THE HERBALIST (Books 1-5)

by Leslie Leigh

  “I’m very good with faces. She wasn’t wearing the clown wig when she came in either time, but I know the face.”

  “Can you remember how she did look when she came in?”

  Flora looked studiously at the shelves as she dusted and said, “The first time, she wasn’t made up at all. I think that’s most likely her real self. The second time, and this makes sense as to why I only faintly recognized her, she was wearing a short, black, pixie-style wig and had her eyebrows colored thickly with charcoal pencil.”

  “The many faces of Donna/Rachel/Regina, and god only knows how many others,” Melissa said. “But it’s just odd about her taking the supplements.”

  “Maybe she knows about you,” Flora said, “and was casing the place.”

  “I don’t know how, unless she followed Corinne. Maybe she asked around after she left here the first time, and that’s why she came back the second time. But why steal something?” said Melissa.

  “Because,” Brian said, “a true sociopath wants to show you how much smarter they are and how they can outwit you.”

  “Well, if it was supposed to be obvious, she kind of bungled it,” said Flora.

  “To a degree, but she’s made some other big mistakes, too. Maybe she’s losing it, or she’s tired of it and wants to get caught,” said Melissa.

  “Or all of the above. That would make sense as to why she went out of her way to call attention to herself with Corinne. You know she couldn’t possibly show up in probate court. Maybe she thinks she can just bully Corinne into letting her have it since, as Corinne pointed out, the car is worth less than the legal fees for probate,” Brian pointed out. “I think I have my work cut out for me.”

  “Do you want to come to my place? You can work, and I’ll fix you dinner later. Then, when I go to bed early, you can go back to the B&B,” said Melissa.

  “That sounds good. I won’t be hungry for quite a while though—thanks to the sandwich and salad.”

  “I’ll just fix something light.”

  “Did you want one of us here to help you in the morning, Melissa?” Flora asked.

  “If Kim didn’t ask either of you to switch with her, I’m trusting that she’ll show up. If she doesn’t, I’ll call somebody.”

  “You can go ahead and call me,” Flora said. “I’ll already be up by then anyway.”

  “Thanks,” Melissa said.

  # # #

  “That B&B has to be getting expensive,” said Melissa.

  “It is, but Corinne is paying for it.”

  “Probably the price of the car.”

  “Likely so,” he chuckled. “Why? Were you going to suggest an alternative?”

  She was glad they were talking between the living room and the kitchen, so he couldn’t see her burning cheeks. She tried to wait until the blood went down before she responded, but he was already standing in the kitchen door, leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed.

  She glanced up from the cutting board. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “I see,” he responded. He walked over to her, taking her by the waist and turning her toward him. “I do,” he said, “but I would rather hear it from you.”

  She was an adult, she reminded herself. No need to be timid, although a little coquettishness wouldn’t hurt. She kept her eyes down then turned them upward without tipping her head up.

  “I…I wouldn’t mind if you stayed here,” she said.

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t mind. In fact, I’d like it very much, but….”

  “But what?”

  “You would have to protect my reputation.”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “By sleeping in the guest room.”

  He laughed. “That was my intention anyway, but…how does that protect your reputation? Are you going to hang a sign outside stating that we are sleeping separately?”

  She wouldn’t look at him, so he tipped her chin up toward him.

  “I want to be here with you, and it has nothing to do with how expensive the B&B is. In fact, maybe when I get the settlement from my friend’s estate, I’ll buy that little B&B.”

  She looked surprised. He shrugged. “Then, I wouldn’t have to worry about how much it was costing me.”

  “You wouldn’t get any breakfast, though.”

  “Maybe I’ll hire you to come make me breakfast on non-Chelsea bun days.”

  She grinned, and he kissed her mouth. She melted into him. “I’d like it very much if you stayed here when you’re in town,” she said.

  “I can be discrete,” he said. “You’re an adult, and no one should think ill of you for having a male guest in your home, but I’ll come and go at hours that are less obvious, and I can park my car somewhere other than in front of your house.”

  “You’re too kind,” she said, “but just hearing you say that, even though I know you meant it sincerely, makes me realize how ridiculous it is. You can leave your car in front of my house twenty-four hours a day if you want.”

  He grinned and tousled her hair. He went back to his research, and she resumed what she was doing.

  # # #

  He looked up when she closed her book.

  “I’m making progress,” he said. “I found the doctor’s name who signed Howard Foster’s death certificate, and he’s not with the coroner’s office. I found his phone number, and I’ll give him a call, first thing tomorrow. Also, there’s no notary by the name of Patricia George in Tucson, any of the surrounding counties, or the State of Arizona. So that’s just flat-out fake. This woman is just piling on the charges.”

  “It’s beginning to look like you may be right about her just being a sociopath who’s taunting us,” said Melissa.

  “I’ve also found a medical power of attorney on file for Anthony White.”

  “How did you get that?” she asked.

  “Some of the files I pulled from the agency. Like Corinne, it’s no one local. This feels like such a cat and mouse game,” he said, “one in which the victim is the mouse about to be eaten. We’re the one with the broom, but will we catch the cat in time? I want to call up Anthony White’s person right now, but I really need to talk to the doctor in Howard Foster’s case first.”

  “It’s not too late,” Melissa said, glancing at the time. “Do you have a home phone for him?”

  “Let me find his yellow-page entry. If we’re lucky…,” he said. “Yes, there are two numbers. Let me call both. One is probably his office and the other his home number.”

  “What doctor puts his home phone in the yellow pages?” Melissa wanted to know.

  “One who serves rural patients,” he said. “Keep your fingers crossed.” He waited while it rang—once, twice, three times; it was interrupted on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Dr. Martin? My name is Brian Byrne. I’m a Private Investigator looking over a case in Sonorita, and I’m calling about a case you recently handled—a Howard Foster.”

  Halfway through, Brian told the doctor he would put him on with someone who could explain their theory better than he could and handed the phone to Melissa. She explained about the digoxin and the oleander.

  “So, he was the one who made the complaint,” Brian said when the call ended, “and since he has direct access to Foster’s records, he can help us with whatever we need.”

  “That’s great news,” Melissa said. She scooted up close to him on the couch. “We are quite a pair of sleuths, aren’t we?”

  He patted her thigh.

  “We make a great team—in more ways than one.”

  # # #

  She went to bed at her usual Friday night hour, leaving Brian still working on his computer.

  “No breakfast in the morning,” she said. “You’ll have to come to the café for that.”

  “I’ll do that. I’m going to make some phone calls in the morning, then I’ll be over.”

&nbs
p; His eyes followed her, and she wanted to kiss him goodnight, but the sexual tension was palpable, so she thought she’d better not.

  She woke up just before three and turned her alarm off. She walked out into the living room and saw Brian’s things there on the coffee table. She turned toward the guest room and saw that the door was closed. Her stomach fluttered a bit, and she grinned to herself. Good grief, she thought, this makes me feel like…like I’m back in college, I guess.

  At five o’clock, with her arms covered in flour up to her elbows, Melissa held her breath for a few seconds when she heard the door open. Kim came through the door, looking sheepish. She put on her apron and went to work in silence. Melissa realized that the abashed look was the only apology she was going to get from her.

  When they started to roll out the dough, Kim spoke at last. “So here we are again.”

  Melissa looked at her expectantly. More silence.

  “I really think I’m falling for him,” Kim said.

  Melissa just concentrated on what she was doing, waiting for Kim to say more.

  “I’ve thought a lot about it. I don’t think he’s as self-loathing as Jim was, but he is just as controlling.”

  Melissa acknowledged what she was saying without implying anything else.

  “But I think that’s what I need.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m no good alone. I need somebody to keep me on track. The only language I seem to understand is the one that tells me what to do.”

  “Tells you what to do? Or is it that you’re most familiar with that voice; you find it almost comforting, no matter how abusive it is or becomes?”

  Kim’s eyes became harder as she engaged with Melissa. “I do find it comforting…and safe.”

  “Yet, it hasn’t been all that long since we stood in this very place and you told me how you didn’t want to go back under somebody’s thumb—and the freedom you felt despite it all.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “How can freedom be wrong?”

  “It’s not freedom. It’s wanton. Irresponsible.”

  “You feel guilty for having tasted it?”

  “Guilty, perhaps, for enjoying it a little too much. I don’t know how to be responsible.”

  Melissa wanted to go on, asking her how she was going to learn to be responsible if someone else always did it for her, but she could see this line of questioning wasn’t going anywhere.

  Kim continued, “I think if Jim and I had money, things would have been very different because the very thing we lacked was what kept us lame. Brandon and I won’t have that problem.”

  “Thanks to Jim.”

  “Yes, thanks to Jim.”

  “Do you think Brandon is old enough to know how to manage all that money?”

  “We’re talking about finding a financial advisor. Brandon thinks we don’t need one, but I think it would be wise.”

  “I do, too, for what it’s worth.”

  “So, for as long as Brandon and I stay here in Catalonia, I will continue to help you on Chelsea bun days, but probably not on the others.”

  “I appreciate you helping those days.”

  “I figure it’s something responsible I can do.”

  “Despite Brandon’s protests.”

  “Yes,” she said, “despite Brandon’s protests.”

  “I just want to say one more thing,” Melissa said, already regretting the sound of her voice. “I believe if you continued to hang around here and allowed us to care for you even more that you would learn responsibility. You’re very young, Kim. No one expects you to be a perfect adult yet. I realize that with all the money that’s coming to you, it could feel overwhelming. I would recommend you establish your own trust fund, and we can help you do that. I wish you would take some time and find out who you really are, not the reflection of anything that your mother or Jim or Brandon has said. Then, perhaps, you will find someone who is truly worthy of you.”

  “Worthy of me?”

  “Yes. You find that surprising? With Brandon, you will never know if it’s you he wants, or just the money. If you are on your own two feet, you needn’t tell anyone new about the money, and then you can find out just how much they love you for yourself.”

  She shrugged. “Both Brandon and Jim told me I don’t have that much to offer.”

  “It’s not true, Kim. You’re bright and friendly; you care about other people. And the few times I’ve seen you really smile, you are a beautiful girl.”

  Nothing more was said between them, but Melissa could tell that Kim was thinking.

  Chapter 8

  Wednesday hadn’t been all that busy, but Saturday kept up its usual pace. The clouds looked as though they would gather by noon, but the morning was fairly bright and hot. The ovens were off before seven, so the cooler had everything under control by the time they opened at eight.

  Brian came strolling in earlier than Melissa expected, and he gave her the most delicious smile. She took him a roll and coffee. “How did you sleep?” she whispered in his ear.

  “Fabulously! So fabulously that I checked out of the B&B this morning,” he said, smiling up at her.

  She turned away quickly so that he wouldn’t see her blushing. She liked seeing him at her little tucked away private table.

  Kim and Vivian were handling the crowd, and Flora was restocking the cases as needed, so after checking on her customers and talking with some of the locals, she went back to see if Brian had learned anything in his phone calls.

  “I called Randy White, Anthony White’s medical power of attorney. He wants to cooperate with us, of course, but we need to figure out a way to do that quickly without arousing the nurse’s suspicion,” said Brian.

  “She’s already left the agency, so she’s free to do as she pleases. The Board of Nursing has frozen the agency, pending further investigation; so, that’s going to throw the burden for their patients onto other agencies, as well as the county. The problem is we don’t know whether she’s gone to work for another agency, is laying low, or is just continuing to visit him on her own,” Melissa said.

  “Or is living there,” said Brian.

  “That’s a possibility I hadn’t thought of yet. Perhaps we should make an excuse to visit Mr. White,” said Melissa.

  “I think that’s a very good idea. Are you going to pose as a supervisory nurse or something?” he asked

  “That would likely be the best way to handle it,” she said.

  “So you would have to dress like a nurse?” he asked.

  “Probably not in a supervisory category, or I could just pick up a pair of scrubs,” said Melissa.

  “Scrubs? You mean nurses don’t wear those cute little white uniforms and little white hats any more, with stockings?” he asked with a smile.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Byrne,” she said, and he gave her the innocent, Who me? look.

  “In a hospital, about the only way you can tell the nurses from the doctors or nurse’s aides is by the color of their scrubs and their name tags.”

  “So, it’s actually pretty easy to impersonate a nurse,” she said.

  “Yes, but not any more so than in the past. You could just as easily buy the white uniform, hat…and stockings….”

  This time she pretended to smack him on the arm.

  “I think in the past we depended on the integrity of people to not try something like that. I know there have long been serial killers, but I always wonder if there is more crime per capita now, or is there simply less morality or more mental illness, enticing more people to commit a crime on others?” she said.

  “That’s quite a discussion topic. I think morality has definitely degraded some, but there is certainly much more mental illness than ever before, brought on by the stresses of modern living,” he said.

  “And people wondered why I wanted to come back to quiet little Catalonia to live,” she said.

  “Yet quiet little Catalonia and surrounds has seen a
t least three murders in the last fifteen months.”

  “My point exactly. Only three. What do you think motivates someone like Donna/Rachel/Regina to kill?” she said.

  “It’s fear. Fear of rejection, of powerlessness, of being seen as less than perfect,” he said.

  “That must stem from childhood.”

  “Most assuredly. A child who has been abandoned, neglected, then humiliated and made to feel powerless over his or her own fate. The one place where our girl doesn’t fit the profile is the apparent desire to be caught. Or, she may be feeling like she has bungled so many things of late that her only option to keep her dignity is suicide by cop,” he said.

  Melissa frowned at that, thinking what that might put them in the middle of. “The reason she would kill old men…?”

  “That’s right. Out of the eight suspected similar profile deaths, only one is a woman. That might rule her out as a victim. Her reason for killing men could be many; she was most likely abandoned by her father, perhaps abused by one or more male authority figures in her life. She could have possibly been left in the care of grandparents or left to care for grandparents. So many possibilities,” said Brian.

  “And why only heart patients?” Melissa asked. She was quiet for a minute then answered her own question. “Perhaps she discovered at one point that the oleander wouldn’t be detected at low levels. It would take a lot more to kill a patient not already on digoxin. Maybe she’s afraid it would be detectable at higher levels.”

  Most of the customers had finished their Chelsea buns and coffee, picked up some groceries, and moved on home. Melissa helped one customer to find the right herbs to elevate her immune system and added some products to help restore her digestive system, as well.

  Once the majority of customers were gone, Melissa went to sit back down with Brian. “I think we need to make a welfare check on Mr. White first thing tomorrow. We can stop in Sierra Vista to pick me up a set of scrubs, and Walgreen’s should have a stethoscope. I have a name tag at home that I’ve used for other things, and then we’ll just head on to Bismuth. I’ll just say that I’m his nurse’s new supervisor,” said Melissa.

  “But if all of you are correct that she was in here stealing supplements, she knows what you look like, Melissa.”