THE HERBALIST (Books 1-5)

by Leslie Leigh

  “Well, then, I suppose it’s up to a concerned citizen to intervene.”

  “By way of?”

  “Well, first I need to find out whether Kimmie knows, and then, depending on the response I get from her, I may have a talk with the gallery owner. You know one of those, ‘I’m just curious’ kinds of conversations.”

  “I agree that you need to talk to Kimmie right away. If you decide to confront the gallery owner, will you call me first?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks. I’d feel better about that.”

  Melissa didn’t have a phone number for either Kimmie or Mindy, and she wondered about the wisdom of driving to Sonorita and just showing up.

  It turned out she didn’t have to worry about it. Melissa was turning the key in the lock of the market door when she heard a car door behind her. She turned to see Kimmie getting out of her mother’s car.

  “Can I talk to you, Melissa?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Melissa said. “Is your mom with you?”

  “No, I’m by myself.”

  “Well, come on in and I’ll fix you a cup of coffee or whatever you’d like to drink.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “What would you like? Coffee or tea?”

  “I…I think I’ll go with tea.”

  Melissa pointed at the row of glass jars containing loose leaf tea. “Pick whatever you’d like.”

  Kimmie looked at several different ones before choosing. Melissa watched her as she did so. She didn’t seem anxious or in any particular hurry.

  “This Irish Breakfast Tea with some cream and sugar sounds good.”

  “Irish Breakfast it is,” Melissa said. “You can even have one of the scones from yesterday. The way Flora makes them, they’re just as good the second day.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’d like that.”

  Melissa walked back to the kitchen to check on Flora who was baking muffins. She told Flora that Kimmie was there, and that she wanted to be able to talk freely. Flora said she had plenty to do anyway and wouldn’t need to be out front for another thirty to forty minutes.

  “Thanks,” Melissa said. “You’re a peach.”

  Melissa indicated that Kimmie should sit at the corner table where it was a little more private. She measured out the coffee into the big grinder, so that she could put it on quickly when it was time. Then, she brought a tray with Kimmie’s tea, a pitcher of cream, the scone, and a cup of Genmaicha tea for herself.

  She sat down, waiting for Kimmie to speak.

  “All these things have been turning in my head the last few days, Melissa, and I just didn’t know who I could talk to, but then I remembered you and that nice investigator friend of yours.”

  “Brian, Detective Byrne, yes.”

  “Is he here?”

  “No, he’s back in Tucson; but, if there are things you would like me to relay to him, I can certainly do that.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not necessary,” she said. “I just felt like you two could help me to straighten things out, at least in my mind.”

  Melissa gave her an encouraging smile.

  “First, you should know that Jim and I were married.”

  Melissa sat back a bit and raised her eyebrows. “How long ago?”

  “Actually, about a year after he got here. But no one knows.”

  “No one?”

  She shook her head, as she took another sip of her tea.

  “You’re the first person I’ve ever told. We drove up to Flagstaff and were married by a justice of the peace. We had a one night honeymoon and came home the next day. My mom would have had a cow. She still would, and I’d have to listen to it for the rest of my life.” There were a few seconds of silence, then she said, “Jeez, who’d’ve thought I would be a widow at 22?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kimmie, Melissa said, reaching out and touching her hand. “It seems with all the mysterious circumstances that people have not properly offered you their condolences.”

  Kimmie took a napkin and held it to her eyes. She didn’t cry, but she dabbed at the moisture that was collecting there. She cleared her throat and continued. “Jim thought we should because he said he was going to be famous someday, and if anything ever happened to him, he wanted me to be protected.”

  Melissa didn’t know how to react to that. First, it was so unlike Jim James to think of anyone other than himself. Then, it was somewhat mystifying that all this was coming out just as the art dealer came to town. Maybe she knew that and was trying to enlist someone’s help.

  “You’re sure no one knew this?” Melissa asked. “Brian was remarking this morning how odd he thought it was that they hadn’t tried to find a next of kin. Had they asked you anything about it?”

  “No one has. I guess I was in too much shock the day it happened, and then, when they arrested me, I guess they were too busy badgering me to even think about it.”

  So, she is his next of kin, Melissa thought, and she would be entitled to the proceeds from the sale of at least some of the art. But it all just seems too quick, unless she and the gallery owner are collaborating—or he is coercing her.

  “Do you have any idea if the pieces of Jim’s art in the gallery are paid for, or were they to be sold on commission?” Melissa asked.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” she said, “but I know Jim kept receipts. I just can’t get up there right now.”

  “Why? Do they still have it locked down as a crime scene?”

  “Somebody told me it was because they are afraid they’ve missed something.”

  “Well, they should have it taken care of by now.”

  “I know, huh? The last thing I want is to be living with my mom again.”

  “I’m sure. What is it that you want Brian and me to help you sort out?”

  “Melissa, I didn’t kill James. I adored James; I would have done anything for him. I truly saw him as a misunderstood artist, and I just kept thinking things would get better for him. But his drinking kept getting in the way. It didn’t seem to keep him from painting, but it did keep him from doing anything to try to make a name for himself. I know the cops think if it wasn’t me then it was my mother, but she hadn’t been to our apartment in months. It was just the two of us that day.”

  “There’s something that you may not have been told, Kimmie. Did you know that James had a lot of a substance named scopolamine in his stomach?”

  The girl looked startled. “No! What’s that?”

  “It’s a drug—not the kind of drug you can get on the street; it would more likely come from a doctor.”

  “Is that anything like belladonna?”

  “Yes, Kimmie. Belladonna contains scopolamine. What do you know about belladonna?”

  “Right after we got married, Jim started having trouble with stomach aches—well mostly down here,” she said, indicating her lower abdomen. “He never knew when it would hit him. We couldn’t even go out for a while because of it. He went to Dr. Mercer, and the doctor gave him belladonna drops to stop what was happening.”

  Melissa nodded. “Go on.”

  “One time he hadn’t eaten for like three days, and he had just gotten one of the little bottles from Dr. Mercer. Jim wasn’t eating because he was trying to get rid of the problem once and for all. So, I guess he thought if a little helped a little that a lot would help a lot, so he drank the whole thing.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, but I think he started seeing things. He went in and rested on the bed for quite a while. Later, he came out and said he had had some pretty weird dreams. He went into his studio that night, and that’s when he started painting those self-portraits with all the weird, scary stuff. He wanted more, but Dr. Mercer wouldn’t give it to him because it had only been a couple of days since he’d given him the little bottle.

  “Jim started asking around, I guess, and he found somebody who would get it for him. But because we didn’t have any money, whoever it was made
him do things for them.”

  “Made him do things? Like what?”

  “I never really understood. Jim just always talked about how he was having to sacrifice for his art. Wherever he was getting it, he started getting crazy about it because he was convinced he couldn’t paint without it. Then, whoever was giving it to him cut him off.”

  “You don’t have any idea where he was getting it?”

  “No. That was about a year ago. Then, it started up again. I don’t know if he started getting it in the same place again, but I do know that he wasn’t getting it nearly as often. I guess they were controlling him with it. I think the same person was giving him money because he managed to always pay the rent and keep food on the table. I didn’t want to question him. He was sacrificing for me, for his art; I was just afraid it would end up destroying him, whatever or whoever it was.”

  Melissa sat with all of it running through her head. “Is that also when he started being gone so many nights a week?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you think he was despondent, Kimmie, that he wanted to stop doing whatever he was doing and saw no other way out but to—”

  “No. I don’t. I’ve gone over that again and again. Jim loved himself too much to kill himself.”

  “Sometimes self-love like Jim’s can mask self-loathing.”

  Kimmie looked at her as if pondering what Melissa had said.

  “Had you seen that belladonna bottle before they found it in your truck?” Melissa asked.

  “Not before he died. I caught it out of the corner of my eye once as I got in to drive the truck afterwards, but the truck was always littered with his liquor bottles, so I didn’t think a lot about it.”

  Melissa nodded. “Okay, then, let’s see if Detective Byrne can help get the crime scene stuff removed so you can go home. I think you need to find those receipts.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  “Just let me work on it for a little while. Sometimes I just know that something is the right thing to do, and I won’t figure out why until later. Trust me. We’ll get you back into your apartment, and then I’d like to see those receipts.”

  “Okay,” she said, reaching out to grasp Melissa’s hand. “You’re the first person I’ve really been able to talk to in forever.”

  “I’m glad if I can help, Kimmie. Can I have your phone number to get a hold of you when we get this cleared up about your apartment?”

  “Sure,” she said, writing it on a piece of scrap paper and handing it to Melissa.

  As they finished up, the bell over the door rang indicating Melissa’s first customer of the day. Kimmie got her things together and headed out the door.

  Flora came in and gave Melissa a “give me all the details” look and proceeded to fill the bakery cases.

  “Later,” Melissa mouthed to her. “Good morning, Mrs. Munson,” Melissa said to her customer. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

  “Hmph,” she said. “Charlie’s at it again.”

  “At it again?”

  “Yes. He’s got those stomach pains again.”

  “Oh, is he having stomach pains? I didn’t know.”

  “He’s been having them a couple of times a week lately.”

  “Has he seen Dr. Mercer?”

  “He sent me over to see if there is anything you can do for him.”

  “I really prefer to see the patient I’m treating, Mrs. Munson.”

  “He’s just an old drunk, Melissa. Treat it like you would any old drunk.”

  “I need to know a little more about it. I especially need to know whether his liver is acting up.”

  “He came home staggering drunk last night, and then he wakes up this morning with these stomach pains.”

  “Any other symptoms?”

  “He has a powerful headache, but I think that’s just the hangover. Oh, and something a bit strange, he’s been having nightmares lately. Bad ones, a couple of times a week.”

  “In conjunction with the nights he’s been out drinking?”

  “Come to think of it, yes.”

  Melissa just nodded and walked back to the homeopathy rack. “Where does he go to drink?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t ask anymore. He always goes with Larry Ray. I always have the impression that they go down to Nogales or somewhere.”

  “Here, give him this. Tell him to take three granules at a time, under his tongue. Tell him not to drink anything until they’ve completely dissolved. If he does that every four hours for the next couple of days, he should be all right.”

  “Oh, good. Just in time for him to go drinking again.”

  “You tell him Melissa says he needs to take better care of himself.”

  “I will, I will. Something’s got to get through to him.”

  Mrs. Munson departed. The market was starting to fill up now with coffee shop folks and grocery shoppers.”

  Vivian came in, and she and Flora were both out front.

  “I’m going to run home and give Brian a call,” Melissa said. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  They both assented and she took off.

  Chapter 11

  Melissa apprised Brian of all that Kimmie had divulged to her and added in the visit from Mrs. Munson.

  “Brian, Charlie Munson’s a drinker, too; but, he had symptoms of belladonna poisoning, I’m sure of it. Interestingly enough, Mrs. Munson doesn’t know where her husband goes to drink, either.”

  “Well, wait,” Brian said, thinking. “We do know where Jim James drank—at The Flying Pig. Kimmie just didn’t know where James was getting the nelladonna. You don’t think—”

  “That this has anything to do with whatever it was I saw out back of The Flying Pig Saturday night? Hmm…I’m going to do some more snooping around.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? I’d rather you not go without me. If you go to see the waitress, I’d rather you go somewhere public, away from the bar. If you still want to go to the bar, wait until the next time I come down.”

  “I can do that. I’m also going to do some further checking into George Hall’s whereabouts and see if I can talk to the gallery owner.”

  “Did you bring that up to Kimmie?”

  “I hesitated. If she knows anything about it, she didn’t mention it, and she did tell me about the reason for their marriage being so she would get something from the art if anything happened to him. I could have told her about the art dealer, but really, if she’s Jim’s wife, it doesn’t matter; she’s entitled to all of the proceeds from the sale of any of the art, minus any commission due the gallery owner. If he owns them outright, then I guess he can do whatever he wants with them, but she still has a whole attic full, as I understand it. She says she has Jim’s receipts for the paintings.”

  “Well, you should still let her know. I think she’d rather hear it from you than from anyone else.”

  “That might be true. So can you pull any strings to get the forensics team to finish up whatever they’re doing in there so that Kimmie can go home?”

  “Can I pull any strings? No. All I can do is find out the reason for it and ask nicely for them to complete it.”

  “All right. Then, let me know what you find out,” Melissa asked.

  “I will, and you do the same, please.”

  “I will.”

  # # #

  Melissa went back to the market for a while. She walked out back to see Carl. Dale was there to help. She could see that Dale’s face had healed up nicely.

  She admired the squash and pumpkins that they were tending: acorn, butternut, various shades of patty pans, multi-colored turban squash, and all sizes of pumpkins. Carl had also brought in dried corn stalks, and Dale was tying them together to make decorations for the front of the store.

  “You two are industrious, I see.”

  “Always, Melissa,” Carl said, smiling. “I’m going to arrange a large bin inside for the squash and set the pumpkins on various levels around the side of it.”

/>   “You’re turning out to be quite a display artist, Carl.”

  “I love it; it keeps me happy!”

  Carl had been bored after retirement and had come aboard as her gardener. It had expanded over the years until they had two huge gardens for the market, a community garden, and greenhouses. He not only stocked her produce but ran a little farmer’s market on the weekends. The man was unstoppable for seventy. He had finally brought Dale on to help him, but he showed no signs of slowing down.

  “Keeps my wife happy, too,” he said. “It keeps me out of her hair.”

  She spent a couple of hours going over some recent inventory sheets for new items that had been added. Looking at her recent revenues, she realized that she could easily expand if she wanted. But that would mean finding another building, and she just wasn’t ready to do that. She was fine with what she was making. She was comfortable herself, and paid her employees fairly. She knew that a bigger market would mean bigger responsibility all the way around, and she liked the peace that she had now.

  She was sitting in her office when her cell phone rang. It was Brian.

  “Melissa? Bad news. When the deputies got over to clean up the blocked off crime scene stuff so that Kim could go home, they found that it had been broken into. You had better call her right away.”

  “They didn’t say whether anything had been taken?”

  “Right now they’re not sure what the perps were looking for.”

  “All right. I’ll call you later when I know something.” She disconnected the call.

  She fished around in her pants pocket and found the slip on which Kimmie had written her phone number. She put the number in her contacts and then pushed to call it.

  “Kimmie? Melissa. I had Brian see if you could return to your apartment, and he just called me. When the deputies went to take care of it, the apartment had been broken into.”

  “What?” she asked, anxiously.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m just down the street checking on a job.”

  “I’ll meet you at your apartment in five minutes.”

  There was a deputy outside the apartment when they got there.

  “This doesn’t make it a crime scene again, does it?” Kimmie asked.