A Crime of Poison

by Nancy Haddock

  “How are Maise and Aster?” she asked as she whirled from the coffee station to the bakery case.

  “They’re fine. They came back to the store this afternoon, and I’m sending the entire crew home when I get back. They need downtime.”

  “And you need to solve this murder?”

  “With any luck, both murders.”

  She plunked the huge cups, my plated cookie, and herself at the table. “So what can I do to break the case?”

  “I’ve exhausted the possibilities of how a peanut product got into the snickerdoodles. That is, without Cornell noticing the smell or taste when he was snarfing them down.”

  “Got it,” Judy said with a decisive nod. “So let’s analyze the issue. Peanut dust on the cookies. NCIS did an episode that had the baddie putting peanut dust on the cover of an airplane pillow. The victim didn’t smell it, but Ziva did. That was a stretch for me. I mean that the woman with the allergy didn’t detect the smell, but that’s one explanation if the dusting wasn’t heavy handed.”

  “Light dusting, check. How else could the snickerdoodles have gotten peanutty?”

  “Using peanut oil in the recipe,” Judy offered, “but everything I’ve ever tasted that was cooked in or baked with peanut oil had a distinct flavor.”

  “Vogelman questioned Maise about using that. Do you think the flavor is strong enough for an allergy-prone person to detect?”

  “That’s too subjective a question for me to answer, Nixy.”

  “Okay, so dusting and using oil. How else could peanuts have gotten into those snickerdoodles?”

  “Peanut flour.”

  I blinked. “There’s such a thing as peanut flour?”

  “Sure, but again I think someone with an allergy to the nuts would be able to smell and taste it.” Judy frowned, stared into space a minute, and then continued slowly, “Unless the cookies were made with a smaller amount of peanut flour mixed with standard white flour. I wonder if that would do it?”

  “Is peanut flour easy to get?”

  “I doubt the local groceries carry it, but a store in a bigger town like Texarkana probably would. I can get it from my supplier. In fact,” she continued, eyes shining eagerly, “I’ll put in the order this afternoon. When I get it, I’ll try it in my own recipe. Mine makes sixty cookies and calls for three and a half cups of flour, I think. Anyway, I’ll use different proportions of regular flour to peanut flour, and we’ll do a taste test.”

  “That’s brilliant except we aren’t allergic to peanuts.”

  She blinked and slapped the palm of her hand on her forehead. “Well, duh on me. You’re right. Tasting peanut flavor is one thing. Reacting to it is the true test.”

  “Just having the peanut flour possibility helps more than you know. You’re the best, Judy.”

  “Yes, I am, and I’ll expect a suitable reward if my theory breaks the case.”

  • • •

  I left Judy with the instinct that she’d nailed it with the peanut flour angle. Eager as she was to be on the case, though, I hated for her to take the time and trouble of making multiple batches of cookies. Would Eric answer a few questions that might confirm we were on the right track? The worst he could do was stonewall me. Besides, I needed to tell him about that phone call. I stopped on the sidewalk in front of the Be Sweet ice cream store and entered his number.

  “I need some answers,” I said when I heard his voice.

  “Can this wait?”

  “Is Vogelman in earshot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then just say yes or no. Were there peanuts in the snickerdoodles you found in Cornell’s car? I mean actual pieces of them.”

  “No.”

  “Did anyone detect the smell of peanuts on the cookies?”

  “No.”

  “Did anyone at the scene have a peanut allergy or a sensitivity to them?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that person didn’t smell the peanuts?”

  “No.”

  “That’s all I need, but I have something to tell you.”

  “What’s that?”

  I opened my mouth to fill him in on Judy’s theory but decided it could wait. “I’ll call you later.”

  • • •

  The Six refused to leave right away. The women visited with well-wishers—a few of them who’d brought food. The men discussed materials for their holiday metal-art pieces.

  At four I rounded up the seniors and sent them home, but only after I promised to come to the farmhouse for dinner. Sherry said they had enough food to serve Cox’s army, and needed me to take a load of leftovers to Mrs. Gilroy. This worked out fine since I’d broken down and scored a hunk of banana icebox cake for Mrs. Gilroy. Which was part cake, part mousse, and all awesome.

  Kathy left early for her Friday night date with Derek to the high school football game, so Jasmine stayed until just after five to help me close. Then she and Lamar were off to a movie in El Dorado. I thought about calling Eric, inviting him to the farmhouse feast and having the talk with him, but if he needed to keep his distance, I wasn’t closing it more than absolutely necessary.

  Although that hadn’t stopped him from coming to my place the other night. I shrugged. If he wanted to see me, he knew where to find me. Otherwise, I’d simply tell him about the call when I got home.

  I did remember to put in a quick call to Debbie Nicole. The library was still open, but she wasn’t available and I didn’t leave a message. Really, what could I say? Let me know if you get any weird calls? Watch your back? No point in alarming her.

  I crossed through Fred’s workroom with Amber and T.C. scampering ahead as I headed for my apartment, and noticed that the flip chart was gone. So was the easel it had been propped on, and the markers, too. Looked like the Six were determined to review the few facts we’d gathered with or without me.

  Upstairs, I fed my critters, changed out of my emporium polo shirt, and removed the clear plastic container holding the banana icebox cake. Even catching a whiff of the dessert made me gain ten pounds. The sooner I got this to Bernice Gilroy, the better.

  Fifteen minutes later, I parked in the farmhouse’s gravel drive and opened the car door for T.C. and Amber, and they shot out to bound around the yard, first chasing birds and squirrels, then chasing each other. I knew they wouldn’t run off, so I went in the back door to the hall. The kitchen was to my left, and as always, Maise was at the stove.

  “Good, you’re here.” Maise started to shove a bowl of lima beans at me but saw the clear plastic cake container. “Didn’t I mention we have dessert for everyone?”

  “This is for Bernice Gilroy,” I said, and took the few steps to the fridge to stow the container.

  “Since when does Old Lady Gilroy like that stuff?”

  “I don’t know that she does, but it’s rich enough to satisfy her sweet tooth for days.”

  “Fine, take this on in before the beans get cold.”

  I did as commanded, grinning to myself. Our chief cook got her nose out of joint when I bought something from Judy that she could make just as well, but Maise understood supporting our fellow businesses on the square.

  I pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen to the dining room, and stumbled when I saw Herkimer Jones pulling out a chair for Aunt Sherry. The rest of the Six were either pouring sweet tea and water or settling into their seats, so I set the bowl on the table amid a chorus of greetings.

  “Hello again, Dr. Jones,” I said, as I took my customary seat at the far end of the table. Fred had scooted down to squeeze in beside me.

  “Call me Herk,” the doctor replied.

  Sherry sent him a shy smile. “Herk came by to check on us, so we invited him to stay.”

  “That’s great.” And it was, but it was certainly odd to see him making eyes at my aunt.

  Pe
rhaps because of our guest, the dinner conversation focused on the upcoming classes we’d scheduled. We’d begun the tradition for our grand opening in June with a gourd art class, and had since sponsored sessions in both folk art and glass painting, wreath making, and a messy sand art program for children. Fun, yes, but the shop vacuum got a workout after that. Fred even grouched his way through a class on simple home repairs and maintenance.

  Then it hit me. Next week Aster was to give a class in making body scrubs with essential oils, and it had been booked solid for a month. I didn’t want her under a cloud for that. I didn’t want her under a cloud at all. That strengthened my resolve. We had to redouble our efforts to find out who killed Cornell Lewis and Dexter Hamlin, and get answers fast.

  By six fifteen we’d eaten our fill and done the dishes, with Herk pitching in to help. I didn’t think we’d be having our confab about the case, but I was wrong. Sherry asked if he’d like to stay and give his opinions, and he accepted. Huh.

  We trooped into the parlor-cum-living-room-cum-craft-room, where a trifold display board sat on the easel from the store. The photo we’d had of Cornell was posted with his name written beneath it. One of the seniors had found a fuzzy picture of Dex Hamlin and labeled it, too. It appeared to have been printed from an online article. At the bottom, on the right panel of the trifold board, was the shot of Lee Durley with his name duly noted. Obviously, the seniors didn’t think him important but kept his picture for reference.

  “Isn’t it great?” Sherry gushed. “This way we don’t have to flip pages, and Fred rigged the broken broomstick in back so the fold-out sides don’t flop.”

  “Ingenious as always, Fred,” I answered.

  “Thankee kindly,” he replied, milking his country drawl. “Get on with it now.”

  Since the doctor was here, I wanted to pick his brain. “Herk, I know you mentioned anaphylaxis when you looked over Cornell’s body. Any chance the victim reacted to an insect sting?”

  Herk shrugged. “There’s always a chance, but I didn’t see indication of that. Besides, not to be indelicate, particularly after such a wonderful meal, but I noted emesis on the victim’s shirt. That’s more often a by-product of ingesting an allergen than a sting.”

  “Okay, for simplicity, let’s agree Cornell died as a result of eating snickerdoodles tainted with peanuts. That’s our means.”

  Eleanor raised her hand to get our attention. “I do believe there is one small problem here. The people we visited didn’t seem to know Cornell had a peanut allergy, or that that he had a fondness for snickerdoodles.”

  “Any one of these here people could be lyin’ ’bout that,” Fred grumped. “Could be lyin’ ’bout any manner of things.”

  “True, but we have to work with what we know.”

  Maise pointed at the board. “Start from scratch. Review the facts in the order you got them. You talked with Minnie Berry at Pines Breeze first.”

  With that suggestion, we launched into recapping who’d said what, who’d reacted with any hint of guilt, and who’d had anything to gain by Cornell’s death. Of course, a whole host of people might benefit from Hamlin’s death, particularly blackmail victims. After a lively discussion, I summarized.

  “So, we’re agreed Hamlin’s and Cornell’s deaths are connected, but how? Everyone we talked with had motive to kill Cornell to some degree or other. Most likely revenge or retaliation. Marshall Gibson and Debbie Nicole seemed to be holding on to the most anger toward Cornell. Randy Darby and Billie Jo are still hot about Hamlin’s attempted blackmail, but they were out of town when he was killed.”

  “Oh! Did you remember to tell Eric about all that, child?”

  “Yes, Aunt Sherry. He said he’d pass on the information, but who knows if Vogelman will take it seriously.”

  Herk cleared his throat. “It sounds like only Barbara Linden, Marshall Gibson, and Jim Diller knew Cornell was in town.”

  “Well, there’s Annie Byrd, the young lady at Helen’s salon,” Sherry corrected, “but she didn’t make it to the suspect list.”

  “Why not?” Herk asked.

  The Six and I exchanged startled looks. “Good question. Sherry, could you go speak with her tomorrow?”

  “Of course, child.”

  “Back to Herk’s comment, he’s right. Our current top three suspects knew Cornell was in town on Saturday. Any of them would have time to bake up a deadly batch of cookies, but I can’t see Marshall or Jim going to that much trouble.”

  “That don’t track for me either,” Fred put in. “If Jim did the killin’, he’d’a whomped the guy with a wrench and been done with it.”

  “And I do believe Marshall would come up with a means other than cookies,” Eleanor said.

  “So that leaves us with Barbara Linden?”

  Uneasy glances and shrugs rippled through the parlor, so I moved on.

  “Last we have opportunity, and this is the sticky one. Cornell was living in his car, so how did the killer find him to give him the cookies?”

  “Minnie’s only transportation is the Pines Breeze van,” Aster said.

  Dab nodded. “The rest have cars, but I can’t see any of them driving all over town looking for Cornell.”

  “And yet whoever did this had to keep track of him somehow. Maybe the killer even knew in advance that Cornell would be in town working for Hamlin.”

  Sherry snapped her fingers. “Wait a moment. Cornell would have to see to his, uh, needs. He’d have to use the facilities somewhere, most likely at a convenience store. Someone could’ve seen him there and followed him.”

  “I do believe Sherry is onto something,” Eleanor said, grinning. “Our suspect follows Cornell until he parks, seeming to settle in for the night.”

  “Then goes home and bakes cookies?” Maise snorted.

  “They could’ve been store-bought,” Aster offered. “Every store I know of sells peanuts, too, even if they’re in those small snack packages. Poke little pieces of peanuts into the cookies, and that’s that.”

  “A good theory, except Eric told me there weren’t any peanut pieces in the cookies.”

  “He shared that?” Sherry asked, brows raised.

  “I called him after I saw Judy and put him on the spot.”

  “Well, don’t leave us in suspense. What else did he say?”

  “Keep this in confidence, but he said that though no one on the scene detected the smell of peanuts, someone there was sensitive to them. He didn’t say who.”

  “Goodness, that didn’t occur to me,” Herk said, eyes wide.

  “What didn’t?”

  He looked a little uncomfortable but answered me. “There were other odors on the body but not peanuts. They have a distinctive scent.”

  “Hmm. I don’t suppose the state lab reports have come back,” Aster said.

  “Not that Eric confided in me.”

  “What about your talk with Judy?” Eleanor asked. “Did she have any insights?”

  “Yes, but this needs to stay on the down-low, too.”

  When every member of the group nodded, I relayed the highlights of my visit with Judy to exclamations of “Oh, my” and “Bless my soul.”

  “I’ve heard of peanut flour but would never have thought of using it and white flour together,” Maise said.

  “Herk, Cornell told me he went through snickerdoodles fast. Let’s say one cookie with a limited amount of peanut flour in it might not bother him. Eating one at a time over several hours might not cause much of a problem. But what about half a dozen in, say, thirty minutes to an hour?”

  Herk shook his head. “My considered opinion is yes. If each cookie contained enough peanut flour, that well may have triggered the allergy. Of course, the more peanut flour used, the more likely the reaction was to occur.”

  “But it’s possible for him to have received small doses i
n each cookie?”

  “I’d say probable. In addition, depending on the cinnamon content, the spice could potentially mask the peanut taste.”

  “Great, thank you, Herk. Okay, we’ve discussed Cornell. What about Hamlin? Any ideas how to ask questions about him and who to approach?”

  Dab shook his head. “I don’t think we should go there. If we have too few suspects in Cornell’s case, we might end up with half a phone book in Hamlin’s.”

  “And we don’t want to rile anyone with city or county power,” Aster added. “As Dab said before, who would admit to being blackmailed?”

  We all fell silent until Fred spoke up.

  “You got one more name up there,” he pointed out. “That Durley guy. You ever fill everybody in on him?”

  “Did I?” I scanned blank faces. “Okay, here’s the scoop on Lee Durley.”

  After I told them what I knew of the private investigator from his website, Fred scratched his jaw. “El Dorado sure comes up a fair amount. Kathy’s mother, that fella who up and moved from his apartment, and this guy.”

  “You think it’s significant they all live in El Dorado?” Sherry asked.

  “Don’t know, but it bears some thinkin’ on.” He pushed up from the armchair and pulled his walker to him. “I ain’t seen your critters lately. Are they still outside?”

  “Probably. They went back out after you fed them scraps.”

  “What makes you think I did that?” he blustered.

  “Oh, please, Fred,” Sherry said with a grin. “We all know about it.”

  “Humph. Well, then, I’ll round ’em up so they’ll be ready to go on home.”

  Translation, it was time to leave. As soon as I made a flying visit to Bernice Gilroy’s to give Fred time to play with Amber and T.C.

  Chapter Twenty

  Maise packed the Bernice Basket with generous servings of every dish friends had brought to the Six. I added the banana icebox cake and went down Sherry’s gravel drive, out to the street, and then up Bernice’s sidewalk. It was later than I usually visited, and I didn’t know what programs she watched on Friday night, but I was pretty certain she’d open the door. She knew how to pause a live broadcast.