Purrfect Poison

by Louise Lynn

Chapter 10

  “You rushed all the way over here just to find out where cyanide comes from?” Hazel’s mother said, blinking. She wore her fuzzy purple robe and stood at the front door.

  Hazel’s father hovered behind her, yawning. “Hazy, can I make you a cup of coffee? You look beat.”

  Hazel shook her head. “No time. Why weren’t you answering the phone?”

  “Oh, we turned off the cell phones to watch a movie and then fell asleep,” her father said and smiled sheepishly.

  Of course they did. Though, she couldn’t really blame them; she’d done the same thing on more than one occasion. “So, cyanide. Tell me everything you know about it.”

  “Isn’t that what the Internet is for, dear?” her mother asked.

  Hazel gave a disgruntled sigh. She never thought those words would come out of her mom’s lips. Ever. “I left Violet at the inn to do the Internet research since that’s her forte, and I came here to see what you knew. This is important.” As if that wasn’t entirely obvious before.

  Her mother rubbed her eyes. “All right, all right. Cyanide. Well, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, but it’s a plant-based poison. You can make it from apple or apricot seeds.”

  Apple or apricot seeds? Well, that didn’t tell her everything, but it was a start. “I don’t suppose you know how to make it, do you?” Hazel asked, not sure if she wanted the answer or not.

  Her father laughed, and her mother shook her head. “Of course not! All I know is that it comes from apple or apricot seeds. You’ll have to find out the rest yourself.”

  Hazel turned and went back to her truck. Well, she didn’t want to make cyanide, but knowing where it came from helped.

  It only took about ten minutes to get back to the inn, and as she did, Violet was sitting on the bench in front waiting for her. The girl popped up when she arrived, with too much energy for Hazel to fathom. Her own was running on empty. “It comes from apricot seeds, but I can’t find any specifics because I don’t want the FBI to think I’m a terrorist.”

  Hazel nodded her understanding. “Have you told your uncle about Candace Stratford?”

  Violet nodded. “Yeah, I think he just headed up there now, so if you want to join him you can,” she said, and her blue eyes sparkled.

  Hazel bit her bottom lip and headed inside. She heard the commotion in the hall before she climbed the final stair.

  Candace Stratford’s room was on the third floor, one floor down from the honeymoon suite, and the woman stood in front of her room, arms crossed, and wearing a pair of silky pajamas. “I’m pretty sure you need a warrant to look in here, but I’ll make your life easier,” she said and stepped out of the way. “You won’t find anything because I didn’t do it.”

  Sheriff Cross nodded. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and he and his deputies stepped inside.

  The fact that she was complying with the search did make her seem a less likely suspect.

  “If you break something, you’re going to pay for it,” Candace said, peering over their shoulders as they entered the room.

  Hazel hovered in the back and waited for a few of the deputies to leave.

  A quick glance in the room told her that it wasn’t particularly big, though it was finely decorated, like the rest of the inn. The style was all late Victorian elegance, and a bit too frilly for Hazel’s own modern taste. But she could appreciate it, nonetheless.

  Candace’s sharp gaze landed on Hazel. “Had a little word with your sheriff buddy, hmmm? You know, I told you I didn’t do it, and I’m telling the truth. But if you want someone with a bigger motive than me, try Pablo.”

  Hazel glanced up and down the hall. A few of the guests had popped their heads out of their rooms, but none of them were the groom. Still, Hazel stepped closer to the woman, and kept her voice a whisper. Spreading more rumors about potential suspects wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  “I know you said that, but marrying her and then killing her doesn’t make any sense.”

  Candace laughed. “Oh, is that what you think? Of course, marrying her made sense. How else would he have access to her money? They’re officially husband and wife now, but before today, that wasn’t true. Think about it. If he called off the wedding, he’d be throwing away hundreds of thousands of dollars. Now, he gets everything. Not to mention, haven’t you noticed how freely Monica was spending for this event? I can tell you right now; she didn’t make enough to cover it. And I don’t think she had a sudden windfall from a dead family member either,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  Hazel glanced at Violet, and the girl shrugged.

  Right. Money was a pretty strong motive, but that didn’t mean it was the motive in this case. But Candace did point something out—something Hazel hadn’t considered.

  “Pablo did give that wad of cash to Esther this morning for the second cake,” Violet said.

  Hazel nodded. “And you don’t know where the money came from?”

  Candace Stratford tilted her chin up. “Not from me. Unless she got a signing bonus from another station, and I don’t know about it.”

  Deputy Simmons stepped out of the room, and Hazel took that as her cue to enter.

  Sheriff Cross had Candace’s suitcase open on the bed and was carefully rifling through it. Hazel left him to it and stepped into the bathroom. It was a decent size, with a deep clawfoot tub that made Hazel’s aching feet hurt that much more. She’d love a tub like that, and the ability to take a nice long bath right about now, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  Anthony Ray hovered around the sheriff’s feet, apparently there for either moral support or his ability of finding things no one else could.

  A peek in the medicine cabinet didn’t reveal anything.

  Hazel walked over to the window in the bedroom and glanced out. The view was of the garden and not the lake, but it was still pretty enough. Although in the darkness she couldn’t see much.

  Anthony Ray butted his head against her leg, and she leaned down to pet him. “I know. It’s been a long day. I want to go to sleep too,” she said to her cat and scratched under his chin.

  He turned, his fluffy tail brushing the wastebasket and it teetered on its edge.

  Inside, a few of the crumpled papers fell, and Hazel glanced at them.

  She blinked several times to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Then she carefully reached a hand in and pulled out a half-eaten apricot.

  “Sheriff Cross, I think you need to see this.”

  “It’s an apricot,” he said and gave her a tired smile.

  Candace Stratford stepped into the room, hands on hips, and rolled her eyes. “Digging through my trash now? Can I go to bed? I’ve had a long day already, and this is ridiculous.”

  “Did you put this here?” Hazel asked and brandished the mushy apricot in her hand.

  There were several more at the bottom of the bin, all covered in papers. But that wasn’t the most incriminating part.

  Candace Stratford shrugged. “I usually snack on fruit at night. How do you think I keep my figure?”

  Anthony Ray stood on his hind feet to sniff the apricot, and then he batted it with a black paw.

  That was a good enough reason, but it didn’t explain the incriminating bit. “Okay, but what happened to the seeds?”

  Chapter 11

  “Seeds? What on earth are you talking about?” Candace Stratford said and stalked into the room. She glanced into the wastebasket and raised one of her perfectly sculpted brows. “I can assure you that I threw those apricots away as they were—pits and all.”

  Hazel furrowed her brow, and Anthony Ray yawned. Sure, he may have helped her find a clue, but that didn’t mean it was interesting to him now. Just a boring old partial apricot.

  “The seeds? Am I missing something?” Sheriff Cross said, joining them near the wastebasket.

  “Apricot seeds are a primary source of cyanide, Uncle Colton,” Violet announced from the doorway. Haze
l wasn’t sure the grin on the girl’s face was warranted, but she kept that to herself.

  “Cyanide?” Candace Stratford said. “Wait, is that what killed Monica?”

  Sheriff Cross shook his head. “We haven’t gotten the results back from the lab yet. And we won’t until sometime tomorrow.” He gave Hazel a look she wasn’t sure she could read.

  “He’s right. We haven’t received the official results of the poison yet.” She decided not to mention that her mom thought it was cyanide, because most of the things her mom thought were ridiculous and involved ghosts or the cleansing power of sage, neither of which Hazel believed in.

  “And if there’s no official ruling, why do you think it’s cyanide?” Candace said, fixing Hazel with an intent stare.

  Hazel returned it as best she could. “Well, Monica’s symptoms were typical of cyanide poisoning. Beyond that, nothing, if I’m being completely honest.”

  The woman nodded. “If I were in a position to do so, I’d hire you to solve this case,” she said and threw a seething glance at Sheriff Cross.

  Hazel shook her head. “I’m not a private detective. In fact, I work unofficially with the sheriff. It’s how we do things around here.” She hoped that didn’t make them sound hopelessly rural.

  “I think the sheriff needs you more than you need him,” Candace Stratford said and pulled her silky robe tight around her slender middle. “Are you finished rifling through my underwear, or are you going to continue? I’d really like to get my beauty sleep.”

  The sheriff nodded, though he did bag the remaining apricot pits and the rest of the refuse from the wastebasket.

  After they headed out and Candace Stratford had shut and locked her door, Hazel turned to Sheriff Cross. “I’m sure she didn’t mean any of that about you needing me more than I need you. I mean, you’re the sheriff.”

  Colton smiled. “Oh, I’m sure she did mean it. Don’t worry; her assessment didn’t threaten my manliness. She might be right.”

  “I’ve always thought so. No offense, Uncle Colton,” Violet said, giving her uncle a cheeky grin.

  Hazel shook her head. She wasn’t going to get in the middle of another one of their arguments. Ever again. “I prefer to think we all have different strengths and weaknesses, so it has nothing to do with who needs anybody else more.”

  “That’s a very grown-up way of looking at it,” Colton said with a wider smile this time.

  “Well, I am grown up.”

  A dangerous sparkle glinted in Colton’s eyes. “True, but I do wonder how you would eat without me or your sister around.”

  Hazel shook her head. “There are such things as frozen pizza, cereal, and take out,” Hazel reminded him.

  Violet let out a snort of laughter. “Okay, he does have you there. Not that I mind any of those options.”

  Sheriff Cross cast a loving glance at his niece and pulled her into a quick sideways hug. “Why did you think it was cyanide?”

  Hazel worried her bottom lip and sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to dismiss it out of hand. My mom thought it was cyanide. She’s into plant remedies, and I guess poisons are an offshoot of that. I told her the symptoms, and that’s what she assumed. She could be wrong,” Hazel admitted.

  Sheriff Cross nodded slowly.

  “It seems plausible,” Violet said and glanced up at her uncle. “I did some research, and the symptoms are exactly like cyanide poisoning. According to a member of the staff, they had a whole bushel of apricots here yesterday for the apricot tarts they made for high tea.”

  Hazel had no idea when Violet had talked to a member of the staff, but she wasn’t going to complain. It showed the girl had a great deal of motivation, which was always a good thing.

  Not to mention Violet’s mood had much improved from the month before when she’d been working at the local Shakespeare Festival. Working with Esther may have had something to do with it. Or maybe it being summer break helped.

  “Okay, if you guys are both so sure, I’ll put it tentatively as cyanide poisoning. I sent one of my deputies with a sample down to Reno to get a proper toxicology report as fast as possible, but it’s not coming back until tomorrow.”

  Hazel had assumed as much.

  Sheriff Cross rubbed his jaw and glanced at his watch. From the sting behind Hazel’s eyes, she knew it was getting close to midnight, and they hadn’t even narrowed it down to fewer than three suspects. Though, she wasn’t sure if Candace was officially a suspect anymore or not. Hazel wasn’t about to cross her off the list yet.

  “I think I should talk to this member of the kitchen staff about the bushel of apricots. What do you have planned?” he said to Hazel.

  “Ms. Stratford gave me some good information about Pablo. So, I think I should talk to him. Apparently, there was some premarital strife. Did he say anything to your deputies about it?”

  Sheriff Cross shook his head. “Nobody got much out of him besides a blank stare and tears. Which, for a guy who just lost his wife, isn’t uncommon. What did she say?” he asked and whipped out his notepad.

  Hazel explained that the contract negotiations were going poorly between Monica and the station while Pablo had signed on for another five years. Not to mention the sudden influx of cash Monica had—and that Pablo may know about it.

  Sheriff Cross raised a brow. “That is interesting. And not something he mentioned. You want to talk to him about this?”

  Hazel nodded and smiled. It was a far cry from when he didn’t think she could handle anything, and she liked how far they’d come in just a few short months.

  From enemies to a couple.

  So, with a quick kiss goodbye, Hazel and Colton parted ways.

  Hazel realized after the sheriff disappeared down the stairs that she had no idea where Pablo Santos was.

  Chapter 12

  If she were a groom whose new wife had been poisoned at the wedding, where would she be?

  That line of thinking didn’t help. The inn wasn’t large, but the grounds surrounding it were. And she decided instead of traipsing through them in the dark, she’d go straight to the honeymoon suite and see if Pablo had retired for the evening. Though, if she were him, she wasn’t sure she could stand to sleep in that room. She probably would have gone to crash with her parents, the way Esther had done after her husband died.

  The guests who had been lingering in the hall while the sheriff and deputies went through Candace Stratford’s room had returned to their own. The inn had a heavy, empty quality now.

  Her feet sunk into the cushy carpet as she headed up the last flight of stairs. The honeymoon suite was alone on that floor, and she realized as she neared the door that it took up an entire corner of the floor itself. There was a single turret on the Victorian mansion, and she guessed that it belonged to this suite.

  She lifted her hand to knock at the door, and was surprised when she heard a few voices within. They were muffled, so she couldn’t understand what they said.

  Still, she knocked.

  “Pablo? It’s the photographer. I–” Well, she’d charged up there without a proper idea of what to say once she’d arrived. Good job, she told herself.

  There was silence on the other side of the door, and some rustling, and then, it creaked open.

  Pablo blinked at her, his eyes bloodshot and his cheeks puffy from crying, Hazel realized. “Right. The photographer. Come in. Stan here was just talking to me about Monica and–” Pablo said, and his voice trailed off into a croaked sob.

  Hazel glanced at Stan and his unassuming, boyishly cute face. “Hey, I was just trying to console him. We’re old buddies,” he said and nudged Pablo’s shoulder on the way out. “Remember, if you need anything, I’m downstairs. And think about what I said. We can still do the Maldives, buddy.”

  Pablo nodded, and swallowed as his friend departed.

  The Maldives? Was that their honeymoon destination? She didn’t think it was the time to ask.

 
Hazel also didn’t need to ask if they’d been drinking. The two empty champagne bottles on the bed were more than enough proof. Not to mention the smell on Pablo’s breath. Though, he didn’t look quite drunk. Maybe decently buzzed though.

  “I know what you came to ask,” Pablo said with a heavy sigh and slouched onto the bed.

  There were only a few lamps lit, and they cast a dim secretive sort of light. The honeymoon suite was beautifully decorated in white, pink, and blue—all much too bright for this occasion. The furniture was white as well, with a large fourposter canopy bed in the center of the room. From the rounded walls, Hazel could tell this was the turret—like she’d suspected—and the windows no doubt gave the lucky guests a perfect view of Lake Celeste below. She doubted Pablo would be enjoying it now, however.

  “You do?” Hazel said and hovered near the door.

  Pablo nodded. “I mean, I’ll still pay for the pictures you took. I’m not going to skimp on your bill, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know you did your job, and it’s not your fault that Monica—that my wife–” He didn’t quite finish that sentence before it dissolved into a series of dry sobs.

  Hazel cast a quick glance around the room for some tissues, and noticed a half-empty box on the dresser. Next to it sat a red box labeled with bright yellow letters that read: hazardous material.

  Were Monica’s insulin shots disposed of in that?

  A sudden thought struck her. The poison was injected with a needle, as was insulin. That could mean something, especially when the groom had free access to plenty of needles.

  She carefully picked up the tissues and handed it to Pablo. Then patted him gently on the back. But, if he was this torn up over Monica’s death, could he realistically have been the one to cause it? Well, she couldn’t jump to conclusions without asking questions, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.

  “Actually, I wasn’t here about the money. I’m trying to clear my sister’s name. Monica’s family seems to think Esther had something to do with this since she was supposed to have been the one to make the cake, but–”