by Lynn Bohart
She shook her head. “Mark my words, Julia. It will have something to do with that Senator Pesante. And if it did, then our poor Martha was killed by mistake.”
As I was about to respond, the cupboard door behind Sybil swung open and then slammed shut making us both jump. The moment was saved when April appeared through the back door.
“You’re back,” she said, coming in with a couple of loaves of bread in her hands. “Everything okay?” She noticed the surprised look on Sybil’s face. “What’s up?”
Sybil had turned towards the cupboards and began backing out of the kitchen. She was often the butt of ghostly humor at the inn, although why, I never knew. I thought that perhaps Elizabeth didn’t like Sybil’s banter any better than we did and would use whatever she had in her spiritual arsenal to hasten her departure. It usually worked.
“I’d better get going,” Sybil said with a slight tremor to her voice. “And believe you me, I’m going straight home to call my mother,” she said.
Slam! The cupboard did it again, forcing Sybil to turn and flee.
As she flew through the kitchen door, leaving it swinging behind her, Ahab squawked, “What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate.”
“God, I hate that woman,” April said after we heard the front door slam.
“She’s not so bad,” I said, chuckling. “I think most of the time Sybil’s just lonely. Her husband pays no attention to her and has never said more than four words at a time in my presence.”
“Maybe that’s because he can’t get more than four words into the conversation when Sybil is around,” she said. “She does like to talk.”
“Yes, and apparently she goes through other people’s drawers.”
April raised her eyebrows. “Really? I thought we were always just being catty when we said things like that.”
“Nope. Yesterday, she told me exactly where to the find box of pictures I needed for Martha’s service.”
“No kidding. Maybe she’s been in here rifling through your drawers and that’s why Elizabeth doesn’t like her,” April said, smiling.
“I don’t think our ghostly kids like her, either. Chloe sent her scrambling yesterday by opening the front door for her. You should have seen Sybil sidestep it to get out,” I said, laughing as I returned to the refrigerator for another sausage.
“When you think about it,” April said, leaning against the counter, “our ghosts are the perfect pest control. They’re free, non-toxic, and safe around pets. Now, if only we could bottle and sell them.”
I looked up and around me. “Hear that, Elizabeth. That was a compliment.”
April laughed and turned to put the loaves of bread into the bread box.
“By the way, the Pedersons checked out. Libby still isn’t feeling well, so Crystal and I turned the room. It’s ready to go.”
“Thanks,” I said, throwing a second sausage into the microwave.
April looked over at me. “How did it go downtown?”
“Not great. Did they question you, too?”
“Yes, two officers were here when I got here,” she said, leaning against the counter. “It wasn’t pleasant, but I survived. Although I thought both Crystal and Libby were going to wilt under the scrutiny. How about you?”
“I survived, too, barely. But I want this to be over.”
“Why don’t you lie down after you finish eating? Crystal said she can stay late today, and I’ll be in here making coffee cake for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But the girls are coming back over this evening.”
The microwave beeped, and I removed the sausage and returned to my seat. April came and sat down across from me.
“How was Stewart?”
She sighed and clasped her hands together on the table in front of her. “Today was a bad day,” she said.
Her whole demeanor changed as the muscles around her mouth tensed, and her gaze dropped to the table.
“I took him some cinnamon rolls,” she continued. “You know, they’re his favorite. But he wouldn’t even let me into the room. He got very confrontational and actually pushed me out.”
A tear welled in her eye, and I reached out and grabbed her hand.
“I’m sorry, dear. You don’t deserve that.”
“He doesn’t know any better,” she said, shaking her head. “But he didn’t even recognize me this morning. Erin was hoping he could be home for Christmas, but they don’t think I’ll be able to take him out at all anymore. They say it’s just too risky. So, it looks like he’s there for good.”
April’s daughter Erin lives in Bellingham, near enough to the Canadian border that she couldn’t be much help. I didn’t know much about the nether world of dementia, other than to know how hard it was on both of them when Stewart didn’t recognize them. Besides that, it was costing April an arm and a leg to keep him in the swankiest care facility in Bellevue.
She reached into her jacket and pulled out a tissue to wipe her nose. As she did, a piece of paper fluttered to the table. I reached out for it, but April snatched it away.
“Sorry about that,” she said, stuffing it back into her pocket.
Her abruptness took me by surprise and for a brief moment, I thought she was hiding something from me. But perhaps she was just feeling the strain of the past two days. After all, she may have felt under suspicion as well.
“Will you keep the house?” I asked quietly.
“For now,” she said with a nod. “It keeps me close to him.”
“You can always come and stay here, you know.”
“I can still afford to stay in Bellevue,” she said with a sour look.
“I know. I’d just love to have you closer to me, that’s all.”
“Well, let’s see how it goes,” she said, softening. “How are you doing? I mean, really?”
I allowed my hands to drop to the plate, momentarily forgetting the sandwich and the rumbling in my stomach.
“I can’t stop thinking about Martha, and the fact that it may have been my fudge that killed her. But it couldn’t have been a mistake. I mean, what would I mistake as arsenic? Sugar? Even if I had, we’ve used the leftover bag of sugar to fill the sugar containers on the breakfast tables. And no one has gotten sick or died. So I don’t think it was my cooking, which means that someone must have poisoned the fudge intentionally.”
“I never thought it was your fault, Julia. You’re far too good a cook.”
“Yes, but that would mean the poison would have had to have been injected into the box somehow, because the box was heat wrapped in plastic. And that means it really was murder.”
I had trouble wrapping my head around that word.
“I know,” she said quietly. “All of this is hard to believe. But give it some time. It will sort itself out.”
I glanced at her, my expression hopeful. “What do you know?”
She smiled, her hazel eyes finally coming to life. “You know you give me much more credit than I deserve. It’s not like I have a direct line to the other side. I don’t actually see anything. I just get impressions, and I don’t know anything about Martha’s death.”
“But you knew about it before I called over to the bakery the other day.”
It hadn’t even fazed me that when I’d called April to let her know about Martha that afternoon, she had merely said, “I know. I’ll be right over.”
“I only knew something had happened,” she said. “Although it did feel as if someone had passed over.”
“But maybe you have a sense of where this is all going.”
She shrugged. “No. Other than it’s not over.”
“What do you mean?”
She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m not sure. But I think there is more hardship ahead. And some surprises,” she said, pinching her lips.
“I don’t want any more surprises.”
She reached out and wrapped her hand around mine. “Don’t worry, Julia. I also have a deep feeling
that everything is going to be okay…with this anyway,” she said with a sigh.
“What do you mean…with this?”
“Nothing,” she said with a quick shake of her head, withdrawing her hand.
My cell phone rang and I grabbed it out of my pocket. It was Angela.
“Hello, Honey,” I said.
“Hi, Mom. I meant to ask you if you could watch Lucy for a few days. I’m having my hardwood floors refinished.”
“Sure. Bring her over. The puppies will love it.” Lucy was her enormous black and white Great Dane.
“Okay. It’ll be tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
“How are you doing, by the way?” she asked.
“I’m okay. April is here with me, and I’m just getting ready for a late lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks.”
We hung up.
“That was Angela,” I said to April. “I get to babysit Lucy.”
April smiled. “Aw, a grandchild in the house.”
“Very funny. But you won’t be laughing when you’re tripping over the little dogs and then slamming into the big one.”
I lifted my sandwich again and pushed the sausage back into the bun, remembering the look on Sybil’s face when the last sausage hit her in the chest. I stopped and glanced up at April.
“You might want to move.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I took April up on her suggestion and went to my apartment to lie down for a few minutes after eating. The girls were scheduled to arrive at six o’clock, when I thought I’d order a couple of pizzas. I stretched out on my bed, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind was filled with questions. Finally, I got up and went to the computer to Google information about arsenic. I wanted to know how fast it worked and learned that apparently it worked quickly if you swallowed enough of it. Where the heck had Martha gotten arsenic if not from the fudge? She couldn’t have eaten it before she arrived that afternoon, because it was a good forty minutes or so before she died. And she’d shown no signs of being ill beforehand.
In the end, I couldn’t avoid concluding that the poison had to have been in the fudge—my fudge—and the guilt was nauseating. I’d once sent an entire dinner party home early with food poisoning because I’d used a tainted can of tuna. Had I somehow done something far worse this time?
I left the computer determined to find a way to relax. I grabbed my book and snuggled into my big chair with a puppy tucked in on each side of me, trying valiantly to lose myself in my mystery again. But thoughts of Martha’s death and the person who had attacked me at her house kept invading the storyline. I finally closed the book and dropped my head against the chair, gazing into the fireplace.
Martha had been my friend. She had died in my home, eating something I had made. It was too close for comfort. I had to do something. Until now I’d gone along with the “Old Maids Club” idea, joining in on the girls’ singular adventures. But I hadn’t had a chance yet to express my own. To be honest, I hadn’t really known what to do. I already had everything I wanted. Up until now I thought that if I had a hidden desire, it probably wasn’t much more important than finding the quintessential early American spittoon. And that wouldn’t motivate anyone to join me.
But suddenly I realized there was something I wanted to do. In fact, there was something I needed to do. And I was ready to spring it on the group that night.
÷
As the big grandfather clock in the entryway chimed six, its rich tones rolling through the building like distant thunder, the girls began arriving as if on cue. The night was cold, bringing them out of their cars and through the front door in crisp, quick movements. Everyone was dressed accordingly - gloves, sweaters, and wool pants. As I surveyed Blair’s long, belted sweater draped over slim black slacks and a pair of black riding boots, I lamented over my lifetime disappointment at being only 5’ 2” and unable to pull off long skirts, leggings, or boots. I was comfortable in my stretch jeans, cable knit sweater and penny loafers, but still….
The fire drew everyone into the living room where I’d set out some light hors d’oeuvres and wine. As everyone settled in, I announced a change in plans.
“I thought maybe we could go down to the Mercerwood for dinner,” I said. “Frankly, I could use a change of scenery.”
I inadvertently glanced toward the dining room where Martha had died. My unspoken reference to that moment in time prompted everyone to agree.
“But let’s have a glass of wine first and warm up,” I said.
We used the time to exchange stories about our ordeal at the police station that morning. The enormity of Martha’s death had flat-lined any enthusiasm for friendly banter, but Doe had brought the most recent issue of the Mercer Island News, and she settled back to skim the headlines with a glass of Merlot. As she flipped through the pages, she suddenly sat up straight.
“Oh,” she cooed. “It looks as if the fire department has decided to raise money by doing a calendar. Roger Wilson’s son will pose for June.” She looked up grinning. “Sign me up for June.”
This news lifted everyone’s spirits. Wilson owned the local gym, and his son, Skip, had worked there as a personal trainer until recently hired by the fire department. In all that time, Roger had never really needed to advertise for the gym, at least not for female members. I assumed June would be a popular month. Too bad it only had thirty days.
Doe kept flipping pages and then stopped again.
“Uh, oh!” she warned. “Here’s a headline that won’t make you happy. Finkle Files Paperwork to Run for Mayor.” She closed the paper. “You can’t let her do that, Julia. You have to run against her.”
“Dana Finkle?” Blair exclaimed. “Dana Finkle is an idiot. She can’t be mayor.”
“Oh, yes she can,” Rudy said, grabbing a cracker. “She sits on the City Council. Why can’t she be mayor?”
“And she’s no idiot,” I said to Blair.
“No, she’s a crafty witch,” Rudy said, layering a piece of cheese onto her cracker. “That woman would sell more than her soul to the devil if she thought it would get her what she wanted.”
“Julia,” Doe began, looking at me over her reading glasses.
I fiddled with the doily on the side table next to me, trying to ignore her.
“Julia! You have to run against her,” Doe said.
“Why do I have to do it?” I was whining, but I couldn’t help it. I’d thought about running for mayor, but had no desire to run against Dana Finkle “There are plenty of other people who could run against her and win,” I said.
“Even I know that’s not true,” Blair said with a roll of her eyes.
She put her wine glass down next to a white octagonal bird house that sat on a stack of books and reached for a cracker.
“C’mon, Julia,” Doe said, putting the paper down. “You’re a member of the Library Board and you’re a business owner.”
“And your husband just happens to be Governor of the state,” Blair added.
“Ex-husband,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’ve legally slept with the most powerful man in the state of Washington. You have more intimate political knowledge than anyone else on this island.”
“Yeah, you’re a minor celebrity, you know,” Rudy said, swallowing. “And fortunately, Graham is popular.”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine surviving four years with Dana Finkle as mayor, but…”
“But what?” Blair said. “We’ll help.”
“Look,” I started to object. “I have the inn, my antique business, my volunteering. Where would I find the time?”
“You’re not going to run the city, silly,” Doe said with a smirk. “The City Manager does that. You show up at events and smile a lot.”
“You know you’d win,” Blair said with confidence. “Most people can’t stand Dana.”
She emphasized her comment by popping the cracker in her mouth.
“But what about the lawsuit she filed against me? That can’t look good.”
“It’s probably why she filed it,” Rudy said, now munching on a bruschetta. “She probably figured it would keep you out of the race.”
“The lawsuit is a joke,” Blair said with a toss of her head. “Ignore it.”
“I agree,” Doe said. “And if she goes forward with it, it will make her look like a fool.”
“But don’t say anything yet,” Rudy cautioned, holding up a greasy finger. “The deadline for filing isn’t until January. Let her think she’s got this thing wrapped up. Then we’ll file and blow her away.”
“What do you mean, we?” I said.
They glanced at each other and then back at me.
“Well, you didn’t think you’d be in this alone, did you? We’re a team,” Rudy said with a smile.
“And we’re going to beat her ass,” Blair said with a flair.
“This could be your adventure,” Doe suggested. “We haven’t done yours, yet. How about it?”
“No,” I said, my heart rate picking up. “There’s something else I want to do.”
“What?” Doe asked, reaching for her wine. “What could be better than beating Dana Finkle?”
Everyone was staring at me and a prickly blush crept up my neck as I glanced from face to face.
“Wait a minute,” Rudy held up her hand to stop me before I could say anything. “I hope it has nothing to do with baking or antique hunting.”
“No, it’s not hunting for antiques,” I said with a petulant tone. “It’s much more important than that.”
I paused again, nervously tapping my fingers on my leg.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I said, getting everyone’s attention. “I want to solve Martha’s murder.”
I said it quickly and then held my breath.
Blair’s mouth dropped open, while Rudy’s and Doe’s features froze in place. It felt like those stop-action cameras, where suddenly everyone is caught in mid-motion.