That’s why she’s an albino. From eating the fairy daisies. I blinked away the fanciful thought and watched her with wide eyes, hardly daring to breathe.
Another dip of her head, another bloom plucked for dinner. She stood chewing, staring at me, for a full minute, then turned and walked slowly back to her woods.
I let out a long exhalation when the last of her alabaster tail had disappeared. “That was weird.”
Dash looked up at me with big doggy grin on his face. I bent and scratched the blond ruff of fur across his shoulders, then stood again, suddenly realizing just how bone tired I was.
Inside, I grabbed Gamma’s garden journal and took it to bed with me.
The picture of deadly nightshade was still there. I hadn’t been sure it would be, since sometimes things seemed to disappear from the tattered, thick pages. I examined the precise drawing again and felt the warning inherent in it again.
Gamma had listed other names belladonna was known by over the years, her tight cursive writing giving the litany a kind of poetic quality.
Devil’s cherries, nightshade, devil’s herb, dwayberry, dwale, and ending with my favorite: naughty man’s cherries.
And scribbled in a corner: Known as the primary ingredient in witches’ flying ointment.
No doubt that was due to the hallucinogenic effects.
The symptoms of belladonna poisoning were listed on the opposite page.
Rash. Confusion to the point of delirium, along with dizziness and blurred vision.
Difficulty breathing, nausea, and panic.
In our one and only encounter, Blake Sontag hadn’t been at all pleasant to me or my companions, but I wouldn’t wish a death like that on anyone. A wave of compassion washed through my body.
He didn’t deserve to die like that. He didn’t deserve to die at all. But he does deserve justice now.
CHAPTER 9
WHEN I opened Scents & Nonsense at ten the next morning, Astrid had already come and gone. On the counter was a container of creamy white cookies flecked with orange peel and the delicate pink petals of sweet William flowers. She’d dipped half of each in chocolate ganache, and they smelled subtly of cloves. I downed one before even unlocking the door and flipping the sign to OPEN, and barely managed not to moan out loud at how good they were.
My thoughts flickered to Tanner Spence, and I hoped there would be some left for him to try when he showed up with his camera equipment at four o’clock. Why? Because I wanted to impress him with cookies I hadn’t even made?
Yes. Just like I wanted to impress Blake Sontag until I actually met him. Spence seems nice, though. And I’m lucky he still wants to feature my tiny house in the magazine.
The vague image of his wild blond hair and the mixture of smart and funny I’d seen so briefly behind his eyes flared for a moment, but faded away as I checked the inventory of my essential oil supply and helped a few customers who wandered in off the street. Then I placed a bulk order for jojoba oil, and printed out a list of orders from the Scents & Nonsense online store over the last two days.
Maggie showed at eleven o’clock as promised. I set her to work labeling a gross of peppermint, tangerine, and cinnamon lip balms, asked her to box up the online orders for the UPS man, and headed out the door with Dash trotting at my heel.
Clutching two chocolate-dipped cookies in one hand and steering with the other, I guided the Wrangler to the curb in front of Astrid’s little house. Someone in the neighborhood had recently mowed their grass, and the scent mingled with the smell of bread fresh from the oven. The combination created a sense of nostalgia that settled around me like a comfortable blanket.
I could already tell today was going to be much better than yesterday had been.
My friend opened her door and waved to me, then turned back to lock up. A few seconds later she climbed into the passenger seat. She wore a nubbly hemp sundress in soft brown, her red hair was plaited into a neat French braid, and a dark stone circle on a length of leather nestled below her throat.
I suddenly felt dowdy in my white capri pants, Breton-stripe shirt, and sneakers.
“Hey, Ellie.” She twisted in the seat to ruffle Dash’s pointed ears. “And how’s my favorite corgi this morning?”
He nosed her hand to encourage more attention. Someone had found Dash, tired and hungry, at the rest stop out on the highway. Astrid had, of course, agreed to foster him until she could find a good home. That had taken until about ten minutes after she introduced us, because I’d instantly fallen in love with his sweet disposition, laughing expression, and intelligent brown eyes.
“I made him promise to be good if I let him come with us,” I said.
Astrid smiled at him. “He will be. He’s a clever boy. Someone trained him well.” She turned back around as I jammed the rest of my second cookie into my mouth and pulled away from the curb.
I’d taken the soft top off the Wrangler a few weeks earlier, and the warm sun felt as good as the air rippling through my hair.
“You outdid yourself with the treats this morning,” I said after I swallowed. “You should think about opening a cookie bakery. Give Kneadful Things a run for their money.”
She shook her head. “I’m not like you. I enjoy making cookies too much to try to do it for a living. For you, helping people with scent is a calling, but if I had to make cookies every day, I’d get pretty cranky.”
“You do make cookies every day,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but I don’t have to.”
I turned right onto Corona and kept my mouth shut. I’d come to depend on Astrid’s daily baking habit, and didn’t want to jinx it.
“Where does Joyous Sontag live?” Astrid asked.
“She has one of those big houses in Agate Park.” It was an area known for older, stately homes, and while not the most exclusive neighborhood in Poppyville, it was up there.
“But that’s on the other side of town,” she said with a frown.
“Mm-hm. I want to take a little side trip before we go there.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“I found out from my dad that the Sontags’ old family place is out past the trailhead for Kestrel Peak. I want to take a look at it.”
“Because . . .”
My eyes cut sideways, then back to the road. “Because now that Blake is dead, Joyous is the sole heir to the property, and I saw a notice in the window of Gold Rush Realty that it’s for sale.”
Astrid whistled. “That was fast.”
“No kidding. Of course, it could have been that Blake and his sister were always planning to sell it. The real estate office was closed, so I couldn’t ask. Still, I’d like to check the place out.”
My friend looked thoughtful. “I’d wondered how we could just show up on her doorstep the day after her brother was murdered and start asking questions. At least now we can pretend to be interested in buying her land.”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. I didn’t like the idea of lying like that, but maybe she was right. “I do want to extend my sympathies, though it’s possible Joyous couldn’t give a hoot that I was one of the last people to see her brother alive.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“Don’t you wonder why Blake was staying at the Hotel California when he had a perfectly nice place to stay with his sister?”
“They didn’t get along,” Astrid guessed as we passed the parking lot at the trailhead.
“More than that,” I said. “Larken heard him arguing with someone on the phone in his room the night he died. She said she heard the word ‘joy.’ I think he and his sister were on the outs.”
The asphalt immediately became rougher, with wide cracks in the surface.
I steered around a pothole. “Though that might not mean anything. I don’t know how well you know Joyous, but she doesn’t really get
along with anyone. She was very quiet in school, as I recall. A mousy girl who scowled a lot.”
“I heard she has agoraphobia,” she said.
“She’s certainly a recluse,” I said. “I hope it isn’t as bad as that, though.”
“I’ve never met her in person, but I’ve spoken with her on the phone a couple of times.”
“Really?” I looked over at her.
She nodded. “Joyous does medical transcription. Veterinary, too, because Dr. Ericcson uses her.” The open top had mussed her braid, and now she blew a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. “Thank God. Otherwise I’d have to input his notes on top of everything else I do in the office.”
The road took us down a hill. As we came around a wide curve, I saw the property in question. It was hard to miss since it was completely surrounded by a twelve-foot metal fence topped with barbed wire.
No, make that razor wire.
What on earth?
I stopped the Jeep in the slight turnoff right in front of the gate and saw the fence was festooned with NO TRESPASSING signs.
We got out. I told Dash to stay, and he watched as Astrid and I approached the gate and inspected the solid padlock that held it closed.
“I guess we won’t be exploring very much,” I said. “Wow, that’s a lot of fence. It looks like it goes all the way around.”
“How much land is in the parcel?”
“Thirty acres.”
She frowned. “I could climb over.”
“Twelve feet? In a dress, over razor wire? Are you out of your mind?” I squinted past the fence.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, leaning her head toward mine and peering through a diamond-shaped gap.
I remembered the real estate flyer urging the possibility of development and felt a twist beneath my solar plexus. A stand of houses here would be monstrous—and visible from the trail up to the peak.
“See the remains of the old log wall backed up to that hill?” I pointed. “That was probably the original house. And that stand of willows over there? I bet there’s a pond, or at least water close to the surface.”
And water rights were included with the land. That was significant in this part of California, though Poppyville was lucky to have its own underground spring. Despite depleted aquifers elsewhere in the state, our spring still supplied the town with plenty of water.
I found myself irresistibly drawn to the area inside the fence, a visceral, physical reaction, and for a split second actually considered climbing the fence myself. My eyes scanned the expanse of grass punctuated with native goldenrod and monkey flower. There was a cluster of elderberry near the stand of willows, along with a messy tumble of wild potentilla studded with shiny yellow blooms.
Then I saw the first one, about four feet tall with dark oval leaves hanging from the branches. Then another, and another, the bell-shaped flowers and dark berries mocking me.
Deadly nightshade growing wild on the Sontag property. I’d never seen it anyplace else around Poppyville, but there it was, less than a mile from my house as the crow flew. Then I noticed one of the plants leaned crazily to one side, and even from that distance I could see the dirt beneath it had been disturbed.
To get at the roots.
I pointed at the plants and told Astrid what they were.
She looked surprised, then tipped her head to the side. “That’s belladonna? I know people worry about livestock eating it, especially horses. But it’s really quite pretty.”
“Yeah. Enticing, even,” I grumbled. “At least no one can get to it behind that fence.”
Except I had a feeling that someone had done exactly that.
• • •
I’D looked up Joyous Sontag’s address before leaving Scents & Nonsense. It turned out that she lived in the least ostentatious house in Agate Park, a three-story that was narrower than its neighbors on either side and set farther back from the street. The deep front yard had been xeriscaped with rocks, sand, flagstone, and planted with low-maintenance yuccas and multiple species of cacti. The house was painted two shades of brown, and as we walked closer I noticed the lighter color was beginning to peel on the trim. The curtains in all the windows were white, and all were drawn, giving the effect that the dwelling was fast asleep.
We rang the bell and waited.
And waited.
Astrid and I looked at each other, and she raised her eyebrows. “I think this line of investigation may have already been nipped in the bud.”
Footsteps sounded from inside. I gave her a triumphant grin and turned back to the door. The footsteps stopped, and there was a long pause. I could feel eyes upon us. Then the door cracked open a few inches to reveal Joyous Sontag’s thin, sallow face frowning out at us.
“What do you want?”
“Hi, Joyous. I’m Ellie Albright. I don’t know if you remember me—”
“I know who you are,” she interrupted. “I asked what you wanted.”
I took a deep breath. “I knew your brother, Blake.” That, at least, was true. Sort of. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” I could feel Astrid looking at me sideways. It didn’t help that I felt like I was repeating something from a bad television show. But I really was sorry for her loss, even if her brother had been a jerk.
Joyous scowled at us for a little longer, then gave a curt nod. “Thank you.” She began to shut the door.
My foot shot out and wedged between the door and the frame.
Her eyes widened. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry. I just . . . I would really like to talk to you. May we come in?”
Joyous blinked. “Why? We’re not friends.” There was something in her voice, something sad.
Intense loneliness suddenly stabbed through my sternum, a feeling so close to actual physical pain that I gasped.
Astrid’s hand shot out and grabbed my elbow. “Ellie? Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “Just having a little spell.”
Knowing how empathy sometimes affected me, she frowned, then nodded.
Joyous watched us through narrowed eyes.
Astrid must have heard something in Blake’s sister’s voice, too, because she took a step closer and said in a kind voice, “I’m Astrid Moneypenny. You don’t really know me, but I work for Dr. Ericcson, and we’ve spoken on the phone. What happened yesterday was terrible. How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” came Joyous’ strangled reply. Her eyes glistened.
“Are you sure?” Astrid asked. She was using the voice she used to soothe injured animals. “Because, honey, I don’t think I’d be fine.”
The woman’s expression hardened again. She shook her head vigorously, her mouth tight, and said, “I don’t want to talk about Blake. Go away.” She pushed against my foot with the door, squeezing my toes.
Ow. I yanked my foot away. “Wait! Please!”
The door closed.
“Can you tell us about the land you have for sale?” I called.
There was no sound of the latch clicking. Joyous’ voice drifted through from the other side. “My land?” The door cracked open. Her face appeared in the gap again.
“Your property out on River Road,” I said.
“Why do you think it’s my land?” she asked.
“Please,” I said. “Can we come in and talk about it?”
A pause, and then she nodded. “Okay. But you have to leave when I tell you to.” She looked daggers at us. “Understand?”
Wide-eyed, we nodded in unison.
She turned and walked inside.
Astrid and I exchanged a glance, pushed the door open, and followed.
CHAPTER 10
THE first thing I noticed was the intense smell of lemons. It seemed to come from everywhere. I sucked it into my lungs like a drowning woman seeking
oxygen, and the sad sense of solitude abated.
Somehow, Joyous Sontag had found her own scented comfort.
Then I noticed the rest of my surroundings. A part of me had been prepared for a hoarder’s paradise, or something out of a dystopian novel. But the room we entered was bright, with white walls and lots of light coming in through the sheer curtains that covered the windows. Sparsely furnished with tan sofa and chairs and cream-colored rugs on a maple floor, the uncluttered space gave the impression of allowing you to breathe deeply.
So I did. More lemons. The hitch in my chest all but disappeared.
Joyous went over to a drop-lid desk and switched off the screen of the computer sitting there. A set of earphones sat to one side. Then she moved to sit tentatively on the edge of a sofa cushion. Her expression was nervous, and her eyes flicked from one side of the room to the other. Her thin shoulders were hunched. She seemed angry and scared and sad, all rolled up into one. My instinct was to help her, but I didn’t know how.
Physically, she bore a definite family resemblance to her brother. Her black hair was longer, wavier, and drawn back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, but an identical widow’s peak graced her narrow forehead. Her eyes were the same light cyan, and her bow mouth was a smaller version of his. She wore yoga pants and a white T-shirt with ballet flats.
Astrid and I lowered ourselves into chairs across from her.
“How do you know about my land?” Joyous asked in a querulous tone.
“It’s for sale, isn’t it?” I asked. “I saw the flyer in the window of Gold Rush Realty.”
She glared. “But how do you know it’s mine?”
“My dad told me,” I said. “He and your father were pretty good friends. Dad also told me about your parents’ will.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her clasped hands and bit her lip.
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