THE HERBALIST (Books 1-5)

by Leslie Leigh

  Chapter 16

  It was Melissa, Detective Lemson, and an Officer Barnes that returned to the interrogation room when Cheri was brought back.

  “Nothing like putting somebody on ice for a bit to cool them off,” Detective Lemson said. “Now where were we?”

  Cheri just glared at him.

  “I believe you had just asked me a question,” Detective Lemson said, “about whether I was implying that you wanted to kill your father. I’m no longer implying—I’m stating: you wanted to kill your father.”

  “I’m not responding to such a stupid allegation,” she said.

  “Hey, I understand,” he said. “He abused you, possibly in more ways than one for nearly your whole life. How old were you when it started?”

  “You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand,” she said.

  “You told Miss Michaelson here that he also abused your mother, but that wasn’t quite true, was it? In fact…I’d say that it was the opposite. Mom and Dad kind of represented a solid front. Not that your mom abused you, but that she just played the dutiful wife and never did anything to stop it.”

  “She was afraid. Afraid he’d leave us. She was so dependent on him,” Cheri said. “There was nothing I could do about it except get as far away as possible.”

  “But maybe when you removed yourself, instead of Daddy being happy, that was when he started in on your mother, too, wasn’t it?”

  “She was in so much denial,” Cheri said. “Her way of dealing with it was by dissociating.” She turned to Melissa. “You asked me if I was aware that my mother had dementia. It wasn’t that different from the way she’d always been since I’d been away from home. This last week, I think it’s been worse.”

  “Did your mother ever express any kind of desire to you to, you know, make your father go away permanently?”

  Cheri’s eyes were rapt upon him. Melissa could tell she was thinking through her options before she spoke, but Melissa beat her to the punch. “Cheri, you told Cynthia that you thought your mother was poisoning your father. Why did you tell her that?”

  Now, she returned her glare to Melissa.

  “You know, it really doesn’t matter what you tell us about your mother because she will not be considered culpable—no matter what—and she’s not fit to stand trial. So, it’s all on you, Cheri,” Detective Lemson said.

  “But here’s the kicker. We also know that due to her state of mind your mother did not have the wherewithal to keep dosing him often enough to kill him. She had to have your encouragement on that.”

  Melissa spoke up. “You knew that your father had a heart condition and was on digitalis, even though you told me otherwise. You also understood the ramifications of chronic digitalis poisoning. Even supposing your mother did find the tonic recipe on her own, she had to have your help to understand how to do it and your help to administer it. There were too many holes in your story, Cheri. You even went so far as to say that the Book of Shadows was the work of a twelve year old. Yet I know for a fact that you were sixteen when you took the advanced herbalism class. Men’s Tonic? You just waited for the right man to cook it up for. But since you ensured there were no men in your life, it ultimately had to be used on your father.”

  “I want a lawyer,” she said, and the conversation was over.

  Chapter 17

  “First degree manslaughter, minimum fifteen years,” Brian said, putting his phone down after talking with the DA’s office. “Didn’t even make it to trial, which, we know, is a good thing.”

  “That will make her mother 95 when she gets out.”

  “If she lives that long.”

  “Have they secured a home for her yet?”

  “Yes, right in Tahoe. They say she’s excited about it, and that she doesn’t even mention Cheri. Nobody knows whether she is even cognizant of what transpired.”

  By the time everything was over, Melissa felt the need to get back to the market and postponed the Gold Country trip with Brian.

  “I have some good news,” he said as they entered the airport in Reno. “The grand jury indicted Dunnick on felony murder for Mr. Johnston and on the attempted murder of Corinne. She will go to trial, and we will have to testify; but, the good thing is that no matter what her sentence, if we are able to prove other victims, she will be charged with those subsequently. That can result in a longer sentence or revocation of the possibility of parole.”

  “That is really good news,” Melissa said. “And I got an update from Flora on the situation with Brandon. Since Kim is staying at my house right now, they kept her apartment as a crime scene. Grant went over it with a fine-toothed comb—with the help of a crack team of forensics guys from Phoenix—and they were able to find enough evidence that the grand jury will indict him for attempted murder, as well.”

  They were both able to take a breath of relief.

  “So we still didn’t get to see much of California, and I’m not letting you off the hook. In fact, I’m already checking out Clint Eastwood’s Bed and Breakfast in Monterey.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why would I kid about Clint Eastwood? Or Monterey Bay for that matter. It’s one of the most breathtaking places I’ve ever been in my life. Besides,” he said, turning to look at her, “I think it would make a fabulous place for a honeymoon.”

  Tagline: Clues from beyond the veil turn up, pointing the way to a very strange tale.

  Synopsis: Brian’s maneuvering gets Melissa a get-out-of-jail-free card, but without the evidence, what will happen next? Thanks to Melissa’s mom, Brian convinces her to take a trip to see her mother in California, but when she gets there, one of her mom’s neighbors has dropped dead. When a thirty year old poison recipe turns up out of a Book of Shadows, Melissa is on the trail of the killer. Melissa finds clues from a Tarot reader and learns things about herself as well. Will the information guide her in the right direction, or will the murder get pinned on the wrong person?

  ~~~

  ELLEGIES and ELDERBERRIES

  Chapter 1

  Melissa answered a heavy knock at her door and was surprised to see a large truck in her driveway and two men standing on her porch.

  The man in front looked at a paper in his hand. “Delivery for Melissa Michaelson,” he said. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “We have instructions to put it on the back patio. Do you want to show us exactly where you want it?”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He looked surprised. “It’s a hot tub, Mrs. Michaelson.”

  “Ms.,” she responded, out of habit.

  “Ms. Michaelson,” he corrected himself.

  A hot tub?

  “Sure,” she said. “Just bring it through the back gate at the side of the house. I’ll meet you out on the patio to show you where to set it.”

  He stepped off the stoop to look toward the back gate and shook his head. “Can I see your back yard?” he asked.

  “Sure, just go right on through the gate, and I’ll meet you out there.”

  She laughed with delight as she returned to the kitchen and walked through her back door. Brian had teased that a hot tub was going to be his first expenditure when he got the inheritance, but she had always thought he was kidding.

  “I know nothing about hot tubs,” she said to the men, “but I assume it needs a water source and an outlet.”

  “You can fill it with a garden hose,” the man said, “but it will need to be close to an outlet.”

  “There are both right over there,” she said pointing at the opposite end of the garden.

  The men walked over to where she indicated, looking over the fence, then back toward the outlet. They looked like they were debating something between them.

  The first man turned toward her, shaking his head. “There’s no way to do this without taking down your and your neighbor’s fences,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said, her momentary elation subsiding.
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br />   “Did you want to ask?”

  “No, no. That wouldn’t work, I’m afraid.”

  “Is this your number on the order?” he asked, showing her the bill of lading.

  “No,” she said looking at it. “It’s Mr. Byrnes’ number. He’s the one who ordered it.”

  “Okay,” he said, “we’ll give him a call and see what he wants to do.”

  She nodded. They went back toward their truck, and she returned to the house. In just a few minutes, she heard the truck start up and leave. Now, she was disappointed. She had to laugh, though. Fifteen minutes ago, she had no idea this existed in her life; now, she was disappointed that she didn’t have it.

  She finished her lunch quickly and headed back to the market. She wasn’t going to call Brian; she would let him work it out. He was on one of his missions as a liaison between the county and the FBI to try to find interstate evidence of Dunnick’s serial murders.

  Before she got back to the store, her phone rang. It was Brian.

  “Wow!” he said. “I had hoped to delight you with a big surprise, not disappoint you with it.”

  She laughed. “You did delight me,” she said. “I was positively elated.”

  “Well, just so you know, I’m not giving up.”

  “Aww….”

  “I received the cash settlement,” he said, “and I went to look at the properties before heading to Sacramento to meet with the FBI. I’m very tempted to keep one as a getaway. The scenery around it is breathtaking. It’s just got a little falling-down cabin on it, but I could definitely see putting a nice log cabin on it. It would be a perfect place to come and relax.

  “I’m going to sell the rest. It is a huge, sub-divided property, much larger than I would ever need, and it’s worth a lot. I would rather see it go to someone who would use it for a camp or a sustainable farm or something. I have no desire to sell it off a piece at a time. I will if I have to, but I’m hoping if I take my time that I can find just the right buyer for it.”

  “That sounds like a great opportunity,” she said, “and I’d love to see the smaller one.”

  “I can’t wait to take you,” he said.

  “When are you coming back?” she asked. He had left the ticket open-ended when he went.

  “It will be a couple of weeks, I’m afraid. There seem to be several that have cropped up north of Sacramento, so it will take a while to meet with everyone involved.”

  “I understand.”

  “I am going to insist you come up here with me in the not-too-far-distant future. I miss you terribly. I understand why you didn’t come this time, but maybe we can make time between Chelsea Bun days.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I think I could skip a Wednesday. We’d just have to be sure to be back before Saturday.”

  “It’s a deal,” he said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “I miss you, too, Brian,” she said.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. Talk soon,” he said, disconnecting the call.

  She had no idea why it was difficult for her to spontaneously express her feelings to him, or why she kept him in suspense over their relationship. He had mentioned a spot he thought would be perfect for a honeymoon, and she had said nothing. He hadn’t brought it up again.

  Perhaps, she thought, I need to spend some concerted time thinking about it all. But for now, she slipped her phone into her pocket and stepped into the cool interior of her market.

  # # #

  “Melissa,” Flora said, once they had settled into their morning routine. “You’ve met my nephew, Clay.”

  “Yes, I remember him. Blonde, rugged, Scandinavian good looks.”

  “That’s the one,” she said. “Well, I know you’re thinking of the right one because he’s the only nephew I have.”

  Melissa grinned.

  “Anyway, he invited me to come down to Bismuth tonight to hear his partner’s poetry reading at the Grand Hotel. I think it would be really fun, and it would be even more fun if you’d come with me.”

  “I’d like that,” Melissa said. “It’s been pretty boring around here since Brian left.”

  “Good! How about we go early, then, for dinner? The reading starts at seven-thirty.”

  “Sounds good. I can be ready to leave by five-thirty.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Have I met Clay’s partner?”

  “No. He was single when you met him. He met Jack shortly after that, and they’ve been together for about a year now. They have a little ranch near the Chiricahua Mountains.”

  “How nice! What are they doing with the ranch?”

  “They just have chickens right now. They discovered they have to do some pretty heavy fencing down there to keep their animals from predators. They’ve fenced in a protected area for the chickens, but it’s a pretty big and expensive job to do the fencing for the goats they want to raise. They’ve been working on it though. Jack does a lot of it by himself, and Clay works as a landscaper which pays the mortgage and allows them to buy building materials. Jack stays home doing the building and writing.”

  “Jack’s a writer?”

  “Yes, and a good one, too. He’s been writing novellas for a while and publishing them on Amazon, but his true love is his poetry. It’s kind of cool, too. The Beat poets and that era of literature fascinated his father, so he named his son Jack Burroughs Lawson. He just goes by Jack Burroughs now.”

  “Isn’t it interesting how people’s names can influence their profession sometimes? I’ve known lawyers with the last name of Laws or Lawson; I once knew a cardiologist whose last name was Hart, and, unfortunately, I also knew a dentist named Paine.”

  Flora laughed.

  “And look at us,” she said. “Flowers and the bee—pretty good names for herbalists, don’t you think?”

  “So true!”

  “Well, I look forward to meeting Jack and hearing his poetry.”

  Chapter 2

  Flora picked Melissa up right at five thirty, and they were in Bismuth by six. Although Bismuth was nearly a ghost town—the hotel was just about the only thing left—it was a huge tourist draw. It retained the majority of its stately nineteenth century charm and had been restored to its original splendor with heavy, fringed-velvet drapery, dark oak furniture in the lobby and dining room, and antique French provincial décor in the upstairs drawing rooms.

  The guest rooms were a mix. Some were downscaled with iron bedsteads and chenille bedspreads; others had oak four-poster beds, curtains, fireplaces, and antique tables and armoires. Although it was doubtful that all of the rooms had a private bath when the hotel was built, they all did now. However, the owners had seen to it that the fixtures were very authentic and fit with the late nineteenth and early twentieth century motifs.

  There were also two shops in the hotel that carried real art instead of the common tourist kitsch. One was a gallery of visual arts. The other contained authentic items—both antique and modern—created by various Native American tribes throughout Southern Arizona and New Mexico.

  Clay and Jack were already in the dining room when they arrived. They both stood as the ladies approached, and each helped one of the women with their chairs.

  “My,” Melissa said, “I haven’t been around such chivalrous behavior in a long time.”

  “Melissa, you remember my nephew, Clay,” she said, and Clay nodded at Melissa.

  “Of course!” Melissa exclaimed.

  “And this is my partner, Jack,” Clay said, touching Jack on the shoulder and nodding to the ladies.

  “Lovely to meet you, Jack,” Melissa said.

  “Likewise,” Jack said, with a shy smile.

  Melissa looked at Jack and thought how uncanny it was that he actually looked somewhat like Jack Kerouac—after whom he had probably been named. He was tall and dark-haired, but he also had some obvious Native American features, which made his already handsome features quite striking.

  “You’re not Canadian are you, Jack?” Melissa asked.


  He found that amusing. “No,” he said. “I was born in right here in Arizona, and I didn’t play football.”

  Now, it was Melissa’s turn to be amused as he had caught her intention with the Jack Kerouac thing. Of course, she supposed if he had been steeped in Beat lore, it wasn’t all that unusual; but he was quick to pick up on it, nevertheless.

  “On my mother’s side, my great-grandparents were French-Acadian and Apache.”

  “That explains both his cheek bones and his elegant manners,” Clay said, obviously proud of his partner.

  They all ordered dinner, but Jack ate light.

  “Despite how many times I’ve read in public,” he said, “I still get nauseous when I’m on stage.”

  After dinner, they made their way to the bar. It was huge, had been refurbished in rosewood and beveled glass, which caught the dim light beautifully and reflected it along the wall behind the bar. To one side of the bar, there was a small stage with a microphone set up.

  The ladies sat down while Clay ordered drinks for each of them, including a shot of bourbon to calm Jack’s nerves—although they agreed that it probably wasn’t the best thing for his butterflies.

  Melissa observed the two men as they interacted. They seemed to be great companions and to share a deep affection for each other—not ostentatious in any way but obvious to anyone who studied them.

  At one point, however, Melissa caught a bit of consternation between the two of them when the bartender for the event came into the room. Jack saw him first and signaled Clay with a rather panic-stricken look. They both looked toward the bartender, and again at each other. Clay’s expression was meant to soothe Jack, but Jack’s expression remained disturbed. When Jack got up to approach the stage, Clay squeezed his hand before he left the table.

  The bartender walked over and adjusted the microphone for Jack—while Jack continued to look at him with a disquieting expression. Before turning on the microphone, the bartender bent and whispered something in Jack’s ear—to which Jack responded with a vehement shake of the head. The bartender looked at Jack for a moment, then shrugged and returned to the bar.