Before Quinn could respond, Brandi stumbled up to the stall, smelling strongly of liquor. She reached for the table and knocked two loaves of bread onto the ground.
“Why don’t you come sit down?” I offered as Quinn scurried to pick up the fallen bread. I guided her into the stall and settled her onto the folding chair Quinn kept behind the counter. She wore a tank top and capri pants, and the skin of her arms was icy cold and covered with goose bumps. “Can we get you a drink of water?” I asked.
“Any of that mulled wine around?” she slurred.
“No,” I said, glancing at Quinn. “But I’ll go get you a hot chocolate. You must be freezing. I’ve got a blanket in the truck,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
I hurried to get the wool blanket, then bought a small hot chocolate from Bubba. I draped the wool blanket over Brandi’s skinny shoulders and handed her the foam cup, hoping she didn’t spill it on herself.
“Is there anything in this?” she asked, looking up at me with bleary eyes.
“Marshmallows,” I said.
“Can I have some of that hot wine?” she asked.
“Hot chocolate’s all I’ve got,” I said as she slurped some of it down.
“It’s good,” she said. “Krystal always liked marshmallows.”
“Did she?” I asked as Quinn turned to help a customer. “Were you two close as kids?”
“Yeah,” she said, chewing up a marshmallow. “Had to be. Mother was gone, and Dad was always working, and then he died. Krystal always tried to take care of me. Even now,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Things were finally going to be good for us, and then she died. Just before her birthday, too.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “When is it?”
“The day after New Year’s,” she said.
“That’s got to be so hard,” I said.
“It’s not awesome,” she agreed, taking another sip of hot chocolate. As she lifted the cup, some of it sloshed over the side, splattering the blanket.
“You stayed with Ethel for a bit, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I moved out; it was terrible. No liquor, and nothing but oatmeal and meatloaf. I’m sorry she died, though.” She took another swig of hot chocolate, giving herself a foamy mustache. “I think she kind of took Krystal under her wing.”
“That was awfully nice of her,” I said. “Did she know your sister well?”
“She was sad that she died,” she said. “Kept asking me about her. And asking about me, too. Nosy.” Brandi drained the rest of the hot chocolate. “Sure I can’t get some of that wine?”
I ignored the question. “Have you talked to your uncle about a memorial service?” I asked.
“I tried,” she said. “But he wants nothin’ to do with me,” she said.
“Was he always that way?” I asked.
She shrugged. “After my dad died, we spent a few years at his house, and it was just awful,” she said. “It’s why Krystal and I moved to Houston.”
“What happened to your parents?” I asked.
“My mom took off right after we were born, and my dad died in an accident when we were teenagers.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Sounds like you had a really hard childhood.”
“Probably why I started drinking. I know I shouldn’t—Krystal always wanted me to stop—but once you’re hooked . . .” She shrugged. “I was hoping rehab might help me get straight.”
“Maybe you’ll find a way,” I said gently.
“Not now I won’t,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. She swiped at them and took another drink of hot chocolate.
I had just finished milking Blossom and feeding the goats the next morning when the phone rang. I put down the pail and hurried to answer, hoping it wouldn’t wake my parents.
It was Opal. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Did you find Brittany?”
“No, but I got the report on what killed Ethel,” she said.
“It wasn’t natural causes?” I asked.
“Oleander,” Opal told me.
“Oleander?” The long-leafed flowering bush grew all over the place; it could have come from anywhere. Including the Kramers’.
“It was in the tea,” she said in a low voice.
“Molly’s got an oleander bush in her yard,” I said, feeling my heart sink. “Is Rooster trying to pin this on her, too?”
“Knowing him, he will,” she said.
“You know Ethel was the poison-pen letter writer, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. “And I got a look at some of the drafts. She seemed to think everyone was having an affair. The mayor, the pastor out at that church . . .”
“I didn’t know about the mayor, but I saw the one where she accused Phoebe Matheson of not paying her husband enough attention. Also, Father Mikeska gave Buster a loaf of friendship bread—and the starter, probably.” I thought about the coin appraisal certificates I’d found in Krystal’s house. Although Fannie had told me the coins Buster had brought in were the real deal, it didn’t explain the strange certificates. Was Buster into some kind of counterfeiting business—maybe something that Krystal knew about? If so, it’s possible that Buster decided to shut her down. Did he know anything about plants? I wondered.
“And I’m still trying to track down that cashier’s check,” Opal said. “But don’t say anything to Rooster. If anything comes of it, I’m going to have to make him think this was all his idea.”
“So . . . datura and oleander. Whoever did this knows plant poisons pretty well.”
“Maybe a botanist?”
“Know any of those in Buttercup?”
“No,” she said, crestfallen. “A lot of gardeners, though.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down much. I have the list of people Molly gave friendship bread to, though,” I said.
“Read it to me,” she said. “I know just about everybody in town.”
I spooled through the rest of the names, but she came up blank. “I don’t know about Mayor Niederberger and Pastor Matheson—why on God’s green earth would she give that man a loaf of her bread, anyway?—but the rest of them wouldn’t know a petunia if it jumped up and bit them.”
“I’m pretty sure the pastor was Krystal’s mystery boyfriend.”
“I wish we could just ask him, but I doubt he’ll fess up.”
“Brittany might know,” I suggested.
“Problem is, no word on where she is, either.”
“Did Rooster file that missing person report?”
“I did,” she said. “Sent out the license plate number of the Mathesons’ SUV and everything. Not a peep.”
“I just feel like everywhere I turn I’m at a dead end,” I said. “But Krystal’s and Ethel’s deaths have to be connected, don’t you think? Both poisoned by plants, both attend the same church . . .”
“Can’t imagine we’ve got two poisoners runnin’ around Buttercup. Leastwise, I hope not.”
“Did Rooster ask the neighbors if they saw any cars at her house?” I asked. “There were two tea cups in the dish drainer; it looked like she had company.”
“I know the cups and the teapot are in evidence, but I didn’t hear anything about a visitor. I’ll hint that he might want to talk to the neighbors. You’d think he’d figure that out himself, but with Rooster, you gotta tell him.”
“Thanks,” I told her.
“We’ll get it figured out, Lucy.”
“I hope so. Thanks for calling. Let me know if you hear anything more about that cashier’s check—or about Brittany.”
“Will do. You keep me posted, too.” She paused for a moment. “And good luck with those goats.”
“Thanks,” I told her. “Obviously I need it.”
I’d just hung up the phone when it rang again. I picked it up; it was Fred Sanger’s gravelly voice.
“I wish I had better news for you,” he said.
“What’s the damage?”
“Broken axle,” he said
. “And you’ve got a huge oil leak.”
I winced. How was I going to afford that? “How long will it take you to fix it?”
“I have to order a few parts, but I can get it done by the end of the week.”
“I guess I don’t have much choice, then,” I said, feeling my stomach churn. Maybe my mother was right and I should have stayed in Houston, I thought as I hung up the phone and reached down to pet Chuck.
My dad walked into the kitchen, yawning. “Who was that?” he asked.
“Fred Sanger down at the repair shop,” I said.
“What’s the word on the truck?”
“Not good,” I said. “It’s going to be expensive.”
“This hasn’t been your best December, has it?”
“No,” I said. At least things were going better with Tobias, I thought—even though Mindy’s presence was still nagging at me.
I was just finishing up watering the lettuce when a red SUV came rolling up the driveway. I stood up and squinted; I didn’t recognize the car. When Mindy stepped out of the driver’s side a moment later, looking like a runway model in sleek jeans and a jacket that highlighted her curvy figure, I wished I’d put on something other than holey jeans and flannel.
I turned off the water and walked over to the driveway, where Mindy was waving at me.
“Hi,” I said as I approached. “What brings you here?”
“You’re good friends with the Kramers, right?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I went by their house, but they’re not home, so I came here.”
“Why?”
“I think I know where their daughter is. Hop in and I’ll take you to her.”
Mindy’s Lexus was a far cry from Fred’s loaner. Instead of gasoline and cigars, it smelled like mint gum and perfume. I was almost relieved to see stacks of papers in the back and a bit of dirt on the floor mats; at least she wasn’t entirely perfect.
“How did you find them?”
“I’ve been looking at houses,” she said, “and we looked at one this morning that had a squatter in it.”
“Was it the Simpsons’ place?”
She nodded. “There’d been a recent fire in the fireplace, and there were dirty dishes in the sink. The logs were still warm.”
I thought about what Teena had said about a fireplace, and goose bumps rose on my arms. “So someone’s been there recently. Why do you think it’s Brittany?”
“The boy she was with was driving a Range Rover, right?”
“He was. How do you know that?”
“I make it my business to know a lot of things,” she said with a grim smile. “I saw the SUV parked a little bit off the road about a quarter mile away from the place. The house has been vacant for four months and it’s out of the way, so I’m sure they thought no one would be by.”
My heart leaped. “Oh, I hope you’re right,” I told her. “Thank you so much for thinking of Brittany.”
“Well, I still haven’t seen her, but I think the odds are good that she’s there—or at least she was. I just hope we haven’t scared her off.”
“Even if you have, they must still be close. We can call the police.”
She nodded as she turned onto Kometzky Road. “I understand you and Tobias are seeing each other,” she told me. “I hope it’s not a problem that I’m staying in his guest room.” She glanced over at me.
“Of course not,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“He’s a good man,” she said. “He seems to really like you. I hope things work out for the two of you.”
I blinked, not knowing what to say. I felt terrible for being so jealous . . . and jumping to conclusions. “Thanks,” I croaked finally. “I have to admit I felt a little threatened when I found out you were in town. You’re gorgeous, accomplished . . .”
She laughed. “Thanks, but I’m also a pain in the neck to live with. No, Tobias and I had a good run, but we’re better not together.” She glanced over at me again. “And don’t worry . . . I’m not planning on a weekend house in Buttercup.”
I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but I was flooded with relief. “No?”
“No,” she said. “I’m here on business, actually. It’s quiet, though. Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course,” I said. “Why?”
“I’m only telling you because I think we have a common cause. You want to find out who poisoned Krystal Jenkins and Ethel Froehlich, and I want to find out if the murders are linked to Pastor Matheson.”
“You’re working for the network, aren’t you?”
“I’m in entertainment law,” she said. “You can connect the dots.”
Well, now I knew who was investigating Pastor Matheson. And I had confirmed why Mindy was in town—a reason that, thankfully, didn’t have to do with Tobias.
“What do you know about the pastor?” she asked. “You can’t say anything, though—I don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing.”
“Well, I know lots of widows are signing over their social security checks to him,” I said. “I also know that would-be Mayor O’Neill gave the church a very big donation recently.”
“How big?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
“That seems like an awful lot to give someone to support your political campaign,” she said. “Unless you were planning to use the office to make more money, somehow . . .” she mused.
“Like getting Highway 71 diverted to Buttercup and selling off a lot of land?”
“That’s a pretty good reason. Could there be another?”
“Good question,” I said. “Could it be blackmail?”
“That’s definitely a possibility,” she said. “I keep looking for reasons someone might want to blackmail the good pastor, too. I get the impression that he’s a big hit with the ladies—and that he’s pretty fond of them, too.”
I remembered how he’d lit up when he met Mindy. “Do you think maybe he took things a bit too far with someone? I don’t want to talk out of school, but I’m beginning to suspect he and Krystal Jenkins were together.”
“That’s what I’m hoping Brittany Kramer will be able to tell us,” she said. “We’re both trying to figure out what’s going on, and I thought we’d do better if we worked together. You used to be an investigative reporter, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“I think we might be able to figure this out, then,” she said, slowing down as we approached the house. “Look,” she said, pointing to a narrow driveway leading into a copse of trees. “It’s still parked there.”
“And somebody’s got a fire going,” I said, looking at the smoke spiraling from the chimney.
“Let’s go find out who it is, shall we?” she asked, parking at the end of the driveway.
Together we walked up the gravel drive. The curtains were drawn in the windows of the house, a ’60s ranch, and as we approached the front door, my nerves started to act up. What if it wasn’t Brittany and Bryce?
“Ready?” Mindy asked when we got to the front door.
I nodded, and she knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked again, and I heard the sound of footsteps from inside.
“Brittany?” I called. “Are you in there?”
Still nothing.
“Your mom is worried sick about you,” I continued. “She’s been arrested for Krystal’s murder. I just want to ask you a few things.”
Silence. Mindy and I exchanged glances.
“Please,” I said. “I need you to help me save your mom.”
There were a few more footsteps. We waited. A moment later, we heard the sound of a dead bolt snicking back, and Brittany opened the door.
Brittany,” I said, feeling a rush of relief.
“Ms. Resnick, I’m so happy to see you. Is my mom okay?” she asked. Her face was wan, and she looked like she’d lost weight.
“She’s worried to death about you,” I said, and pulled her into a hug. Her thin frame relaxed in my ar
ms.
“Brittany?” She tensed as a male voice called her name.
“I’m here,” she said. “It’s my mom’s friend. Ms. Resnick.”
Bryce Matheson walked up behind her, looking rumpled and angry. “You weren’t supposed to answer the door!”
“Who’s this?” Brittany asked, suddenly noticing Mindy.
“A friend of mine,” I said without thinking. “Can we come in? It’s chilly out here.”
She looked back, uncertain, but then said, “Yes.”
Bryce folded his arms over his chest. “Brittany!”
“They already know we’re here . . . what harm can it do? Besides, my mom’s in trouble.”
“But . . .”
“Come in,” she said, ignoring Bryce.
“Fine,” he said, and stormed away. Brittany rolled her eyes. It looked like a few days in close proximity had swept away some of the magic.
“Thanks,” I said, and Mindy and I stepped into the musty-smelling house.
“How’s my mom?” Brittany asked as we followed her to the kitchen.
“Rooster thinks she killed Krystal,” I said.
“That’s ridiculous. My mother would never do something like that.”
“I know that and you know that,” I told her. “But we need to know more about Krystal so we can find out who really did kill her.”
“How did she die? We’ve been holed up here without TV and phone . . . I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Poison,” I said. “Someone put datura in a loaf of friendship bread and passed it off as your mom’s.”
“And Rooster believed it? What an idiot.”
“Can you help us?” Mindy asked.
Brittany bit her lip. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I promised Krystal I wouldn’t say anything, and Bryce . . .” She glanced over her shoulder.
“We’re talking about your mom,” I reminded her. “If you know something that might help, please tell me.”
“Who is this?” she asked, looking at Mindy.
“She used to be married to Dr. Brandt,” I said. “You can trust her.”
“All right,” she said, then leaned forward. “Krystal and the pastor were having an affair.”
Fatal Frost (Dewberry Farm Mysteries Book 2) Page 20