A Crime of Poison

by Nancy Haddock

  The critters and I were fed and out the door by six forty-five for our morning jaunt. We walked up Fairview, one of our customary routes, but instead of crossing at Troost to loop back, we went another three blocks to cross at Moccasin, and then turned left on McKinley headed for home. Amber sniffed everything in sight. The grass, the sidewalk, the gutter, the dirt, every tree, even the air. Nothing escaped her notice. T.C. batted at and pounced on bugs, a fallen leaf, a rock. Entertaining as they were to watch, the start-stop pace sure wasn’t giving me aerobic exercise.

  On McKinley I noticed an older-model sedan parked whopperjawed midblock under one of two oak trees. The front angled into the curb while the back stuck out into the street. Not enough to impede traffic, but nowhere near parallel to the curb. The paint might’ve been a cream color at one time, but now the car had more rust spots than not.

  Amber and T.C. lifted their heads and sniffed as we approached. I wondered why someone going to work or taking their children to school hadn’t called to report the badly parked car. It was the only one on the street.

  The closer we got, the more my critters fidgeted, whining and meowing, all the while testing the air for scents. When we pulled even with the passenger door, they sat at the edge of the sidewalk. Amber bayed her odd barkaroo, and T.C. screeched a reeoow. All the windows were open a few inches, the back windows more so. They weren’t tinted, and I noticed a man in the passenger seat. He looked to be asleep, his head tilted back, resting partly on the window, partly on the headrest.

  I tugged gently on the leashes, planning to walk away, but my pets refused to budge. They gave me the big eyes and pitiful whimpers as if to say, Aren’t you going to do something?

  I sighed and carefully stepped nearer to the car window for a closer look inside. I didn’t want to touch anything, but now I saw the man clearly.

  A white floppy hat sat off-center over thin graying hair. Bruises colored his face. A split lip. White shirt smudged with dirt and blood droplets, and something else that looked like a dribble of vomit. Cornell Lewis.

  In spite of the cool morning, I suddenly felt clammy, and my knees shook. I swallowed and bent lower to see his eyes, then clamped my free hand over my nose and mouth as a foul, sour smell seeped from the window. Cornell wasn’t sleeping, not unless he slept with his eyes open and fixed on something he could no longer see.

  His pale skin had a slight bluish tint. His face seemed a little swollen compared to yesterday, but that might have been from the beating Dex Hamlin had given him. But there were red spots on his face and neck that looked more recent. I dropped my gaze to his chest but didn’t spot any rising and falling. Sure enough, Cornell Lewis was dead.

  A wave of sadness washed over me as I scanned the inside of the car. Clothes were folded and stashed in plastic cubes in the backseat, and a small plastic bin held toiletries.

  On the front bench seat, just beyond Cornell’s hip, I spotted a plate of Aster and Maise’s snickerdoodles with the elasticized clear cover. The Aster’s Garden label on the plastic was plain as the rising sun. I didn’t want to get closer to count them, but it appeared that the plate held six or seven cookies. Some were whole, some broken, or maybe partially eaten, but as of Saturday early afternoon, he’d only had four left.

  I didn’t see any other obvious injuries. No gaping wounds or blood. Cornell could’ve had a heart attack or a stroke. He could’ve died from any kind of natural cause, but instinct told me that wasn’t the case.

  Call me paranoid, but I wanted to open the car door and grab that plate of cookies and the plastic cover. I’d been up close and personal with a few crime scenes, though, and knew better than to disturb a single thing. And really, who would believe Aster and Maise guilty of killing Cornell? Certainly they wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave that silly shower-cap-looking cover with their names front and center.

  It probably hadn’t been more than a few minutes since I’d first seen Cornell’s body, but I had to stop speculating and call Eric. I straightened and pulled my phone from my cargo pocket, then fumbled it when a male voice boomed behind me.

  “Good morning, little lady. Everything okay there?”

  Chapter Eight

  I whirled, heart racing, to face a man with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair. Crow’s-feet accented his eyes, and smile lines bracketed his mouth. He wasn’t smiling at the moment, though. His expression held concern, and perhaps a smidge of suspicion.

  I let the “little lady” pass. I was considerably shorter than this man, never mind having bigger issues to deal with at the moment.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Amber pulled on her leash but didn’t bark at the older gentleman. If she’d perceived any threat, I was certain she would have, so I allowed myself to take a deep breath as Aster had taught me, relaxing my shoulders on the exhale.

  “It’s the man in the car. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

  Dark eyebrows shot upward. “Is he, now? Let me have a look.”

  “Uh, sir, I think we need to call the police right away,” I objected, eyeing the back of his royal-blue sweats and black tennis shoes as he stepped past me.

  “Hmm. You’re right. Looks like anaphylaxis to me.”

  I blinked. “Are you a doctor?”

  “Retired medical examiner for the State of Arkansas. I’ve seen this too many times. It’s a reaction to an insect sting or a food allergy.” He glanced up at me. “You know this poor fellow?”

  “Not really, but his name is Cornell Lewis.”

  “And your name?”

  “Nixy,” I said, automatically extending my leash-free hand. “Actually it’s Leslee Stanton Nix, but everyone calls me Nixy.”

  He cocked his head. “Herkimer M. Jones, MD. Are you related to Sherry Mae Cutler?”

  “She’s my aunt.”

  He nodded as if pleased. “Fine figure of a woman is Sherry Mae. You’d best make that call now.”

  I looked blankly at my cell screen for a moment. I wanted to ask Eric a specific question about Dex Hamlin, and I knew once I called the emergency line, I’d be on the phone with them until officials arrived.

  “Nixy, hey, what’s up?”

  “Eric, is Dex Hamlin out of jail?”

  “Yeah, as of last night. Why?”

  “Here’s the thing. I’ll call 911 in a minute, but—”

  “What?” he shouted. “Are you all right? Where are you?”

  “I’m fine. I’m walking the critters, and I just found Cornell Lewis in a car. He’s dead.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “A man named Dr. Jones is here with me. He confirmed it.”

  Eric said something colorful. For a man who never, but never swore around me, he did it with flair.

  “All right. Follow protocol, and I’ll see you in a few.”

  Dr. Jones didn’t say a word. He was busy looking at the body through the car window again. When I reached the 911 operator, I described my emergency, such as it was, told her who and where I was, and assured her I was safe. Then I stayed on the line while she alerted the authorities, who’d soon be responding.

  I didn’t wait long. Two patrol cars pulled up first. Next, the EMTs came on scene, and within another minute, Eric’s truck appeared. Eric exited first, wearing his usual uniform of jeans, a blue button-down shirt, and cowboy boots. Charlene Vogelman got out of the passenger side in a black pinstriped skirt suit, with the jacket, no less. All dressed up, and it seemed she’d have a felony to investigate in little Lilyvale after all.

  I had managed to get Amber and T.C. under the shade of a tree while on the phone with the emergency operator. My knees didn’t feel entirely solid yet, so I leaned against the oak’s trunk, and my critters sat at my feet, surprisingly calm with all the emergency and law enforcement personnel milling about. In fact, from the way their ears perked and their heads swiveled, they wer
e avidly watching the proceedings.

  The EMTs snapped on gloves. The guy was movie-star-handsome Ben Berryhill, whom I’d met several times. The woman was Arlene Rollman. She was relatively new to the area but I remembered her from the police picnic. Ben did a double take at seeing Dr. Jones and stuffed another pair of gloves in his pocket.

  “Doctor,” Ben said as the older man moved back to stand with me.

  “Berryhill, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. How are you?”

  “Better than that fella.”

  “Did you have a look at him?” Ben asked.

  “Through the windows, yes. Not my place to do more unless I’m asked.”

  Ben gave Dr. Jones a lopsided smile and pulled the extra set of gloves from his pocket. “Just in case you’re asked, sir.”

  Ben introduced Arlene before they both headed to the car. Ben opened the unlocked car door and braced a hand on Cornell’s shoulder to keep him from falling out. I noticed that the body seemed more stiff than not. After Ben checked for a pulse, he looked at his female counterpart, shook his head, and closed the door just enough that it didn’t pop open.

  Eric nodded at me, but he and Charlene went directly to the first officers on scene, who stood at the hood of the car. I hadn’t given a preliminary statement yet, except to confirm I’d made the discovery and the 911 call. When he looked up a few minutes later, I motioned him over. Charlene came with him, which made sense, but I was surprised when she took out a notebook.

  Eric looked at my companion and broke into a wide grin.

  “Dr. Jones, how is retirement treating you?”

  “Life’s too quiet,” he said, then motioned toward the car. “Except for this bit of excitement.”

  “Charlene, this is Herkimer Jones, forensic pathologist and former state medical examiner.”

  She shook his hand. “Doctor, nice to meet you. Did you discover the victim?”

  “Technically, no. Nixy did.”

  Charlene’s smile fell. “You two know each other?”

  “We just met,” Dr. Jones replied. “The young lady here looked a little green, and I stopped to assist her. Took a glance at the body, too, and I believe you’re dealing with anaphylaxis.”

  “An allergic reaction?” Eric asked.

  “I believe so, although I’d need a closer look to give you a more informed opinion. Obviously, that won’t be official. The current state ME would need to present her own findings after autopsy.”

  Eric exchanged a glance with Charlene, and she nodded.

  “If you wouldn’t mind having a look, we’d appreciate it,” she said. “Let me get you some gloves.”

  “Already have a pair courtesy of young Ben,” the doctor said cheerfully.

  Vogelman spared me a glance. “Nixy, please wait here.”

  She strode off toward the car with Dr. Jones. Eric gave me an encouraging smile before he followed. I wished he’d touched my arm or patted my shoulder. I could’ve used the physical comfort. I gave Amber and T.C. a scratch instead and kept an eye on the police activity, which had drawn a handful of people from their homes up and down the block. I spied Lee Durley at the corner, a bit surprised he lived in the neighborhood. I waved, but he looked over his shoulder at a white house about then and didn’t see me.

  The city shared some law enforcement personnel, deputies picking up the slack for the police force and vice versa. The crime scene techs were attached to the Hendrix County Sheriff’s Office but recorded and gathered evidence at all crime scenes in the county. Their van rolled up, and three techs hopped out, two female and one male. The one tech I’d met, Jan Blair, pointed to the back, and the other two began unloading.

  While Ben assisted Dr. Jones as he examined Cornell, the techs hung back. I could hear the doctor’s voice, though not everything he said. Having his upper body in the sedan muffled some words, but I caught “full rigor,” “liver temp,” and “heart condition.” Then Dr. Jones straightened, and I clearly heard, “That was one hell of a reaction. Bad way to go.”

  “You don’t think he was poisoned?” Charlene asked.

  “Detective, in the broadest sense, any substance harmful to the human body in sufficient concentration is, in fact, poison. Doesn’t matter if it’s cyanide, tobacco smoke, medicine, or food.”

  The doctor’s words slammed home the finality of Cornell’s life, and tears for a man I’d barely known prickled my eyes. He’d been kind to a child, and kind to my pets. He’d deserved a chance at redemption.

  Vogelman called to Jan. After a brief conversation, Jan took photos of the driver’s-side door, then opened it and aimed the camera inside.

  Vogelman faced Eric then, and she said something that sparked a short but serious exchange—if the frowny faces were any indication. Seconds later, the detective walked around Eric and came back to me. Again he followed, and now his expression was guarded. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but now wasn’t the time.

  If cops had a mantle of attitude, she had donned hers and buttoned it tight. I got the cop stare, and that made me go queasy all over again.

  “Miss Nix, tell me what happened.”

  She gave my clean-the-store outfit the stink-eye as if looking for bloodstains. I glanced at Eric, but he remained mute.

  As I gave her the short version of finding Cornell, the coroner arrived. That distracted me momentarily, but I remembered to address her as Detective Vogelman. I emphasized that I didn’t touch the car, and when she glanced down at the pets, I added, “They didn’t lay a paw on it either.”

  That got a small smile from her. “Dr. Jones mentioned anaphylactic shock as a possible cause of death. Do you know if he was allergic to anything?”

  “Peanuts,” I said, and related the exchange he’d had on Saturday with the little boy.

  “Did you see the plate of cookies in the car with Aster Parsons’s and Maise Holcomb’s names on that plastic cover?” Vogelman asked.

  “They’re called snickerdoodles,” I corrected, “and, yes, I saw the plate.”

  “Why would the dead man—”

  “Cornell Lewis,” I supplied.

  “—have them in his car?”

  “He bought that kind of cookie at the bake sale on Saturday.”

  “You know this how?”

  “Maise and Aster made a batch for the multichurch bake sale. When I talked to Cornell early Saturday afternoon, he had the plate of cookies on the hot dog stand counter. I saw him munching on one, and he had four whole ones left on the plate.”

  “How do you know Mr. Lewis?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know him. I know of him. He managed the apartment complex where Eleanor lived, and Aster and Maise lived there for a while, too. And Kathy Baker.”

  “Who is that?”

  “A work-study student from the technical college. We’re training her to take over Jasmine’s position.” At her perplexed look, I added, “Jasmine is moving to Magnolia after Christmas.”

  “Considering you don’t know Mr. Lewis, you know a lot about him.”

  “Just bits and pieces.” I explained about Cornell coming into the emporium on Friday, our hot dog stand visit on Saturday, and my short conversation with him Sunday morning when Dex Hamlin assaulted him. “Basically, Detective, I know what my family said about him, what I witnessed, and what he told me himself.”

  “When did you last see Lewis alive?” she asked.

  “Sunday morning.”

  “And what were the circumstances?”

  I sighed. “One of our artists, Mikki Michaels, used to be a nurse. She was tending to Cornell while Officer Bryant was on the scene. She suggested he go to the ER, and I asked if he wanted a ride. He said he’d walk, and he left on foot heading south toward the hospital.”

  “That’s the last you saw of him?”

  “That’s i
t,” I said, purposely not mentioning that I’d gone looking for him at the hospital. Explaining my concern and flat-out curiosity would raise more questions, and my spirits were flagging.

  “It appears he was living in his car,” the detective said. “Did he mention that to you?”

  “Matter of fact, he did. He also said something about seeing a doctor in Camden if the ER wouldn’t treat him. It didn’t occur to me until later that he probably didn’t have insurance.”

  Vogelman didn’t comment. She gave me the silent treatment, but it didn’t work. I didn’t say a word. Well, except to Amber and T.C. They’d stood up and now strained at their leashes, smelling the other side of the tree.

  “Almost done, girls,” I told them. T.C. ignored me and stretched up to claw the bark, then jumped back when a chunk of it few off. Amber gave her a What the heck? grunt.

  I glanced at the time on my cell phone. Yikes, it was past nine. The Six would be at the store soon if they weren’t already there. I met the detective’s steady gaze and arched a brow.

  Eric cleared his throat. “Are you finished with the interview, Vogelman? The coroner is waiting for you.”

  She blinked as if coming back to the moment. “Yes, we’re done for now, but I may have more questions later.”

  “Fine. I’ll be at the emporium all day with the Silver Six. That’s my Aunt Sherry and her housemates.”

  “I know who they are.”

  “Okay, but we’re closed today and tomorrow so we can put the store back together. Knock on the front door if you come by.”

  “Got it.”

  With that, she hurried toward Terry Long, the coroner.

  I slanted a glance at Eric. “Dr. Jones says Cornell died of an allergic reaction to peanuts?”