by Judith Mehl
The door swung partially open, then stopped, blocked by her body in what he assumed was a protective move. Of her home or herself, he wasn’t sure.
“Yes?”
Fulton felt foolish. He needed to confront her, though he didn’t want to open the rally on the front steps. He’d already heard a review of her handwriting from Kat, but didn’t want to give unstinting trust until he’d questioned her himself. Even though Kat said Fanny’s writing had the fluid forms of a loving person, and the moderately simplified traits of integrity, he felt a personal need to know more.
“May I come inside? I have a few questions regarding Rosalin’s death.”
From their work together searching the shop for signs of the intruder, Fulton was pretty sure that Fanny wasn’t intimidated by him. He wondered at her reluctance to open it further. When she finally did, she scurried back before waving him in.
She sat on the edge of the sofa and motioned him to settle in the rocking chair. Fulton could see her astonishment when he barely flinched as her cat, Lucifer, pounced, and he had the blasted cat purring with a scratch behind his favorite ear within seconds.
“Sorry, Lucifer always pounces on the person in the rocking chair, but he’s a good judge of character.”
Fulton was grateful he’d passed the woman’s test, though she hadn’t called it that. Besides, that cat had sharp claws. Keeping Lucifer purring was a good plan. He could talk and stroke at the same time. He managed a barrage of questions as he fondled her traitorous feline, and Fanny was back on the defensive by the second volley. He saw it in her abrupt responses.
“Yes, I knew Rosalin lived alone. No, I’ve never been to her home.”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise, making her alter her statement in stammers.
“Well, I’ve never been in her home. I went there once to pick up the key since she wanted me to open the shop that day. I stood outside the door. She had the key when she opened the door, and I left.”
He studied her face, not because he questioned her honesty. She was an open, expansive person. He couldn’t help but visually glide over her features, noting each one to remember later.
She continued talking, maybe fearful that he saw too much, yet understood little. “So I know where she lived, just not how she lived.”
“That’s important. Knowing how someone lives?”
“Of course. You read what people are made of from the things they own and the way they treat them. It’s almost as good a tale as handwriting reveals.”
Fanny swept her feet under her and expanded on her topic. She hesitated when she saw the interest he exhibited all of a sudden in her own home, her things. He decided maybe now wasn’t the time to assess her if it was going to cause her to clam up during this murder investigation.
His gaze finally rested on her again and he tried to analyze her from the disparate pieces of her life. He restrained himself and finished a couple of basic questions about Rosalin.
“What did she know about her personal life? Did she have friends? Could you give me some names? Was Rosalin involved in any other ventures besides the shop? Did she have any hobbies?”
Fanny said, “Bertha McLeod, one of the old timers in the shop who knew Rosalin for years, might help you more. Maybe she can give you the essence of Rosalin, her friends, or enemies. I can describe her; that’s about all. She was tall, lanky, and wore conservative dresses, always.”
Fanny started sniffling, then continued. “She bore trials without complaint, and interspersed a witty humor when you least expected it. I miss her.”
Fanny recovered with a few final blinks and they discussed the pure British cool of the woman. Fulton hoped that talking about her would remind this young woman of something he could pursue. He wanted more and more to find the killer and give these friendly people some peace. Still, she came up with nothing that might lead someone to kill Rosalin. Not this young woman, that’s for sure. Fulton mentally geared up to look elsewhere. He angled his questions toward suspects instead. “Does anyone from the store seem suspicious to you?”
Her eyebrows practically met in the middle before she shrugged her shoulders. “Our employees are too generous and openhearted to even hint of any wrongdoing.”
“What about people who walk in off the street?”
Fanny nodded, then shook her head side-to-side.
“Could you clarify that a little?”
“There’s a couple of customers who bounce off the walls, in a good way. Like the young woman who puts any known vegetable in a smoothie and she just vibrates with good health and bounces down the aisles.”
Fulton laughed. “Is that the nod or the shake?”
“That was the shake; odd but not problematical. You’ve been there. Most are regular customers who tend more toward friends. Not shady at all. The nod was an ‘I know what you mean, yet after thinking for a second I couldn’t come up with even one questionable person.”
“What about Gloria Kessel?”
“I already told you about her. Now that you mention it, there is Professor Peterbolt. Agatha could tell you more about him but he went ballistic when the shop discontinued selling his soap claiming it wasn’t safe. Someone must have mentioned him already.”
Fulton pulled out his notepad. He listed Gloria again, realizing his officers still hadn’t reported any contact with her. He’d have to check as soon as he got back. He knew the chief himself planned an interview with Peterbolt since the staff was always shorthanded.
“Anyone from the herb farm?”
She squirmed, easing back as if she sensed his animosity had turned elsewhere. “I don’t know most of them well, though Dave sent off strange vibes. I came a few times with our hauler when we needed to fill large orders. Though I think he’s sweet on Carmelita. I wouldn’t look at him too strongly. Any guy near her and his body bristles. He almost grows an inch taller, too. That’s my read on it anyway.”
Fulton added Dave to the list.
“Any last name?”
“I’m sure he has one.”
Fulton’s right eyebrow arced straight up.
“I don’t know it,” she said.
Fanny offered him some tea, and he accepted, not knowing how many choices there would be. He chose one at random, hoping lemon balm and rose hip tea would be tolerable. As it was steeping, they discussed other possibilities for suspects. Before she thought of any, she served the tea. He blanched when he saw the deep red color—seemed kind of like drinking blood. Fanny steepled her fingers and studied them in silence. “The only other person would be that stranger who surged past us in the shop. You know, during the break in.”
“He didn’t literally break in. He, or she, had a key.”
“Was anyone able to check out that partial license number?”
“That was a dead end. A great effort. A lot of our work goes that way. We’re working on other angles.”
They both marveled about Kat’s now famous kick to the person’s solar plexus, and Agatha’s sharp reflexes. Fanny made him tell the tale in every detail, even though he arrived after the fact. At least he was on the scene. She voiced hope that Agatha was doing well, but Fulton let the comment hang.
He gave the woman credit. She didn’t quit. She kept throwing questions at him. The one about the suspect chased out of the herb shop hovered in a lot of minds right now. It seemed likely, with the discovery that Margaret’s keys were missing, that the person in the shop could be Margaret’s, and therefore, Rosalin’s killer. The evidence collection that night also served useless. No wonder, with so many customers in and out of the shop. The men had concentrated on the area behind the counter and in the back room. Still, the person could easily have worn gloves.
Fanny broke into his reverie and inquired about the young boy who delivered the bouquet to Rosalin.
“When did you hear about that?”
She managed a weak laugh. “The herbal grapevine travels fast. Kat called this morning with new instructions from Agatha. She told me
then. It wasn’t supposed to be a secret, was it?”
He knew she hoped some progress had been made at least in this one area.
“Sorry, nothing new. Although two men are now out canvassing Margaret’s neighborhood looking for young boys with bikes.”
“That should keep them busy for a few years. Have you noticed how many kids are around, racing up and down the streets on their bikes?”
Laughing, he agreed, then added that, since Margaret lived out a bit from town, there were fewer involved. Also, the men were also stopping at nearby homes looking for any signs of strangers around the area.
Fulton thanked her for the tea and left. He let himself out, after leaving her his card once again. This time he added his home phone number and his cell phone number, and attached a warning with the presentation, accompanied by a sheepish smile.
“If there is a murderer at large it probably has some connection to the shop. Watch your back,” he said, hotfooting it down the sidewalk like there’d been smoking coals on her doorstep.
Kind of cheesy, he thought. As a good-night-and-sleep-tight it left something to be desired. It was no time to get personal, especially with a suspect. The good night kiss in his mind had to stay right where it was.
Chapter 18
The top portion of the lower case ‘p’ when looped over the following word can indicate protectiveness and generosity. It does not mean patience.
Kat woke to Nick’s kiss on her brow. She knew he had to wake her but was it really morning already?
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Her eyes opened. She smiled, for a second or two. Then as she stretched, her whole face scrunched.
“I feel like ‘morning after,’ she groaned.
“Like you have fond memories of alcoholic good times with friends?”
“More like I remember breaking my Christina sandals, grass stains on my skirt, and excruciating pain.”
While she was grumbling, Nick dug the offending shoes from under the bed. Though still lying back, she managed to grab them from his hands as he made a furtive attempt to trash them.
“I can fix those!”
“Maybe you should wear something with shorter heels when you go skulking.”
“We weren’t supposed to be skulking, and they’re only three-inch heels. They’re Italian, tomato leather. They stay.”
Nick stared at the mangled straps. Her soulful eyes halted any more comments. He placed them on her dresser with care and said, “Sure, we’ll leave them here for later, though. Right now we need to hoist you out of bed.”
She scowled, “You’re not a crane and I’m not a piece of equipment.”
He bent and placed a saucy kiss on her cheek before moving the blankets aside and gripping her under the arms. He started to groan as he lifted her upright and bit his tongue. He grimaced when he saw her ankle. She was afraid to look. Feeling it was enough.
“It’s a quick trip to the bathroom for you while I get the ice.”
He settled her on the bed with her foot propped on a pillow and ankle wrapped in ice and discussed their day’s plan. “The doctor said that with this moderate sprain you really have to be careful. You know that you can’t go in to work today.”
“Well, I didn’t have anything crucial scheduled for this morning. I could stay out for a day or two.”
“Good. Because I already called your boss and cancelled for you.”
“I have to work with Agatha today. We were going to discuss her thoughts on any suspects. She feels intimidated when the police are there so I told Burrows I would see what I could do.”
“How about this? I have to be at the hotel today to formulate plans to trap these developers. Why don’t I squirrel you in to stay with Agatha in her room? Agatha will still be safe and you can ice the sprain and keep it propped up.”
After an agonizing trip to the hotel and an embarrassing ride up the employee elevator, Kat was ensconced on the bed, and Nick left to meet with the men next door. Lance had just called in a report about the lack of activity at the farm. Lewis was chomping at the bit to discuss finances of the scam, and Tommy wanted a get under the hood of the Mercedes out in front of the hotel just to help set the mood.
Agatha sympathized with Kat, ordered ice, and begged for details.
She patted Kat’s arm and said, “We know you won’t be able to sit still long so I have something to keep you occupied. You’re normal pacing while thinking needs to be put on hold.”
Before Kat knew it, she was learning to quilt, a skill she’d always admired from afar. It looked easy but then her friend had already done all the planning and cutting. How difficult can it be to sew two small pieces of fabric together?
She found out just how tricky. She persevered, sewing an eventual straight line and on target, while they discussed possible suspects. Fanny had reported that the girls at the shop were managing with the tight work schedule and Rita Mae did a great job at filling in for Agatha.
Kat gave Agatha the good news, then added, “We really need to branch out and give the police more to work with.”
Agatha sat at the small, round table in the corner and started a fresh page in Kat’s somewhat crumpled notebook—the one that lived in her purse for an endless variety of purposes. The pages remained blank under the heading ‘New Leads.’
“Kat, this won’t work! I can’t believe these people would want to harm us, let alone kill, Margaret or Rosalin.”
Kat felt it wasn’t the time to mention how the same person also wanted this dear old woman dead. She attempted to soothe. “We’re compiling a list of suspects: just anyone who might be unhappy with you or anyone involved with Bittersweet Herbs. Look at it as a form of public relations preparation. It’s always good to know your customers and suppliers well enough to determine their approval rating.”
“Well, that’s true. However, we’ve known most of the suppliers for years. The greatest percentage of our herbs and products come from the farm itself and individuals who create products from the herbs for sale in the store.”
Kat set down the needle in frustration. “I just double stranded it again. I keep forgetting that you quilt with just one thread.”
Agatha sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the threaded needle. She snipped one thread from the knot. “See, it’s fine now. And you will remember as you practice more.”
Kat tried again, placing the needle through the two pieces of fabric on the penciled seam line. “I’m sure glad I remembered to pick up your quilting supplies for Nick the other night. I feared you’d corner Lewis into learning to quilt. Little did I know it would be me.”
Agatha smiled. “Lewis has been a delight. A true joy to have around.”
Kat looked bewildered. Lewis, the tough sidekick of Nick’s?
Agatha explained. “Why he even took me to church on Sunday. I really didn’t want to miss services. The men had a powwow and decided it wouldn’t be safe to go to my regular church so Lewis drove me to one out of town. Of course, I had to dress like an elegant lady, and cover the streaks in my hair.”
Kat had noticed the transformation but had been afraid to ask. It looked like Agatha kept some of the elegant look when she stepped back inside her elaborate prison here. Finally, while jabbing needles into her thumb more often than the fabric, she drew the discussion back on track. “Okay, now let’s discuss your customers. Any bad vibes there?”
Agatha’s angelic smile lost some of its curve when Kat persisted in dictating the list. She said, “Long-time regulars to the shop will be offended if questioned.”
“Many of them won’t be questioned. Other interviews will be so discreet they won’t even know they are possible suspects. I know your customers couldn’t be happier with the store and its products. Were there any who expressed concerns?”
Agatha picked up some fabric pieces. “I think better while quilting.” Then she placed the pieces aside and frowned for a moment. “Well there was Dr. Peterbolt. He accused us of sabotaging his prod
uct.”
Kat said, “Rita Mae mentioned him. I told Detective Hill earlier. He said it was being taken care of. What actually happened?”
Agatha told more about the incident. “I was away from the shop at the time. Margaret was in, and Bertha McLeod, you know, the elderly clerk who works part time. They wrote up a report. Let’s find that before I say more.”
Kat agreed and handed over her first sample of stitching two pieces together. “How’s this? Should I start the next one?”
“Perfect. Sew three more like it.”
Agatha set some fabric on the table and pondered her next choice of pieces. “Let’s add Gloria Kissel to the suspect list. I can’t imagine Gloria hurting a soul. Still, she sure was worked up when her hair color looked spotty. She blamed us, screaming, and then walked out without even talking about it.” She shook her head and tsk-tsked, sewing all the while. “I sure hope if she comes in again someone will help her out. I’m sure she didn’t follow the directions, but no one wants spotty black hair.”
“I know, and with few customer writing samples to explore, we’ve very little to go on. The police are already looking for Gloria. Let’s look at the notes again.” Kat delved around in her voluminous bag and drew out the copies of the notes that accompanied the bouquets. They both pushed aside the quilting fabric and took a look.
“Margaret received hers first. Let’s begin there.”
“A bouquet for you in remembrance of past loveliness. In the bud of life you were as a camellia in and out, but you remembered me not, when love was needed. What you have rendered you cannot right. And your loveliness was insincere. Hopefully, life has been as rich as desired; nothing lasts forever.”
Looking closely at the handwritten message, Kat pointed out that the writer wrote in a precise direct line, aligned with the bottom of the sheet, almost as if he felt the need for a guide to keep his writing on a straight course. “This can be a sign of deep-seated insecurity,” she said.
Agatha scooted closer as Kat pointed to another section. “See the way the person crosses over the lower-case ‘t’? Any horizontal stroke movement, most easily seen on this down-slanted ‘t’-bar; shows a dominant person fighting for control, with a sharp point it signifies sarcasm—he whines and gripes and can be cruel when crossed.”