Yours Naturally,
Dr. McQuade
It felt as if Tuesday night went on forever, but it was actually in the early hours of Wednesday morning that the veterinarian on duty at the twenty-four-hour Pet ER examined both dogs and found them to be malnourished, severely dehydrated, and sick with worms. Not only that, one of the dogs had four calcified disks in his back, which must have made life hell in that yard. Both Jackson and I were angry and upset. The dogs were admitted and we were told to call in the morning for an update. We didn’t get back to my place until two in the morning.
Our siesta was interrupted Wednesday morning when someone knocked on my bedroom door.
Jackson groaned. “What time is it?”
I squinted at my bedside clock. “Eight oh five.”
“That’s too early,” Jackson mumbled. “Tell them to go away.”
I got up, put on my robe, and went to see who it was.
“Sorry to bother you,” Wallace said, “but the police are here to see you.”
“The police? Why?” The cold finger of fear ran down my spine. Jackson sat up in the bed, now wide-awake.
“I don’t know, but they want to see you right now.”
“Tell them I’ll be down in a few minutes. I have to get dressed. Thank you, Wallace.” I closed the door and turned to look at Jackson. “What do you think this is about?”
“Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Cops don’t stop by this early just for fun.”
I took the stairs to the first floor, with Jackson right behind me. I was glad he was there. When I reached the store, I spotted Detective Koren and his sidekick, Detective Coyle, standing by the counter and perusing the café. Wallace gave me a worried look.
Detective Koren spotted me and waved me over. He was dressed in a well-fitting black suit and Ray-Bans. Coyle wore a wrinkled brown linen suit with a garish orange tie. “Ms. McQuade, I need to speak with you,” Koren began.
“Why is that?” I tried hard to hide my anxiety.
“The autopsy report is in, and it shows that the victim, Roger Bixby, had what seems to be lavender bathwater in his lungs.”
“So, he didn’t die in the bay?” Jackson asked.
“No, that’s not what it looks like. He also had high levels of barbiturates in his system.” Detective Koren flipped open his police-issue black notebook. “We think that Roger Bixby may have been drowned in a bathtub, then moved. Although we don’t know how, with a house full of people, that was possible. The interesting thing is that it’s the same modus operandi as when that caretaker Daniel Russell was murdered at the estate in the thirties.”
“He was drowned in a bathtub and his body was moved?” I asked.
Coyle nodded.
“That’s too much of a coincidence,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s what we thought,” Koren agreed.
“How did you know about that?” Jackson said. “You weren’t even born then, Koren.”
“Hey, we do our research,” Coyle answered. “We’re detectives. We detect.”
“Okay, then, so why are you here?” Jackson said. “This has nothing to do with Willow.”
“I’m here because Dr. McQuade is the only person I know who happens to be an expert in lavender essential oils. In fact, you gave a seminar on lavender on Monday evening, did you not?”
“Please, Koren,” Jackson said. “Why would a murderer need essential oil? It has nothing to do with why Roger died.”
“We don’t know. It’s why we’re here,” Koren said.
“We’ve tried to reach Simon and he’s not answering,” Coyle interjected. “Know anything about that?”
“He’s probably asleep,” I said snarkily. This was a helluva way to wake up.
Koren flipped to another page in his notebook. “We’re still wondering about Simon’s motive. We’re thinking he did it to get Roger out of the picture so he could have Carly all to himself.”
“They were getting a divorce. Roger was already out of the picture,” Jackson said. “And we’re not talking to you about this.”
“Do you think he did it?” Coyle asked me.
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“Okay,” said Koren, flipping a page of his notebook. “But let’s say he did do it. Did you help him obtain the lavender essential oil that we found at the bottom of the bathtub?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Then that’s all for now,” Koren said. “If you see your ex, tell him we want to talk to him again.”
At that moment, the door opened and Simon walked in.
Simon didn’t notice Koren and Coyle at first because he had his head down and was texting. But after he put his laptop on a table by the window and sat down, he did, and his face fell.
Koren, Coyle, Jackson, and I went over to Simon’s table.
“Mr. Lewis. We need to talk to you.” Koren looked at Jackson and me. “Alone please.”
“I want them to stay,” Simon said. “What do you want?”
Koren told him about the autopsy results. “Now, do you know anything about this?”
“No, not at all.”
“We were thinking that your ex-girlfriend here”—Coyle pointed at me—“may have given you the lavender oil we found in the tub.”
“Simon, call your lawyer,” Jackson said. “Do not say a thing.”
“You are really getting on my nerves, Spade,” Koren said. “This is none of your business.”
“It’s her business”—Jackson gestured to me—“so it’s my business. Willow, would you like them to leave?”
“Very much so.”
“Gentlemen?”
“We’ll go,” Koren said. “But we need to talk to you, Mr. Lewis. Now.”
“Willow, call my lawyer.” Simon fished out a business card from his wallet and handed it to me. Then he gathered up his laptop, a stricken look on his face. “Tell him I need him now.”
After the police left with Simon in tow, I called his lawyer, who said he was on his way. But I didn’t have time to dwell on this recent turn of events because the breakfast crowd started to pour in, and Merrily had just called in sick. Because of this, Jackson would have to go to Roger’s funeral at the Presbyterian Church in Southold this morning alone and give Carly my regrets. He also promised to call the Pet ER on his way to his house to change and call me with any news.
I pitched in and helped Wallace handle the crowd. Around eleven thirty, Amanda texted me to let me know that both Allie and Hector had appointments at the cottage from two to six. I had appointments at four and five. Jackson called to tell me that he had talked with the vet, who was still evaluating the dogs. I stayed to help with the lunch crowd, too, and finally left the store at one thirty with Qigong, after putting the cats in my bedroom to keep them safe.
Before I went up to the estate, I swung by the police station, left Qigong in the car, and went inside. The desk sergeant told me that Simon was no longer there. I stepped out onto the front steps and called him but got his voice mail. I called Carly and got the same response. Maybe they let Simon go to the funeral with her, I thought. Actually, if Koren and Coyle were anything like TV detectives, they would have gone to the funeral, too.
Jackson showed up at the estate about ten minutes after I did. We set off in one of the golf carts for the cottage where I would be working, and I told him that I hadn’t been able to get in touch with Simon again. “Was he at the funeral?”
Jackson shook his head. “I hope he hasn’t done something stupid, like gone to L.A.”
“I don’t think he’d do that. Was Carly at the funeral?”
“Of course. Not a lot of tears, though. But I guess that’s to be expected when you’re married to someone like Roger Bixby. Or if you had a hand in his murder.”
“We don’t know that. She’s been very upset about Roger’s death. Maybe she’s all cried out for now. We also don’t know what that photo of her sweater and her sunglasses on the dock mean.”
Jackson looked trou
bled. “I know what Simon told you about Carly, and he might be right. But Simon’s in love with her, so he may not be the most objective person to ask. And how do we know that Carly’s been honest with him? I think I’m going to do a little research and see if I can find out if she really is a trust-fund baby. In the meantime, I’m going to keep an eye on her.”
Jackson’s phone rang and he pulled over. “Hello? . . . Oh, hi, Dr. Scott, how are the dogs?” He listened for a few moments. “That sounds good. Thank you so much.” He put his phone back into his pocket. “Dr. Scott says they are already doing much better. They’ve been treated for worms, bathed, and groomed. They’re eating a high-nutrition dog food to fatten them up. I’m going to pick them up later, during the dinner break, and take them home.”
“Take them home?” I asked, surprised. “You mean, you’re going to adopt them?”
“Yup. I’ve wanted doxies for years, so this seems right.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“Just following your lead, McQuade. The fact that you rescued Qigong gave me the idea. I’d like to rescue more doxies and other dogs. Maybe even set up a sanctuary on my property. I’m going to look into it.”
“That would be fantastic. You’re a great guy, you know that?” I leaned over and kissed him.
“I try.” Jackson pulled back onto the path. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
“First, I want to make sure that Allie and Hector have what they need for their clients. But I don’t have appointments until four, so I thought I might do some snooping.”
“Just be careful,” Jackson said predictably.
“I want to talk to Sarah, the makeup artist. Unless she can do damage with mascara and blush, I’ll be fine.”
After I checked in with Allie and Hector, I took Qigong for a walk back to the makeup and wardrobe trailer. I wanted to talk to Sarah again and see if I could get more information about Carly and Roger.
The trailer was at the far end of the property, set back from the house. I picked up Qigong, climbed the two steps, and walked in the open door. Sarah was sitting on a couch with a box of Kleenex next to her. A petite brunette, wearing jeans, a tie-dyed top, and flip-flops, pulled clothes from the wardrobe rack on the other side of the trailer. “Hi, can I help you?”
“I’m Willow McQuade, the holistic doctor on-site. I just wanted to check on Sarah.”
“I’m Cassidy.” She reached down to pet Qigong. “What a cute doggy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cassidy.” I turned to Sarah. “How are you doing today?”
She blew her nose. “Not good. The funeral was very difficult.”
That wasn’t what Jackson had said. If she had been crying, she was in the minority. What exactly was her relationship with Roger?
“In fact, I’m going to go back to the hotel. I’m not needed until later anyway.” She picked up her bag and walked out the door. “I’ll see you later, Cassidy.”
I waited until she was out of earshot, then said, “She seems really upset. I didn’t know that she and Roger were that close.”
Cassidy seemed uncomfortable with my question. “I don’t know about that. I think she felt bad for Tom.” Cassidy picked up a few wildly colorful caftans and headed for the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go see MJ.”
As I stepped out of the trailer, I spotted Tom entering the mansion. Suddenly I knew what I was going to do next.
I put Qigong in the car, checked the call sheet for an address, and headed west. I arrived at Tom’s studio in Cutchogue ten minutes later. The address took me to the end of a private road about two blocks from the water. The studio looked more like a shack than a house, with peeling paint and a rotted roof. It was run-down, uncared for, and unloved. It seemed to fit Tom’s personality. A rutted dirt road led to the building, but I parked the car on the road, gave Qigong a bone, and walked instead.
Most of the homes in the neighborhood looked empty, which meant they were second homes and only used on weekends or in the summer. Still, I took a quick look around to make sure I was alone before I headed to the front steps of his studio and picked up his mail from under a red brick.
There were two notices from collection agencies, a bill for Rolling Stone magazine, and a letter from an E. Thorne without a return address. The back of the envelope was partly open so I helped it along and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It had just two words: Contact me. I didn’t know what to make of that. I put the sheet back into the envelope and pressed the flap closed.
I put the mail back under the brick and headed around the studio. A large window was on the south side, which probably provided brilliant morning sun. Inside, I saw a potter’s wheel, dirty rags, and several half-finished pieces on a workbench. The workroom looked dirty and dusty. I wondered how long it had been since he had done any work here. I went back around to the front door and tried to open it, but it was firmly locked. That wasn’t going to stop me. First, though, I went to get Qigong because it was too warm to leave him in the car any longer. When it’s warm outside, a car gets hot very fast, even with the windows cracked.
I put him on a leash and returned to the back of the studio and found a window that was half-open. I pushed the screen into the room and opened the sash. It took all of two minutes. I leaned in, set Qigong on the floor, and wiggled through myself. Once inside, I padded around the studio and examined Tom’s work while Qigong sniffed the floor. One shelf was filled with unfired asymmetrical pots, which I couldn’t imagine anyone actually buying. His sculpture, though, was more interesting. The pieces were whimsical busts of mythical beasts. They weren’t exactly my taste, but I could see what Carly meant. Each seemed to have a unique and vivid character. Tom Bixby, the walking disaster, really did have talent.
Next, I examined a large oak table. Its surface was covered with dried clay and layers of scattered newspapers. I saw something shiny sticking from beneath the corner of an old New York Times sports section. It was a photo of Tom kissing Sarah, the makeup artist, in front of the Universal City Studios sign in Los Angeles. Wow. So perhaps she turned down Roger but went for Tom? No wonder she wasn’t happy about his crush on Carly. I turned over the photo to find a date. It had been taken in July, right around the time that Carly had hooked up with Simon. I pulled out my phone and took a photo to show to Jackson later.
After that, I headed into the other rooms. Dirty dishes were in the small kitchen, and a hallway led to the living room, which was sparsely furnished with a sofa and a flat-screen TV. The bathtub was dirty, and the sheets on his bed were a tangled mess. I circled the bedroom and came to a full stop when I found another photo. This one was of Tom and Carly. But it hadn’t started out that way. Tom had obviously cut Roger out of the photo and replaced it with himself. Creepy. I took a shot of that, too.
I decided that I’d spent enough time here, but, as usual, Qigong had other ideas. He poked his head into a hole in the wall and started barking, probably at a mouse. I went over to pick him up and asked him to Shhh! while I zeroed in on the antique desk next to the hole in the wall. There were more scattered papers, mostly overdue bills. Holding Qigong, I riffled through them and quickly found my third surprise in Tom’s house. It was a letter from Roger’s production company, Galaxy Productions, dated April 12, 2011:
Mr. Thomas Bixby,
Please accept this check for $31,500 for pre-production services provided during the start-up of MJ’s Mind. A contract for your services on the MJ’s Mind shoot in Southold, NY, in 2012, exact dates to be determined later, will follow. $1,500 of this amount is payment for the two-week intensive second-assistant-director workshop you have taken at the Creative Film Institute in Santa Monica, Ca. We look forward to working with you.
It was signed by Roger and CC’d to Carly and Rick.
But there was more, a green Post-it that read, This is blackmail, Tommy. But I trust you will keep your word and not tell Carly a thing. Destroy this note!—RB.
I thought about what Carly had said a
bout Roger owing Tom. I was right. That was definitely his euphemism for blackmail.
chapter thirteen
Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips
Menopause is the time when menstrual cycles cease. It’s also a rite of passage that can be empowering, enabling you to make changes and start over in midlife. Aromatherapy can be helpful for the hot flashes that are among menopause’s most vexing symptoms. Good essential oils to choose include basil, geranium, grapefruit, lavender, lemon, and peppermint. You can inhale these oils directly or put them in the bath. Massages can be especially soothing and calming. To make a massage oil, mix one ounce (28 ml) of one of these oils with twelve drops of birch, rosemary, or juniper.
Yours Naturally,
Dr. McQuade
When I returned to the estate Wednesday afternoon around three, I found Jackson guarding the front of the mansion. The red light was going round and around. Qigong sniffed the grass while I showed Jackson the photos of Sarah and Tom, Tom and Carly, and told him about the letter I’d found.
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or have you arrested for breaking and entry and tampering with the US mail.”
“I left everything exactly as it was. And I got some valuable information.”
“Yeah, you did. But you took some pretty big risks there. I wish you had waited for me.”
“I know. But we need to divide and conquer. Especially since the cops hauled Simon in again. So what do you think it all means?”
“I think it confirms the fact that Tom is interested in Carly, which gives him a pretty good motive for murder. But killing Roger would also stop that blackmail revenue stream. You definitely need to talk to Sarah, the makeup lady, again. She may be able to help you unravel this mess.”
“I plan on it.” I looked at the red light. “Why are they shooting this afternoon?”
“MJ isn’t in there,” Jackson explained. “She had kind of a meltdown in the limo on the way to the cemetery, Rick said. She’s lying down in their cottage. So, definitely no shoot tonight. They’re just taking shots of the rooms that he expects MJ will want to work in, and also the beach during magic hour. You know, right before sunset when you get that golden glow. Rick says it will show the audience that the estate looks welcoming but is actually very scary.”
Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries) Page 12