that the Headless Horseman could have a different head for every day of the year – including a leap year. Did you know that there are over forty-six recognized varieties of pumpkins and that’s before you even get into the winter squash! And they had as many unique names as we had unique citizens in Gless Inlet.
They had one called Jack-Be-Little, but not to be outdone was the Jack-Be-Quick. There was the Baby Boo and the Baby Bear. There was the venerable Old Zeb and the One Too Many. And of course, you had to have a pumpkin called the Cinderella.
And the way Shade was standing, slack-jawed and staring, I think my moggy mole had found his Princess Charming.
Verdantia Eyebright certainly lived up to her name. Everything about her radiated with the fertility of life. A halo of golden sunshine seemed to surround her, suffusing her porcelain-perfect skin with an idyllic glow. Her flowing green dress billowed with every graceful twirl and polite gesture shared with each passing customer. Indeed, as she glided past each stall, the fruits and vegetable therein seemed a little more vibrant. A little juicier. A little brighter. Beefsteak tomatoes plumped to an even heartier, robust red. Bananas became the yellow of sunshine.
Her emerald eyes were bright. Bright as stars. And they twinkled nearly that much as well. Her hair would have made Rumpelstiltskin jealous. It flowed in spun gold waves over her slight shoulders and very nearly halfway down her shapely back.
The rumor, if you listened to that sort of thing, was that Verdantia was a Seelie. A Faerie. I suppose Verdantia’s ears did have slightly angular point toward the tip.
Seelies belonged to a segment of The Fae that wanted desperately to work with the Unawakened to celebrate life and help heal the planet we shared. They lived side by side with humans and could be found on the Mainland working with groups like Greenpeace, Charity: Water, and The Nature Conservancy, just to name a few. They were self interested, to be sure, but they still did great work worldwide, a member of a host of worthy causes.
Here, on Glessie Isle, Verdantia was simply a joy to be around and willing to help a neighbor with any task, be they ghost, goblin or ghoul. At the moment, I was the one needing a little bit of aid.
“Verdantia! Verdantia! Over here!” I waved to catch her attention. Verdantia nimbly footed her way through the busy market and towards us. I swore I saw Shade lick a paw and smooth back the fur on the top of his head, before he took a cool, relaxed position atop a pumpkin.
As she approached, I was scooped up in an armful of summer breezes and fresh flowers. Her hugs, like everything Verdantia did, were earnest. I struggled to catch my breath.
“Oh, Hattie!” she exclaimed. “How very wonderful to see you!”
She spied Shade on the pumpkin, his arm resting across the top, as if he was a guy at a bar. His grin looked a little glued on though, and his eyes seemed to be full of pleading.
“Hey, babe.” my dude-like moggy said.
“Shade!” She scooped him up into a ball of black fur and planted a Cupid’s bow kiss right on the top of his head. “My perfect little puss! How are you doing?”
I could now see why he had had such a pained expression on his face; he’d been sitting on top of pineapple that had been carelessly discarded among the gourds.
The cat practically melted into a puddle with whiskers as she cradled him in her arms. “Muccccch better now.”
“Silly kitty.” Verdantia’s laugh tinkled like a million tiny bells.
I placed an urgent hand on her arm. “Verdantia, I need your help. I’m assuming you heard that Spithilda Roach was killed.”
For a moment, a dark cloud passed into Verdantia’s bright, twinkling eyes and they went black as night. At the same time, the weather over the market threatened rain. Long enough to send bewildered customers scurrying for cover. It never rained at Verdantia’s market.
But, as soon as the foreboding cloud rode in, it dissipated into memory and the golden warmth of the sun broke through once again.
“Yes,” Verdantia admitted. “But, I choose to celebrate Spithilda’s memory instead of mourning her passing.”
All was right in her world once again.
“That’s very admirable, Verdantia. I’m trying to help Chief Trew figure out what may have happened.”
“That’s wonderful, Hattie! We should all help each other. The world, both magical and Unawakened, would be a much better place for it.”
“I couldn’t agree more. On that note, do you happen to keep a register of purchases here at the market? I’m trying to determine if anyone has made any purchases of pokeweed leaves recently.”
“Why I certainly do, Hattie! I have to for the more ‘risky’ produce I sell. But, I don’t have to look at the record. Portia is my only supplier of pokeweed leaves, so it’s very simple to track who has bought any of late. You know,” she interrupted her own train of thought as she laid a long finger aside her face. “I haven’t seen Portia today with her regular delivery of leaves. She never misses a delivery. Since most of her family’s money has dried up, I know she counts on our little weekly transaction to help make ends meet. She’s usually the first supplier to show up. Every single time. I certainly hope nothing’s happened to her!”
I thought about the special visitor Portia had had last night. Maybe Rad had stayed the entire night instead of schlepping off immediately for werewolf lands. They were two consenting adults. But, I didn’t really want to think about it too long.
“I’m sure she’s fine, Verdantia. Chief Trew and I just saw Portia last night, and she was alive and well.”
“Whew! Well, that’s certainly good news. I’m so glad!” She wiped an imaginary line of sweat from her perfect brow. I don’t think that woman has ever had a drop of sweat mar her perfect features in…well, ever!
“I guess back to sales, then. I don’t sell a lot of pokeweed because Poke Sallet is such a tricky dish to make. Most chefs shy away from it. First, you have to rinse the leaves in cool water. Then boil them for 20 minutes. But, the leaves aren’t safe yet. Next, you rinse them again under cool, clear water. And even then you have to go through the boil and rinse process two more times. Then you usually pan fry the leaves after that. If you don’t follow the steps precisely, and I mean precisely, the consequences could have disastrous results! Oh!” Verdantia gasped, a long-fingered hand covering her shocked mouth.
“Is that what happened to poor Spithilda?”
“I’m not in the position to say, Verdantia. I hope you understand.” She suddenly gripped my arm.
“Oh, goodness! It wasn’t Millie, was it? She was on the list of buyers!”
“Heavens, no!” I exclaimed although I had a much better explanation for why I had lost nearly every set of curtains in the shop and my apartment to Carbon’s intestinal distress.
“I tried to tell her it wasn’t kale. But, you know Millie.”
“Yeah,” I sniggered. “I know Millie.”
Verdantia’s bell-like laugh tinkled through the air again.
“Well,” she thought. “The only other person who had made a pokeweed purchase in the last few days was Amber Crystal. She also bought some lovely African violets. Chalmers Breedlove grows them. They
’re positively delightful, and this particular variety happens to make a most effectively excellent love spell.” She looked to the middle distant, a dreamy veil hanging over her face for a second or two.
“That’s nice,” I cut her off as politely as I could. Love spells were hardly relevant to the case right now. I had questions, and I still needed to find some answers. I mentally scrolled through my suspect list. There was only one name left.
“Did Violet Mulberry make a pokeberry purchase?” I asked.
Verdantia pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “No, ma’am she did not. But, she did purchase some beautiful blackberries to make an all-natural hair dye. Turns the hair a vivid violet! I believe she’s trying to formulate her own line of color. Not sure she’ll get the same dazzling effect as the Florid Lights range though! So beautiful!”
The image of Remy and his pink-bowed hair sprang to mind. So, Rad and Violet were off the suspect list. Neither of them met all three motive, means, and opportunity criteria. And though I’d proven means and opportunity, Spithilda’s Mortis Haereditatem curse had made Amber’s motive shaky at best. But, she had bought pokeweed here? Maybe so, but she was a salad person. Every time I saw the woman, she seemed to be munching on some green leaf or other.
But, Portia? Even though she had helped Rad, Portia Fearwyn was still in the running. She could have killed Spithilda to orchestrate exactly what had happened – that with Spithilda gone, Rad would have had no choice but to come back to her for help with his...affliction. Grandma Chimera would have laughed in my face. She had trusted Portia Fearwyn with her life. I don’t know, I respected the old witch, and I truly admired her potion skills, but she did seem to be hiding something. The locked cellar, for example. When a half mad werewolf wasn’t in there, what was? And, what of all the large and dangerous purchases she had made from the Angel over the years? And, what of the reports of lights, loud bangs, and mini explosions of pulsing light seen over the swamps in recent years? There was a lot more to Portia Fearwyn than she let on.
“Well, I certainly hoped I helped. That’s why we’re here after all. To help each other. Speaking of which, I really must get along now. I promised Alban Dewdrop I would bring him a ham hock today. Poor man can’t get out much,” Verdantia fluttered.
The Infiniti Investigates: Hattie Jenkins & the Infiniti Chronicles Books 1 to 5 Page 31