Murder Most Floral

by Judith Mehl

  He loosened Akins’ handcuffs a little, considering his injury. G.L.’s eyebrows rose considerably but he didn’t speak. Nick figured the guy would remain docile now that the boss was on the ground.

  He continued with his tale. “Plus, I had to answer Chandler’s seemingly casual questions as to the lack of a lawyer with me. I couldn’t tell him my lawyer was busy tying up his man. Strange that he didn’t want me in the farmhouse but I wanted the deal signed fast so I didn’t ask. While I studied the contract, Chandler got the drop on me. Something must have made him suspicious. I didn’t want to throw him off with questions but maybe the lack of them gave me away.”

  Nick handed Akins’ identification to G.L. “You take this guy with the others.”

  “Where are the papers?”

  Nick pulled out the contract. “Didn’t even get it dirty.”

  “Woo-eee! Looks like we celebrate tonight. By the way, why don’t you leap back up to that ridge top the way you came down?”

  “Which Avenger would that be?”

  “Not sure but that Ironman’s costume looked too heavy. I’d pick one of the others.”

  “Well, that may leave me as Captain America. I think I’ll just take the path back up to Kat before she shoots Chandler from boredom.”

  He glanced up before heading around to the longer but easier upward trail. He told G.L. to head along. “Looks like Lewis has come by to help her.”

  G.L. marched Akins back toward the cars and trucks in the rear of the property. He turned to talk over his shoulder. “Where are we meeting up?”

  “Let’s all head to the police station. I’ll call ahead and warn Detective Hill. Meanwhile, I’ll go help them up above. Have to decide though. Do I hug Kat for saving our lives, or scream at her for stepping into the middle of our investigation?”

  G.L. didn’t even turn around this time. “Think about what you just said before you open your mouth up there.”

  Nick scampered up the steep path, muttering, “Right. A hug it is. We can always talk later. Once she puts down Chandler’s gun.”

  As he rounded the bend Lewis was handcuffing Chandler. Detective Hill’s car screeched to a halt in front of the farmhouse. Nick shouted. Great timing. I hadn’t even called you yet.”

  The detective stomped up and gave him the evil eye—either that or he was squinting into the sun. “Yeah, next time you leave a message, add more than ‘Call me.’”

  He shrugged his head toward Kat. “Your wife, being the thoughtful sort, called us before she rushed over. She left a better message—even gave a location. We got here as soon as we could after the station relayed it.”

  The police followed Nick until they came to Kat and Lewis. “I take it we can round these guys up for you. What’s the charge?”

  Nick stopped to think for a moment.

  Kat didn’t hesitate. “For starters, this guy here had Nick at gunpoint with plans to shove him off the ledge. The other guy down below, that G.L. hauled away, pulled a gun on him.”

  Nick nodded agreement. “That should do for starters.”

  The detective motioned to the gun still in Kat’s hand. “Looks like you were holding him at gunpoint. Do we haul you in?”

  “Give me a break, detective. This is Chandler’s Glock. You think I’dcarry something like this? My Beretta is tucked away securely at home—mostly since I wasn’t invited to this party. I just kind of crashed it.”

  “You’re right. What could I have been thinking? Could I have that gun now? Chandler’s in handcuffs. I think it’s safe.”

  “I don’t think she was keeping him in check with the gun,” Lewis said, though he could barely stop laughing. He’d seen Kat’s moves on the man as he was running forward to help. “Chandler was more afraid of her high-heeled shoes.”

  Detective Hill and both his men stopped for a moment and glanced down at Kat’s rather scuffed stilletos with puzzlement. Nick hugged her close and rescued her from their stares. “This dear, sweet lady saved my life—and G.L.’s, with some karate moves that would leave you breathless. And she didn’t even lose a shoe.”

  Two hours later in the police station, all of Nick’s team plus Kat, sat around a conference table and discussed what had happened. What possible charges existed, and especially, what questions they wanted Chandler and his men to answer.

  Kat immediately said, “My first concern is why Chandler was interested in where to find Agatha. Come to think of it, where is she?”

  Kat turned to Nick, who turned to Detective Hill.

  “Don’t look at me. She called this morning and left the message that you didn’t need our help.”

  They all looked at each other.

  Kat leapt up. “Oh no. Why would she do that? Nick, can you have the hotel check her room? Fulton, can you question Chandler regarding his interest in her and whether he knows where she is?”

  Hill ignored her and called in the sergeant to check what time Agatha Hartman’s call had come in. He announced it to the room. “She called around eight this morning. She’s had all day to disappear if that’s what she wanted to do.”

  Nick grabbed Kat’s hand and moved to the end of the room for a quiet location. He whispered a gentle suggestion to let the police handle things as he dialed the hotel. They all waited to hear if Agatha was there. When the answer came that she was gone, they questioned what to do next. Nick had sent G.L. back to the office to straighten out the work schedule for their other cases. Everything had been neglected since the call from Chandler’s man yesterday. He debated whether to recall everyone but was stymied as to what they could do. One thing crossed his mind and he signaled Detective Hill and said, “Jerry Akins seemed willing to provide information. Squeeze him for what’s happened to Agatha.”

  They all knew the routine and cops scattered when Hill gave them the go-ahead. Kat raced after the men pulling a note from her handbag. “Can you get each of them to handwrite these sentences? We need to know if they left the bouquets and notes.”

  As Detective Hill double-timed down the corridor, he pulled Officer Bartello even with him and they divided up duties. “I’ll question Chandler. You handle Akins.” He added, “Start with the handwriting samples. If they don’t match, then there is someone else out there, and Ms. Hartman is in imminent danger.”

  Though Hill favored Chandler for more than holding a man at gunpoint, he needed to skip ahead and find out what happened to Ms. Hartman. He couldn’t stand the thought of one more murder. And he liked the feisty woman.

  Chandler denied involvement. “I didn’t touch the woman. Never found her. I was just lookin’ for the old bag because I wanted to buy that farm. She looked like she got it after that Kinney lady died.”

  He saw the detective’s unbelieving look, then stared the detective in the eye. “And I didn’t touch her, either.”

  He shook his head in emphasis, and continued. “Round about the time I moved into town her nephew approached me. He’d heard about my development and wanted to know if I could use that herb farm land. He said he’d deal with his aunt and get back to me.”

  “You mean Irving Brantley?

  “That’s not the name he gave me.”

  “Let’s assume it’s the same guy. We’ve been looking for him.”

  “Well, I don’t got him. What is it with you guys?”

  When Hill moved on to discuss Mrs. Bromfield, Chandler’s eyes slid to the side. “Never saw her.”

  The man clammed up. Hill shoved a pen and paper in front of the guy and told him to copy the note. Chandler scoffed at that, but finally bit his lip and settled to the task after one look at the detective’s scowl.

  Hill raced out with the sample and collided with Officer Bartello. The cursing drew Kat and Nick out of the conference room. She lunged for the notes as Hill said, “Doesn’t look like he’s our man.

  Bartello added, “No go on Akin’s handwriting. Even I can tell the style is completely different.”

  Hill handed both papers to Kat, who did a qu
ick assessment to see if either suspect attempted to hide his natural handwriting. She agreed that they were both off the hook on the notes, and thus, probably the bouquets.

  One look at her whitening face and the detective knew they were right. Chandler wasn’t the killer.

  Kat excused herself. They had arrested all the known suspects. There was nothing more she could do.

  Hill headed to the conference room to report to the group.

  The front desk sergeant shouted for his attention. “Knew you’d want this right away, boss. Some cab driver called in to report a suspicious situation from early this morning. Said it worried him all morning so he decided to call us.”

  “Well. What?”

  “He said he delivered this sweet old lady to a home on Ladybug Drive in Grandham. She had him zig-zag all over to avoid anyone following them. He heard her mumble something about how this guy, Nick, was going to kill her. He felt so bad about her that he checked the doors and windows to make sure everything was secure before she went in.”

  They all stood staring at him. His eyes widened. “What did I do? I’m just the messenger.”

  They all turned to stare at Nick. Hill said, “You were going to kill her?”

  “Yeah, right after I found out she ran away. I don’t think I’m who she feared would follow her. What could be going on?”

  Chapter 37

  As emphasis in words can eliminate ambiguity, so can emphasis communicate emotion in handwriting. Unintended pressure comes from inner depths and the location of that pressure reveals much about a person. Downstrokes that end in spearheads can stand for an attempt to exert force that fails.

  Irving shoved Agatha into the passenger seat and locked her door. He sensed the gun had unnerved her and he hoped that was enough to keep her there while he raced to the driver’s seat. He backed out of the driveway like a race car driver maneuvering out of a pile up.

  He didn’t notice the rusty green Chevy that approached from down the street in the opposite direction.

  “How did you find me?” Agatha loosened up enough to ask.

  “I drive by your house all the time to see if you’ve come home. You had a light on, lady. Kind of a beacon, if you know what I mean.”

  He spent so much time in front of that house, reviewing and trying to figure out what went wrong with his great plan to get rid of Agatha Hartman once Margaret was gone. The idea seemed okay at the time. He would get a will from Agatha naming him as heir. Then a gentle knock on the head—something to make her weak but not out cold. Finally, he would force those lethal drops down her throat.

  He continued his thoughts out loud. “I really worked hard on that belladonna formula. That ole George thought I was dumb. I wasn’t. I heard things and looked them up later. Aunt Margaret called all the farm workers together and gave a talk. That’s when the belladonna poison caught my attention.”

  Agatha’s hands twitched and he glanced over. She kept quiet.

  He continued his tale, happy he had someone to share it with. “Lucky for me she even had some samples so I could find the stuff later. Amazing. It was everywhere. Such a great poison, and it grew along the roads just for the taking. Okay, so Aunt Margaret was warning the workers to be careful.”

  He could tell Agatha wasn’t surprised at that. She sure boggled when he told her the rest though.

  “I learned a lot since then. Make my own stuff. Won’t take much of it for you.”

  Agatha whimpered.

  Of course, he’d planned to use the ‘tonic’ later that day after the kid dropped off the flowers. He’d wanted to stay out of the way until the time was right. Well, I didn’t want to be seen before I was ready. Lost my chance when she disappeared.

  She wouldn’t disappear this time. He drove at a frenetic pace, then slowed to the speed limit as the adrenaline wore off. No need to hide the route. She wasn’t going anywhere once he got her in a safe place where he could gain ownership of that farm. At least he got to her before Chandler. Now, that guy was freaky. But with the deed to the farm in my hand I can barter a price with him that will set me up for good.

  Later, Agatha whispered, “Where are we going?”

  “Shut up, lady. We ain’t out for a Sunday drive, you know.” He made a swift turn onto a dirt road.

  “What do you want with me?”

  “Everybody’s been lookin’ for you and you don’t even know why?”

  “It has to have something to do with the Bittersweet Herbs Shop, right?”

  Irving gave her a look that pushed her back into her seat. “Lady, you are so dumb. You’re gonna die and you don’t even know why?” He could see her twisting around in her seat, watching the road.

  “So tell me.”

  “Shut up, and sit still. There’s nothing here you’re gonna need to see.”

  He pulled into the unpaved driveway leading to his two-story country home with the greenhouse attached to the side. He hadn’t thought past this point. Seeing that light in her window shocked the hell out of him. He knew Chandler’s men were after her. He even saw that big SUV lumber by once while he staked out the place.

  I lucked out today. Now, how do I get the deed out of her and get rid of her? Poisoning Margaret was preplanned and simple. I just cooked up an herbal solution to my problem.

  The day he went to the farm to off Margaret he never dreamt how complicated it would become. He hated violence. That’s why he used poison. Besides, it was proper. A flower—an herb to end the herbs.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t left him as heir. He found the will in her study after he killed her. Bad timing on his part. Should have stopped in and made friendly in the intervening years. Who was to know that land would become so valuable just when his life started shriveling up? His Uncle George had banned him from the property. Back then, when he and his mom left the area, he’d never wanted to see George and Margaret again. Admittedly, his mom had been a drug addict, and he was destructive, but it was time for a triumphant return—temporarily.

  He reached behind his seat and pulled a dirty rope out of the mess. Cleaning out his car wasn’t on the top of his list, ever. Good thing, too. He had to find out about the will once and for all. The rope would help. It sure looked like Margaret’s will left everything to this Agatha Hartman. He was glad he found it in the house after he poisoned her. He’d been looking for a later copy or something more useful in the herb shop when they barged in on him that night. Before he slipped her the belladonna juice he’d concocted, he would make sure he was in the final will.

  Once settled in the house, he tied her to a chair—the rickety one in his filthy kitchen. Gotta’ keep her off guard. Squatting down and shoving his face right up to hers, he sneered. “So where’s your will? And who’s the beneficiary? I want that herb farm property free and clear.”

  She blinked.

  He shouted it this time.

  She blinked again.

  “You got a will don’t ya’?”

  She shouted back, “Of course I have a will!”

  Kinda arrogant, considering she was the one tied to the chair. He stood up and demanded, “So who’s the beneficiary?”

  “Well, not you, Irving. I didn’t even know you were still alive. Did Margaret know?”

  “Apparently not until the night I killed her.”

  The woman in front of him looked white as a shasta daisy. He knew shastas well. He’d worked for a supplier of those flowers until he got fired last month. None of that creamy white for shastas. They were pure white, and this lady’s face matched close.

  Good thing the ropes held her up. He must have been too blunt about ole Aunt Margaret. Well, hell, this lady was one dumb broad. She knew by now that someone had to have killed Margaret, didn’t she? He wiped his nose. Things were sure getting out of hand.

  He lit a cigarette, drawing deeply. He only smoked when he was really nervous. Margaret saw the glowing tip and fainted instantly. He looked at where she was staring before she flaked out. Oh sheesh. She probabl
y thought I was going to torture her. He crushed it out. Now what?

  He thought of throwing cold water on her. Maybe not a great idea if I want her cooperation. “Play nice, Irving.” He’d heard that often enough. Better try now. He wet a cold washcloth and wiped her face. Well, it was a dishcloth. It was clean, wasn’t it?

  She stirred. He poured her a glass of water and stood over her. Thinking. He drank it all. Too bad he hadn’t planned past this point. Now what? I need to finagle a new will out of her before I throw her into shock. That was his mistake with Aunt Margaret. If he’d done that, then, he’d have known he wasn’t going to inherit before he poisoned her. Who would have known that old farmer had covered every legal angle before he died?

  Didn’t George Kinney even think of his sister and her son before he left it all to his wife and a stranger?

  He sure remembered George. The old man always swatted him with a switch. He wiped his nose again as if to say you can’t touch me now. His mom, Kinney’s sister, had moved out of town and he’d almost forgotten about Uncle George and Aunt Margaret before that developer guy showed up.

  He circled Hartman, almost bumping into the table. Restraint. That’s what he needed. He wanted to sell that old farm so bad he could feel the sun on his face from his rich new life in the Caribbean. A vision that was fading before he even got out of town.

  He glanced at the empty glass in his hand in surprise. He walked to the sink and turned on the faucet. When the water gushed out, he heard a moan. He filled the glass so fast he spilled much of it down the side.

  “Here,” he said. “Have a little water.”

  She looked at him with dismay this time. Her anger had left. Maybe the fear erased it. When her eyes remained puzzled and she didn’t take the glass, he realized she was still tied up. He set the glass down to untie one hand and gave her the glass. This time she nodded and sipped.

  His legs shook with the jitters and he turned his back on her so he could hide it. He didn’t know how to deal with women. Never could. At least she didn’t throw the glass at him. That was a good sign.