THE HERBALIST (Books 1-5)

by Leslie Leigh

  Jack cleared his throat and closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to regain his center. He finally opened them and turned on the microphone.

  “I think most of you out there know me,” he began. “I’m Jack Burroughs of these parts and of the Chiricahuas, and I’m here tonight to share some of my collected works about love in the desert.”

  There was a sprinkling of applause, and then the audience was quiet. Jack closed his eyes again and then raised his book and opened it where he had marked it. His first few words came haltingly, but it was only a few seconds before the passion of the poet began to electrify both him and the audience, and his words became fluid and ardent.

  The reading was long, but no one in the audience seemed to mind. They all sat rapt—no one even got up to get another drink, and the circulating waitress was waved aside several times.

  As Jack finished his last few lines, in the pause which should have been silent to allow the full effect of the words to have their impact, the bartender said quite loudly, “Well, now maybe we can get back to business. You’re supposed to make me more money Burroughs, not less.”

  Now the silence was awkward and embarrassed. The comment had been quite thoughtless and not even true—while no one had been buying during the reading, the crowd Jack had drawn was quite large. Melissa suspected it much larger than they would have had on a typical Thursday evening. She figured what they sold before and after the reading more than made up for the interlude.

  Jack got down from the stage and left the room. Clay immediately got up and went after him.

  “Has the bartender had too much to drink or what?” Melissa asked.

  “I’m not sure what that was about,” Flora said.

  Clay came back by himself after a while and resumed his place at their table.

  “Jack is really not feeling well,” he said. “We decided to take a room here for the night instead of driving back home. I’ve put him to bed.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Melissa said. “The reading was lovely—more than lovely, really. It was outstanding.”

  “Yes, he’s quite gifted,” Clay said. “I almost think he could start his own movement, but I suppose we’d need to live in some urban place for that to happen.”

  “Oh?” Flora said. “Does he talk about that?”

  “He’s kind of conflicted. He loves Arizona, the landscape and all, and he loves having the solitude for writing, but I know sometimes he feels his talent is wasted here.”

  “But his novellas are selling well, right?”

  “They’re ghostwritten, Aunt Flora. That means he doesn’t get to put his own name on them. It keeps food on the table and pays a good share of our expenses, but it doesn’t get his name out there.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t aware of that,” Flora said.

  “I think it’s kind of a Catch-22 for him. We’re creating this ranch-life here, but I think he’s beginning to feel that every nail restricts his ability to travel and get more exposure and influence. We’re living my dream, and although he agreed to it and loves much of it, I know he feels throttled to a degree.”

  “What’s the deal with the bartender?” Melissa asked.

  Clay shrugged. “Just an asshole, I guess.”

  Flora and Melissa were ready by then to call it an evening since Friday was Flora’s early baking day, and they still had to drive back to Catalonia.

  Clay stood as they got up to leave, and Melissa took his hand. “I’m sure things will work for you and Jack. You seem to really care for each other, and I’m guessing you’re both giving enough to be able to make both your dreams come true somehow.”

  “You’re right, Melissa,” Clay said. “Our life together is becoming well-established, so we need to spend some time figuring out how ensure Jack’s fulfillment, too.”

  Flora looked at Clay with affection and gave him a big hug. He kissed Melissa on both cheeks, as the French do. “I’m happy to have made your acquaintance, Melissa. I look forward to seeing you again—hopefully without waiting as long since I last saw you.”

  “Please,” Melissa solicited, “be sure to let us know when Clay is reading again in the area. This whet my appetite.”

  “I’ll tell him that, Melissa, and I will keep Aunt Flora informed.”

  As they walked out, Melissa noticed that the Bartender was looking Clay’s direction with obvious distaste. She really wanted to say something that would put him in his place, but she wasn’t very fast at coming up with just the right thing, and she probably wouldn’t have been bold enough to say it anyway.

  Chapter 3

  Melissa hadn’t been home very long when Brian called.

  “I’ve found a different hot tub,” he said. “It’s considerably smaller, but unique, and I don’t think we’re planning on entertaining the neighbors anyway, are we?”

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘entertaining,’” she laughed, “but no, it will just be for the two of us.”

  “I’m really looking forward to using the hot tub underneath those beautiful Catalonia skies.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  “There is something else I want to talk to you about,” he said. “Now that I have my consultancy and am working with your country, there is really very little reason for me to remain in Tucson.” He paused to see if his words would elicit a response.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “I’m not sure what I should do,” he said. “There are so many variables right now. I have the cash to buy something down there, but perhaps I should rent first, or maybe we could…”

  “I can look to see if there are any rentals down here,” Melissa said.

  There was silence from the other end of the line. After a few seconds, Melissa began to realize that her response had not quite been what he expected, or at least what he had hoped for.

  “I just kind of need a home base for now,” he said. “With this ongoing investigation, I will have to travel frequently, but it seems silly to keep the Tucson place as my home base when I want to be with you when I’m there anyway.”

  “Well, I don’t see why we can’t continue the way we have for the last few months,” Melissa said. “You can stay here when you’re in town.”

  “Except I don’t know how much longer I should impugn your reputation.”

  “I thought that was my argument,” she said, laughing. “But I think we decided that we’re both adults and that it’s nobody’s business. And I certainly haven’t noticed any drop in the Chelsea Bun trade because you’ve been staying with me from time to time.”

  He laughed. “Well, there is one way to eliminate all the variables and make our decision easier.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “We could get married.”

  She was dumbstruck. She knew it had been at the forefront of his mind since the trip, at least, and in the background of hers, but she hadn’t expected it to come up this way.

  “Melissa?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “I know that wasn’t very romantic. I’m not a terribly romantic guy.”

  “You’re probably more romantic than I am.”

  “So you’re not disappointed?”

  “Disappointed?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

  “That I didn’t ask you down on one knee with a ring in hand?”

  She laughed. “No, Brian, not at all. That never even occurred to me.”

  “Had the idea of our getting married ever occurred to you?”

  “Well…of course,” she said. “I couldn’t miss your reference to a honeymoon that you made in the Reno airport.”

  “Ah, so you even remember where I said it.”

  “It hasn’t been that long ago, Brian.”

  “Have you been thinking about it?”

  “A little.”

  “Just a little?”

  She was silent again.

  “And what have you been thinking about it?” he asked.

  “I think we have a lot to talk about before
we make any decisions,” she said.

  “I know. That was my intention for wanting to spirit you away to Gold Country. While we were in Tahoe, there was too much outside tension to allow for any really intimate discussion, but the other trip got cut short.”

  “I understand.”

  “Maybe we can do like we talked about this morning—take a brief trip to out to the properties—as long as I swear to have you back by Saturday.”

  “That could work,” she said. “But honestly, Brian, I have to bring it to the forefront of my mind and think through some things on my own first.”

  “I hope you get a chance to do that, soon. I thought you told me once that women don’t compartmentalize their thoughts like men do.”

  “Hmm…I guess I do it when it’s convenient.”

  He laughed. “Okay, well, drag it out of the back compartment and give it a look. I love you and want to be with you.”

  “I love you, too, Brian—more than I’ve probably allowed myself to express. Maybe with a stretch of relative quiet, without any mysteries to solve, I can, as you say, ‘give it a look.’”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said.

  # # #

  The next morning, the florist delivered a beautiful bouquet of red roses with a tulle skirt around the stems with crystal and pearl pieces in it.

  “Wow!” Vivian said. “That—that looks like something a bride would carry.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Melissa responded.

  “Is that from Brian?”

  “Uh-huh,”

  “Is he trying to send you a message?”

  “Uh-huh. A none-too-subtle one.”

  “He’s proposing?”

  “He proposed last night.”

  “Oh, how exciting!” Vivian said, “And, of course you said yes!”

  “I did not.”

  Vivian’s face fell. “But you didn’t say no, either, did you?”

  Melissa laughed. “I didn’t say no. I said I needed to think and we needed to talk.”

  “I guess that’s an okay answer. At least you’re considering it.”

  Melissa didn’t respond.

  “But I’ll bet he was hoping you’d say yes on the spot.”

  “I don’t know—it wasn’t like it was a formal proposal. He simply said he didn’t see the point of making Tucson his home base any more, and we discussed options—one of which was getting married.”

  Vivian looked askance at her. “Brian’s more romantic than that.”

  “He says he’s not,” Melissa protested.

  “He’s very romantic. How many guys buy their girl a hot tub, for Pete’s sake? And only a romantic buys roses like that.”

  She would have to think about that, as well. She decided that putting together the pieces of who Brian Byrne was should be the first task in making a decision.

  Just then, they heard Flora’s phone ring in the kitchen and then, “Don’t worry, dear, Auntie Flora will be right there.”

  “Melissa, we have to go,” Flora announced coming to the front of the market. “Vivian, can you call Kim to see if she can come in so you can finish baking for me?”

  “What’s happened, Flora?” Melissa asked.

  “That was Clay. Jack was found dead in the hotel room this morning.”

  Chapter 4

  They were in the car, heading for Bismuth.

  “You said Jack was ‘found dead.’ It wasn’t Clay who found him?”

  “I’m guessing not because that was how he phrased it.”

  “Odd, I thought they were going to spend the night there.”

  “I did, too.”

  “Oh, Melissa, I feel so bad. This is the first time I’ve seen Clay really happy. He’s had several relationships, but none like he had with Jack.”

  “It’s strange. Even though I just met the young man last night, I have this ache right here,” Melissa said, pointing to the center of her chest.”

  “So do I.”

  They said little on the ride down. Neither of them felt like small talk, and there was too little information to conjecture anything.

  Clay had given Flora the room number, and as they approached, Melissa was relieved to see Detective Muller’s familiar face.

  There was crime scene tape across the partially closed door, and Melissa could see that Jack’s body was still in the bed. “Detective Muller,” Melissa said, “what happened?”

  “What’s your interest in this Ms. Michaelson?” the detective asked.

  “This is my assistant, Flora, Detective; the deceased is her nephew’s partner.”

  He raised his eyebrows and turned toward Flora. “What can you tell me about their relationship?”

  “She doesn’t need to tell you anything,” an approaching voice said. “I’m her nephew, and I’m right here.”

  Muller scrutinized Clay with a somber face.

  “Did you report the death?” Muller asked.

  “N-no. Apparently the maid found him. The room was unlocked, so she thought we had already checked out. She came in to turn the room around for later guests.”

  “Thought ‘we’ had checked out? So you stayed with him?”

  “Yes. He wasn’t feeling well earlier in the evening, so I took the room so he could rest and recover before we drove back to our ranch.”

  “So, where were you when the maid found him?”

  Clay glanced at the floor, gathering his thoughts. “I went elsewhere and left him here.”

  “Why?”

  Clay licked his lips and looked at his Aunt Flora as if pleading for help. “We had an argument in the night—a heated one. Neither of us wanted to be in the same room nor did we want to go home. He stayed, and I went down to the bar until it closed, and then I just sat out on the porch. At daylight, I got up to stretch my legs and went walking around town. I went to the diner for breakfast and got the call just as I was finishing up.”

  “They called you?”

  “Yeah, I guess when they couldn’t find me, they looked up my phone number from the hotel registration and called me.”

  “And you’re just now getting here?”

  “No, sir. I came right away. The hotel owner, the maid, and the night manager were here when I arrived. I—I couldn’t go in. I only looked at him from the door.”

  An officer appeared at Detective Muller’s side.

  The man leaned in and spoke low, but Melissa could hear him. “The coroner puts the time of death at six to ten hours ago, Detective.”

  “Thank you,” he said to the officer. Then, turning back to Clay, he said, “The TOD is six to ten hours ago. That would make it anywhere between ten o’clock last night to two o’clock this morning. Do you have an alibi for those hours, Mr.--?”

  “Barnett. Clay Barnett, sir. I was with Jack until almost midnight, then I went to the bar. The bartender, Eli Varner, can attest to the fact that I was there between midnight and probably three.”

  Detective Muller was taking notes as they spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Barnett. That will be all for now, but please don’t leave the floor in case I need to question you further.”

  Clay nodded and went to the drawing room beside the grand staircase down to the lobby and sat on a divan.

  “I would like to ask you a couple of questions if I might, Mrs.--?”

  “Flora will do, Detective.”

  “All right, Flora. When did you last see your nephew?”

  “Melissa and I were here last evening. Jack had a poetry performance, and Clay had invited Melissa and I. We left here about nine-thirty.”

  “When did you last see the deceased?”

  “He left the room just as he finished his performance. I didn’t see him after that.”

  “Any idea where he went?”

  Melissa spoke up. “Clay went out after him, and then returned to the bar shortly after. He told us that Jack wasn’t feeling well, and that he had taken a room for them.”

  “And you left shortly after that?”

  �
�Yes, directly after that.”

  “Detective, you haven’t said anything about the suspected cause of death.”

  “We don’t have much to go on, yet. The coroner has called for an autopsy because the cause of death isn’t apparent.”

  “Really!” Melissa exclaimed. “Would it be all right if I took at look at the crime scene, Detective?”

  Muller looked doubtful but only for a second. “I guess it would be all right. You were pretty instrumental in helping catch the Dunnick woman. You know a lot about poison, too, right?”

  Melissa whipped her head toward him. “Yes, but why? Do you suspect poisoning?”

  Muller shrugged. “There’s certainly no other apparent cause. He doesn’t have a mark on him; he didn’t bleed out; and he looks too healthy to have been sick. What else does that leave?”

  “A lot of things, probably,” Melissa said. “But I’ll keep that in mind as I survey the scene.” He stepped aside, allowing her to enter the room, and she ducked under the crime scene tape.

  Flora stayed behind because the detective was asking her more questions. She looked at Jack, lying in a fetal position on the bed. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she sniffed them back. Such a beautiful and promising young man to have been…have been what? Was he ill? Were his butterflies indicative of an illness of some kind? Did the fatigue of the reading exacerbate it?

  Clay said they had argued. She supposed she would soon find out what that was about. She looked around the room. Jack’s slacks and shirt were folded neatly over the back of a chair. He was just wearing a t-shirt, boxers, and his socks.

  Beside the bed stood a bottle of wine and a glass. The bottle had been opened, but it appeared to be completely full, and the glass in front of it was clean. Melissa turned to one of the forensic people who were still waiting to complete their job and asked for a pair of gloves.

  She put them on and picked up the glass. From all appearances, the glass was clean. Maybe too clean. She remembered noticing water spots at the bottom of all the glasses at the bar and thinking that their dishwasher probably needed to be decalcified. She smiled. She supposed only someone who ran a food business or a really persnickety housewife would notice things like that. This glass, however, was spotless.