by Judith Mehl
Kat ducked out after the introduction, and Hill began. “Ma’am, could you tell me again how you found Ms. Bromfield?”
“Aw shucks. Call me Bertha. I haven’t been Mrs. McLeod for a long time around here.”
“Well, Bertha?”
“I told you earlier how horrible I felt when I saw her at the bottom of the stairs and I couldn’t get down there to check on her. The ambulance came mighty quick, though, when I called them. I prayed every second till they arrived.”
“Yes. I remember you telling me that. How did you happen to be in her home?”
“Why, Rosalin didn’t show up for work that morning. I worked the counter and waited all afternoon. She never once answered her phone when I called. When I drove home I stopped by her house.”
Detective Hill thumbed through his notebook. “How did you get in?”
“That was the scary part. The door was unlatched. Just like in those horror movies. Mind you, I almost didn’t push it open. I could hear the background music in my head and everyone shouting, ‘Don’t go in there.’ But I was worried about Rosalin. So I shoved it a little and called her name.”
“Then what?”
“I didn’t hear a thing. I finally inched my way in. The stairs were right across the foyer. A nice wide stairway, you know, like houses usually have when it’s not really a basement, more like one of those recreation rooms or whatever.”
“And?”
“When I didn’t get an answer the second time, I looked down. At first I couldn’t see well. I switched on the light. And there she was. All crumpled up. That’s when I called 911.”
Hill let her calm down a little before proceeding. He glanced around and complimented the wreaths hanging in the back room as backup storage for the main room’s displays. He’d heard they were her pride and joy. Her beam confirmed it. He smiled, then resumed questioning. “I know it’s been a couple of weeks. Still, try to remember anything of your conversation the day before she died.”
“Oh, the poor woman. She was so troubled. She wouldn’t talk much. She just said that she saw something a couple days before that worried her.”
“Didn’t that surprise you?”
Bertha plopped her feet firmly on the floor and leaned forward in her chair. She whispered, as in confidence. “She was a curious one, you know?”
He perked up. “Really?”
“Not a busybody, mind you. Just liked to know and understand things.”
“Did she say what?”
“Not really. She said she was going to go back and see if she could find out more before she said anything. She didn’t say go back where, but she seldom traveled anywhere but to the shop and the herb farm.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes sirree. That’s it.”
Bertha returned to the front. He stood in the doorway to watch Fanny’s delight in seeing her. She smiled gratefully while Bertha set up a cash drawer and handed Fanny hers to take to the back room. Agatha had told him that Bertha worked with deliberation and had never hit a wrong key on the cash register. In the same vein, her hand-made wreaths were a treasure due to the same care to detail. No wonder she was so proud of them.
He watched her work with envy. He had enough trouble hitting the numbers on his cell phone. Kat pulled Fanny aside and he heard her whisper, “We found someone to help you in the shop so you can concentrate on the bookwork and the special programming. I’ll bring Rita Mae by tomorrow.”
Fanny again expressed concern over Agatha’s disappearance. Kat shook her head. He couldn’t hear the rest and got tired of eavesdropping. Most people felt Agatha was overwhelmed with grief and just couldn’t face the shop just yet.
He hoped to corner Fanny in the back office when Kat left, but the woman returned to the front counter to aid a slew of customers before he could. He sidled down another aisle and looked for any masculine product as a subterfuge until he could find a break in the crowd. Not a frequent visitor to such places, he didn’t know the traffic patterns. I’ll assume that once the lunch hour wanes, patrons will, too.
Later, he hurried out of the store to confront a man he’d seen walk past the shop three times in less than an hour. He watched the man first through the front store window as he plodded down the sidewalk to the cafe, shuffling from side to side, his gait not unlike that of oxen traversing the Chisholm Trail. Unlike the oxen, whose burden rested square on their sturdy backs, his stooped shoulders appeared bent from a heaviness, that, though invisible, could not be lifted.
The old man appeared unaware of his surroundings, so Hill studied him, hoping to discover why he worked his way, back and forth in front of the herb shop. The bulkiness that caused his awkwardness came from a massive density rather than a wobbling fat. The results were no less unbecoming, but the heftiness added intimidation to the disgust one often felt when confronted with excess.
Unaware of Hill’s observations he turned at the cafe and lumbered slowly in front of the herb shop again. Two young teens smirked, hiding their words behind their hands. The loathing of passersby made no impression, if indeed, he even noticed. Hill speculated that such a reaction came often in the man’s life.
He watched him stop at the corner and complete an unwieldy turn, heading back toward the cafe. Hill blocked his path before he reached the herb shop.
“Detective Fulton Hill of the Mountain View Regional Police,” he said, while showing his badge. “What’s your business, sir, and why are you staking out the herb shop?”
“What herb shop?”
The startled look Hill received would have convinced anyone of his innocence. Motioning his head to direct the man’s vision to the shop right in front of them, he questioned. “If you didn’t know it was there, why are you walking back and forth right here?”
“Harrumph. Well, I, um, I was talking to Joy in my head, trying to find a way to raise her spirits before I see her at the cafe up there. I’m not good at that sort of thing, but she deserves help.”
Hill nodded for him to continue.
He did. “My friend, Joy, needs a mental boosting but I’m ill-equipped to handle it.”
Hill waved him on, following discreetly. He did indeed, sit across from a sad looking woman at a booth inside. Hill returned to the shop, only somewhat chagrined. It was his job to check out suspicious characters. The department couldn’t afford to pay him for a full-time stake-out. Knowing he couldn’t roam the aisles forever, he finally approached Fanny at a break in the customers. He introduced himself and asked to speak with her in the back.
A trusting soul, Fanny agreed without asking for identification and listened to his concerns, and his need to discuss details with her. They agreed to meet the next day in the coffee shop nearby.
Hill left, his senses overwhelmed from the multitude of scents, and his mind no more satisfied about what pivotal role the shop held in the murder investigation. Fanny was an enigma he couldn’t solve. That bothered him. The detective found Fanny’s errant nature confusing, exciting, and frustrating. Was she all she seemed, or worse, more than she seemed?
He needed to fit people into their pegs, like working a puzzle till it fell into place. Fanny didn’t fit anywhere. The puzzle remained incomplete. He felt no closer to solving the deaths of Margaret Kinney and Rosalin Bromfield. One could be ruled accidental if he found no new evidence. The other was even less promising. Connecting the two could bring up stronger possibilities, and the tie had to be the herb shop. Though Margaret and Agatha both owned the farm, Rosalin had been a town body, and as far as he knew, with no known relationship to the farm.
Floral bouquet warnings. Hill doubted the police ever responded to a more bizarre threat.
Earlier, they had obtained Agatha’s permission to search the shop. They’d explored every aisle and storage box, sometimes discreetly slipping out a sample of herb to be tested. Most appeared innocent to the men, experienced in the scent and look of illegal drugs. By Saturday afternoon the shop was declared clean.
He
and the search team had reported back to Burrows, who was obviously unhappy but resigned that nothing new had appeared. The detective apprised Hill of the information about Rosalin’s connection to the herb farm as well as the shop. Two officers were dispatched earlier to interview employees and search Margaret’s house and the grounds more thoroughly than when Margaret’s body was found. Unfortunately, Agatha kept the house open for the farm employees so there wasn’t much hope of finding any uncontaminated evidence.
They all settled in the chief’s office now to reconnoiter. Burrows reached across his desk and shuffled together the files so far. He agreed with Hill that another meeting with Miss Endicott couldn’t hurt. As one of the newest members to the shop scene, she engendered the most suspicion.
Hill awaited his meeting with Fanny like an overeager teenager, though he wouldn’t admit the cause of his lightened step.
Chapter 10
Pressure in writing comes not from strength or toughness but connotes an expression of one’s vitality. A medium pressure, with a slight indent on the reverse of the page, and depending on other characteristics, can reveal will power and stamina, a reliable and dependable character.
Kat left Bittersweet Herbs without saying anything to Fulton, who was lurking in the shadows. She didn’t know if she was supposed to acknowledge him. Instead she nodded discreetly, waved goodbye to Fanny, who’d returned to help assist another customer, and left.
She settled into the car, rolled down the windows and pulled out her ever-ready notebook to add to her list of questions regarding the investigation. As soon as she left work, she planned to ask Agatha for a list of all herb farm employees. She and Agatha wanted to study the work schedules from previous weeks and the coming week for any clues they’d missed. Agatha intended to take the coming week’s schedule and include substitutes for her slots and chores.
Kat put the car in gear but her mind didn’t stop plotting. With luck, she could interview most of these people on both lists soon and acquire handwriting samples. The police hadn’t shared the results of their interviews. Maybe the handwriting will give me an edge. She also knew how often people held back when the police were around from unfounded fears of repercussions, even though they were innocent. Most knew her, if only vaguely. They might talk more openly.
First I must find a safe place for Agatha to stay. Now that Kat served as a go-between, people may notice her around and suspect she could lead them to Agatha. This arrangement served as a quick safeguard. It wouldn’t work long-term. Burrows, though sympathetic, still couldn’t justify a guard based on the delivery of a bouquet of flowers.
She made an abrupt turn at the corner to return to work. The rest would have to wait. Later she would meet with Rita Mae and help her create a background befitting a job in the store. She put on her thinking cap until she got to the university, but no solutions announced themselves.
After hours of writing and a tasteless sandwich, she arrived at Rita Mae Dobb’s home, where frogs bounded in arrested animation. Though Kat had wandered among them before, her visit there always managed to astound her. This woman’s home was unforgettable—hundreds of artistic frogs, grinning, peering, leering, and leaping through waterfalls, lived there in numerous mediums. Their variety of textures—fabric, ceramic and metal, and sizes and shapes—tiny, huge, and cuddly, reflected the nuances of the owner herself. One should never assume that Rita Mae personified a staid, elderly woman, just because of her slight appearance and seventyish wrinkles.
It was evening when she arrived at Rita Mae’s. The woman’s standard offer of Bailey’s Irish Cream and chocolate cookies could be dangerous in the middle of a work day. “Just what the moment requires,” Kat said, accepting the first glass. The frogs served as an effective counterpoint to the practical woman who served the amenities and whipped out a notepad and pen before sitting at the table across from Kat.
“So let’s make a list. What duties will I have?”
Kat dug into her cavernous bag and pulled out the sheet provided by Agatha. Deceptively short, it provided a daily agenda of the woman’s tasks in the store.
“Carmelita at the herb farm has commandeered the missing woman’s responsibilities relating to the farm and the farm’s supply to the shop. What we have here are duties for the shop, alone.”
Rita Mae held the list firmly as her eyes travelled down the list.
“Just the herb shop. This must be some driven lady.”
“Don’t forget she just lost two people who shared that work. Hopefully, Agatha will return soon.”
It reminded Kat to check in with Detective Hill who was heading the investigation into the two deaths. She knew the police were waiting for the coroner’s report. The coroner’s office never released its findings until all toxicology results returned from the lab. Too bad they wouldn’t just share an inkling with her as to what they suspected. They always did a thorough job, though, and she would have to rein in her impatience until they filed the certificate of death on both women.
She reached Hill right away.
“Katharine Everitt, why should I tell you where we are on the investigation? You’re not probing on your own again, are you?”
“Why detective, you’re so sweet. It sounds like you’re worried about me.”
“Don’t pull that saccharin act on me, Katharine. You stay out of this.”
Kat rolled her eyes, and with great effort kept the grin out of her voice. “Detective, you sound just like our fine friend Burrows. He said just the other day how you were doing such a good job on this. Something about hunting up who dropped off the bouquets?”
“Well, as long as he told you that much, there’s not much more that I can add. One of the neighbors saw a kid running down the street two nights before Rosalin died. Someone they didn’t recognize from the area. We haven’t found him yet.”
She listened with interest, scribbling a note on her list. She thanked him and decided to back down before he said more. Too late. He followed it with the standard warning.
“You leave police work to the police.”
Kat could have spouted the warning herself; she’d heard it so many times. That didn’t mean she had to heed it. This time she just meekly said, “Yes, detective,” and hung up.
She told Rita Mae about the missing delivery boy. When Rita Mae asked what they could do she said, “In this case, I will leave the police to do their own work. There’s plenty for us to do until we learn more.”
Establishing a back-up for Agatha’s work topped the list. The list could be daunting for someone who wasn’t used to running a shop. Added to that, Kat hoped Rita Mae could find time to search for inconsistencies and murderers among the herb packets.
Thank heavens Rita Mae studied the list and didn’t blink at the tasks.
Glancing around at the frog collection, she laughed, “At least I won’t have any trouble dusting the shelves. I’m a pro at that.”
Kat laughed with her, then pointed out the one duty that worried her. “Can you use a cash register?”
For someone with as much money tucked away as Rita Mae, it was still a fair question. The eccentric woman, however, did not balk at the query. “Well, that’s where we may have to sneak in there in the dead of night and do some practicing. Do you think Agatha can make it tonight? Unless it is one of your many varied accomplishments and you could teach me?”
Kat called Nick right away. “How’s Agatha? Can she come to the phone?”
“Agatha’s just fine. We, however, may be in the poor house soon. Did you know that this deceptively sweet woman can clean up in nickel rummy?”
“I’m smart enough not to play with her.” She heard some whispering.
Nick came back on the line. “Here she is. Next time warn me, though.”
Agatha agreed to the cash register lesson. Nick agreed to play escort. “Despite the outrageous gas prices these days, I figure I’ll come out way ahead of losing more to her in cards.”
They made their arrangement
s to meet at the shop later.
Kat and Rita Mae reviewed some of the menial chores and the managerial ones, like ordering supplies. They plotted a few more minutes before they had to leave to meet Agatha.
Rita Mae repeated what Kat had outlined. “I’ll call a meeting of the employees as soon as I start and explain the situation about her disappearance. I’ll tell them I’m here for management and assistance. We’ll keep the spy part secret.”
Kat assured her that the spying centered around others in the shop. When it came to the employees, protection topped the list. A note from Agatha should help as an introduction and a plea to everyone to extend themselves to encompass even one more task for a short time.
On the drive to the store, she reminded Rita Mae she should spend as little time as possible in the manager’s office and concentrate on the store looking for suspicious characters, studying employee practices and monitoring whatever came in and out of the doors.
The suspect list was bleak. It could be some unknown person from Margaret’s past, someone involved in both the store and the farm, or someone who might have a grudge against the store.
The only tie Rosalin had to the farm was her life-long friendship with the women at both those places and her accounting job. Could the deaths be money related?
Or could Rosalin have found out something she shouldn’t have?
Meanwhile, Kat and Rita Mae waited for Nick and Agatha in the car in front of the store. Serenity prevailed, with little activity on the street that late at night and the changing traffic signals made a rhythmic pattern to the star-lit sky. Going on record as one of the hottest Junes in years, the month ended with cool nights and little rain. Tonight served up a dark blue palette clear of clouds. The women spoke little.
Nick drove up in their sedate sedan. The Mercedes SL was sequestered except when needed for the job.
“So Rita Mae’s going to learn a new trade,” he joked as he helped Agatha from the car. She hopped out of Kat’s car in time to hear him.