A Crime of Poison

by Nancy Haddock

  After I asked for Debbie Nicole at the desk, I stood aside to soak in the special ambiance all libraries have. I spotted a few people I recognized from town, but they all had their heads in books. I also saw Lee Durley in the fiction section. He stood peering at a top row of books, scanning the titles. Though he was in profile to me, I started to wave, but then he pulled out a book and turned away. I wondered why he was in town again but figured he was visiting his sister. Maybe he was here with her, though I didn’t see a brown-haired woman near him. I didn’t see anyone near him.

  “Nixy.” Debbie Nicole greeted me, pulling me out of idle speculation. Her blonde hair was cut in a breezy style, and she wore a black pencil skirt with a silky blue blouse and black pumps. Professional but approachable, especially when she smiled and held out her hand.

  “Hi, Debbie Nicole.” I smiled and, holding both bags in one hand, extended my hand to her.

  She took it briefly and nodded at the food bags. “You’re very kind to bring lunch.”

  “No problem. I appreciate your time.”

  “Let’s go upstairs to the staff break room. We have a gallon of sweet tea and one of cherry lemonade in the fridge, and we should have some privacy right now.”

  “That would be great,” I said as I followed her to an elegantly curving staircase. She led me to a long room with a slightly battered table, mismatched chairs, and a three-seater sofa along the back wall. The front wall held an L-shaped kitchenette with a full-sized fridge, microwave and toaster ovens, and a twelve-cup coffeepot.

  “We store supplies for ourselves, and for the various events our Friends of the Library group sponsors,” she explained as she opened several upper and lower cabinets. They held paper plates, napkins, coffee filters, mugs, and disposable cups for hot and cold beverages. She took flatware from a drawer flanking the double sink.

  “Do you want tea or lemonade?”

  “Sweet tea, please. This is a great setup. The entire library is laid out nicely.”

  “We’re proud of it,” she said with a proprietary glance around the room as she carried paper plates, napkins, and forks to the table. “The elevator is too industrial for some of our patrons’ tastes, but it was originally a service elevator, meant only to move books and library furnishings between the two floors.”

  I took the two containers of Lorna’s chicken salad from the sack and set them on the table, then brought out the eclairs. “At least the elevator is original to the building. Retrofitting one would take a chunk of change.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  We sat, ate, and drank, and all the while I had to bite my tongue to keep from blurting out questions. I refrained, knowing Eleanor would tell me this was the time to make nice. Besides, Lorna’s chicken salad was too tasty to rush.

  We’d nearly finished with the divine eclairs when Debbie Nicole raised the reason for my visit.

  “I heard through the grapevine that your aunt’s friends have been released from jail. That must’ve been a nightmare for them.”

  “It’s been a challenging week for all of us,” I replied. “I’ve been meaning to contact you with some questions for days but was always sidetracked.”

  She nodded. “Is this about Cornell Lewis’s murder?”

  “And Dexter Hamlin’s, though I can’t figure out how they’re related.”

  “Ask away,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  “Let me tell you what I’ve heard, and you can tell me what’s true. Does that work for you?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “All right.” I took a deep breath and took the plunge. “Eleanor Wainwright and I have been visiting current and former residents of Ozark Arms who knew Mr. Lewis to see if they know who might’ve killed him. Because I heard a rumor that a former resident died or almost died, I’ve been asking people about that.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned, but she kept silent. I pressed on.

  “Not a soul we’ve talked with knows a thing about it, but several said a library employee named Dennis Moreno suddenly moved out of his apartment maybe fourteen months ago or so. It was before Cornell was fired. Anyway, the young man moved before his lease was up, and without telling some of the residents who had regular interaction with him.”

  I paused again, eyeing the librarian’s stony expression.

  “Uh, one or two of the residents mentioned seeing a man cleaning out the apartment a few days later. It was nighttime, so no one can identify him.”

  I stopped talking when I noticed that Debbie Nicole’s fists were clenched and her entire body had grown rigid. Any moment I expected her to blow up at me. To tell me to get out of her library and never darken the double doors again.

  Instead, she heaved a deep breath and let it out on a shaky sigh.

  “It’s true,” she said.

  “What is?”

  “To an extent, all of it.”

  Debbie Nicole played with her unfinished glass of cherry lemonade, sighed, and then met my gaze. “I’ll tell you what I know, but I don’t want it to come back to me as gossip. Deal?”

  “Absolutely. If what you have to say gives me a lead to clear Aster and Maise, the only person I’ll tell is Eric Shoar.”

  “Okay, then, Dennis Moreno did work here, and he was an amazing employee. He was also a friend, although we seldom saw each other after hours. He told me the apartment manager was a supreme jerk. He said the residents called the guy Rotten to the Core.”

  “I heard the same nickname from Eleanor.”

  She inclined her head and sipped her lemonade. “Cornell hassled Dennis about being gay, and with all the hate crimes you hear about, it worried me. Dennis assured me the man belittled and bullied everyone except maybe his drinking buddies. Dennis chalked it up to plain old ignorance and meanness, and made a game of telling me new Rotten to the Core stories every few days.”

  She smiled in reminiscence.

  “Sounds like he was an exceptionally tolerant guy.”

  “He was that and more, but he began coming to work increasingly upset. When I asked what was wrong, he said it was personal and blew me off. A week later he came to work with his back killing him.”

  “What happened?” I prompted when she didn’t immediately continue.

  “He’d been in a car accident nine months earlier, and at first he only told me he’d fallen and reinjured himself. A few days later I overheard a patron ranting about the way Cornell treated Dennis, and that Dennis should sue the man for nearly running him over.”

  “Who was the patron?”

  She shook her head. “He’d left by the time I came to the desk, but I made Dennis tell me about the incident. He brushed it off again. Said he still had pain meds and muscle relaxants from the accident.”

  “He wasn’t willing to make waves,” I murmured in sympathy.

  “No, and it would’ve been far better if he had,” she said, her voice growing brittle. “He kept all that bottled up inside, and not a week later, he called me at night to tell me he was sick and wouldn’t be in the next day. I couldn’t shake the feeling something was seriously wrong, so I went to his apartment. The door was unlocked, and I found him half conscious on the couch.”

  “Oh, no,” I murmured.

  “I took him to the hospital.”

  “Lilyvale’s?” I interrupted.

  “I started to take him there, but he begged me to take him to another town. Actually, he begged me to let him die.” Her voice broke, and I kept quiet while she composed herself. “I took him to the medical center in Camden and told them he’d merely lost track of how many pain pills he’d taken. He had the legitimate prescriptions, and I’d taken the bottles with me.

  “They treated him, kept him overnight, and didn’t report the overdose to the police. I stayed with him until he was moved to a room. When I called the next morning, he was still
there, but when I went back to Camden after work, I was told he’d been released and a male relative had taken him home.”

  “Home where?”

  “Well, I thought it would be to his apartment, but he went to his mother’s house in El Dorado.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I am. I had his mother’s number as an emergency contact and called her. She said he was resting. I called several more times over the course of the next week, and she always told me he’d call back.”

  “But he didn’t,” I said.

  “No, and after four or five calls, I let it go. I sent his last paycheck to his mother’s address, but I still wish Dennis had told me if the set-to with Cornell is what triggered the suicide attempt. He just wasn’t the type, you know?”

  I didn’t know firsthand, thankfully, but I nodded. “Debbie Nicole, did you ever meet his mother or any of his other relatives?”

  She glanced at her bracelet-style watch before focusing on me. “I didn’t. I think his mother had been treated for cancer, so he went home to see her instead of her coming here. He only worked at this library for a few years, and he didn’t talk all that much about his family or friends. At least not that I can remember off the top of my head.”

  “Do you still have his employment files or other papers where there might be more information?”

  “I can look, but even if I find something, I don’t know how out of date it will be.”

  “Okay, this is the last question, and it’s the most difficult to ask. Would Dennis have held enough of a grudge to kill Cornell?”

  “No and no,” she said as she stood and began gathering our lunch trash. “Dennis was a private person, but he was a kind, cheerful guy who let most things roll off his back. If he was ever capable of killing, it would’ve been to strike back in self-defense.”

  She stopped fussing with the trash and held my gaze with her steady blue eyes. “In spite of the proverbial revenge being a dish best served cold, I don’t know of anyone who’d have the patience to plan Cornell Lewis’s murder, especially when he’d been gone from town this long. If anyone here knew where he was, I never heard of it.”

  “If someone had known, I’m sure it would’ve been an item of gossip.”

  “The grapevine is the blessing and curse of small-town living,” she agreed with a smile. “I’ve got to go, but thank you for lunch.”

  “Thank you for answering my questions. I saw how difficult it was for you, and I appreciate your help.”

  “If anything else comes to mind, I’ll call.”

  I strolled back to the emporium, turning over the information Debbie Nicole had given me. She seemed certain Dennis Moreno would not have killed Cornell, but what if she was wrong about him? If he was still in the area, he’d have opportunity, in the general way of things at least. Motive had to be retaliation or revenge. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, as Fred would say. I put it on my mental list to look him up on the Internet this afternoon.

  If not Dennis himself, perhaps a relative or friend had schemed to murder Cornell. Since poison in general was traditionally a woman’s weapon, perhaps Dennis’s mother had plotted the killing. But that presupposed that she knew he had a peanut allergy. None of the past or current residents admitted to being privy to that critical nugget. The only way his mother could have known was if Dennis knew and told her.

  Or Dennis did the deed. Or another relative or friend had sought and got revenge. Too bad Debbie Nicole had so little information about the family, because if we struck out with the Moreno connection, we were up the creek on suspects.

  • • •

  Halfway back to the emporium, my cell chirped, and I pulled it from my cargo pocket. The screen read Unavailable with no number. Probably a telemarketer, but on the chance it could be Debbie Nicole, I answered. If she’d remembered something, I didn’t want the call to go to voice mail.

  “This is Nixy,” I said.

  I heard a scratchy breath, and then a menacing “Stop asking questions.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I halted in midstep, my heart pounding. “What? My connection is bad.”

  Another breath, and the voice spoke again. “You heard me. Stop asking questions.”

  “Why? Who are you?”

  There was no answer. The line was dead.

  I don’t know how long I stood rooted to the sidewalk staring at the screen. I thought the caller had been a man because his voice was guttural, as if he’d disguised it. Or had it sounded more mechanical?

  I waited for the shakes to start, but anger surged instead. Stop asking questions? My Aunt Fanny, as Sherry would say. I had to be on the right track, or this yahoo wouldn’t have called me. Never mind how he got my number. The guy either was the killer or was protecting the killer, and he didn’t know squat about me if he expected a call to make me back down.

  I considered phoning Eric immediately. Or Vogelman. But I hadn’t recorded the call, and I doubted the new detective in town would take my word on faith. Eric would, but what could he do when she was lead investigator?

  The call had come after I talked to Debbie Nicole. Not after talking with any of the other seven people Eleanor and I had interviewed. Was that significant? Instinct said a big ol’ yes! So did the caller fear that the librarian had already told me something that threatened the killer? Or fear she’d remember something more? Wait. Was Debbie Nicole at risk?

  I’d call Eric at some point soon. Maybe call the librarian with a word of caution, too. No matter what other actions I took, I marched on to the emporium, a new layer of steel in my spine, determined to solve these murders come hell or high water.

  • • •

  I wasn’t happy that Maise and Aster were in the shop when I returned, but I wasn’t surprised either. Jasmine and Kathy had come in, too, so the Six and I left running the store to them and had a confab.

  “What’d you get outta Debbie Nicole?” Fred asked right away.

  “Did she spill the beans about the guy who up and moved?” Aster asked.

  I wasn’t about to mention the phone call, and I’d rehearsed how much of what the librarian told me to divulge. I trusted the Six not to blab, but I’d promised Debbie Nicole I wouldn’t reveal the whole story to anyone but Eric. And only then if it provided a lead.

  “The man was Dennis Moreno, and he did work at the library. He had a bad back, and then had an accident that made it worse. That’s when he moved. He went home to El Dorado.”

  “When?” Sherry asked.

  “I didn’t remember to get specific with Debbie Nicole, but the other people Eleanor and I spoke with said it was shortly before Cornell was fired.”

  “Are you saying we’re shot down in flames again?” Maise barked.

  “I need to do a little more research, but we might be. We have motive in spades, but opportunity and even means are iffy.”

  “The means was the cookies,” Dab put in.

  “That’s our operating theory, but to our knowledge, there were no actual peanuts in the cookies. We have to figure out how that ingredient could’ve been introduced, and in a high enough amount to trigger a reaction without Cornell tasting the nuts.”

  “I do believe you might have a word with Judy at Great Buns. As a baker, she may have ideas we’ve overlooked.”

  “That is brilliant, Eleanor. I’ll pop down there this afternoon.”

  “Nixy, explain why opportunity is iffy,” Aunt Sherry said.

  “No one seems to have known or cared where Cornell was for the past fourteen months, give or take. Word that he was here in town had time to spread between Friday afternoon when he was helping set up Gone to the Dogs and Sunday morning when he left the square, but the people who are the most likely suspects either didn’t know he was back, or weren’t interested in tracking him down.”

  “And the Darbys were out
of town. I’d forgotten how much they travel,” Aster said.

  “What you need is to have another gander at what all them people told you and Eleanor. Might be it could jog loose somethin’ you didn’t see before.”

  I shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt, but let’s not do it today. I want to talk to Judy, and then why don’t all of you call it a day. Jasmine and Kathy can help me the rest of the afternoon.”

  “You got no reason to mollycoddle us,” Fred objected.

  “I’m not, but we’ve had a rough week, and we need to be as sharp as we can be. Remember, if Vogelman can’t get in touch with that pastor in Camden, or the church didn’t keep a record of getting Aster and Maise’s old car, they may have to stand trial for murder.”

  And that stopped all objections in their tracks.

  • • •

  I caught Judy in an afternoon customer lull.

  “You here for a maple donut for Fred, cake for Mrs. Gilroy, or a chocolate croissant for yourself? I have a few servings of banana icebox cake left.”

  I perked up. “The specialty dessert at Adam Daniel’s restaurant? I heard Daniel might’ve given you the recipe.”

  “You heard right. Daniel and I were in culinary school together in Little Rock. He decided it was too labor intensive to have on the menu all the time, so he’ll serve it in the summer, and I get to offer it the rest of the year.” She tapped her chin. “Although I don’t know if he gave me the exact recipe. His tastes different. Oh, well, you want a piece?”

  “Judy, I just stuffed myself on one of your eclairs.”

  “And your point is?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to coffee and an oatmeal cookie. And I need your help.”

  “Two coffees and one cookie coming up. Have a seat.”

  I took a chair at our usual table nearest the store phone, planted my elbows on the table, and rubbed my forehead.