by Louise Lynn
I shrugged. “I did when Mom had it on TV, but I never paid that much attention.”
Now, I wished I had. Though I wasn’t sure how accurate a TV show about catching murderers really was compared to the real thing.
Ivy’s lips turned up and she moved around the counter to join me, grabbing a box of orange blossoms on her way. “When you think about it, Jenny Walker kind of had it coming.”
She had a point.
Everyone in the town had a reason to want Jenny dead, and no one, besides her husband, seemed to feel bad about it.
Clearing my name wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.
We visited Matthew after we closed the shop that afternoon. Ivy and I decided it was best to see him first, partially because we knew where he lived and worked, and partially because if anyone had the most opportunities to kill Jenny Walker, it was him.
Though, why he hadn’t used them up before now was beyond us.
We tried the library first, and to my surprise, he was there, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on his pointed nose. One of the main attractions of the San Bas library, besides the books, of course, was the fifty-gallon saltwater fish tank that stood at the main desk. It was filled with a variety of exotic fish from Australia, and Matthew, along with the other librarians, took care of them.
He stood there, sprinkling food into the tank, his eyes focused on the exquisite colorful fish that swam through it.
“Mr. Walker?” I said and cleared my throat.
Matthew turned. “Oh, can I help you young ladies today?” he asked. Matthew Walker was, in almost every facet, the complete opposite of his deceased wife. We’d both known him our whole lives, and as far as I could remember, he was the kindly old man who worked at the library.
On Saturday afternoons, he read children’s books and did all the voices to boot. He gave out lollipops and even knew some sleight of hand, which he used for impromptu magic shows. I remember our mom bringing us when we were kids. I loved his shows, even though Ivy had always interrupted him from excitement.
His eyes always sparkled when he spoke, and they did now, though they seemed to have lost a bit of their sheen. I couldn’t blame him. The poor man had just lost his wife and he’d probably quite recently viewed her dead body.
“We came to give our condolences. I brought pie,” I said and set the tin on the table between us. “It’s apple.”
Ivy stood next to me, as still as a statue. The entire library was quiet and tomblike. It felt as though we’d disturbed a crypt. A single light shone down on Matthew’s bald head, illuminating the liver spots. He was tall, thin, and birdlike, from his claw-like fingers to his beaky nose. As I looked at him, I couldn’t help but wonder how he could have stayed with Jenny Walker all those years.
“Oh. Apple pie. Thank you. This will go nicely with all the casseroles I have at home. I had no idea my Jenny touched so many people’s lives, but I’ve been getting visitors all day. Too bad you didn’t have any leftover pumpkin from Thanksgiving. I do ever so love it.”
I smiled and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt. Jenny Walker didn’t meekly touch anyone’s life. She stomped all over it and left a horrific mess behind. “Thank you. I’m doing sweet potato pie for Christmas, but I’m trying to get the recipe just right.”
“Oh, I just cannot wait to try it,” he said and looked back at the pie.
We stood in awkward silence, and Ivy nudged me in the shoulder.
Right. How were we supposed to question him about his dead wife?
“I… I don’t know if you heard, but Jenny had been at my shop right before…”
Matthew nodded and sighed. “I heard. It was her favorite part of the week to sit at your shop and do her puzzles. Oh, how she loved her puzzles and your tea. Every day. ‘Bring me my tea, Matthew!’ she’d cry from her chair. I’m… I’m not going to hear her sweet voice ever again, am I? No one said my name quite like my Jenny.”
“Er, not until you join her in heaven,” Ivy said, and I shot her a look. She shrugged.
Matthew laughed, though it was tinged with sadness. “I guess that’s right.”
“Actually, I was wondering what Jenny did before she came to my shop each Friday? If you know?” I ignored the look of surprise on Ivy’s face. “It’s for the, uh, memorial we’re planning. That we wanted to speak at, I mean. Since she was such a big part of the town we thought we could share our memories of her at the memorial.”
Matthew’s eyes lit up. “Oh, what a lovely idea. Yes, well. Jenny was a creature of habit, as I’m sure you realized. On Fridays, she’d shuffle around the house until I went to work, and she usually walked with me. Then she’d head to your shop for her tea and breakfast. After that, she went down to the boardwalk and visited with the tourists. She always met me back here at noon sharp for lunch. Only yesterday…”
Yesterday she died on the sidewalk before she ever got to the boardwalk. But it gave us a good place to start. If Jenny was with him that morning, there was a chance he poisoned her before she came to the shop. Though, how it got into the tea, I didn’t know.
And, peering at his wrinkled face, my gut twisted with guilt. I couldn’t blame an innocent man just to save myself, could I?
But if he really did it…
Ivy leaned down and took his hand in hers. “Was there anything different about yesterday? Was Jenny upset about anything? Worried?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Jenny Walker worried about something? I’d never seen that as long as I knew her.
Matthew nodded and looked into Ivy’s eyes. “Now that you mention it, there was something different. She left before I did. I asked what she was doing, and she said she wanted to get to your shop bright and early so the scones were still fresh. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
I stared at him. “You didn’t walk with her yesterday?”
Matthew shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. “No. And I think I’ll regret that the most, for the rest of my life, actually. My last moments with Jenny, and I squandered them to sleep in.”
“Our deepest condolences,” Ivy said and stood up straight.
Matthew smiled, and his eyes sparkled just like I remembered.
I felt like ice trailed up my back, and I shivered. The library was unusually cold for that time of year.
Matthew cleared his throat. “Thank you, again. I think I’ll have some of the pie right now. I might eat the whole thing for dinner. Without Jenny around, I don’t have to share my dessert any longer.”
“There’s a silver lining to every raincloud,” Ivy said, and with that, I pulled her out.
“A silver lining to his wife’s death?” I said, hissing as we trotted down the library steps.
Ivy tightened the scarf around her neck. “I was nervous. Plus, his hand was so clammy and cold, it gave me the creeps.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Still, he either didn’t know his wife at all—visiting with tourists my foot—or he killed her because he didn’t want to share dessert.”
The wind whipped around us, and Ivy shoved her hands into her pockets. “Is that not a valid motive? If I had to share dessert with you, I might have to poison you too.”
I ignored that. We both would go a long way for chocolate. “Unless he’s lying, I don’t see when he got the chance to poison the tea,” I said, my chest tightening. “And we know he didn’t come into the shop yesterday.”
Ivy pulled the list out and hesitated for a moment, before she scratched off his name.
Then her eyes met mine.
One name down, and we weren’t any closer to finding the real culprit.
Chapter Six
I glanced at Ivy’s list, and my stomach flipped. Not at the suspects yet to be investigated, but at the name, right at the bottom, outlined in bold: Speak to Dean Harper about JW poison.
I snorted at the wink face she’d scribbled at the end. Was my sister really trying to play cupid in all of this—in the middle of an unresolved murder case
? I rolled my eyes and wrapped my thick hair into a band, then I adjusted my yellow scarf around my neck and shoulders. My breath frosted against the truck windshield. I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.
I ducked behind my steering wheel. Was I going crazy? I couldn’t possibly just walk over to Dean and interrogate him about Jenny Walker. Not to mention—I glanced into my side mirror—Dean was spending his Sunday lunch break at the park, preferably, I imagined, undisturbed.
Odd for a detective. I figured they spent nearly every moment hunched over their desks, or out in the streets hunting criminals.
They had time for lunch breaks, too? Who knew?
I swallowed hard and pushed out of my truck, my long emerald coat swaying against my boots as I marched toward him. He sat on an old oak bench, surrounded by luscious autumnal trees, and beyond him, dogs chased each other in the park. Dean was watching a Samoyed chasing its frisbee when I approached him.
“Dean?”
My voice startled the detective, and he turned to face me, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Olive.” He quickly brushed off the sandwich crumbs from his trench coat and smiled. “What’s brought you here?”
“I needed some air,” I told him. “Ivy’s looking after the shop. I guess this week… it’s been crazy, huh?”
Dean nodded and removed his lunch box from the space beside him. I sat down with a smile, but kept myself at a safe distance, my gloved hands stuffed into my pockets. For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just gazed at the dogs running around in the breeze. I smiled at the kitten-sized puppy that chased after a German Shepherd, yipping away, and trying to latch onto its tail.
Underneath the bare cherry blossom trees that split down the center of the park, I spotted Juno walking hand in hand with a young boy of about the same age. I smiled at them.
“So, uhh, how are you, Olive?”
I turned to face Dean, who gazed at me with slightly flushed cheeks. From the weather or something else, I didn’t know. But I found myself smiling at him, too. Did he also remember those times we spent at that park, reading to one another under the fully blossomed trees in spring?
“You know me, Dean. I always manage to get on with things, just like you. I noticed your wedding ring, by the way.” I looked into his eyes, gray tinged with a slight cobalt hue. “Congratulations.”
Dean looked away, training his gaze on the park again. “Thank you… How about you, Olive? I mean, whatever happened after high school, I just hope you’re happy.”
I chuckled. “Well, except that the police think I may have killed Jenny Walker, everything’s going swell.”
Dean huffed under his breath. “Listen, I don't think you did it, but yesterday I was just doing my job. Covering—”
“All the bases,” I interjected.
“Right. I hope you didn’t take it personally. If it’s any consolation, Olive, my supervisor’s swaying toward someone else, now the autopsy proved she was poisoned by something in her cup, but possibly not your tea… Wait. I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Wait. You mean I’m no longer a suspect in the case?”
“Not quite,” Dean replied, tone hardening as he shuffled on the bench. “As I said, the tea in the cup did contain the poison that killed Jenny Walker, but the sample from your storeroom didn’t. Still, that doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods. I’m sorry, Olive.”
“It’s okay. You’re just doing your job.” I could feel my hands wrapping around Ivy’s list inside my pocket. “What was the name of the poison, anyway?”
Dean straightened on the bench and his features tightened.
Before he opened his mouth, I preempted his words. “I know you’d be breaking the rules by telling me, so I understand if you tell me to back off and never speak to you again. But if you could tell me the name of it, I think I may actually be able to sleep tonight.”
I gave him a false nervous laugh. Okay, so I had told a small white lie. I had slept well enough the night before, despite all that had happened. But to clear my name fully, I had to make questionable decisions, meaning sometimes I had to dress my words up a little.
The detective sighed. “If I could tell you the name of the poison, I’d tell you it contained digoxin and digitoxin and something called glycosylation, which honestly, the guys at the lab have no idea what it is or where it came from. But I’m not allowed to discuss the case with anyone, especially not a potential suspect. If I could tell you that we also haven’t been able to source where exactly the poison came from, I would, but I just can’t, Olive. I’m sorry.”
I felt my cheeks pull into a tight grin. “That was a lot of coulds.” After a heartbeat, I placed a hand softly on Dean’s forearm. “Thanks, Detective Harper.”
I stood up from the bench, and Dean stood, too. “You’re going already?”
“I don’t want to impose on your lunch,” I said and raised my gloves. “And hey, the title really suits you, Detective.”
This time, Dean blushed, and his hands blanched around his lunch box. “Stay out of trouble, okay? Promise me?”
I backed away from him slowly, and though I smiled to feign utter calmness, my heart pounded against my ribcage. “Me? Out of trouble? Always. And please tell your wife I wish her well.”
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this encounter, Olive?”
I turned without saying another word, and climbed into my truck. Then I jotted down the poisons he’d told me and stared at them. I’d never heard of any of them, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t find out.
Chapter Seven
I got back to the shop in time for the afternoon rush, just as Ivy was opening. Windblown tourists getting off the whale watching cruises always stopped by for something to warm them up, and they always left with a bag of loose tea, mixed in-house, and a few sweets for later.
The bell on the door dinged incessantly until around four PM, when we finally had a lull in business. For the first time in days, I didn’t have a moment to think about Jenny Walker’s murder for longer than a few seconds.
At least word hadn’t spread that my tea was known to cause instant death. That would have been bad for business, and a flat-out lie.
Still, the names of the poisons fluttered around in my head like a deranged butterfly. I told Ivy, but she shrugged.
“I’ve never heard of them, and I left my phone at home,” she said with a heavy frown.
I had a feeling she was more put out from leaving her phone than the lack of poison knowledge.
The display case was nearly empty—always a good sign—and I organized the last few cookies into a sad little row. If I hadn’t sold them by closing time, I’d give them away. No point in letting them go to waste.
“I’m surprised he let that much information slip,” I said and leaned my chin into my hands, elbows balanced on the counter.
Ivy grinned. “Let it slip? Please. He told you because you of all people asked. And, even if the poison was in her cup, the fact that it wasn’t in the loose tea means something, right? He doesn’t really think we had anything to do with it, does he?”
It was my turn to shrug, and I barely managed it. “He said we weren’t off the hook. I mean, who would poison a whole stash of tea just to kill one person? That’s overkill.”
Ivy swiped down the last of the tables. “I think giving her two types of poison is overkill. Especially that second one with the weird name. What is it?”
“No one knows, it seems. Not yet, anyway.”
But she had a point. Why give Jenny Walker two doses of poison, unless one wasn’t deadly enough? I didn’t know enough about poison to figure that out, outside of everyday knowledge our mom had imparted on us as kids, like don’t eat oleander or wild parsnips.
“Why didn’t the killer use oleander?” I asked and stood up.
Ivy scrunched her nose. “How am I supposed to know? I've been too busy with finals to become a flower expert.”
She grinned, and I
strolled to the front of the shop. I pressed my nose against the window. Yes! Just as I remembered, an oversized oleander bush sat at the end of the street. The leaves were still green, though the flowers were dead this time of year.
I nodded toward the shrubbery. “It’s all over town. Or, at least, common enough. And it’s deadly, so why not use that? Why use digitoxin and whatever-it’s-called? Why use something difficult to source?”
Ivy swept her hands through her bangs and they stood on end until she coaxed them back into order. “Because they’re a murderer and don’t want to make things easy on the police?”
I shook my head and paced across the floor. My boots clicked with every step. “No. I mean, that doesn’t make sense. Does it? If I was going to poison someone, and don’t give me that look! I wouldn’t do it. I said if. I’d use something ordinary enough that it would be impossible to tell where it came from. But whoever killed Jenny didn’t do that. They picked some strange poison, but why? Doesn’t that make them easier to catch? It narrows down their evidence.”
Ivy watched me with wide eyes. “What if oleander doesn’t kill fast enough? When we were kids, I picked a bouquet of it for mom, and she scolded me like you wouldn’t believe, and made me wash for a good five minutes. But she also kept asking how I felt. Had I eaten any of it? Which, I hadn’t! But I think oleander takes a few hours to kill someone. And maybe these two poisons… don’t. Maybe combined, they're more instant. They could’ve given her it before she entered the shop.”
It was a good theory, but if we didn’t even know what sort of poisons they were, we couldn’t know for certain.
I was about to slump into a seat when the door jingled. Dave Johnson stepped in. He was an older man with a lined face and a full head a thick white hair. He crinkled when he walked due to the nylon jacket he wore over his polo shirt.
Dave ran the local pharmacy, and came in from time to time for special tea concoctions.
“Oh, hello, how can I help you today?” I said and rushed behind the counter.