Stirring the Plot

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  I tucked a loose hair behind my ear and said, “Go on.”

  Aunt Vera drew in a sharp breath. She grimaced, as if something in her rib cage hurt. She exhaled slowly. “I went inside to wait. While I was there, I glanced around and saw a pile of books on Bingo’s desk. I wondered if any might be a diary or a photo album, anything that might give me the slightest peek into her past. I’m not typically a snoop, but I owed it to Pearl, didn’t I? At least I convinced myself I did. If I could learn something more about the man who broke Bingo’s heart, maybe I would understand why she was so evasive about him. I wondered if there was some deep, dark secret that Bingo needed to hide—would kill to hide. I don’t know if she was Pearl’s client—we’ve never talked about that, either—but what if something horrible happened to the man, and Bingo mentioned it to Pearl? Who better to talk to about that kind of upset than a therapist?”

  “Are you wondering whether Bingo killed the boy?”

  “No. Heavens, no. I don’t . . . No.” Aunt Vera picked up a glass that had a lid and a straw and slurped down a long drink of water. “What I found next . . . forgive me, but when I didn’t discover a diary or personal calendar on the desktop, I decided to rummage through the drawers. What can I say? A niggling notion just took over. It was like I was possessed. Not truly possessed, mind you. No exorcists needed today.” She tittered as she set the glass back on the bedside tray. “Anyway, in the second drawer on the right, I found a bottle of arsenic.”

  Maya gasped.

  Aunt Vera nodded. “I know. Arsenic, the king of poisons. Then I found an antique hatpin about six inches long that looked stained at the tip. Remember how Bingo suggested a sewing needle as a weapon when you were theorizing at the luncheon? Well, I got to pondering how else poison might have been administered to Pearl in a way other than a hypodermic. What if Bingo dipped a hatpin in arsenic and poked Pearl?”

  I said, “Do you think Bingo was taunting us? Giving us a clue?”

  “No, it can’t be.” Maya waved a hand. “Bingo is not a killer. She is so . . . good.”

  “She is, and I would hope it’s not her,” my aunt said, “but why did she stash those items out of sight? Right about that time, Bingo, Emma, and Maya entered the shop.”

  I looked at Maya. She concurred.

  “Needless to say, I was caught off guard,” Aunt Vera went on. “I dumped my findings back in the drawer and stood, bumping my knee on the underside of the desk. It’ll be black and blue tomorrow.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her what her face looked like. It would probably turn a horrific greenish-yellow in a few days.

  Aunt Vera continued. “It seems the trio had met, without me, that morning to plan a celebration tea.”

  Maya said, “You were invited, but for some reason we couldn’t track you down. Your cell phone must have been switched off.”

  I glanced at my aunt. She tinged pink. Earlier, I hadn’t seen her car in her driveway. She must have spent the night at Nature Guy Greg’s place. No judgment, Jenna, no judgment.

  “We went to Latte Luck Café to chat,” Maya went on. “We thought it would be nice to hostess a high tea at Nature’s Retreat for all those who put their heart and soul into the luncheon. You know how these events are. They take a year to plan—the faire, the haunted tour, the luncheon—and then whoosh, it’s all over in a nanosecond. Everyone is exhausted and wondering what tornado hit her. That’s why Vera got a cold. Me, too. Emma came up with the idea for the high tea. She said Pearl would have approved. Bingo embraced the idea with open arms.”

  “How did you wind up at Aunt Teek’s?” I asked.

  “Silly Bingo needed her datebook. The woman doesn’t do anything in the digital age. She doesn’t have an iPhone or Blackberry. It’s amazing, don’t you think?”

  My boss at Taylor & Squibb was very old school. No social media. No hashtag communications written in 140 characters or less. He said the New Age was ruining our ability to communicate face to face. He and my father met one time and talked like they were lifelong buddies.

  “When we arrived at the shop,” Maya continued, “we must have startled Vera. Now that I know why she was there, it makes all the sense in the world, but she seemed flustered. You did, Vera.” Maya eyed my aunt. “You stuttered, and your face was as flushed as a rutabaga. Not a pretty color, by the way. Sort of mottled. Now, you look . . .” Her mouth turned down.

  Aunt Vera said, “What? What do I look like? Give me a mirror.”

  “No!” I yelled.

  “That bad?”

  “You’ll need a little makeup for a few days, that’s all,” I lied.

  “More than a little makeup,” Maya said.

  I glowered at her. “Go on. Tell the rest of the story. You, Bingo, and Emma walked in on my aunt.”

  Maya coughed as she knotted the ends of her shawl. “Bingo asked what Vera was doing there.”

  “Her voice had an edge to it,” Aunt Vera cut in. “Of course, I could have been reading something into her tone because I was nervous. I fibbed and told her I needed some lace for something we were decorating at the shop. A pumpkin, I think. I’m sure she knew I was fibbing.”

  Maya said, “But Bingo laughed and said, ‘What’s mine is yours,’ and then she proceeded to make tea for all of us. I started to help, but I was so hypercaffeinated by that time—I’d had three cups of tea trying to rid myself of this nagging cold—I excused myself to the ladies’ room. When I returned, we kept the conversation light. No mention of Pearl or the tragedy. Halfway through our chitchat, Vera started acting funny.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “She was pulling on her hair and fidgety. Suddenly, she bolted to her feet and hightailed it out of there.”

  Aunt Vera’s eyes widened. “Did I look that edgy? Truth be told, I was thoroughly embarrassed that I had questioned whether my friend of many years could be a cold-blooded killer, but what in heavens might she need arsenic for?”

  I said, “Maybe arsenic just happened to be included in the items she’d purchased along with the antique shop. You know, arsenic was an old-time remedy. Back in college, I took a human biology class, one of those classes that was totally useless to a journalism and art major. The project required us to research medicines and how they were used to treat ailments. It turned out doctors used arsenic, and sometimes mercury, to treat syphilis before penicillin was discovered, and they used opium to help with coughing and other digestion ailments.”

  “Who knew?” Maya hiccupped out a laugh. “Did you know marijuana, because it stimulates hunger, is good for people with eating disorders?”

  Aunt Vera gave her a curious look.

  “Sorry.” Maya waved a hand. “I get off track sometimes.”

  Was she trying to tell my aunt she had a thriving medical, albeit unlicensed, marijuana business? Not mine to reveal.

  Aunt Vera said, “So, Jenna, you think finding arsenic in Bingo’s things could be harmless?”

  “She could have found the arsenic and decided that it was safer to stow it in her desk.”

  “Rather than throw it away?”

  I nodded. “I can’t tell you how many things I put someplace thinking I’ll get rid of them and find them years later. Back to you. What happened next?”

  “I drove toward home, contemplating my next step.”

  “Your next step?” Maya said. “Vera, you’ve got to stop investigating. It’s not wise. We have a good police force.”

  “I know, but it’s my duty. I can’t sit idly by and watch them bungle Pearl’s case.”

  “They’re not bungling it.” Maya heaved her narrow shoulders. “All I can say is it’s lucky I came onto the scene. You see, Jenna, because I thought your aunt was acting erratically, even for her—”

  “Too-ra-loo,” my aunt warbled.

  “Call me crazy, but you made me so anxious. I worried
you’d gone back to taking that over-the-counter cough medicine junk. All those unhealthy red dyes. The stuff can make you not only itchy but sleepy, and worse. So I followed you. You missed your exit. I didn’t know where you were off to, but then you started to weave. You were getting too close to the cliff.”

  “What cliff?” I nearly shrieked, trying to imagine the terrain.

  “South of the pier,” Maya said.

  There were lots of hills in and around Crystal Cove, but not many cliffs. However, along Highway 1, southward toward San Simeon, there were sheer walls of rock. I remembered when my father was teaching me to drive along the route. Every second, I worried that I would plunge into the ocean.

  “Aunt Vera, why were you all the way down there?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep,” Maya said. “That’s why I was honking.”

  “I remember wondering who was dogging me from behind. It was hazy. I couldn’t make out a car or face in the rearview mirror. At one point, I turned my head to see who was being so rude. I guess that’s when I lost control of the steering wheel. I swerved. I hit the tree and banged forward.”

  My heart started to pound so hard I could feel it drumming my ribs. “Didn’t the airbag inflate?” I said.

  “What airbag? In my ancient Mustang? I hit my forehead and my cheek.” She started to reach for her face.

  I said, “Don’t.”

  “Give me a mirror, now.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t baby me.”

  “Don’t be a baby.”

  She pulled up the covers of her bed and tucked them tightly under her arms. “Well, I’m alive and that’s all that matters. Now, I’m getting sleepy.”

  “We’ll go,” I said, “but I want you to promise to do everything the doctor orders.” I took hold of my aunt’s hands. They were shaking. She was anxious. So was I. Replaying the events in my mind, I couldn’t help wondering if Bingo had slipped something into my aunt’s tea to make her so drowsy she would drive herself to an untimely death.

  Chapter 19

  AROUND 11:00 A.M., as Maya and I were leaving Mercy Urgent Care, my father rushed into the foyer. Pepper had tracked him down, too. Would wonders never cease? I quickly updated him. He promised he wouldn’t leave my aunt’s side, just in case someone wanted to do her in. He wouldn’t need a gun to protect her. At one point early in his FBI career, before he became a clandestine spy, he had served as a defensive tactics or, as the bureau called it, DT trainer. He knew everything from jujitsu to krav maga. Although he hadn’t taught me or my siblings hand-to-hand fighting, he did teach us how to run. Running, he often advised us, was the best response; standing one’s ground was asking for trouble.

  Though the sun blazed overhead when Maya and I exited the facility, the air was chilly. A shiver ran down my spine and my stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything since dawn. I wondered what Katie had put on the lunch menu at the café. I was hoping for one of her rich soups, like creamed broccoli topped with grated cheddar cheese.

  Maya threw herself at me and clutched me in a desperate embrace. “Jenna.”

  My fingers felt her lean frame beneath the drapes of clothing. She could probably do with a little of Katie’s home cooking, too, I mused.

  “I was so worried,” she said.

  “I know,” I cooed. “I was worried, as well.”

  “Your aunt is wrong. Bingo can’t be the killer. She just can’t be.”

  “I hope she isn’t, but I intend to find out.”

  “You know I’d help, but I have to get back to work. I’ve got two employees out sick. Forgive me?”

  “You’ve done enough.”

  Maya bussed my cheek and hurried to her Prius.

  Before I satisfied my hunger, I needed to talk to Cinnamon Pritchett. I climbed into my VW bug and dialed the precinct. I quickly learned that Cinnamon was dealing with a fistfight at The Pier. Before heading there, I called Bailey, who assured me everything was hunky-dory at the shop.

  The Pier, which was about two hundred yards of weathered wood located at the south end of town, was a destination spot. People from all over came to rent boats, fish, take a sunset cruise, ride the carousel, play a carny game, or shop and dine.

  One of the restaurants, Mum’s the Word diner, had been the center of attention last month; its owner was murdered during the Grill Fest. However, once again, The Word, as the locals called it, was thriving. A line of customers snaked out the door. Just beyond The Word stood the Seaside Bakery. I am particularly fond of its spun sugar. I know; no advice warranted. Pure sugar is not good for the body, but I can’t help myself sometimes. I blame my mother. She used to treat me to a wand of Pink Froth after our art-on-the-beach outings. Ah, memories.

  I saw a group of people convening beyond the bakery. I also spotted Rhett sitting with Bucky on the bench opposite the diner. Both held fishing poles. Bucky was laughing at some story Rhett was telling. I didn’t disturb them and wended my way through the crowd.

  Cinnamon stood in front of a ring toss carny game. She faced off two men, one I dubbed Mutt, the other Jeff. Mutt was huge and furry; Jeff was skin and bones and much shorter than his adversary. His jeans hung down around his hips and only managed to stay up because of a belt. His nose was bleeding and his cheek was bruised. Cinnamon looked forceful, standing with her right hand gripping the butt of the pistol in her holster. She pointed the index finger of her left hand at Mutt. “Your turn to speak.”

  From what I could glean from individuals in the crowd, Mutt and Jeff worked together at the ring toss carny game. Mutt claimed Jeff was having an affair with his wife. Jeff had retaliated, saying he would never set hand on Mutt’s wife because she was uglier than a monkey’s armpit. Mutt, fueled by a couple of early-morning beers, had slugged Jeff. Cinnamon happened to be at The Word having a bite to eat when the set-to started.

  I waited while she defused the situation. The men ended up shaking hands and walking off together, Mutt’s arm slung over Jeff’s shoulders. I didn’t envy Mutt’s wife when he arrived home. According to the woman next to me, Mutt was certain she was having an affair with someone. I hoped Cinnamon would send one of her crew to monitor the reunion.

  I caught up to Cinnamon as she headed back toward The Word. “Chief.”

  “Jenna.” Her gaze was filled with concern. “I heard about your aunt. Mother texted me.”

  “Your mother—”

  Cinnamon held up a hand. “Don’t say a word. I know she can be confrontational.”

  “No, she was great,” I said. “She was sincerely worried about my aunt. I’d like to thank her for coming straight to me.”

  Cinnamon offered a wry smile. “Thank her? Really?”

  “At some point, she and I have to make amends. Do you think I could win her over by giving her a batch of bittersweet chocolate?”

  “Only if Katie makes it.” She laughed.

  “Ha-ha.” Apparently my secret about not being an expert in the kitchen was out. “I’m a work in progress.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Listen, about my aunt’s accident—”

  “She’s not a very good driver, is she?”

  “Let’s just say her mind drifts on occasion, but this wasn’t because of her inability to focus. I think someone might have dosed her tea to make her woozy.” I gave Cinnamon an account of the morning’s events.

  She blew out a long stream of frustrated air. “Vera was investigating?”

  “She’s not guilty. She wants to know the truth as much as you and I do.”

  “That’s not the point. I could haul her into jail for breaking and entering Aunt Teek’s.”

  “The door was unlocked.”

  “Really?” Cinnamon’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Do you think that defense would hold up in court?”

 
“I don’t know, would it? I didn’t go to law school.” I matched her tone.

  She glowered at me. “What did Vera hope to find?”

  “She thinks Bingo Bedelia might be hiding something from her past.”

  “Your aunt and Bingo are good friends. Don’t they talk about these things?”

  “Are you telling me you don’t have secrets that you keep from your best friend?”

  Cinnamon hesitated. “I don’t have a best friend.”

  That rocked me to the core. As a cop, had she cut herself off from the rest of the world?

  “My aunt is trying to be unbiased,” I said, pressing onward. I didn’t add that I hoped Cinnamon would be impartial, as well. About my aunt. Had she discovered yet that Aunt Vera and Pearl had vied for the same guy? I sure wasn’t going to tell her.

  “What does she need to be unbiased about?”

  “A piece of gossip she gleaned. Emma claimed to have overheard Bingo arguing with Pearl a few nights ago, warning her to keep a secret.” I held up a hand. “No, I don’t know what secret.”

  “Sounds cryptic.”

  “My aunt wondered if the secret involved the man who broke Bingo’s heart. She went to see if she could find evidence, like a diary or something.”

  “Do women still write in diaries?”

  “Tons do. We have some beautiful spiral recipe diaries at the shop for people who like to keep track of menus and family recipes.”

  Cinnamon wagged her head. “Not I.”

  “Me, either. But I hear it’s an art, a way to pass along tradition. Anyway,” I continued, “my aunt was on the hunt, but then Bingo and the others showed up.”

  “Which others?”

  “Emma and Maya.” I explained about the morning tea to discuss a thank-you event for Winsome Witches volunteers. “Can you send someone to Aunt Teek’s to see if Bingo put something in my aunt’s tea that might have made her drowsy and unsteady behind the wheel?”

  “I would imagine if Bingo did, the cup has been rinsed by now.”