by Leslie Leigh
“If you mean for sale, I have one type of it—but only in homeopathic form,” she said.
“What does that mean? Homeopathic form?”
“It means it’s in infinitesimal amounts in sugar pills.”
“Show me,” he demanded.
Melissa took him back to the rack of homeopathic remedy vials. She pulled out a vial of belladonna.
“I carry this in 30c and 30x strengths. Although belladonna itself contains scopolamine, once it is prepared homeopathically, no poisonous elements remain.”
“Why would somebody take it?”
“I would give this to someone if they were having nightmares that kept them awake at night or severe stomach cramps, but it’s most commonly used to treat a baby for colic.”
“So, this couldn’t kill anybody?”
“No.”
“Could it cause them to have hallucinations?”
“No. It would take a different form of scopolamine to do that.”
“Like what?”
“Well, it would have to be pretty strong, so I’d say it would have to be raw nightshade or a belladonna tincture.”
“And what does that mean?”
“A tincture is when you take the plant itself and dilute it for use in herbal formulas.”
“There’s a belladonna plant?”
“You may have heard of it as nightshade or deadly nightshade.”
“When you said you didn’t have it for sale, does that mean you have it not-for-sale?”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to alleviate her quickly growing discomfort.
“I do keep some in tincture form. Why?”
“So, do you keep this stuff where anybody can get to it?”
“I keep a bottle here. I make my own, so I always have the tincture at home as well.”
“You make your own?”
“Yes, I actually grow the plant in my garden.”
“Why?”
“Although it’s poisonous, what can kill you can also cure you. I use it in my practice.”
“Oh, your witch-medicine practice.”
She ignored the remark.
“Who has access to those bottles?”
“No one but me. It’s kept in a locked cabinet.”
“Can I see the bottle?”
“Uh, sure,” Melissa said, walking with him back toward the small cubby they had erected for her office. The cabinet was on the wall next to the desk. She took the key out of her pocket and unlocked it, showing him which bottle it was.
He took the bottle, looked at it, and handed it back to her. “Doesn’t look like there’s been much used out of it.”
“Only a few drops,” she said, “certainly not enough to cause the kind of hallucinations that could drive James to jump out of a second story window.”
“Anywhere, anywhere at all that it could have been obtained locally?”
“Sheriff, nightshade grows prolifically around here, but not all are deadly. That means that someone would have to have the knowledge of how to identify the right kind, harvest it, prepare it, titrate and bottle it.”
“Someone like….”
“Someone like me,” Flora’s voice piped up. Melissa’s assistant had just come through the back door and heard the conversation.
“Are you confessing, Flora?” the sheriff asked.
“To what?”
Melissa turned to her. “Apparently, Jim James had a lot of scopolamine in his system when he died.”
“Psh,” she said. “You forget one thing, Sheriff. No one here has any motive to kill Jim James.”
The Sheriff thought for a minute. “Can I see the bottle you have at home, Melissa?” he asked.
“Do you have a warrant?”
The Sheriff’s eyes grew large. “Why would I need a warrant? You would only invoke a warrant if you had something to hide.”
“What good is it going to do to look at that bottle?” she asked. “It looks like the one I just showed you. Even if it’s half empty, it doesn’t tell you anything.”
Flora spoke up, “Sheriff, you need to find the motive first then get the warrant.”
“I don’t need advice from you two on how to do my job. Who do you think has the motive?” he asked.
“I thought you didn’t need us to do your job,” Flora taunted. “But since you’re asking, George Hall, maybe. It’s no crime to be a masochistic artist, but it is a crime to want to deface said art.”
The sheriff looked askance. “I can see how he might have the motive, and maybe even the mode, but how would he have the means to poison him? It’s not like they were buddies.”
“That’s what an investigation is all about, isn’t it?” Flora said.
“Well, then, I guess I still have my work cut out for me. You ladies have a good afternoon,” he said, turning on his heel.
Melissa shook her head. “He always has to make the witch-medicine comment.”
“What was the old buzzard up to?” Flora asked.
“He brought me the coroner’s report to interpret the bit about the scopolamine for him.”
“You know,” Melissa said, “they must not have found the offending bottle,” Melissa said. “Maybe that’s why he wanted to see mine, to know what he was looking for. Surely they would have conducted a search of the premises. If he was flying around that morning before he jumped, he would have had to have taken it not much earlier. The bottle has to be right there.”
“Unless Kimmie put it in her purse.”
Melissa just looked at her, musing. “Surely they wouldn’t have let her out of there without searching her purse.”
“Why? At that moment they weren’t looking for an instrument of death.”
Chapter 3
Melissa wondered whether the sheriff had any leads at all. She barely knew James and Kimmie, so she didn’t have any grounds under which she could get involved, except for the belladonna, and that wasn’t much of a reason…yet.
One bizarre possibility was that James took the nightshade himself and was using it has a hallucinogen. She would like to talk to Kimmie, but she barely knew the girl.
She would call her private investigator friend, Brian, to see if he had any ideas. He was supposed to come down from Tucson for the weekend anyway, but it was only Tuesday. Detective Brian Byrne had been hired by the town’s doctor, Dr. Mercer, to help investigate Catalonia’s last murder, and they had become good friends.
Despite the sheriff’s gruff exterior, she knew she had elevated her status with his department at least a little when she had solved the last murder for them. Perhaps all his questions were designed to let her in on the details he knew so far. She was still blown away by the fact that he let her see the coroner’s report. Even if it had been her request, he likely didn’t know that.
That evening was pleasant, as she walked home from the store. The late autumn sun still warmed the street, but she was grateful that the evening would be cool. She would rather light a fire in her fireplace and cover up than to try to keep cool in the Arizona heat.
She walked to the west, and the gathering sunset was melting rose and deep violet with golden streaks. If there was one thing she never got tired of, it was the desert sunsets.
She was happy to see her cozy little cottage in the fading sunlight. The contrasting pink light along with shadows from nearby cottonwoods made it look like a photo from a by-gone era.
As she approached the cottage, she saw Sweet Pea sitting in the window waiting for her. As she opened the door, she was immediately greeted by a mewing, mildly affronted Sweet Pea. Melissa had known she was in trouble when she looked at the clock and saw that it was more than an hour past the time Sweet Pea was accustomed to being fed.
She talked soothingly to her while she got her wet food out of the refrigerator and gave her the dollop Sweet Pea so highly prized. Sweet Pea set to, hungrily.
Melissa sat down at her desk, opening her laptop, and Sweet Pea jumped up beside her and began licking her paws. Appa
rently, all was forgiven.
She picked up her phone, but it rang before she could press a button. The display showed that it was Brian.
“Hey!” she said. “I was just about to call you.”
“No doubt,” he said. “I just sat down to my computer for the first time since the weekend and saw that Catalonia had a little excitement while I was away.”
“Why for the first time since the weekend? I thought the computer was the private investigator’s best friend.”
“Unfortunately, I was out of town for the funeral of an old friend.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss, Brian.”
“It was kind of a shock. I guess the guy had pancreatic cancer but had never even gone to the doctor, so nobody knew it.”
Melissa wished she had met the man; she likely would have known he was suffering. “Was he a hermit or something?”
“Yes, he lived alone and worked from home.”
“Sad.”
“Apparently his father died of it, too—so maybe he knew what it was.”
“Some people don’t want the heroic measures or to prolong the inevitable.”
“I had the impression that was it.”
“Unlike our young man.”
“Yes, tell me about your young man who threw himself out a window.”
“Did the account you read say anything about the cause of death?”
“Just that it was most likely going to be considered a suicide.”
“A few extra details have presented themselves. He had a high amount of scopolamine in his system.”
“Scopolamine? As in…”
“Could have been henbane, but more likely belladonna.”
“So what does that do to somebody?”
“It would certainly cause them to hallucinate. A lethal dose would have put him in a coma, but it didn’t get that far. It would have dilated his eyes and likely raised his blood pressure really high—which could have caused a stroke. Of course, the dilated eyes don’t show up after death, and the coroner’s report didn’t say anything about a stroke.”
“Who do they have for suspects?”
“Me again, apparently.”
“What?”
“Just kidding. I think the sheriff feels he has to maintain a certain image, so he always has to make these intimations about my ‘witch-medicine.’”
“Well, it is kind of, isn’t it?”
“My practice?” Melissa asked somewhat incredulous.
“No, the henbane and belladonna.”
“Oh.”
“So, who are the suspects, then?” he asked.
“That he didn’t say. In fact, he asked me who I thought would have a motive.”
“And you said…?”
“I didn’t say anything. Flora piped up and said that was what an investigation was for.”
“Ha! Good for Flora.”
“Which brings me to the reason why I was calling you. I don’t have any real reason to talk to any of these people, the next of kin, or anyone unless I just go snooping around the neighborhood. I don’t really know the fiancée. She was a customer but not a regular.”
“So, you want ideas on how to make up an excuse to go see her?”
Melissa blushed. “You’re actually going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
Brian laughed.
“Can I hire you to help me investigate this?”
“No way.”
She was startled at the quick response.
“No way can you hire me. I’ll do it pro bono.”
Relieved that he wasn’t saying no to her request for help but concerned that he wouldn’t take anything for it, she asked, “How about if I at least pay your expenses?”
“No. I’m glad to do this for you, Melissa, and I’m glad to have the chance to spend a few days in Catalonia instead of just the weekend.”
“How soon can you come, then? I feel better having you at my side when I go snooping,” she said and laughed. “Makes it look more official.”
He chuckled. “Tomorrow? Well, that is if I can get a reservation at that little B&B that quickly.”
“If you can’t, there are several others.”
“Sounds good, then. I’ll see you late morning.”
Melissa was about to disconnect when he said, “One more thing. Save me a Chelsea bun.”
“Will do,” Melissa said and laughed, as she ended the call.
Brian mentioning the Chelsea buns reminded her she had to get up early tomorrow to bake, so she decided to turn in shortly. She took a few minutes to straighten the place, glad that she had vacuumed on Sunday. She was excited; Brian would soon be here. She loved his auburn-haired, Kennedy-esque good looks, the intelligent conversation, and—why not—the fact that he seemed taken by her, as well. Working with him again would be fun.
# # #
The Chelsea bun crowd had come and gone by the time Brian arrived from Tucson. Flora brought him a cup of Italian roast coffee and the bun that Melissa had put back for him.
“Why thank you, Flora. Solved any mysteries lately?” he said, alluding to the fact that a discovery of Flora’s had helped solve the last murder case.
“Just the one about why the sheriff is so grumpy,” she said.
“Really? Why?”
“His wife was in here this morning asking for psyllium husk in bulk,” she said and laughed.
“Well,” Brian said with a smirk, “that ought to make a real regular guy out of him.”
“You two,” Melissa said, shaking her head.
Melissa got herself a cup of coffee and sat down at a corner table with Brian.
“Any further thoughts about the henbane this morning? What is henbane anyway?” he asked. “I said it because it always sounds dark and mysterious, like nightshade.”
“It’s a poisonous plant, too, used to effect many a murder. Hamlet’s father was murdered by a henbane solution poured in his ear.”
“In his ear?”
“Yep,” she said, then affecting a dramatic tone quoted Shakespeare,
‘With juice of cursed [henbane] in a vial,
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leprous distilment.’”
“The porches of his ears?”
“Yep.”
Everybody laughed.
“So, why did they perform an autopsy in the first place? The newspaper said he jumped and death followed from the injuries sustained in the fall.”
“I’m the one who requested the autopsy, or, well, I had Dr. Mercer request it.”
“You? Why?”
Oh,” she said, embarrassed now. “I figured it out in a dream.”
“Wow! You’re just a fountain of information. So you have dreams?”
“Yes, don’t you?”
“Well, sure.”
“And don’t your dreams sometimes lead you to figure out a case?”
“Not before I have the facts. My brain just connects the dots. It doesn’t pluck them out of the air.”
She blushed.
“So tell me, don’t keep me waiting,” he said.
She just shrugged. “In the dream, I was handed a jar that said ‘Flying Ointment’ on it. I asked what was in it and was told henbane, hemlock, and belladonna.”
“Whoa. So maybe my subconscious does pluck things out of the air. Didn’t I ask you yesterday about henbane?”
She nodded.
“And what was the other one? Hemlock?”
“Also a poison.”
“I know that, but why would that have been part of the dream? Did the coroner’s report say anything about that?”
“No, but to me hemlock always represents death.”
“That makes sense. So, you put this all together and thought it may have something to do with James?”
“I only suspected, but it felt urgent, so I asked Dr. Mercer, and he stopped the cremation and ordered an expedited autopsy.”
The door swung open, and Dale, her gardener’s helper shuff
led in, looking at the floor.
“Dale! I haven’t seen you for a few days. Where’ve you been?”
“Aw, Miss Melissa. I wasn’t feelin’ too good, so I just stayed home.”
“What’s wrong?”
Dale shrugged, still not looking up. Dale had been born a bit slow, but he was a sweet man and good help for her gardener and produce manager, Carl.
“That’s why I’m here, Dale. To help you feel better if you need it. What’s going on?”
He stopped halfway across the floor, but he looked away from them out the window.
“Dale,” Melissa said. “It’s not like you not to look at me when I talk to you. What’s up?”
He turned his face to look at her, hesitantly, and they saw that he was sporting a huge contusion on his face which had now gone to yellow and green.
“Dale!” Melissa said, jumping up. “Did you have an accident?”
Dale just looked back at the floor. “I got in a fight, Miss Melissa.”
“A fight? Who would pick a fight with you?”
Dale spoke haltingly. “Well…I guess…I did the pickin’, Miss Melissa.”
“You? Why? Looks like maybe he was bigger than you.”
“Not bigger.”
Flora had gone to get a tube of arnica salve from the first aid kit. When she returned with it, she said, “Come sit in this chair. Let me put this salve on it. It will help it disappear faster.”
He complied, wincing a little as she touched his face.
“Well, if not bigger, then meaner, apparently,” Flora said.
“Aw, it’s not polite to speak ill of the dead.”
Everyone perked up their ears. “The dead?” she asked.
Dale closed his eyes, as Flora applied the salve.
“Yes’m.”
“Well, Dale, the only person who has died around here in the last few days is James James,” said Flora.
“Yes’m.”
“James hit you?” Brian asked.
Dale just nodded his head slightly since Flora was still smearing on the salve.
Brian and Melissa looked at each other. They both knew Dale. Melissa had known Dale most of his life. She had never known him to be riled about anything, ever.
“I don’t know what he was so riled about. Seemed to have somethin’ to do with my callin’ him Jim. I just kept beggin’ him, ‘Jim, Jim, please don’t.’ Oh, Miss Melissa, I don’t want to talk about it right now—if that’s okay. I need to be gettin’ out to the garden. Carl will be waitin’.”