“You’re going to fit a bale of straw in the back of your Honda?” The mental image of the two women wedged into Lisa’s small car with a backseat of bristling straw was laughable.
“Hey, it’s got a big trunk, and besides, how else is she going to get around? With that cast on her foot, she can’t drive her Model A for a while, so I’m happy to help out when I can. Owen would help her out but his little pickup isn’t running too well.”
Something clicked in Amanda’s head, and the events of the past couple of weeks came into sudden stark clarity.
She looked at her salad, covered with dressing and croutons. “She can’t drive,” she said to herself, but Lisa seemed confused.
“Well, not for a bit but once the cast comes off she can drive a clutch again. It’s just temporary. That old car is just really hard to shift, even when the driver’s in great shape.”
It was all coming together, and Amanda’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. Means, motivation, and opportunity. The weight of her realization nearly crushed her. She squinted her eyes closed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the headache she could feel gathering.
“Amanda, are you okay?” Lisa’s voice held a genuine note of alarm.
“No,” her friend replied with a shaky sigh. “I’m not. I’ve got to go confront a killer.”
Chapter 25
Mrs. Granger’s little house was bright and clean, the exterior freshly-painted with soft Wedgewood blue and highlighted with scalloped white trim. New pots of bushy red geraniums were on either side of the white door and a row of brightly-colored hummingbird feeders hung from the eaves, and as Amanda stood on the welcome mat she didn’t see any of it. Her hand was trembling a bit when she finally raised it and used the knocker. James stood three feet behind her and Lisa stood behind him, both a silent support to what she had to do.
She wasn’t surprised when her friend Meg answered the door, happiness on her face. “Amanda! I didn’t know you were interested in the gardening club. You’ve got perfect timing; we’re just starting to talk about how to announce the prizes for best produce at the Harvest Festival. Want to come in?” She gestured at them and stepped aside a bit.
Amanda nodded glumly, even though the truth was that she’d rather be anywhere other than visiting Mrs. Granger’s house today.
Happy voices floated from the front parlor, and she could smell some sort of buttery pastry, probably set out for the guests. As she poked her head around the archway, Mrs. Granger instantly spotted her.
“Amanda, my dear! And James! Come on in. You’re just in time for Mrs. Bitterman’s famous blueberry coffeecake.”
Mrs. Bitterman beamed. “I won three blue ribbons at the county fair with that recipe, and next year I’m going to try it out at the state fair in Salem.”
Amanda took a deep breath. “Mrs. Granger, I hate to do this here, but it just can’t wait.” She turned to Mrs. Bitterman. “I need to talk to you about how Anderson Bowles died.”
The dozen or so people who were perched on chairs in Mrs. Granger’s neat-as-a-pin parlor gasped. There was a rustle of clothing as some leaned forward in expectation, not going to miss a single word of what Amanda was about to say. Owen Winters’ eyes were wide in shock, and Jennifer Peetman shifted in her seat. Truman drifted in from the kitchen, a small plate of cake in his hands.
“Truman, where have you been?” Lisa’s voice came from behind James, and Truman looked surprised, then annoyed. “I needed some time away so I went up to my cousin’s place in Salem. Why?”
Mrs. Bitterman interrupted. “Tea, Amanda? Can’t your news wait?” There were beads of sweat peppering her upper lip.
“I’m afraid it can’t. You see, Mrs. Bitterman, you’re not the only person in town who had a reason to want to kill Anderson Bowles – “
“What are you doing, Amanda? There are all sorts of people who were happy to see that creep dead, and there’s no reason for you to interrogate my friend!” Amanda had never seen Mrs. Granger so upset, slamming her walker forward with every angry step.
“She’s not the only one who wanted him dead, but she’s the only one with a motive who also grows foxglove in her garden.” Amanda’s gaze never wavered from Mrs. Bitterman’s face, even though she could feel Mrs. Granger bristling with rage beside her.
Amanda took a deep breath and continued, as much as it hurt. “There’s another name for foxglove. In Latin it’s called digitalis.”
Jennifer Peetman looked confused, as if searching for something. “I’ve heard that name before somewhere. It’s a name of –“
“It’s the name of a medicine for cardiac patients, Jennifer. If someone gets too much digitalis it can lead to hallucinations and confusion, and eventually to their death.”
Mrs. Bitterman’s eyes were huge, her mouth working in near-silent protest. “I would never poison someone with foxglove! I’m always very careful with it, even when I handle it!”
“You knew what it would do to people, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Bitterman seemed to shrink at the question. “Well, yes, but I would never harm anyone.”
“The girl who was at Truman’s college, who left after she’d had a date with him, she was your granddaughter, wasn’t she?”
The old lady’s face crumbled into pain and sorrow, and Amanda instantly felt like a heel for bringing it up, but she had to keep going.
Amanda sighed, and put a gentle hand on the older lady’s arm. “I know you wouldn’t normally want to kill someone, Mrs. Bitterman, but I had to come here and do this, and I’m sorry.”
She turned to Owen Winters, who had halfway risen to his feet, his forgotten teacup in hand and his face a mottled gray.
“Owen, you killed Anderson Bowles.”
There was a general outcry from several people, and the loudest was Mrs. Bitterman.
“How could you know that? Owen would never hurt anyone, would you, Owen?” Mrs. Bitterman’s words had an edge of desperation to them, wanting him to deny everything.
“You stop this right now, young lady!” Mrs. Granger’s voice, now so commanding, was shaking with rage. “You stop before it’s too late!”
Owen set his teacup down. At first, his face was unreadable, but it finally sagged into lines that showed the truth.
“Yes, I killed him.”
Amanda nodded. Even without him moving forward she was glad she had James behind her in case things got even more tense.
“You’ve been making Mrs. Bitterman’s herb and veggie deliveries to Heinrich’s Pizzeria since she broke her foot and can’t drive her old car. Even a few piece of foxglove leaves in someone’s salad or on someone’s pizza could give them heart problems, and you knew that, didn’t you, Owen?”
“I never meant to kill –“
“I know, Owen, and I believe you.” Amanda’s voice as almost soothing. “I think you saw Anderson Bowles in the pizza place and used that opportunity to poison him. Maybe you were just trying to scare him or drive him away. You put those foxglove leaves into Anderson Bowles’ food to protect someone, didn’t you?” “You did it to protect someone you love.”
The old man stood as if carved in stone for a heartbeat, maybe two, before he turned to Mrs. Bitterman.
“Yes, I did.” His face was full of pain, every year of his life evident in every line. “I’m so sorry, Ruth.”
The room was silent, stunned, until James intervened. “You don’t need to say anything else, Owen. You’ve got rights that protect you and you can stay silent if you want to.”
“I’ve been silent for the last twenty-two years, and I’m not going to do it anymore.” His gaze had never left Mrs. Bitterman. “I loved you even before your husband died, but I knew that it could never work out. I was an old ex-con who had no future and no way to deserve you so I tried to be happy just living next door to you. When you told me what had happened to your granddaughter, well, I –“his voice broke – “I just couldn’t stand it. No woman should be treated that way, and no ma
n should get away with it. When I saw him walk into Heinrich’s Pizza I knew there was a way. I still had the trimmings from your garden in a bucket in my truck, so I just chopped up some of the foxglove leaves and added them to his salad. I just wanted to make him sick. I never meant to kill him.”
James stepped forward and laid a large hand on the top of Owen’s arm. “Time to go, Owen,” he said, but the older man ignored him, still talking to the stunned woman he’d loved in secret for so long.
“I knew the police suspected several people but I would never have let them arrest anyone else. I didn’t think they’d have enough evidence, since I’d used foxglove.” His face flushed as he looked at Mrs. Bitterman. “I would never have let them accuse you. I would’ve confessed on the spot. Can you forgive me, Ruth?”
Mrs. Bitterman’s eyes welled with tears and she took two steps forward, then leaned over and planted a soft kiss full on Owen Winters’ mouth. Ignoring James’ restricting hand, Owen wrapped his arms around the quivering woman and kissed her back, years of unspoken longing finally expressed. At last, he pulled back and gently leaned his forehead onto Mrs. Bitterman’s. “Write to me?”
“Don’t you worry, Owen. I’ll make sure everything turns out okay. You did this for Evelyn. I know that now.” There was a softly whispered sentence or two that Amanda could not hear, and then James was guiding Owen through the small crowd and out the door to the waiting sheriff’s car that had just pulled up. Through the lace curtains in the front window, they could see James handing Owen off to another officer and giving him instructions before the officer carefully handcuffed Owen and put him in the back seat.
Mrs. Granger turned toward Amanda, fire in her eyes and her lips pulled tight. “That was completely unnecessary!”
Amanda’s heart twisted within her chest at the anger Mrs. Granger directed at her, but Mrs. Bitterman was the one who intervened. “She had to do it this way, Katherine. It’s okay. She had to have us together so she could pretend to confront me, so it was all laid out for Owen.” She turned to Amanda, tears still at the corners of her eyes.
“You knew he was in love with me, didn’t you?”
Amanda shrugged, almost apologetic. “I’d suspected. Owen doesn’t talk to many people, but sometimes I’d catch him looking at you when you didn’t know it, with a soft expression in his eyes. I’d never seen him look at anyone like that.”
“And if you knew I grew foxglove and had the motive to kill Anderson Bowles, how did you know I wasn’t the killer?”
Amanda took a deep breath. “You had motive and means, but you didn’t really have the opportunity. You couldn’t do your normal deliveries because you can’t drive a stick with that cast on your foot. I saw Owen at the pizza place delivering herbs that day, and I eat there often enough to have seen him deliver your herbs before. He had means, motive, and opportunity.” She shifted foot to foot, nervously. “I figured if I came here and talked to you about digitalis that he’d probably come forward and tell the truth.”
“And you were right,” Truman said. “I feel sorry for the old guy. Anderson Bowles was a real piece of work, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the thought of capping him myself had crossed my mind.”
Chapter 26
It was a garden society meeting no one would ever forget. “First time we’ve had someone arrested before we were all the way through the agenda,” Mrs. Granger grumped at no one in particular as she cleared away the crumb-filled plates and put them on the seat of her walker. “I’m not sure there’s much more we can do to top that one for excitement.”
Mrs. Bitterman picked up some of the plates and excused herself, following her friend into the kitchen so they could talk privately.
As soon as she was out of earshot Amanda turned to James.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
“I’m sure the judge will consider his age and background, as well the circumstances for why he did it.”
“He didn’t even know her granddaughter. He may have met her a couple of times but that would’ve been it. Why would he risk murdering someone?”
“Can’t you guess?” James asked softly.
“He did it for love.” Amanda voice was bleak.
“Yes, he did.” James sat down beside her on Mrs. Granger’s antique setee, which squeaked alarmingly under his weight. “It sounds like he doesn’t regret his decision, and I’d bet good money that Mrs. Bitterman will be his most frequent visitor.”
He sighed, seeing the unhappiness on her face. “Well, you did it. You put all the pieces together.”
“If I did something so great, why do I feel so bad about it?” She tried to keep her voice from quivering. James suddenly stood up and held out his hand. “I’ve got a brilliant idea, detective,” he said, using his newest nickname for Amanda. “I have something I want to show you.” She
“I’ll drive.”
By the time James had steered his car through the rich autumn colors of Main Street and down the winding road by the beach, Amanda had an inkling of where he was going, but she was still displeased when her guess proved correct.
Amanda had never gone back to the pier where she been attacked by Charles Timmins. It brought up too many painful memories of the horrible feeling of being choked and dragged while Charles desperately figured out a way to kill her so that his secret, that he was a cold-blooded killer, would not be revealed. When James said that he wanted to meet her at the same place she’d struggled for her life she’d been shocked.
“What are you doing?” She tried to keep her voice even, although her heart threatened to burst through her chest. “James, I think I’ve hit my target heart rate enough in the last few weeks. I’d like to go home now.”
James parked the car in the gravel parking lot, and turned off the ignition.
“Okay,” he said. “I just have one request. Please hear me out for two minutes and if you want after that, I’ll drive you wherever you’d like to go. Is that okay?”
She eyed him warily. She could see the sincerity in his face, in whatever he was doing.
“Two minutes.”
He smiled gently. “Thank you, Amanda. I brought you here to celebrate, not to upset you.”
At the word ‘celebrate’ Amanda raised her eyebrows, but James continued. “Since the first day you came to Ravenwood Cove you’ve been a survivor, sometimes in business and sometimes literally. This is a place that shows your strength and your brains.” He gestured to the abandoned pier. “No matter what has happened to you, you’ve always tried to move forward. You’ve come so far, and you’ve made Ravenwood your home. I think you have a lot to be proud of.”
“James, it still hurts to see this place. Sometimes I have nightmares.”
“I know, and that’s exactly why I brought you here.” He turned and reached behind his seat, pulling out a bottle and two wine glasses. Amanda laughed when she saw the label on the bottle; it was only sparkling grape juice. At her inquisitive look, James knew exactly what she was thinking.
“What did you think this was, champagne?” He mockingly shook her finger at her as he handed her one of the glasses. “You know me better than to think I’d be drinking and driving.”
He opened the juice and expertly poured her a glass, clinking his wineglass on hers. His face turned serious.
“This is your hometown now, Amanda,” he said. “You need to chase away the ghosts and not be afraid of anything around here because you’re going to live in Ravenwood Cove for a long time. We are all here for you, and it’s time to look back with pride and look forward with hope.”
She took a small sip and smiled. “Did you practice that?”
He laughed in return. “You think I could come up with such a brilliant speech on the fly? No way.”
They drank their juice and looked out into the empty parking lot, the sound of waves coming through the closed windows. Amanda closed her eyes and felt more relaxed than she had in a long time.
“I’ll try,” she pr
omised, and James smiled.
“That’s all I ask.”
Chapter 27
Ravenwood Cove’s annual Harvest Festival was one of the high points of the year for the little beach town, and this time the unpredictable Oregon weather had actually cooperated. It had been dry and beautifully clear for the last four days, and a fat orange harvest moon shone like a huge lantern over the small carnival near the Grange Hall. The dark velvet sky was thick with brilliant stars and there was a hint of a warm breeze that seemed to bring out every person who lived within ten miles of the town.
The organizers and shop owners had used every bit of those dry days they could to set up the Festival. There was a lot to do, including preparing for judging the produce contest, getting the vendors’ booths set up, and decorating the Grange Hall for the dance that night. The carnival company had rolled in two days ahead of time, setting up a carousel and several fun houses for the kids, as well as an inflatable bouncy castle.
James and his family had lent their pair of beautiful Belgian draft horses and big flatbed trailer for the hayride, which looped through the small town and down through the woods by the beach, then circled around to start all over again by the Grange Hall. It had been a pleasure to meet James’ father, Donald, who once he found out who she was had brightened up and seemed overly eager to shake her hand.
Amanda made sure to walk through the entire carnival before it was actually open, ensuring it was ready for the influx of townspeople and tourists that had been talking nonstop about the festivities. The caramel apples and popcorn balls were all ready, and carnival rides and old-fashioned games waited for the crowds to arrive.
By the time the festival had officially started, there were already couples happily drifting into the Grange Hall, ready to dance. Amanda had worn a new dress, and it felt good to get out of her normal working clothes and dress up a bit. She felt kind of girly, and that was rare. Scanning the room she looked for Meg and Lisa and quickly spotted them by the refreshment table, setting out platters of cookies and filling the huge punch bowls with lemonade. Meg put out a glass canister next to the drinks, and Amanda already knew that the small sign taped to it would ask for donations for victims of domestic violence. There’d been some debate about what charity to choose to receive the money, but the committee had finally decided that after all the ugliness of having to deal with the death of Anderson Bowles, a good-sized contribution to a local women’s shelter was needed and very appropriate.
DUNE, DOCK, and a DEAD MAN: A Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mystery Page 12