by Nancy Bush
“She takes medicine. She’ll die before the end of the year.”
Her way of being was a little disconcerting, but September had to go with it. “What about you? What will you do, after the property’s sold? Where will you go?”
“Jerome showed me a good place to be in Glenn River. An apartment on the first floor. If Duke is still alive, he can come, too. I’ll sell the goats. We had two horses, but they were sold when Dad died.”
“This is your idea to move? Not Jerome’s?”
“Yes . . . we made it together.”
“He’s a good friend to you.”
“I love him,” she said simply. “He always is nice. Not like those other ones.”
“Other ones?”
“Lyle Crissman is not nice. He told my father I killed my little brother, but I didn’t. He just died. I’m not to blame for that.”
Mud and leaves were sticking to September’s boots and a frigid plop of rain sneaked down her neck, sending a shiver along her spine. “Are you to blame for something else?” she asked carefully.
“John Linfield’s death is not my fault.”
“Whose fault is it?”
Brianne stopped short beneath the bows of a giant oak. September could see why she called it the “big oak” by virtue of its size. It was one of the few trees besides Douglas firs that grew on the Kilgore property. Brianne glanced down at the ground, where several groupings of little whitish caps glistened in the rain. September regarded the innocuous-looking mushroom tops, thought of John Linfield heaving and flushed, and fought a full-body shiver.
“They are symbiotic. The big oak is helped by them and they get nourishment in return. They make a trade.”
September pulled her eyes from the gleaming caps and looked around the base of the tree. The ground had been tramped over. There were mushroom stalks without caps. “Someone’s been here.”
“I have,” Brianne admitted. “I saw him throw up. I cleaned it up, but I knew what it was from. The angel of death. I came out to see if someone had been to my tree.”
“Had they?” September asked, fascinated.
She thought about it for a long moment. “I don’t know for sure.”
“But you think, maybe?”
“If you had pieces of the mushroom you could check the DNA,” she said reasonably. “Plants and animals have specific DNA.”
“Makes sense. But we don’t have any pieces. We just have a tox screen that shows the poison. A printout of the chemistry that—”
“I know what a tox screen is.”
“Okay.”
They were silent for a moment, then Brianne turned back the way they’d come. Night was falling as they approached the house again. September asked her again if she had any idea who might have picked mushrooms from the big oak, but Brianne had stopped answering her. She then tried a few more questions about Jerome Wolfe, searching for a connection, but Brianne wasn’t interested in hearing anything remotely negative about the man she loved either.
“Do you think you’ll still see Jerome after the sale?” September questioned as they stood outside the front door.
“Of course. He gave a lot of money to the shelter. He loves me back. I don’t listen to my cousin or my mother anymore.”
“Your family’s probably just looking out for your best interests.”
“They both thought Lyle Crissman was a nice man. I let him have sex with me, but he told my father I killed my little brother and I didn’t.”
September gazed into her wide blue eyes. Not a shred of makeup and she was very attractive. “You had sex with Lyle Crissman?”
“Four times. He used protection.”
Her candor was breathtaking. “Recently?”
“When we were in school. He was nice then. Before he told my father I killed my brother.”
“Do you have any idea who might have killed John Linfield?” she asked again.
“I think it was a mistake.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He shouldn’t have died,” Brianne said simply.
September glanced at the door, hoping Mona was still in the back room and not huddled with an ear to the door. “Did you use the mushrooms that killed John Linfield?”
“I would have killed Lyle. He told my father I killed my brother and it wasn’t true. I don’t think people like him. That’s what I think.”
“Did you make that call to the sheriff?” September asked, half fearful, half certain she was getting to the truth.
“I knew it was Amanita ocreata. I knew it was the angel of death. That’s what I knew. Good-bye, September Westerly.”
She turned abruptly for the door.
PART FOUR
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kate sat at her desk, struggling to listen to April, who was gritting out a list of grievances against the school’s parent organization, one family in particular, who’d had the gall to point out ways April herself could run the school better.
“They should pay attention to their own jobs. And, of course, they’re the ones who are always late paying,” she complained.
Pinning on a commiserating smile, Kate looked over at her. Since following Lauren Paulsen almost a week ago, she’d lived in a dull box of indecision. She’d planned to confront Lyle, who’d done just as she’d suspected that day, beating her home and going upstairs to closet himself in his room. Evie had still been at the house, so Kate had let the moment go, instead driving Evie back to Lucy’s—who’d looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, though she’d said she had a meeting—and gone home to put together a meal of sorts, leftover chicken and rice that no one had eaten. Lyle hadn’t even come downstairs.
Twice during the past week she’d had a brief opportunity alone with Lyle after Daphne had gone to sleep, but both times her husband had left the room when she’d tried to broach any kind of conversation. She was so mad at him, felt so betrayed, that she didn’t care if he was having a breakdown of some kind—which was sure what it seemed like—and so the problem had just lain in her consciousness, a dead weight that suffocated everything else.
But she was going to confront him soon. She couldn’t live this way. Whatever he was hiding, she needed to know about it.
She collected Daphne at the end of the school day and headed out. Lucy was picking up Evie, and they waved at each other in the parking lot, neither of them offering much more than a lifted hand. Lyle had mentioned that Lucy wasn’t coming to work anymore, which was annoying. How did Lucy think she was going to pay her bills? Was she expecting some huge life insurance payoff?
That thought sent Kate digging through Lyle’s and her own personal finances as soon as she and Daphne got back to the house. How much insurance was there on Lyle? They had life insurance, didn’t they? Her heart clutched as she dug frantically through the file cabinet, which was part of Lyle’s desk. Oh, yes. There it was. Three hundred thousand? What? That wouldn’t even pay off their mortgage!
But the business . . . Crissman & Wolfe . . . no, Crissman now, was under Abbott’s control and he was leaving it to Lyle. He maybe had some other minor assets to share with Layla and Lucy, but Lyle was his son and main heir.
She closed the file drawer, thinking. There were money problems at Crissman . . . something going on there that Lyle wasn’t talking about. And what had he done with her necklace? She’d asked about it, but he’d just mumbled that it was being fixed, all the information he would give her.
And what about Lauren Paulsen and the pink scarf?
Daphne yelled from her room, “Are we getting me that new Easter dress today?”
Kate had promised. Now she wished she hadn’t said anything. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Are we going to Stonehenge right after church on Easter?”
Irritated, Kate yelled back, “No. If we go to Stonehenge”—Jesus, Wolfe Lodge, Kate—“it’ll be before that. School’s out the week before Easter.”
“If?”
“I told you, I don’t k
now if we’re going yet! I don’t think we are!” What the hell was the big deal with Wolfe Lodge anyway?
Silence.
Well, fine. Kate was sick of hearing about it. There were so many more things to worry about. She headed downstairs and saw Maddy flopped over on the couch. The doll was currently wearing costume jewelry, a necklace of green stones folded over several times around her neck and a matching bracelet elastic-wrapped twice around her arm. For some reason, Kate was filled with incredible rage. She snatched up the doll, intending to throw it against the wall, then was shocked at herself. With an effort, she counted backward from ten, carefully seating Maddy upright on the couch.
Get a grip. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool or her perspective. She couldn’t let Lyle’s cheating ways ruin her life. She determined right then and there that she had to confront Lyle about Lauren Paulsen soon. Today. Tonight.
The rest of the day, Kate watched the clock, and when Lyle came home from work she was flipping pancakes in the kitchen with Daphne seated at the kitchen bar, working on her math homework. As soon as Lyle walked in, Daphne slid off her stool and ran to give him a big hug, shrieking, “Daddy!” Kate looked over at her daughter, wondering what was up because Daphne mostly ignored Lyle these days. Her first thought was, she never does that; her second, the little suck-up. Daphne wanted to go to Wolfe Lodge for Easter and she was using her wiles on Lyle to that end. Kate was almost proud of her.
But Lyle just smiled kind of sickly and said, “I’m going upstairs.”
“We’re having breakfast dinner!” Daphne exclaimed, clearly disappointed that he didn’t see this for the treat it was.
“You’re coming back down for dinner,” Kate said.
“I ate late. I’m good.”
And he disappeared.
Daphne stared after him. “What’s wrong?”
“Sometimes dads have bad days,” she said through her teeth, serving up the pancakes. She plopped down a bottle of maple syrup and slid a bowl of grapes, pineapple chunks, and slices of banana Daphne’s way. Then she walked over to the television and clicked the remote till she found the Disney Channel.
“I can watch TV while I’m doing my homework?” Daphne asked in surprise.
“To your little heart’s desire. I just need some time to talk to your dad.”
“He’s not my real dad, you know,” she said tentatively, afraid her privilege might be taken away if she made waves.
“I’m aware,” Kate said grimly.
She marched up the stairs and caught Lyle in their bedroom in his boxers. Her husband looked over at her in surprise, as if she’d violated his space somehow. A dark cloud crossed his face, but Kate was through with tiptoeing around.
“Who the fuck is Lauren Paulsen?” she demanded.
Lyle reared back as if she’d slapped him, then the color drained from his face. His lips moved like he was working up excuses, but his brain didn’t seem to be coming up with anything.
They stared at each other for long seconds. Kate could hear her blood pounding in her ears and her chest was rising and falling rapidly with emotion. When he just stood there, she said, “What are you giving her?”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” she said stonily.
“It’s not. I can’t . . .”
“Lyle, damn it, tell me what you’re doing or I’ll go to Abbott. I’ve seen the packages you hand her. What are they? Tell me, or I’ll go to your father. So help me God, I will.”
His mouth slackened, and he looked so miserable she almost went to him, but she was too furious, too hurt.
When he answered her, she was frozen in place by his reply. “Dad already knows . . .”
* * *
Jake drove September back to their home after a trip to a local steak house where they’d both ordered fish—salmon for her, halibut for him—and she’d let him talk about his work while she remained silent, working her way through her meal, barely tasting it, her mind running in the same hamster wheel it had ever since she’d gone to Wharton County.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked now as he hit the garage door and parked his car next to hers.
This was the same question he’d asked her all week, and she gave him the same answer, a shrug of her shoulders and, “It’s Dallas Denton’s move.”
She’d told Dallas what she’d learned, which wasn’t all that much, although Brianne Kilgore had flirted with both the fact that she might have an idea who’d used the mushrooms and that she didn’t seem to think the poison was meant for John Linfield. September had also told Denton that Brianne was in love with Jerome Wolfe, or at least idolized him, and that she had no use for Lyle Crissman after a sexual relationship with him. So far, she hadn’t mentioned that Lyle would have been Brianne’s own target should she have been overcome with the urge to poison someone. September was still thinking that over.
To date, the Laurelton Police hadn’t interviewed Lucy again, so they were all kind of waiting to see what the next move would be. Since reporting to Denton, September had been sitting on her hands. Not that she was employed by him . . . not that she was employed by anyone, for that matter ... she was on the team by her own volition. But unlike working for the police, where there was generally some other case to go over while she waited for developments on the current one, she was, for the moment, basically stymied.
My work here is done....
Even though he was a short-timer, she’d phoned Wes and told him about her interviews with Deputy Morant and the couple at StopGo. He’d been upfront with her about the investigation; she felt she owed him the same. After her report, she’d also admitted, “I don’t believe I was clear with them about my current status with the police.”
“Ah,” was his response, a smile lurking in his voice.
She hadn’t told him about her trip to the Kilgores, and she felt a little guilty about that, but it hadn’t been part of the original information he’d passed along about the case, so she let their discussion move to the topic of his decision to leave Laurelton PD. “I’d been toying with the idea, and when I heard D’Annibal was leaving, I just said okay, time to go,” he said.
“What happened with D’Annibal? Do you know?”
“Rumors. He had twenty years in and was flirting with a change. Calvetti pushed for the job and got it.”
They talked for a while more, September feeling a weight on her chest. She’d had a thing for Wes when she was first on the job at Laurelton PD, a hidden crush that never saw the light of day but had evolved into a great friendship. The fact that he wasn’t going to be at the station, on the chance that she might get back there herself, made her feel low.
The only good thing was that Wes didn’t think there appeared to be a serious case against Lucy at this time, and he agreed with the assumption that Gretchen would undoubtedly be picking up the caseload he left behind. No one could count on George.
Now, as she and Jake entered their house, her thoughts skimmed back to her trip to Wharton County. “I just feel like I was lied to somewhere in there. Or maybe not exactly lied to but misled.”
“By Brianne Kilgore?” Jake asked. He was the one person she’d told the extent of what she’d learned and the impressions she’d had.
“No, she was pretty clear, in her way.”
“Who, then? Her mother? The deputy? The people at the convenience store?”
That tickled September’s brain. Barry and Rhonda . . . neither had said anything to her, but Rhonda had been so grim and somehow locking down on Barry.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m going to think on it.”
* * *
“What does Abbott know?” Kate demanded for about the fifth time. Lyle had turned away from her and gone silent, as if giving her his back would somehow render her unable to communicate with him.
“I don’t want to talk about this now,” he finally said. He then lurched into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
Kate moved immediately to
the door, slapping her palm against the panels until it stung. “What does he know, Lyle? What did you do? What are you giving that woman in those packs you’re slipping into her bag?”
“You’ve been following me!” he accused, his voice muffled.
“Of course I’ve been following you. You deserved to be followed.” She rattled the bathroom doorknob. “Open the door, Lyle.”
“Leave me alone.”
Now that Lyle had recovered a bit from the shock of her accusation, he was trying to weasel out of the whole thing. She recognized the tactic. He was a master at it. But she was through playing that game.
“I’ll take this door down with my bare hands if you don’t open it,” she ground out. “I mean it. I will. I will break it down!
She waited. Nothing.
She saw red. Distantly marveled that she actually did see red. Everything in her vision was bright, blood red.
Was he just standing frozen behind the door like the chickenshit he was?
She glanced around the room, searching for a weapon. All she could come up with were the lamps. Solid brass. Heavy.
She crossed the room and yanked the one on his side of the bed out of the wall. Thought about it. Unscrewed the finial. Removed the shade. Then she hefted it in her hand several times, testing its weight. Back across the room to the bathroom door, she brought it up to her shoulder in a baseball stance.
“Hey, batta, batta,” she whispered and swung—
Crash. The door panel splintered. She could see Lyle’s shocked face in the small gap she’d opened and swung again.
Crash! The whole center panel broke open.
“Fuck, Kate! What the fuck?” he shrieked.
She reached through and unlocked the door from his side, then yanked it open.
She stood in the open doorway, shaking with fury and adrenaline.
His eyes strayed to the lamp she still held in her right hand. She said evenly, “You tell me right now or I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You’re out of your mind.” He took a step back, bumping up against the counter.
“I am,” she agreed.
“Mommy!” A scream from down the hall.