by Leslie Leigh
“Oh, hello. I was just about to hang up.”
“I just thought you ought to know that the story Clay Barnett told us about where he was did not match up with Eli Varner’s account.”
“Oh, really?”
“Varner said Barnett came in for a single drink before midnight and left after only twenty minutes.”
Melissa thought about that for a second. “Don’t get me wrong, Detective,” she said at last, “but I’m almost inclined to believe Varner. I don’t think Clay is responsible for Jack’s death, but I don’t think he’s being completely straightforward either. Clay disliked Varner vehemently. He called him an asshole when I asked Clay about him.”
“Okay, and…?”
“And why would Clay stay alone in a bar with the only other person being a man who he hated?”
“Are we sure he was alone?”
Melissa thought about it. “I guess we don’t know that. Did you ask Varner?”
“I did not.”
“Well, see what Clay has to say for himself on that score.”
“I thought since you knew the boy that you could ask him in a manner that wouldn’t spook him.”
“And if I have no luck?”
“Then, I’ll lean on him. But I’d like you to take the lead.”
“All right. I’ll take it up with Flora. She’ll know how best to approach him.”
She had no sooner set the phone down than it rang again. She was surprised to see it was the number of the little B&B where Brian had initially stayed when he was making frequent trips to Catalonia.
“Hi, Janet, what’s up?” Melissa answered.
Janet squealed in her ear. “I couldn’t beLIEVE it. Thank you, thank you, thank you soooo much. Or at least, thank Brian.”
“For what?” Melissa asked, her curiosity piqued.
“For what, you silly goose. Don’t play innocent. It’s perfect! I was out all day today, and when I got home, there was this gorgeous red and white hot tub bubbling on my back patio. The bill of lading said Brian Byrne on it. I knew he loved it here, and he always teased me about buying the place, but I had no idea whatsoever.”
“Neither did I,” Melissa said, quite truthfully.
“You guys are great!” Janet said. “Look, it’s all set up and heated, the lights are on, and it looks very inviting. How about helping me celebrate? I can’t think of anyone better or who deserves it more.”
Melissa was laughing so hard inwardly that her insides were shaking. Why the heck not? she asked herself. I do deserve this. “Sure, I’ll be right over as soon as I grab a bite to eat.”
“See you in a bit then,” Janet said.
Melissa dialed Brian back. “You’ll never guess what….”
Chapter 7
Melissa returned a couple of hours later thoroughly relaxed, her eyelids heavy and ready for sleep.
She got out her journal and laid it by her bed along with a pen before she went to sleep. She got into bed and said out loud, “Let my subconscious do the sorting,” she said.
She woke the next morning when Sweet Pea jumped on the bed. At first she was confused and a little panicked that she had overslept, but then she remembered that Vivian and Kim were going to do the majority of the morning’s baking, and she would take over at eight.
The next thing she realized was that facts were flooding her head. She sat up and grabbed the notebook and pen. She walked in the living room, threw her shawl around her shoulders, and sat with pen poised on the page.
Observations so far, she wrote.
1. Body in fetal position as if in pain or distress, whether physical or psychological.
2. Wine bottle full but uncorked.
3. Pristine wine glass.
“Okay,” she said out loud. “Let’s assume I’m right about the glass being too pristine. That means that someone wiped it clean. There are two possibilities: either whoever gave him the glass suddenly became conscientious and wiped the glass before giving it to him, or if someone poisoned him, they cleaned and wiped the glass of everything—including all fingerprints.
“If I am going to assume poisoning, where did it come from? The bottle is uncorked but full. What did he drink, then, that poisoned him? If it were just the cork that were poisoned, the only things easily available that would have such a quick and deadly effect if used in even small quantities would be ricin or white hellebore. Either could be a possibility, except that both required forethought and planning or it would kill the poisoner as well.
“The circumstances didn’t seem premeditated—more like a crime of passion, if there was a crime involved. Clay had said that there was no way Jack was suicidal, but now Clay appeared to be lying about other things. What had they fought about that night? Was it enough to drive Jack to suicide, and was Clay either in denial or fearful of repercussions?
“What about the ghost thing? Ridiculous, but a little research would quickly rule that out—in case it was still uppermost in anyone’s mind. Who was this little George Walsh who had appeared to be stoking the fires for the ghost rumor? And he had said several things to indicate that he knew Jack.”
She made a note to find out more about George Walsh and then continued to think aloud, “Nobody had said much of anything about Eli Varner, the bartender and part-owner of the hotel. He had obviously been irritated at Jack, but was it purely business related? Clay had given his opinion of Varner, but it didn’t mean Varner had any reason to kill Jack. Lot’s of people were—ahem—jerks, but that didn’t make them murderers.
“Was it possible Jack had some hidden illness or injury? Something he hid even from his partner? When she thought back on his nausea, it seemed related to his emotions: butterflies on stage, ill after his embarrassment by Varner, and perhaps ill after fighting with Clay? Was it enough to kill him? Not unless it were a herniated ulcer, and that would have other consequences as well that Clay would know about. That was pretty unlikely.”
Her mind swung back to the possibility of suicide and she said out loud to herself, “Clay had called him ‘morose,’ but he implied it was an artistic thing, which really implied more gloomy and perhaps a bit pessimistic than severely depressed. I don’t want to think that everything Clay had told us was fabricated or stretched one way or another. He seemed genuine, like his Aunt Flora, and she was sure Flora would have said something if Clay was anything but genuine. Or would she? Would it be only natural to protect one’s kin in something like this — especially if one were in a bit of shock or denial at the moment? But it wasn’t as though she had actively protected him—she simply hadn’t indicated that Clay might be prevaricating or that he was anything less than one hundred percent trustworthy.”
# # #
Flora and Melissa both walked in at seven thirty. Melissa could see that Flora was not her usual self, so she thought she’d tell her the hot tub story to make her laugh. Flora stood there with her mouth open as Melissa relayed the story. “What on earth did Brian say when you told him?”
“What could he say? He wasn’t about to call her and say, ‘Oh, Janet, I’m so sorry. There’s been a mix-up—that hot tub was intended for Melissa instead.’”
“I guess I can see that. Wow, that’s a pretty expensive mix-up.”
Melissa laughed. “Yeah, Brian told me I may have to wait a little while longer to get mine, but he’s working on it.”
“Oh, how sweet. So he’s just going to let her keep it?”
“Of course. That’s Brian for you.”
“What, a gutless wonder?”
“Flora! Of course not.What the—?”
“That’s not what you’re thinking?”
“Whatever would make you think—?”
“Whatever would make me think that, Melissa?” Melissa still looked at her with a horrified expression. “You don’t say it, but your whole attitude shows it.”
“Shows what?”
“That you don’t think Brian is quite up to par, quite good enough for you.”
Melissa was breathing
deeply to keep from flashing in anger. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Well, why else would you have to even think twice before telling that boy you’ll marry him?”
“LOTS of reasons, none of which you have cited.”
Vivian and Kim could hear the heated voices, but out of respect, they remained in the kitchen. It was not like Flora and Melissa to squabble—ever.
“Such as?”
“Maybe it’s none of your business.”
“Or maybe you just can’t come up with a good answer.”
“What has gotten into you, Flora?”
Flora sat down at the nearest table, put her face into her arm, and started to sob.
“Flora!” Melissa exclaimed, moving to comfort her. “What on earth?”
“I’m just so worried about Clay. He doesn’t answer his phone. He won’t talk to anyone.”
“He’s grieving, Flora.”
“I know, I know, but I don’t want him to cut himself off from us. He needs us.”
“Does he?”
Flora looked up at her. “I just know that autopsy is going to show something horrible, and that somehow the blame is going to fall on Clay. He needs us now more than ever.”
“Do you think it’s possible that he’s already skipped?”
“Why would he if he’s not guilty?”
“Fear, perhaps?”
“Fear of what?”
“Flora, Detective Muller called me last night. There’s a discrepancy between Clay and Eli Varner’s stories regarding Clay’s alibi.”
Flora searched her face disbelievingly. “Surely you don’t believe Varner? You heard what Clay called him.”
“Flora, think about it. Why would Eli go sit in a bar all by himself where Varner was bartending? Why not go someplace else if he wanted to drink.”
“Maybe he wasn’t all by himself.”
“Then, why hasn’t he given us the name or names of whoever he was with so that Detective Muller can hear their story?”
Flora searched Melissa’s eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Melissa just nodded her head. “You’ve got to get him into your confidence and find out what really happened that night. There’s too much Clay isn’t telling us.”
“Maybe I’ll try texting him.”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
“Melissa?”
“Uh-huh?”
“I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”
Silence ensued. “Why did you say it, Flora? That was some pretty wild stuff.”
“I guess it was over the top because I’m so worried about Clay. I still meant it—just not quite as nastily. Care to hear my observations?”
“Of course. Mind if I make the coffee while you talk?”
“I guess not. It is getting to be that hour. But just make sure you’re listening.”
“Scout’s honor,” Melissa said, holding up the first three fingers of her right hand.
“You seem to float around a lot of the time, like you’re just above us or something. I don’t feel that way, necessarily, but a lot of people do.”
“And yet you’re the one that is telling me this.”
“Well, I’ve heard it enough. I thought it was about time somebody addressed it.”
“Go on.”
“We all speculated in the beginning as to whether or not you and Brian would become romantically involved. Nobody thought it would happen.”
“Really? Why not?”
“He’s not your type.”
“What is my type?”
“I’m not quite sure, but it’s not Brian’s type. In fact, I’m not sure this type exists anywhere in Arizona.”
“Anywhere in Arizona? Does that mean I’m doomed to be single forever, then?”
“I guess we just all thought you’d be attracted to the tall, dark, handsome Type-A kind of guy.”
“Type-A? Why?”
“A really take-charge person.”
“I’m already in charge, so why would I need a ‘take-charge person’ as you put it?”
Flora closed her mouth with a snap and appeared to think about that. Finally, she seemed to have considered the question and said, “Well, you’re a Type-A person.”
“And?”
“So another Type-A person and you’d be pretty well-matched.”
“Flora, have you gone entirely off your rocker? Opposites attract. If I had another Type-A person around to tell me what to do, we would go head-to-head all the time. Do you know how I know this? My father was a Type-A person. I put up with it for seventeen years and escaped to college the second I graduated from high school, and I went as far away from Arizona as I could get. The last thing I would want is a Type-A guy.”
“And yet they say we all marry our fathers.”
“I’d have to think about that. Perhaps there were things about my father that I liked that I see in Brian. I’ve never thought about it.”
“So you think you and Brian are pretty well-matched?”
“Very well-matched”
“Then, why don’t you tell him you’ll marry him?”
Melissa switched on the coffee maker and turned back to look at Flora. “I will have to admit that forcing me to think through this tells me that I do, indeed, want to marry Brian Byrne. There, I said it. But wanting and doing are two different things.”
“Why are they two different things where you’re concerned?”
“Because…it’s complicated.” Melissa put up her finger when Flora opened her mouth to speak. “I know that’s what a lot of people say when they just don’t want to deal with it. Actually, I do want to deal with it—but not long distance. He’s supposed to be home in two weeks, and then we can talk it out. I just wish…”
Flora raised her eyebrows, encouraging her to finish the sentence.
“I just wish I had a hot tub that we could sit in under the stars to talk it out.”
Both women laughed. Melissa came around the counter and hugged Flora. Vivian and Kim tiptoed in to fill the bakery cases and the bell rang, indicating the arrival of their first customer.
Chapter 8
Detective Muller called Melissa first thing Tuesday morning. “Can you meet me at the coroner’s office at ten this morning, Ms. Michaelson?”
“Yes, of course. I look forward to it.”
Flora would be relieved that they were finally going to get more information. Melissa called to let her know that she was going and that she wouldn’t be in until noon at the earliest. She asked Flora, “Have you gotten a response from Clay yet?”
“Yes. He did tell me he’s just been at the ranch, avoiding everyone and waiting to hear more himself.”
“Did you have a chance to ask him what they fought about that night?”
“Not yet, Melissa. I’m still trying to establish myself as someone he can trust above all else. Of course, you realize what kind of position that puts me in—swearing to him that I’m the one to trust, and then turning around and giving you the information.”
“Well, perhaps you should establish us both as trustworthy without leading him astray. We care for him and will do what’s right for him, but we need the truth. And don’t wait too long, especially depending on what I find out at the coroner’s office.”
“I’ll try to text him again this morning. He called right away after I texted him the last time.”
“Good. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything.”
# # #
Detective Muller was waiting for her in the outer room of the coroner’s office. “Have you already talked to them?” Melissa asked.
“No. I wanted us to hear it together.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He opened the door, and they walked into the autopsy room where the temperature immediately dropped about thirty degrees.
She was surprised to see Jack’s body still on the table, uncovered to the waist, the familiar Y-shaped autopsy in
cisions evident.
Muller obviously wasn’t expecting it, either. “Does this bother you, Ms. Michaelson?”
She shook her head. “I had clinicals in college, so I went through a couple of these.”
“To be a nutritionist?”
“You’d be surprised about just how thorough my college program actually was. I could probably take the NCLEX and pass.”
“NCLEX?”
“Nursing exam.”
“Ah.”
Just then the coroner stepped into the room. “Detective,” he said, nodding at Muller. “Ms. Michaelson, I’m glad you’ve come. It’s pretty simple—well, the explanation of the cause of death is pretty simple—but not how it was administered necessarily.”
“And the CoD is?” asked Detective Muller.
“Cyanide poisoning,” said the coroner.
“Cyanide! Well, that had to have come from something he drank, then,” said Melissa.
“Yes, besides his dinner, he had wine in his stomach,” said the coroner.
“But the wine hadn’t been poured…unless…,” she said.
“Unless what?” asked Detective Muller.
She looked around the room. “Where’s the bottle?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. You need to hear from forensics,” the coroner said.
“Jason!” called the coroner.
“Yes, sir,” they heard coming from the cavernous depths of the morgue.
“Can you come up here a minute, please?” asked the coroner.
“Be right there,” said Jason. Moments later, Jason entered the room, pulling off his surgical gloves.
“This is Detective Muller and Melissa Michaelson, Jason. Can you tell them what you learned in regard to the Burroughs case?”
“Sure,” he said. “You were correct, Ms. Michaelson, that there was only one set of prints on the bottle, but they were Mr. Burroughs’ prints.”
That surprised her. “Go on,” she said.
“There were no prints on the glass.”
“And the contents of the bottle?”
He shrugged. “There was nothing on the cork, and since nothing had been poured from it, I didn’t run a test.”
“Ah,” Melissa said. “Would you bring me the bottle?”
He nodded and walked away. When he returned, he had the wine bottle in his hand.