A Crime of Poison

by Nancy Haddock

  I thought she’d tell me to keep my nose out of the investigation. She didn’t. She gave me a yeah, right smirk and then eyed the flip chart again. “Why did you pick this time-of-death window?”

  “First, the body looked rather stiff when Ben Berryhill opened the car door to check for a pulse. Second, it’s logical that the car was parked after dark, and after most people on the street had gone to bed.”

  “Whatever. It doesn’t appear you have much to think about, Ms. Nix.”

  I shrugged. “There are a lot of blanks to fill in, aren’t there? I hope you’re turning up more answers.” I paused, knowing I shouldn’t say it, then did anyway. “Finding real evidence instead of dwelling on unlikely suspects.”

  She didn’t answer. Just turned and stalked to the storefront.

  I didn’t so much as peek at the officers or Dinah. I simply followed and resumed watching Deputy Paulson.

  In fact, the search proved rather helpful in one way. The deputy first searched the shelves and kitchenette, and then started on the boxes. As she set each box on the counter and unpacked it, I had the okay to put the items on shelves. Sure, I had to artfully arrange them later, but that was my specialty.

  The last place the team searched was the wall of shelves behind the antique counter. The ones that flanked an old-fashioned lift with an ornate accordion-style door.

  “Awesome,” young Officer Benton breathed.

  I grinned at him. “My way-back-great Aunt Sissy had it put in when she upgraded the building and turned the upstairs storage into an apartment. It’s the only way to move furniture to and from the apartment.”

  “As long as you aren’t moving bodies in it,” Vogelman drawled, “I’m satisfied. Deputy, officers, we’re done here.”

  When the door closed behind them, I turned to Dinah. “Thanks for coming over so quickly. Having you here helped me stay calm.”

  “Nixy, except for baiting the detective about unlikely suspects, you handled that well.”

  “I’ve learned a little tact from Aunt Sherry Mae and the gang.”

  She chuckled. “Detective Vogelman might disagree, but she’s a reasonable and capable cop doing her job. You hang in there.”

  • • •

  I called Aunt Sherry to advise her of the search and told her Dinah had been with me from start to finish. She wasn’t thrilled Vogelman had searched the building, but she didn’t dwell on it. She asked instead if I was coming to dinner. I was, and that made her happy.

  I worked steadily for two hours without hearing from Eric. I worked steadily for another hour, all the while arguing with myself about texting him. After another hour, I decided to do it.

  R U in hiding? I typed.

  Almost immediately he texted back: Caught a case. Talk later.

  Uh-huh. Right. If I deigned to answer when he saw fit to call.

  I didn’t reply to that message.

  At five o’clock I flattened the empty boxes, much to the annoyance of T.C. and Amber. They forgave me when I mentioned two words: “dinner” and “farmhouse.”

  Before I went up to my place, I stretched my back and critiqued the displays. They looked perfect if I did say so myself, and I’d already dusted and vacuumed, too. I’d even cleaned the window and the glass in the front door. In the morning, after the critters and I had taken our walk, I’d give the store a quick swipe to gather up any last pet hair.

  While the fur babies had their kibble, I jumped in the shower and washed my hair. It took hours to dry, even with an industrial blow dryer, so I secured it with claw clips. In a ponytail, it would still be wet at bedtime, and I never went to bed with wet hair. I refused to sleep on a damp pillow. So I’d hit it with the dryer later before I crawled under the covers.

  After the search warrant trauma, and then straightening all day, the Six were more cheerful than I’d dreamed they’d be.

  The men were setting the huge dining room table, and I joined the ladies in the kitchen. Maise beamed at me when I nearly swooned from the aromas of dinner and told her so.

  “I cooked two roasts the size of battleships. We’ll have leftovers enough for us, and you, and for Old Lady Gilroy, too. I made a chocolate cake for dessert.”

  “That’s not Mrs. Gilroy’s favorite, but she won’t turn down a slice of that.”

  Late-afternoon sun streamed into the room from the south- and west-facing windows, lending a soft glow to the age-darkened wood of the table and sideboard. I helped put the dishes on the table—a platter of sliced beef, two bowls of potatoes, carrots, celery, and baby onions, and two gravy boats. When everyone had full glasses of sweet tea, I took my customary seat at one end while Maise sat at the other. The Six even allowed the critters to sit under the table so long as they didn’t beg. They didn’t, though Fred had been known to sneak them a morsel of meat now and then.

  The Six filled me in on their day, saying the search turned out to be a good thing. They’d reorganized, located some things they’d forgotten about, and found some items to donate.

  “I opened a box that had been shoved in the corner, and there were more beakers!” Dab beamed. “I guess when I set up the stillroom out back, I didn’t have space on the shelves and just left them as they were.”

  “Now Dab doesn’t have to order more,” Aster said gaily, “and we’ve washed the dusty ones that were in the box. We’re all set for another round of distilling.”

  We segued into the emporium search, including Vogelman’s demeanor and Dinah’s advice to hang in there.

  “She has absolutely no reason to suspect us any longer,” Sherry declared.

  “No incrim’natin’ evidence whatsoever,” Fred added. “Dang foolishness wastin’ time on us, lookin’ for peanuts when they’re as common as dirt. Eric Shoar woulda known better.”

  “He had to search here in April, though,” Aster said.

  “I do believe the new detective is doing her job the best she knows how,” Eleanor put in, “but I’ll be pleased to be off her suspect list.”

  “Amen.” Maise clapped her hands. “Are we ready for dessert?”

  Over the perfectly moist cake with rich frosting, I turned the conversation back to suspects.

  “Eleanor has leads for you,” Dab said.

  “I started my list of apartment complex residents.” She paused, drew a folded sheet of paper from her pants pocket, and handed it to me. “It’s not complete, but it’s a start.”

  I scanned the printout, which took all of two seconds since it was short, but smiled. “Twelve names and contact information, too? Eleanor, this is great! Thank you. I’ll start contacting these people tomorrow.”

  “Actually, I took the liberty of calling a few myself,” she admitted. “I thought it would break the ice, so to speak.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Were the people you called open to talking with us?”

  “Once I assured them we were simply gathering information, yes, but I didn’t reach everyone. Several had generic voice messages. The kind that confirm the number reached but don’t give a name.”

  “We can only do what we can.”

  “I’m happy to hear you say that because I do believe we might want to take a few of them to lunch.”

  I blinked at her. “Are you saying some could use an itty-bitty bribe?”

  “‘Incentive’ sounds more civilized,” she replied tartly. “But, Nixy, we need to be careful. Tactful. Detective Vogelman has already interviewed most of the people who still live at the complex, and a few who don’t. They are skittish.”

  “I promise not to upset your friends and acquaintances, Eleanor. In fact, we can rehearse questions we need answered, and you can take the lead.”

  She nodded. “I can do that as long as you jump in if you need to.”

  “Excellent plan,” Sherry said. “You do tend to speak your mind quite freely at times,
child.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior. Cross my heart. Oh, Aster and Maise, will you have a look at Eleanor’s list and note anyone with a special fondness for your snickerdoodles?”

  The sisters exchanged a glance. “That will be a short list.”

  “I know it’s a long shot, but any one bit of information might break the case. And, Eleanor, would you print copies for each of us? Maybe having it handy will jog a memory.”

  “Now you’re cookin’ with gas,” Fred said, then pointed his fork at me and glowered. “Now, what’s this about you goin’ off to Eureka Springs with Eric Shoar?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Fred earnestly lectured me about my “female mis-teek,” and then expounded about cows and free milk, and about making Eric chase me until he caught me at the altar. He must’ve gone on for a full five minutes, and I could only guess at how many shades of red I’d turned before he ran out of steam.

  Fred even knowing about feminine mystique baffled me. I didn’t hear the term often, so where did he hear it? Embarrassed as I was, I would have been more so if I hadn’t heard the rest of the Silver Six chortling in the kitchen.

  Yes, they’d abandoned me to Fred’s not-so-tender mercies.

  If I were a lesser person, I’d plot a way to repay them, but I gathered the container of roast beef and sides and a large slice of chocolate cake. With everything securely in my delivery basket, I strode to Bernice Gilroy’s house.

  She opened the door before I knocked, snagged me by the forearm, and jerked me into the house. The little elf of a woman had strength, and it constantly amazed me how much.

  “Heard you found another body,” she said as I followed her into the kitchen. “What is it with you and dead people?”

  “If I knew that, Bernice, I’d know how to avoid the problem.”

  She tilted her head. “You have a point. I heard it was Cornell Lewis who bit the dust. Was the crime scene grisly?”

  “Uh, not particularly. Did you know him?”

  “I knew his mother and father, and there was a man who’d make a terrorist look like a saint. Cornell learned meanness at his father’s knee.”

  “He could’ve chosen a different path than his dad. I only talked to him a few times, but he seemed reformed.”

  “Maybe he was. I’ll tell you one thing. That boy ate snickerdoodles by the handful. He ate so many at a church picnic once, he got sick.” She chuckled. “You’d think that would’ve put him off the cookies, but it didn’t.”

  “He bought some at the bake sale Saturday.”

  “Is that what killed him?”

  “The police aren’t sure yet.”

  “You fill me in when you know. Now then, put down the basket. I want to see what Maise sent over.”

  “The roast and veggies are divine and tender enough to cut with a fork,” I told her as I unpacked the plastic container. She had ears like a bat and eyes like an eagle, but I’d bet money all her teeth weren’t her own. “There’s cake, too. A big slab.”

  “White with chocolate icing?”

  “Nope, chocolate all the way.”

  She wrinkled her little nose. “It’ll have to do, but you bring me more of the kind I like, you hear?”

  I grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t sass your elders,” she said as she put the food in the nearly empty fridge and slammed the door. “Rumor has it you’re going away with your detective. Bet Fred gave you an earful about that, but I have some advice.”

  I braced myself. “What’s that?”

  “Pack lingerie. Something suggestive, not skimpy. You don’t need to dress like a tart to offer him a little sweet. You take my meaning?”

  The heat of a blush burned my face.

  “Ah, I see that you do. Nothing to be embarrassed about, Sissy. The mating dance is old as time.”

  “You’re a corker, Bernice.”

  “I know. Time for you to leave now. Mark Harmon will be on in five minutes.”

  I left the little house yet again pondering where Bernice got her intel, and if news of my tentative Eureka Springs trip was all over town.

  Although, if I didn’t straighten things out with Eric, there would be no trip.

  • • •

  The critters had played with Dab and Fred while I was at Bernice Gilroy’s. Short a time as that was, they were tuckered out and had flopped on the bed as soon as we got to the apartment. Admittedly, I didn’t love cleaning up pet hair multiple times a week—never mind a litter box—but my pets were a comfort, and they gave me someone to talk to besides myself.

  They also gave me the excuse to walk them the two blocks to the police station. That wouldn’t be happening tonight.

  “So what do you think about Eric, girls?” Their heads shot up from their paws when I mentioned his name, but I shook my head. “He hasn’t called. He hasn’t texted. I have to wonder what kind of case has him so busy, right?”

  Amber sighed and rested her head back on her paws. T.C. stood, circled, and then lay with her paws tucked under her, her tail curled around her.

  Was that a show of support, or were they merely bored?

  Okay, so Eric and I didn’t talk every single day, but the longer we’d dated, the more often he’d touched base. That he hadn’t connected with me since early last night meant either he was avoiding me, or he was very busy. With what?

  I considered that as I blasted the blow dryer on my hair. Hendrix County wasn’t that large. In fact, I’d been surprised it hadn’t been absorbed into another county back when Arkansas was a younger state. Sherry had told me that the powers-that-be had left the county intact for historical reasons. The Widow Hendrix, her husband lost in the Civil War, had owned most of what was now the county. My ancestor and the town founder, Samuel Allan Stanton, and his wife, Yvonne, had bought the land when they’d cut out of Fort Smith, Arkansas, immediately after the war, bringing their five children.

  My Aunt Sissy had been the youngest of the brood, and the one who’d lived the longest. Generations of Stanton family investments in land, including Sherry’s own shrewd purchases, had allowed the clan to prosper in Lilyvale. Only in the 1920s and again in the late 1930s had the family sold land, and that was to invest in the oil boom, mostly in and around Magnolia. Thanks to a fund Sissy had set up long ago, one Sherry now managed, I lived rent free. I had finally convinced her to let me pay the apartment’s utilities, and since my meters were separate from those of the emporium and Fred’s workroom, it was easy for us to keep track of our business costs.

  I turned off the dryer, put it away, and brushed my teeth. So, Hendrix County being minuscule by comparison to others, what kind of case did Eric have? Sure, we had residents in outlying areas. Most homes were situated on still-working farms, although there were some businesses outside the city, too. The Pines Motor Court, a cute, kitschy motel from the late 1940s or early 1950s, was a few miles out. There were branch offices and labs for a timber corporation and for a chemical firm, although Dab hadn’t worked there. We also had a company that manufactured lamp shades, and a woman who made her soaps for boutique hotels. She wasn’t Deb the Soap Lady from the festival, so I had yet to meet her.

  Of course, Lilyvale wasn’t Utopia. We had DUIs, thefts, vandalism, fights, and traffic accidents. We’d also had a lost child and two seniors who’d wandered off. Those incidents ended happily, but thinking of them made me think of Dex Hamlin’s disappearance. Maybe Eric was pursuing leads to locate him and get him back to Lilyvale. If so, I sure hoped he got his man, and soon.

  • • •

  I woke on Wednesday with one decision made, one back on the burner. I’d wait for Eric to call me, and I’d reconsider traipsing off on that trip until I found out what was going on with him. I knew there were things he couldn’t talk about during a case, but a hello-how-are-you would’ve been nice.

  My de
cision not to call didn’t stop me from strolling oh-so-casually past the police station with the fur babies. I spotted Charlene Vogelman exiting her car in the back parking lot, but she didn’t see me, and I didn’t wave. I also didn’t see Eric’s truck. Had he pulled an all-nighter on his investigation? Could be, but I didn’t care, did I?

  Not much. Denial had its uses.

  Time to refocus on managing the store and investigating. Part of running the store meant updating the website. Or rather sending updates to Jasmine’s boyfriend, Lamar Watts, who had designed and now maintained our site for a nominal fee. First step was to e-mail the festivals photos to myself. I did that, trotted up to my apartment to snag my tablet, and set it on the checkout counter to review the pictures. After selecting the best variety of shots, I e-mailed them to Watts the Web Wonder. When I reached the ones of Cornell with my animals and the accidental picture of Lee Durley, my finger wavered over the delete button. I could e-mail these few to Gaskin’s Business Center next door, have hard copies made. What to do with them? What’s a murder board without photos of victims and suspects?

  I sent those pictures in an e-mail with instructions to Kay Gaskin. Then I buckled down to finish getting ready to open. The Silver Six were due at nine thirty, so I had the till recounted for accuracy and was doing last-minute dusting for pet hair on the shelves when I came to the Aster’s Garden display. Seeing her new labels made me flash back to seeing the one on the plate cover. Had the killer deliberately left the cover in the car to implicate Aster and Maise? Who would do that and why? The sisters never spoke a harsh word about anyone, and I couldn’t imagine them having an enemy in the world.

  Had the crime scene techs found fingerprints on the plate cover other than Maise’s and Aster’s? Yes, the evidence had to go to the state lab, but our local techs could lift and compare prints.

  I went to our murder board and made a note to ask Eric. He might give me a yes or no without divulging anything else. Then I darted up to my place to get my copy of Eleanor’s list and returned to the workroom just as the Six pushed through the alley door. Today I heard their happy chatter and knew they’d more or less left yesterday’s drama behind.