Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries)

by Chrystle Fiedler

  I’d stopped for a moment to get my breath when I heard Lucas’s voice. “Who’s in there? You okay?”

  “Yes, but my dog isn’t. Open this door! Please!”

  “Sure thing.” I heard Lucas slide the bolt on the other side of the door, and then it was open.

  I stepped outside, blinking against the bright light. “I need to find my dog. Qigong?” His barking had become panicked. My heart was in my throat.

  “Sounds like he’s that way.” Lucas pointed at the house.

  We ran toward it, following the sound of Qigong’s barking. When we rounded the porch, I called for him again, and he began to whine. I raced up the steps and onto the porch, where he was tied to the barbecue grill. Whoever had done it had used his leash to secure him. I untied him and gathered him in my arms. “It’s okay, boy,” I told him, burying my face in his soft fur. “You’re safe now.

  “Thank you,” I said to Lucas. Then, for the first time since he’d freed me, I really looked at him. He was carrying goggles and a chain saw. Instinctively I backed away.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you looking so spooked all of a sudden?” He followed my gaze to the chain saw in his hand. “Oh, this old thing.” He carefully set the saw down on the porch. “I guess a man holding a chain saw is not a reassuring sight.”

  “I appreciate you understanding.” I still kept a wary distance.

  Lucas raised his hands high. “I’m unarmed, I swear. And I’m not going to hurt you. So, will you please stop looking at me like I’m a serial killer?”

  Something in his tone broke through my fear, and I felt myself relax a little. Then I felt myself relax a whole lot more as I heard the sound of a golf cart and Jackson rolled into sight.

  “Willow, are you okay?” he called.

  “I’m fine. Lucas and I were . . . just talking.”

  Jackson parked the cart and came up onto the porch. His eyes went to the chain saw on the floor. “Is that yours?” he asked Lucas.

  “It belongs to the estate. We use it to trim trees.”

  “Well, then, were you the one who sawed the branch over the path that almost fell on Willow and Amanda on Tuesday?”

  “Hell, no. I’ve been working on clearing an area near the house the past couple of days. My mom wants to put in a vegetable garden on the other side of the shed, in the field.”

  “So who locked me in the shed?” Before Jackson could get upset, I said, “It’s okay, no harm done. I’ll explain later.”

  “Beats me,” Lucas replied. “Anyone could have locked you in there. And I don’t know who took your dog, either. What were you doing over here in the first place?”

  “I was hoping to get a few bouquets of lavender to put in the guesthouse where we’re working.”

  “My dad doesn’t like strangers in the fields. But I guess it’ll be okay. It’s over here. . . .” He walked ahead of us, showing the way.

  Jackson, Qigong, and I followed Lucas back to the garden, which I now realized was beautiful, filled with roses, zinnias, morning glories, cosmos, and sunflowers. “I’ll get you some shears,” Lucas said as he opened the door to the shed. He pulled out a pair of shears and handed them to me, handle first.

  Jackson looked inside the shed. “So you don’t lock this?”

  “No need,” Lucas said.

  “There is if someone is using your equipment to harm someone.”

  Lucas didn’t reply, just closed the door, and pointed to the lavender fields beyond the house. “The lavender is that way. Take all you want.”

  We watched as Lucas climbed the steps and walked onto the porch. Sheila, his mother, came out of the house, and the two spoke for a moment before Lucas went inside. She wore a faded flowered sundress, an apron, and sneakers. Her hair was twisted into a bun on top of her head and her face looked stressed. She was carrying a bowl of water.

  Jackson walked over to her. “Do you know anything about what happened to Willow and her dog? Someone shoved her into the shed and took him.” He pointed to Qigong.

  “And tied him to this,” I said, pointing to the barbecue.

  Sheila shook her head. “I don’t know about the shed. I found the dog and didn’t know who he belonged to.” She put the bowl of water down for Qigong, and he lapped it up. “I got this for him because I thought he was thirsty.”

  “I’m just glad to have Qigong back. Thank you.” But I couldn’t help wondering if Sheila had something to do with what had happened. The house, like the Bixby mansion, had an odd, uncomfortable vibe. It didn’t seem as dark and menacing as the mansion, but something about this place didn’t feel right. As we walked past, I noticed several blue bottles labeled LAVENDER OIL in a carrier on the steps. I nudged Jackson and pointed at it. “That’s lavender oil. Do you think someone in this family killed Roger?”

  “Could be. Or someone took it from here.” Jackson shook his head. “I think we’re accumulating way too many suspects. We’re going to have to start winnowing down the list.”

  We went over to the lavender fields, and Jackson started clipping sprigs of lavender.

  Before he had enough for a bouquet, James Russell, Lucas’s father, walked up to us with a shotgun. “This is private property.”

  Jackson stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You can put that gun away,” he said calmly. “I just wanted to get a few bouquets of lavender for the cottage where my girlfriend is working. Your son said it would be okay. I’m Jackson Spade. I’m providing security for MJ’s Mind.” He held up his security ID. “And this is Willow McQuade.”

  James Russell leaned the shotgun against a fence post and arched a bushy eyebrow at me. “So, you’re staying on the estate?”

  “No, I’m just working here.” I stood up and wiped my hands on my shorts. “I’m a naturopathic doctor. I dispense natural cures, and we’re also giving massages and doing acupuncture to help MJ and the crew.”

  “Don’t you know that there was a murder here on Sunday?” He gave me a hard stare.

  “We know,” I said. “But we’re trying to help Rick and MJ.”

  James laughed. “You’d be better off worrying about yourselves. That murder was just like the murder of my old man, Daniel Russell, during Prohibition. Something very strange is going on here. Something you don’t want anything to do with.”

  “I did some research about the estate,” I said, “and it mentioned your father and Max Bixby.”

  “Did your research mention that my father worked for Max in his rum running business? Or that they had a fight and Max killed him?”

  “It did, actually,” I said. “So why wasn’t Max arrested?”

  “The family was too powerful—and too rich. Max bought off my mother by giving my whole family lifetime jobs. He guaranteed us generous salaries and tenancy here. He told her, ‘Your family will never want for anything.’ But it was the devil’s deal she made. The one thing I want, we’ll never get—and that’s justice.”

  “Max is dead now,” Jackson said. “There’s your justice.”

  “That’s not justice. He lived a long life. He deserved worse.” James Russell pulled a flask from his pocket and took a long drink. “Roger came back a few months ago to see Max before he died. Minute the old man’s dead, he decides to sell the estate. I told him that he can’t do that. He owes us. But he wouldn’t listen to me. Now he’s dead, too, and good riddance.”

  chapter fifteen

  Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips

  As human beings, we have all had our hearts broken or suffered a loss. When we cry, it helps provide an emotional release that lowers blood pressure and muscular tension. Chemicals in tears include endorphin, which is a natural anesthetic and helps relieve the pain of loss. Essential oils can also stimulate chemical changes in the brain that can soothe you when you’re hurting. Add eight to ten drops of essential oils such as cedarwood, clary sage, cypress, geranium, hyssop, marjoram, orange, rose, rosemary, or sage to your bath after it’s filled. When you let the water drain
out, visualize your sadness going down the drain. Keep in mind that time is a great healer. You will feel good again.

  Yours Naturally,

  Dr. McQuade

  I returned to the cottage with the two bouquets of lavender and a lot of questions. Did James kill Roger to keep him from selling the estate? Was Lucas involved? And who had trapped me in that shed, and why? Only Jackson and MJ had known I was going there.

  My musing was interrupted by my first client. Kelly, the accountant, had irritable bowel syndrome. I suggested more fiber, water, and activity; fewer fatty foods; cutting down on caffeine and carbonated sodas; and taking enteric-coated peppermint oil and clown’s mustard. Next, I saw Samantha, Kelly’s assistant. She had adult acne, so I recommended taking probiotics with bifidus and using tea tree oil on pimples. My final appointment of the day was with Martin, an assistant cameraman, who had strained his wrist. I suggested resting it as much as possible, wearing a brace, and applying topical arnica oil and taking homeopathic arnica.

  I had dinner with Jackson since I was staying for this evening’s shoot. After we ate, I put Qigong in my car with the windows wide-open and asked Matt, the guard at the door, to watch him, and we went inside the mansion.

  Tonight, Thursday evening, they were shooting in the study. Rick, Carly, Tom, and Pierre were talking when we came in. MJ was seated in an old, beat-up wingback chair, eyes closed, preparing to contact the dead.

  Jackson looked around the room and said in a low voice, “Please note that Miss Amanda is not here. She’s probably waiting upstairs to do special effects.”

  “You may be right, but I still think that MJ is the real deal.”

  Carly spotted us and said something to Tom, who glared daggers at Jackson and me. Clearly, he was still furious about being thrown out of Nature’s Way three nights ago.

  Carly came over to us. “Thanks for taking Simon to the library this morning, Willow. It was good for him to get out.” She made it sound as if I were babysitting him.

  “It’s always good to have help with research,” I said. “I’m glad that he was there.”

  She pulled the sunglasses off the top of her head and hooked them on the front of her T-shirt. It reminded me of the photo I’d found that showed these same sunglasses and her sweater on the dock. “His lawyer is still working on getting him out of this, but every little bit helps.”

  I knew I was not a professional investigator. Still, I’d been working pretty hard to solve the mystery of Roger’s murder and get Simon off the hook. Certainly more than a little bit. “Glad to do it,” I said without showing my irritation.

  “She’s doing a great job,” Jackson said, and put his arm around me.

  “Simon told me what you found,” she said. “But I’m not sure that it means anything. Have you discovered anything new this afternoon?”

  Now she was really getting on my nerves. Jackson must have sensed it because he told her what had happened at Lucas’s house.

  “Oh, James,” Carly said, sounding bored. “James is always talking about Max and how he killed his father. But there is absolutely no evidence that he did, none at all, and Roger never told me that he was going to sell the estate. I think that James was making that up, too.”

  James had sounded truthful to me, but I let her comments pass.

  MJ got up then and started to pace the floor.

  “She’s ready,” Carly said. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.”

  “Everybody settle!” Tom yelled. MJ sat down again in the wingback chair.

  Martin, the assistant cameraman yelled, “Speed!” and Pierre yelled, “Action!”

  MJ got up and began to circle the room, just as she had the night before. She stopped near a window with a view of the bay. “I’m sensing the spirit of a young woman who is very sad. Her name starts with an R. Is the R for ‘Rebecca’?” She waited a moment. “Yes, this is the spirit of Rebecca Russell. She was married to the caretaker Daniel Russell at the time of his death.”

  MJ put her hand to her chest, and as if on cue, tears began to stream down her cheeks. She pulled out a tissue, dabbed her face, and looked into the camera. “Her love was taken from her too soon, and she is still very grief-stricken. That’s why she is still here.” MJ took a deep breath. “What do you have to tell me, Rebecca?”

  At that moment, the windows started rattling violently. A window shade snapped up and spun around and around.

  MJ seemed unperturbed. “That’s not necessary. I hear you. I’m listening.”

  The lights in the chandelier flicked on and off again. Suddenly the room seemed colder.

  MJ looked straight into the camera. “She wants me to tell you that the rumor is true. She wants justice for her husband.”

  MJ’s reading was unsettling. As I drove home Thursday night, I wondered if she would connect with Daniel Russell as well. If she did, would he give us the real story on his death? That would make for some exciting TV. And then another thought occurred to me: She knew Roger when he was alive. Would she try to contact him now that he was dead?

  I was putting clean sheets on my bed when Jackson walked in the door with the two doxies. He’d gone home to pick them up after the shoot wrapped. Qigong jumped off the chair and ran over to meet them. Jackson greeted me with a kiss.

  “That’s nice,” I said, gazing into his eyes.

  “Very.” Jackson kissed me again.

  I looked at the pile of clean linens that were still stacked on my dresser. “If we finish making up the bed, we can lie down.”

  “Good idea.”

  The dogs settled in the comfy dog bed under the window and watched us. The cats lounged in the chair.

  “What did you think of MJ’s reading tonight?” I asked.

  “Interesting. I wonder how they got that window to shake and the shade to go up.”

  “Maybe it was Rebecca’s spirit.” I grabbed a pillowcase and threw it to him, then slid another on the pillow closest to me.

  “Nah.” He grabbed a pillow and put the fresh pillowcase on it. “That can’t be it.”

  “Ye of little faith,” I teased. “What about Carly? Would it kill her to acknowledge the work I’ve been doing?” I picked up the comforter and spread it on the bed.

  “She doesn’t believe in you like Simon. You really can’t blame her for that.”

  “I guess not.”

  Jackson lay down on the bed and patted the space next to him. “Forget about MJ and Carly. I’ve got a better idea of how you can spend your time.”

  I climbed in next to him. “Oh, really?”

  He pulled me close. “Really.” He kissed me.

  I woke up Friday morning to find a note from Jackson on the pillow next to me:

  Happy 3-Month Anniversary! Dinner tonight? Love, J.

  I’d forgotten in the midst of all the craziness, but he had obviously remembered that it had been three months since we had first met in June. It was the only good thing that had come out of Aunt Claire’s death. We’d met when he came into the store for remedies for his bad back, and he had become my partner in investigating and solving her murder. Since then we had only become closer, and I already found it difficult to picture my life without him. I pulled my cell phone out of its charger on the nightstand and called him.

  I left a message that I loved him and dinner sounded great. He was probably busy settling the dogs with his sitter and preparing to go up to the estate.

  I got up out of bed and groaned. I felt stiff, probably from attacking the shed with the shovel yesterday. So I did a few yoga poses and a Loving Kindness meditation and took a quick shower. Before I went downstairs, I settled the cats in my room and locked the door. I didn’t want to take any chances that they would be harmed by whoever had called me on Monday night.

  I headed downstairs. Today, Friday, was the official beginning of Labor Day weekend, and Merrily and Wallace were serving a hungry breakfast crowd. I just hoped Merrily could handle it with the way she was feeling. I waved to her as
I walked into the office.

  Qigong settled on the couch and I settled in at my desk. My mind was on Jackson and on the case, but I did need to do a few things before I left for the estate. First, I checked my e-mail and found a note from my editor at Nature’s Remedy magazine about a new assignment. She wanted me to write a story titled “Don’t Be Rash,” about natural ways to get rid of a variety of rashes. I had a lot of information on this subject, so I immediately e-mailed her back and said yes. Thankfully the deadline was September 15, which meant I could get through the Bixby shoot and Labor Day weekend before I had to start writing. Next, I reviewed the order sheets and saw that all the stock we were running low on should be in by tomorrow.

  I picked up the Suffolk Times on my desk and thumbed through it. On page two was a story about the burglary of a weekend home in New Suffolk. I thought about the merchandise Arthur and his wife had unloaded the night before last. I wondered if I should tell Koren about it but decided against it. I had enough to handle right now.

  I went back out into the store and over to Merrily, who was at the counter, ringing up a sale. “How are you feeling today?” I asked.

  “Still tired, but resting in your office helps. Thanks.”

  “No problem. So, are we ready for the weekend? The order sheets look good.”

  She nodded. “Wallace and I went over everything and got what we needed. The order should come in this afternoon.” She went over to the counter and picked up an envelope and handed it to me. “This came for you yesterday.”

  I looked at the envelope. It had my name printed on it but no return address. I opened it and found a single sheet of white paper with block letters cut out from a magazine that read:

  Back off or you’ll be sorry.

  “How did this get here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Just six little words, and I could feel fear sweeping through me. “Did someone hand-deliver it?”

  “Search me,” Merrily said. “Right after we finished with the lunch crowd, I noticed the envelope sitting on the counter here. It had your name on it, so I held it for you.”