by Krista Davis
“I think Martha is the one who poisoned Robert.”
Mars wrapped it up and flung it into the trash can.
“What are you doing?” I screeched.
“Sophie, you’re the one who said it’s not safe to eat.” Mars shook his head.
I dug it out of the trash, wrapped it in a clean plastic bag, and placed it in a closet out of reach of Daisy and Mochie. “Maybe Wolf should have it tested for botulism.”
I sat by the warm fire and told them about Martha’s engagement to Robert and about the dish shards that I had found. “Wolf is having them checked right now.”
Mars sputtered, “That makes no sense. I never even met the woman until last night. Why would she poison me with botulism? And how?”
Bernie seemed thoughtful. “You think she killed Robert because he called off their engagement so many years ago? That doesn’t seem likely.”
“Maybe she killed Rosie and Robert knew that,” I suggested.
“Not to belabor the question, but then how and why was I subject to that stuff?” Mars asked. “I’ve never been to Robert’s house. Didn’t hang out with him. I didn’t know these people.”
Bernie sat up. “The Laughing Hound. Martha and Max were there for dinner the night before you got sick.”
“It’s not like I had dinner with them.”
“You ate in the bar that night,” Bernie said. “Martha could have easily slipped something into your food.”
“What? Why? She didn’t know me.”
I saw where Bernie was going with his thoughts. “She didn’t care who you were. She needed someone to get sick at The Laughing Hound so the health department would move on and get off her back.”
“Ugh! That’s the lowest of the low,” Mars said.
Bernie scowled. “What a couple. He was running around attacking women while she was poisoning men!”
At five thirty, Mars stretched and whistled for Daisy. “Soph, want to come along for a walk?”
The last thing in the world I wanted to do at that moment was go out into the cold. But Daisy nudged me with her nose and had the nerve to bark at me. “Okay, okay. You win.”
I slid on a warm jacket while Mars helped Daisy with her harness. Lucky Bernie still napped, or pretended to, in the chair by the fire with his feet up on a hassock.
We stepped out into the chill. “How can the temperature change so fast?” I asked. “We ate lunch outside today.”
“’Tis the season. I heard there was a cold front moving in.” Mars zipped his jacket and steered us toward Bernie’s house.
“It’s nice walking leisurely again and not worrying about Max jumping out at us.”
“Do you think Bernie is right about Martha slipping something into my food?” Mars asked.
“It’s actually the first theory that made sense. And as you have pointed out, that’s the only time you two were in the same place.”
“So why do you think Robert’s last word was Rosie?”
“I’m not sure we’ll ever know. Maybe because of those threatening notes he received? Maybe Velma has been right all along. He was afraid of the person who wrote those notes and thought he’d been poisoned because of Rosie.”
“That would point a finger at that Hunter guy, wouldn’t it?” asked Mars.
“It would. I can’t quite reconcile that with Martha poisoning Robert.”
“Maybe Hunter sent the notes to torment Robert, and Martha killed him out of some deep-seated resentment?”
“You mean there might not have been a connection?”
“Rosie must have been the connection. But maybe both of them wanted him dead,” Mars said.
“Hunter got lucky because Martha beat him to it?” I asked.
“Imagine being such a heinous person that two people wanted to kill you!”
We rounded the block and started back.
When we passed the entry to the alley where Natasha’s garage was located, Daisy pulled toward the garage.
“What’s that sound?” asked Mars.
I couldn’t help giggling. “There are chickens in your garage. Harvey’s truck broke down, so he and Wanda hid them in the garage.”
“This I gotta see.”
We walked to the door that led to Natasha’s workshop. Mars twisted the handle and opened the door. “Look at this,” he griped. “I had that alarm system installed for nothing. She doesn’t even lock the doors, much less use the alarm.
He opened the door that led to the garage, and we stepped into chaos. Chickens and feathers were everywhere. Eggs had been laid on the velvet settee. Chicken feed was strewn around the concrete floor. The car doors were open and the chickens appeared to have adopted the car as their hen house.
Mars’s mouth dropped open. “Natasha will have a heart attack if she sees this.”
I shouldn’t have giggled. But after all her criticisms of me, after all her pretentious superiority, I had to laugh. In fact, I couldn’t stop, and Mars joined in.
The two of us were tearing up from laughing when we heard something that definitely wasn’t a chicken.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dear Natasha,
My sister and I have a fancy dinner riding on this bet. I think Spode’s Stafford Flowers is the most expensive china pattern available today. My sister says it’s Raynaud Duchess by Raynaud. Who’s right?
—The Younger Sister in Sisters, Oregon
Dear The Younger Sister,
Better go Dutch. You’re both wrong. At this moment it appears that Flora Danica by Royal Copenhagen takes the title of the most expensive pattern.
—Natasha
It was a whimper.
My thoughts flew to Kevin. Had he run away yet again? “Kevin? Kevin, are you in here?”
I walked to the other side of the car.
A person sat on the floor with her knees drawn up. Her head was bowed to her knees and hair flowed over her face.
“Who is that?” whispered Mars.
I knew it wasn’t Kevin. “Hello? Excuse me. Ma’am?”
She didn’t respond.
Mars and I weren’t laughing anymore.
“I’ll call the police.” Mars pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“No police.” The voice was muffled. The head lifted but there was so much hair I still couldn’t see her face.
I edged closer, leaning to the side, hoping to recognize her. I saw the nose first. The long straight nose. “Martha?”
She turned her head in my direction. Hair still flew around her features but I could tell it was definitely her.
“Martha! What happened?” I crouched beside her and pushed her hair out of her face.
Her lips quivered when she said, “Rosie.”
I looked back at Mars. “Well, help me!”
He took one arm, and I took the other. We assisted her to her feet. Behind her head, Mars mouthed, “She tried to kill me.”
There was that. But she needed our help. “Let’s take her home and see what’s going on, okay?”
Mars’s eyes grew wide. “Uh, Soph, we really should call Wolf.”
“We will, as soon as we get home.”
“No,” she moaned. Her head hung forward and she walked as though she had no strength left.
The entire way home, Mars tried to convince me to leave her in the garage. It was cold out. The chickens had feathers to keep them warm, but I wasn’t about to abandon Martha there.
We walked in the front door, and it looked like a party was going on. Nina waltzed up to us with drinks but stopped cold at the sight of Martha.
The chatter ebbed and everyone grew quiet as they recognized Martha.
Bernie took over for me and helped her to a seat by the fire. Francie brushed Martha’s hair out of her face.
“What’s going
on?” I asked.
“You’re always cooking for everyone else and you had such a fright last night that we wanted to do something nice for you,” Wanda said.
I sniffed the air. “Rotisserie chicken with the three sauces?”
Nina whispered, “What happened to Martha?”
“We found her hiding in Natasha’s garage. I think she’s having some kind of breakdown.”
Wanda opened the cabinets in my kitchen. “I don’t know how you girls manage without decent medicinals,” she said. “Chamomile tea will have to do. It will have you back on your feet in no time, dear.” She filled the kettle and set it on the stove.
I hadn’t noticed Callie or Hunter. Callie made her way over to Martha and knelt on the floor by her. “Martha, what happened? You look a mess.”
“She’ll feel better when she drinks some tea.” Wanda poured boiling water into a mug.
Callie took the tea to her and urged her to drink.
People whispered in the background as we all watched.
Callie wrapped an arm around Martha and squeezed. “Are you feeling any better, honey? You wanna tell us what happened?”
And Martha began to talk. “Rosie.”
Her gaze drifted and stopped on Hunter/Eddie. “I never knew your sister but in the back of my mind I always suspected that the truth would come out one day.”
Hunter drew closer and pulled up a chair. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“I was there.”
Martha took a deep breath. “I am ashamed to admit that I went a little nuts when Robert broke off our engagement. Nothing too bad compared with what some people do today, I guess, but I stalked Robert. I couldn’t sleep or eat. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. I had picked out my china pattern! To be honest, every time I see it I get a little sick to my stomach. It’s the one pattern I won’t buy. My world had ended. I couldn’t believe that he dumped me for another girl.”
Martha kneaded a tissue in her fingers. “I followed Robert to a lovers’ leap kind of place. It was high on a cliff overlooking a wild river. I imagine it might have been romantic under other circumstances but to me that day, it was isolated and eerie. I kept just inside the tree line and watched him when he met Rosie.”
“Did he know you were there?” asked Francie.
“I have always wondered about that. He didn’t act like it. I had never seen Rosie before. She was very sweet. A little younger than me, I thought. Very pretty, and she looked so innocent.”
The muscles in Hunter’s jaw jerked.
“You can imagine how it felt to watch my fiancé with another woman. He was toying with her. Laughing and teasing her closer to the edge. The jealousy that had consumed me started to turn into concern. I could see what he was doing, but she appeared oblivious, as though she was enthralled with him.”
Martha took a deep breath. “I edged closer and closer. I tried to save her.” Martha closed her eyes. “Dear heaven, I tried my best. To this day I can feel the warmth of her hand brushing against mine, trying to get a grip. My other hand grasped wildly toward her blouse.” She swallowed hard and opened her eyes again. “I watched her tumble, hitting rocks on the way down, until she reached the river. It closed in over her and the current must have carried her away.” A little twinge shook her shoulder.
Hunter winced and his head bent forward. Callie rested her hand on his shoulder.
“I was holding her necklace. A chain with a sailing ship hanging from it.”
Hunter’s head snapped up. That must have rung true to him.
“Robert had given it to me,” Martha continued, “and I had taken it off my neck and returned it to him when he broke up with me. And now I held that stupid thing. It was all that remained of Rosie, a ship on a broken chain. I looked into the cold and calculating eyes of a man who was a stranger to me. I feared I was next and tried to run. He caught me and told me he loved me. That we would be together always. That nothing would ever come between us again.”
“You must have been terrified!” said Wanda.
“You’re lucky to be alive.” Callie shook her head. “We both are.”
“I thought I would follow Rosie over that cliff. I played along with Robert to save myself. I pretended all was right again between us. And then I drove home and told my parents. You can imagine their horror. I heard them talking about it through the night. They didn’t know what to do. Who would? In the morning, the police came to our house because Rosie was missing. My parents, bless them, lied for me. They said I had been at home with them.”
Hunter buried his head in his hands. “You could have spared us so much grief!”
“I’m so sorry. Robert’s family had already brought in their lawyers, and it was abundantly clear that their goal was to build a case against me.”
Hunter nodded. “I remember those guys. They made Robert clam up. You were the missing link all along. They could have prosecuted him. You were an eyewitness.”
She sat up straighter and wiped the skin under her eyes. “Wouldn’t have done any good. I had gotten away from Robert that night, but his lawyers intended to see me in prison. Rumors moved fast, and people began to hear that I had killed Rosie. It was horrible. As soon as my parents were able to borrow enough money, I was on my way to Italy. For almost forty years I thought I had escaped. I thought it was over. That it was behind me. My parents moved to New Jersey, and I never went back. It was never spoken of again. And then, two months ago, Robert Johnson walked into my tearoom and my life turned into a nightmare.”
Velma rose. “Anyone else want some Scotch? Nina, where does Sophie keep that stash?” She steadied herself as she walked. I knew it had to be hard for her to hear this. She was probably thinking that Martha could say anything she wanted now that Robert was dead. Maybe so.
Velma poured drinks for herself, Harvey, and Nina. When she sat down, Martha continued.
“Robert told me he had never stopped loving me. That he had searched for me his whole life and now we could finally be together.”
I gasped. “He saw the story in the newspaper about The Parlour and recognized you! Velma, did Robert take a copy of the local newspaper?”
She nodded. “My sister did.”
Martha pushed back her hair. As stunning as she was with it up, she now appeared bedraggled and haggard. Almost witchy. “Robert’s alleged love for me only made me fear for my husband. I knew Robert had it in him to murder because I had seen him do it. I love my husband. In spite of his idiotic attempt to harm you, Sophie, he’s really a decent and noble man.”
I had my doubts about that. What kind of guy ran around attacking women? It sure wasn’t decent and noble of him to kill Elise.
“Every day,” Martha said, “it seemed like matters became worse with Robert. I tried placating him by bringing him food and trying to be a friend. But I was very wary. One day I was in his house, and I saw little verses he had written. Terrible ones about the past and the fact that Rosie was dead. They were designed to evoke guilt. And I realized that he was planning to blame me for Rosie’s death. The torture would begin all over again.”
Hunter groaned. “Oh no.” His whole body sagged.
“But why would Robert do that?” asked Nina.
“I don’t know. To convince me to leave my husband? To blackmail me? All I knew was that I was dealing with a demented man. One evil enough to kill an innocent girl who got in his way.”
“So you brought him something laced with botulism?” I guessed.
She nodded. “I opened a jar of potatoes. Oddly enough they were a gift from someone who canned them herself. I knew instantly that they were bad. The lid was warped and there was a film on the top. Any sane person would have thrown them out. But a time bomb hung over me, and it was ticking faster and faster with each passing day. I was living the life of my dreams until Robert walked back into my world.
And I saw my opportunity.”
Martha sat quietly for a moment. “I still have nightmares of Rosie falling. They all end the same way. All that is left of her is that crazy ship necklace. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of her. It’s hard to explain. I didn’t know her, but that terrible last moment of her life bonded me to her. In a peculiar way, I felt like Rosie was with me. Like I was doing it not just to save Max and me, but in revenge for Rosie. So when I saw the tainted potatoes, well, Robert had a strong fondness for vichyssoise.” Martha shrugged. “It was that simple.”
“How could you think you would get away with something like that?” Velma’s tone was tinged with contained outrage.
Martha responded softly. “Robert murdered Rosie and got away with it. I didn’t think it would be that difficult.”
She gazed around at us. “I knew Robert had admirers, but I never expected to run into one! I was picking up the soup bowl from Robert when Elise arrived at the back door. I couldn’t let her see me. I hid until she was in Robert’s living room, and then I sneaked out the back way and tripped. My beautiful bowl crashed. I was sure she heard me, and I left in a hurry.”
“Is that why Max murdered Elise? You were afraid she saw you?” I asked.
“Max didn’t kill Elise.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dear Sophie,
I appreciate my son and daughter-in-law enormously. They are very good to me, and I realize that they’re busy. But some idiot told my daughter-in-law that she could microwave the water for my tea. Please set her straight?
—Grateful Old Dad in Strain, Missouri
Dear Grateful Old Dad,
Every tea drinker knows that microwaved tea is horrible. Hardly drinkable in my opinion. I’m told it’s because the microwave doesn’t heat the water evenly. I think there’s probably more to it than that, but your daughter-in-law should stick to boiling water for tea in a kettle.
—Sophie
I was afraid to hear what Martha was going to say next. After that strange withdrawal, Martha had turned rather calm. Maybe there had been poison in the cake Mars threw out. Martha scared me a little bit by shifting from being hopeless to almost prim again. I excused myself and phoned Wolf from my office.