by Judith Mehl
Kat said, “I can see how your methods aided the store’s bottom line, and the customers I’ve met all love you. They say what you don’t cure in hugs you relieve with your herbs.”
She then told Agatha the lack of news from the police. She asked for more information on the incident with the soap, and was encouraged when she saw some papers the herb shop owner pulled from the middle of the file box, almost without checking.
“Here are some of the complaints from Dr. Peterbolt. I thought you might be interested since he hand wrote most of them.”
Kat reached up eagerly, thrilled that a professor actually still hand wrote in the age of computers and tablets. Her smooth face settled into a series of creases as she moved the papers into good light and reviewed them for anything that would indicate a possible killer. His almost constant use of a blunt pointed pen expressed his creativity, while the heaviness of the stroke revealed a desire to be noticed.
Agatha moved forward and interrupted. “Anything, anything at all? I didn’t like the man. He talked like a showman. I can’t believe he wanted us killed.”
“You’re right. I see the showmanship but nothing lethal. Still, I’ll get these to Burrows tonight in case they help him.” Kat slouched back in her chair and propped her bad foot up on the opposite one.
She thanked Agatha for the pillow that materialized, then asked. “What about Gloria Kessel? The police haven’t found her yet. What vibes did you get from her?”
Agatha pulled at her own hair. “It was a terrible mishap. I didn’t see her. Fanny drew me a mental picture that was hideous enough. Apparently her hair peaked out at different lengths, and the blotchy dye job and ghastly haircut left her looking like she was stranded permanently in a wind tunnel.”
She poked through the filing box for a second, then explained “I found nothing in writing from Ms. Kessel. She probably even paid cash so there’s no signature. Sorry.”
Kat leaped up, dislodging the pillow and gave the sad lady a big hug. “It’s okay, Agatha. I’m sure the police will find her and I doubt if she would want to kill all three of you over bad hair, no matter how ugly.
Gloria Kessel, hidden under yet another broad-brimmed hat, stomped through the door and up to the counter. Fanny inhaled the herbal aroma around her to calm herself after the morning onslaught and before facing the angry woman.
The early morning rush ended a minute ago and now this. What a day. The last time Ms. Kessel was in she screamed about her hair problem and threatened to sue. That was three weeks ago and she never bothered. Something must have renewed her anger, though. She didn’t have to wait long.
“How dare you folks sic the cops on me. How dare you! I was kind and didn’t even call my lawyer. I should have had them shut this place down. So what do they want with me?”
Fanny wasn’t going to learn much from this woman in her present state. She had just a few minutes before Rita Mae came in for the afternoon shift. Rita Mae labored tirelessly in the past week to tend the shop and funnel any non-essential tasks to the other employees so Fanny could schedule classes and tend the books. Fanny was grateful the other woman was already on her way in. She needed to deal with this disaster right away before any customers veered away.
“Ms. Kessel, please you’re very distraught. I had no idea the police spoke with you. Won’t you sit down over here and I’ll fix you a cup of tea?” Fanny motioned to a comfortable arm chair to the side of the counter.
The middle-aged woman seemed more confused than mollified, her voice lowered a few octaves as she hung her head.
“Well, I, I-uh, didn’t actually talk with the police. I saw them at my front door. What else could they want? I’m a law abiding citizen. I’ve never had the police at my door before.” She harrumphed and plopped into the chair.
Fanny turned from the burner just behind the counter where she’d put the kettle on. She made a quick visual check to see that no one else was in the store and squatted down in front of the woman.
“Please understand, Ms. Kessel, that their visit could have been shop related. Two of our fondest employees have been murdered. The police asked for names of any unhappy customers so they could talk with them.”
Gloria Kessel’s eyes bulged with shock. “Murdered? Oh, my dear. Two? But me? I couldn’t kill anyone.”
Fanny smiled at her to lesson the sting. “I know that. You have been unhappy with us, right?”
She nodded, “Well, sure. Just look at my hair!”
“Let me assure you that once the police speak with you they will also know that you couldn’t kill anyone. You can call them later. Let’s talk about that hair now, though. Remember, when we discussed your purchase, you told me how frizzy your hair was from your chemical dye? And I told you to be careful using any natural dye too soon?”
Gloria whined and dropped her eyelids as if speaking to the floor. “But I was so tired of being alone. And the church social was in just two weeks. I didn’t have time to wait. I really forgot what you said after I bought the powder.”
She looked up at Fanny and took off the hat. The blackened spikes were still there. “It was so mousy before. And when I tried the reddish brown dye it failed. It turned it into that carrot brown with green caps that you saw the first time.”
Fanny nodded and stood up when the front door chimed. She waved Rita Mae behind the counter and urged the plump woman out of the chair and motioned for her to follow into the back room. She could tell from her clothes that the woman was not wealthy. And she sounded so alone. She would do what she could to help her. She set her into a ladder-back chair and walked around her, lifting the hair and fluffing it as she went.
“The organic black walnut powder was too strong for your coloring. Now, there’s nothing we can do until at least six months since you’ve added one dye on top of the other.”
The way the woman groaned revealed her despair.
Grabbing the shop shears, quite sharp for herb cutting, Fanny bent down and smiled into Ms. Kessel’s eyes.
“I’ll help. We have to fix the style, and it has to be short so that it won’t take as long to grow out. Will you trust me? I think we can give you an elegant, chic cut, something that will frame your face and make you look so good people won’t notice the color. All right?”
The woman looked at Fanny and saw nothing except sincerity and confidence.
“I know now it was my fault about the dye. I trust you. Besides, it can’t get much worse.”
They both laughed.
“Oh come on. That’s not showing any faith.”
The young woman snipped and combed. Snipped and flipped. Then snipped some more. She kept up such a charming chatter that Gloria Kessel didn’t have time to worry. When done she pulled a small mirror from her purse under the back shelf. She held it up in front of the troubled woman. Had she done the right thing? She clenched her teeth. It was a little too late now to change.
The older woman looked in the mirror. Eyes wide. She gasped. She screeched. She grabbed the mirror. Then she cried.
Just then Detective Fulton Hill rushed in, gun raised.
Fanny stepped in front of him and waved him off. Thank heavens Ms. Kessel hadn’t seen the gun. Fulton frowned fiercely. He tucked the gun away and backed off. Fanny quickly turned to Ms. Kessel. The woman jumped up and hugged her.
“I love it!”
She preened in front of the tiny mirror, fluffing the ends of her pixie cut.
“Thank you so much. I promise I won’t touch it now until you tell me to.”
Fanny breathed fully for the first time in minutes.
“Stay right here. Don’t leave. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She motioned Fulton into the storage closet nearby.
“What on earth what were you doing?” she whispered.
Fulton braced his arms behind him on the shelf.
“What on earth were you doing? You’re in danger just in being here. Then I walk in and here screaming. So I’m covered. My reaction was fai
r. So what just happened?” He asked as he waved towards the woman who was on the other side of the door.
“That was Gloria Kessel. I just fixed her hair and calmed her down. She’s been upset with us since her bad dye job.”
Fulton lost the casual look in an instant, stood upright and marched out of the closet like he was leaving a royal chamber. Fortunately, the woman was still standing there, holding the mirror in an obvious attempt to see the side of her head.
“Ms. Kessel, I’m Detective Fulton Hill. Are you aware you are wanted for questioning in the death of two women associated with this store?”
The woman dropped her arm and swirled to look at him. Her face altered from giddy to glum in a second.
Fanny could tell she was puzzled by the statement but not fearful. No guilt registered on that expressive face. Fanny glanced at Fulton and knew he realized it also.
“Ms. Endicott informed me of the situation just a few minutes ago. It sounds awful. What is this all about?”
Fulton asked her to sit. From his facial expression Fanny knew he realized that Ms. Kessel could not have been involved. Besides, her coming to the shop to get help didn’t compute with an irate woman out for revenge. The woman didn’t even know Rosalin Bromfield. Fanny, quiet during the questioning, confirmed that Rosalin seldom helped the customers directly and she, at least, had never seen her and Ms. Kessel in the store at the same time.
The detective thanked the woman for her time and she left, subdued, but mollified. Neither Fulton nor Fanny envisioned any followup, for quite divergent reasons. Fanny turned to walk through the door and back to the counter. Fulton, firmly grasped her arm and swung her around. The scowl revealed all she needed to know. No escape available.
“Not so fast, young lady. What on earth were you doing back here alone with a murder suspect?”
Fanny wrenched her arm back and placed her hand on her hip to match the other one.
“I was calming down an irate customer. A lonesome old woman who just needed to feel some self worth. That’s what God put us on this earth for, after all.”
Fulton was obviously not pleased. “We’re here for what? To get killed?”
“You know what I meant. That woman was no more a murder suspect than I am.”
Fulton stared at her, not saying a word. Fanny stared back. When he didn’t blink, it finally hit her. “My God. I’m a suspect, too!”
Chapter 27
A down-slanted ‘t’-bar shows a dominant person fighting for control. People must follow. A sharp point signifies sarcasm. This person whines, gripes and can be cruel when crossed.
Kat meant to saunter into the Mountain View Police Department and feign surprise when she encountered Professor Lawrence Peterbolt there. The startled expression on her face formed a perfect example of what she had in mind. Unfortunately, she was still in the parking lot, waiting for Peterbolt to arrive. The sharp knock on her car door by the policeman in full uniform brought on the doe-eyed look. He might as well have been shining a flashlight in her eyes and shouting, “Hands up.”
When he motioned in a circle with his finger to signify rolling down her window, she ventured a puzzled countenance and opened the door instead, stepping out with a practiced flounce that usual did in the unsuspecting. The young man must have captured too many criminals to even flinch, forcing her into her third option, the truth.
“What’s the matter officer? Have I done something wrong?”
He didn’t speak, merely grasped her arm and marched her toward the side door.
“Chief Detective Richard Burrows would like a word with you.”
“He only has to ask. Why the strong arm approach?”
The police officer glanced down at his fingers, gently urging her toward the building. She caught his rolled back eyes as she finally resolved to just wait and see what was going on. It didn’t take long once she settled into the guest chair in Burrows’ office. He thanked Officer Columbia and frowned at Kat as the man left and closed the door.
She would have spoken first but she still had no clue why she was there. She let him make the first move. Not always the best situation in chess and tennis, but it often worked for her when she was interrogating someone. She hoped it would work in reverse in case her friend, the chief, planned on questioning her.
“Katharine, what are you doing lurking out there? Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”
Kat shifted position in the hard chair and crossed her legs. A common delay tactic that she used often, since this wasn’t the first time she was accused of causing trouble. It was, however, the first time she didn’t know what trouble she’d caused. Her right shoe dangled precariously as she bounced her foot. She smiled when she looked down and noticed the ankle was it’s normal size. The doctor released her yesterday from all precautions. Apparently the chief remained unimpressed.
“Katharine? I’m waiting.”
“I swear. I didn’t do anything. I stopped by to see how your interview with Professor Peterbolt went.” Kat looked at him beseechingly. “Well?”
“First. It’s 10 a.m. and he hasn’t come in yet. Second, it’s none of your business.”
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll take a powder? He may never show up.”
“Stop reading those junk mystery stories. Usually, when a man calls and says he hears we’d like to speak with him and sets up an appointment, he shows. He’s bringing a lawyer, even though we only have a few questions for him.”
“Well, sheesh, that proves he’s a serious suspect. Besides, we’re running out.”
Detective Burrows’ eyebrows went straight up, reflecting the rise in his voice.
“We have plenty of suspects and that’s all the information you’re getting. Now vamoose, before I have you arrested for loitering—right outside the police station no less.”
Kat knew when a ploy was dead. The ashes of her idea speckling her mental floor were enough clue. It wasn’t until she turned to leave that she realized what happened. Her car was quite visible outside the chief’s window. What a klutz she was. Next time she attempted to stalk someone she’d try for less conspicuous.
As she left the parking lot she saw Professor Peterbolt and a tall and lean, prepossessing man walk in the headquarters’ front doors. There was no way she could follow them back in. She wondered how much Fanny might be able to pry out of Detective Fulton Hill. Kat could tell the man was enamored with her, even if the young woman was too naive.
Burrows hadn’t emerged as chief detective at a young age by being a bumbling dolt and now, years later, his methods were refined and effective. He would not pretend ineptness for Lawrence Peterbolt. Despite what the detective told Katharine the man was a serious suspect, even though they didn’t have a substantial thing on him. Even though the man planned to bring a lawyer, Burrows didn’t expect a confession.
His team’s research on the man showed many things. He held contempt for his contemporaries and received sneering disrespect from the students. The officers provided plenty on the man’s soap debacle. Burrows waited to hear that story from the man himself. Officer Columbia knocked on the door and ushered in the real thing. He strode forward, his prominent forehead leading the way. It revealed his intelligent nature. Too bad his demeanor shouted arrogance. Something tough to do when standing next to the tallest, most prominent lawyer in town.
Professor Lawrence Peterbolt introduced himself and the lawyer while shoving his hand forward to shake the detective’s before he had completely stood up behind the desk.
Burrows nodded at the venerable lawyer, whose name was Anthony Best. The detective knew he was the most accomplished lawyer around, and they were close friends. The lawyer’s eyes crinkled in mirth. Neither man felt it necessary to point out their association to Peterbolt. Meanwhile, Best’s prowess held today, since this investigation was far from any game.
Once they were all seated, Burrows took charge, tossing questions out so fast the professor blinked in confusion. Burrows could tell the man was s
o used to taking charge and bullying that he needed to mentally step back and regroup. The detective settled back in his chair and knew in an instant why the man rubbed people the wrong way. He even had teeth so white they gleamed with professional care. Not common around town folk in these parts. He must be running for office. Burrows didn’t see him succeeding. He assessed the man and and his body language, creating a lull that the professor felt compelled to fill. Even his voice patterns signaled shortness of temper with the less than perfect.
But he was giving his side of the story, which is all the detective expected.
“You know you are a serious suspect considering the soap incident with the shop. You have the knowledge to poison someone and the motive of revenge.”
“That’s why I brought Best here. He served as my lawyer when I had that bad experience with them trying to steal my soap formula and squash my sales.”
From the shop papers he saw that the professor had an altercation with Margaret last year. He had formulated a mixture of chemicals into a soap, masked by sweet smelling herbs, that purportedly delivered caffeine, enough to be absorbed through the skin for fantastic health benefits. It was one of those new fads that supported lowering the risk for cancer while giving one the rush of an expresso. Shortly after it emerged on the market, it was sold through his own entrepreneurial company. In good faith, Margaret stocked it in the store.
Agatha had earlier provided the police with the shop lawyer’s papers to prove their innocence in what she called a sordid event. She explained that fortunately for the shop, none of the affected clients pressed charges. From looking at the progression of events, it was obvious shop employees were beyond gracious in solving the clients’ rashes caused by the caustic soap.
Customers had complained about the soap. Margaret tested it herself and immediately asked Agatha if they could take it off their shelves. The herb ladies suspected a conflicting combination of herbs but in trying to determine the cause they discovered that it had way too many molecules of sodium hydroxide. They knew that too little sodium hydroxide will cause the soap to be un-rendered fat. Too much, and it will burn the skin, and at the very least cause a skin rash. This is what was happening to their customers.