by Louise Lynn
I hoped the smile I gave him wasn’t too manic. I certainly felt so inside.
“Do you have any of that orange chamomile?” Dave coughed into his hand, his cheeks stained bright pink from the weather. “My throat is itchy, and it always helps.”
Ivy moved behind the counter to help with the order. “Of course. Would you like a cup, kettle or a loose bag to go?”
Dave’s eyes strayed to the shelf behind me. “Loose is fine. How big of a bag do you have?”
I nodded at my sister. “Ivy can get you an eight-ounce bag, if you’d like. We sold out of most of the tea in the front today, and haven’t had time to restock yet.”
Dave nodded. “That’s fine. I can wait. Been wanting to talk to you about this Jenny Walker business anyhow. Terrible thing,” he said and shook his head.
My heart leapt into my throat, and I nodded and shot Ivy a stern look. She sighed and slipped into the back.
“Were you friends with the Walkers?” I asked and slipped a cookie from the display case and set it on a napkin.
Wordlessly, I slid it across the counter to him.
Dave let out a snort like an angry horse. “I’m not sure you could be friends with Jenny. My wife, bless her heart, tried for years to warm up to her. Never once did they accept an invitation to dinner, no matter how many times Betty asked. And, to make matters worse, Jenny wouldn’t even keep the garden trimmed to a respectable level. I talked to Matthew about it, and he always said he’d have a word with her, but you know what he’s like. Whipped. Is that the word the young people use nowadays?”
“Yes. I think. I’d have to ask Ivy. She keeps up with stuff like that. I don’t. Why did their yard bother you?” I ventured and hoped I wasn’t overstepping my bounds.
Dave shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, you don’t live on Emerald Cove, so I guess you wouldn’t know. We’re neighbors. We inherited our craftsman from Betty’s parents in the sixties, and we’ve kept it in exceptional shape ever since. Lived right next door to Jenny and Matthew for the last forty years, and what have they done to their house? Well, besides painting it a dismal color—” I winced and thought of my own home. “Like I said, the yard is a nightmare. Now that she’s gone, though, maybe he’ll hire someone to fix it. I was actually waiting for the day they sold the place.”
I heard Ivy in the back rustling through boxes of loose tea and various herbs, so I knew we had time. I hoped she moved as slowly as possible. “Sold? I thought they loved San Bas?”
Dave leaned close and dropped his voice, although we were the only ones in the shop. “From what I can gather, Matthew loves San Bas. Jenny was all set to sell. They had a sign in their yard for months, and then poof. It was gone. Betty nearly had a fit. She was ready to bake our new neighbors pie and thank them for moving in, but now with Jenny gone, who knows. A heart attack ruined everything. I doubt Matthew will sell now.”
He didn’t sound sorry about Jenny’s passing, but that wasn’t unexpected. Still, what he said about Jenny’s supposed death piqued my interest.
“Heart attack? Is that what they say happened?”
“Indeed. I fulfilled her prescriptions each month. Jenny had the highest blood pressure you can imagine. I’m surprised she didn’t keel over five years ago,” he said, and his white eyebrows danced above his eyes.
So, the poison angle wasn’t yet widely known.
Well, give it a day or two and it would be. But maybe the poison came from something at her home. A medicine of sorts.
“I actually overheard some talk today that she had something called digitoxin in her blood,” I said. “Was that one of her medications? Not to pry or anything. I just found it odd, is all.”
Dave’s eyes widened, and he took a bite of the cookie. “Digitoxin? Why in the name of everything holy would Jenny Walker have digitoxin in her system?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea. What does it do?”
He sighed heavily. “Well, it’s a main ingredient in digitalis, and it’s used to stimulate the heart, which is the opposite of what Jenny needed. No wonder she died.”
I licked my lips and nodded, trying to make my interest seem mild while my heart pounded faster. “Besides you, who has access to digitoxin?”
Dave narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure I like where this is going. Do you think I had something to do with Jenny’s death? I was golfing that day, and I have an alibi.”
I quickly shook my head. “No, not at all! But if the digitoxin was in her blood, how did it get there? That’s what I’m asking. No offense meant,” I said and pulled out another cookie, forcing a smile on my face.
It was worth it if he kept talking. And I didn’t mention that having an alibi in place seemed suspicious.
Dave’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Olivia. Of course you weren’t accusing me. But things have been tense lately. No one who’s close to Jenny took digitalis, but that doesn’t mean it’d be hard to find.”
I quirked an eyebrow brow. “Why not?”
I saw Ivy standing in the backroom, just out of sight. Thankfully, she didn’t walk out and disturb us. I had a feeling Dave would stop talking if she did.
“It comes from foxglove. Not a lot growing this time of year, since it mainly flowers in the spring, but a greenhouse might have it.”
Ivy emerged, and I rang Dave up.
“What about the cookies?” he asked and handed me the cash.
“On the house. Good luck with the neighborhood,” I said and waited for him to leave.
Foxglove? We had a plant in our yard, and it did flower each spring with strange and lovely purple flowers the shape of upside-down bells. But who would have some in the dead of winter?
Well, there was only one florist in town, who happened to be a sweet boy that ran the shop with his grandpa: Malachi and Pops’ Sweet Beginnings flower shop.
And Malachi had been the one to find Jenny dead.
Chapter Eight
Since Ivy had her finals the next day, I kept the new information to myself and promised to tell her after her last class—if she promised to study and not bother me about it.
The tactic worked, and I had an entire evening to myself to do nothing but research the poisons at home, with Buttercup snoring peacefully in my lap.
I didn’t learn anything new besides what Dave Johnson had shared, and because of the timing, I had to wait until morning to talk to Malachi and Pops.
My search for the other poison hit a dead-end when my eyes started to droop.
The following morning, I had just parked my truck when suddenly Ivy popped up out of nowhere, and slapped her palms against the passenger window. She yanked open the door and pushed her head inside.
“Finals are done! What cha’ doin’? And what’s the latest clue?”
I waved the name of the poisons from side to side. “I got a lead on what…” Lowering my voice, I pointed to Malachi’s shop. “…poisoned Jenny Walker. Turns out, digitoxin comes from foxglove, but it’s all died back this time of year. So…”
“Uh-huh… I see. Mal and Pops might have some. Well, I’m coming with you.”
Ivy tossed her school bag onto the front seat and then slammed the door.
Buttoning my coat up on the sidewalk, I eyed my sister closely. “Are you sure you’re not coming inside because a certain someone is involved?”
Ivy scrunched up her face, a blush deepening across her cheeks and down her neck. “Stop being mean,” she said, but grinned all the same. “I had tons of studying to do the last two weeks, so I want to Pink Panther my butt off today as much as possible.”
“Okay, Inspector Clouseau. Then let’s see if Malachi stocks foxglove.”
Ivy dragged out her phone from her pocket. “Googling right now… big, purple flower, found in the wild and in gardens. Hey, don’t we have some of this at home?”
“Yeah, but it’s not in season right now. First, let’s see if your cute crush has any of it. He also found Jenny, so h
e might be a little shaken.”
“Or busy making secret wreaths for us,” Ivy said with a grin.
After we got inside the shop, Ivy trotted up to Mal and I followed slowly behind.
“Hey, Malachi. What’s happening?”
Malachi, who was half-way up a ladder adjusting a plant swinging down from the ceiling, smiled down at Ivy, though it didn’t last long once he saw me.
Odd.
Normally Malachi was all smiles and laughter and you could never shut him up.
Perhaps he really was shaken.
“Hey, Ivy. What you looking for?”
“Nothing special,” my sister said, fluttering her eyelids at him. “Just wanted to see your cute face, is all, especially after a long day at school.”
“And also, to buy some sunflowers for our mom. Do you have any?” I shot Ivy a brief look of disapproval.
I could hear her thinking: what? It’s true, he is cute!
And though Malachi was several years younger than me—closer to Ivy’s age—he was a sweet, handsome young man who’d always gone out of his way to help every customer that stepped into his store. Except then, he looked as if he would’ve preferred if I’d stayed home.
Various bursts of colorful flowers were scattered around the shop and consumed my senses, both in sight and smell. My slightly irritated eyes wandered over the beech walls, the counter, and even to the back door. No sign of his grandpa or the dark purple flower we were looking for.
Though I did spot several cedar and fir bough wreaths arranged on the wall. The fresh scent reminded me of Christmas. Some had bright red bows and others were decorated with tiny pinecones or little wooden-carved birds.
Maybe Ivy was right about Mal being the mystery wreath man.
He was certainly displaying his skill.
“How’s your grandpa keeping?” I asked, admiring the bouquet of yellow flowers next to the register.
Malachi stepped down from the ladder and wiped his hands across his green apron, which was tied around a bulky red sweater. “He just ran to the bakery for some bread. He’ll be back in a moment. You said you wanted sunflowers?” His tone was more abrupt than usual, and his hands were balled into tight fists by his side.
“Yes, please,” Ivy said, sliding to Malachi’s side like a kitten. “The bigger the better, and with one of your hand carved vases, please. They’re for mom’s kitchen. You know, the bay window we used to sit at as kids and finger paint? We want them to catch the best sunlight.”
“Umm, yeah. Sure,” Malachi said, his tone and face both equally expressionless. Something was definitely wrong with him. “We keep the vases out back now. Just give me a moment and I’ll grab you guys one. Five flowers enough?”
I nodded and then he disappeared through the back door, leaving Ivy and I alone. After giving her a brief nod, the two us began snooping around before he came back. Rows of flowers had been stacked against the walls, slung down from the ceiling, and covered almost three quarters of the floor space. But none of them, from what I could see, were foxglove.
“Maybe Dave was right,” I muttered, and Ivy shrugged her shoulders. “Nobody has it this time of year.”
At that moment, the door swung open, and the old man popped inside. He was lean and small, but despite his tender age, he held himself erect and he still kept in shape. “Ivy. Olivia. What can I do for you today? Is Malachi serving you?”
“Hello, Mr. Carter. Yes,” I replied, “he’s grabbing us some sunflowers for our mother as we speak.”
“How are you doing today, Mr. Carter?” Ivy asked him.
He swept by her with his arms full of freshly baked bread and pastries. I could smell the golden loaves from across the shop and my mouth watered. I hadn’t eaten much that morning, since I’d been too occupied with thoughts of poison to enjoy much besides coffee. I would’ve killed for a slice of hot bread.
Probably not the best word to use, considering.
Mr. Carter chuckled. “Well, I made some soup last night, so I went for some bread while they were still hot. You’ll go on and have a cup, now won’t you?”
“Sounds delicious,” I said, and my sister seemed to agree with me by the way she clapped her hands together. “Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Carter.”
I had always found Malachi sweet, but he was nothing compared to his grandpa. He’d been in the town since my mother was a child, and he’d always worked as a florist. The quirkiest part of him was that, every single day, without fail, Mr. Carter was well-dressed—sometimes he even wore a three-piece suit, hidden underneath his white apron. Ivy used to joke that he secretly worked for the mafia. I had once asked him about it, long ago, and he’d told me that after his wife passed, she had made him promise that he wouldn't become sloppy.
According to Mr. Carter, a man who didn’t look after himself physically was the epitome of slovenliness.
As he swept to the front counter, his chocolate brown eyes met my own. The lines etched around his features were deep, but when he smiled, they seemed to radiate like sunbeams against his dark skin. “Chilli butternut squash okay for you? It’ll heat the bones in you.”
“Yes, please,” I said.
“That would be lovely, Mr. Carter.”
“Malachi! Fetch some takeaway soup for the Darrow girls. And hurry your butt on back here—you’re not in a labyrinth, boy. Move them pins quicker.”
“I’m just coming, Pops. The vases are heavy.”
“You’re young,” his grandpa shot back, completely deadpan. “You’ll survive. When you get to my age, boy, then you can complain.” He faced us again. “Now, you’re just after a couple of sunflowers and a vase, hmm?”
We nodded, and he tapped—ever so slowly—into the slightly dated register.
“Alrighty then. Anything else I can get you?”
“Well, there is one thing, Mr. Carter.” Ivy looked around the shop, her eyes gliding over the plants. “We wondered if you had any foxglove.”
“Foxglove?” Mr. Carter raised his bushy eyebrows, and laughed. “Now, I don’t usually use that in my bouquets unless it’s specially requested.”
“What’s that, Pops?”
Malachi appeared, carrying a large—larger than I expected—hand-made, wooden vase with five gorgeous sunflowers inside. In his other hand, a paper tray carried two take away cups of homemade soup.
“The girls here are looking for some foxglove.”
Malachi sat the vase down onto the counter with a thump. He gazed at me and his features turned ashen. “We don’t have any of that. It’s out of season and poisonous.”
Ivy shuffled nervously beside me.
I swallowed and decided to bluff a bit. “I know… But I’d heard that someone bought it from here a while ago. Do you remember who it was?”
Now, Malachi’s face hardened, and he knitted his eyebrows together. “No. And I don’t remember selling no foxglove to anyone either.”
“She wasn’t saying you were, Mal,” Ivy whispered, and I could hear the pain in her words.
I nodded and rubbed her shoulder gently. “I’m sorry you had to find Jenny Walker like that. Where were you going when you found her?”
The blood drained from Malachi’s face. “Nowhere! Now if you’re accusing me of killing Jenny—”
His grandpa whacked Malachi on the side of his head. “Listen here, boy, you don’t start goin’ around accusing people of accusing you of killing other people! Now you carry that vase over to the girls’ truck, and be quick about it, I’ve got a list for you to get through by lunch. Go on now!”
Sulking and rubbing his head, Malachi picked up the vase, and extended Ivy the tray of soup. She took it, her eyes averted to the floor, and I watched him stomp his way out of the door and toward my truck.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter. I didn’t mean to upset him. I was just trying to… help.”
“Don’t concern yourself with him, Olivia. He’s just troubled about finding that old Jenny Walker the other day. A sin to hav
e died like that—a heart attack, out in public. But anyway. It’s a new day, and your total for the flowers and vase is eleven dollars.”
“Thank you so much.” I handed him fifteen dollars exactly. “Please keep the change.”
“And thanks so much for the soup!” Ivy had already begun to drink hers. “It’s delicious!”
“My wife’s famous recipe. Oh, and here.” Mr. Carter tossed Ivy a hot roll. “You go on and have a nice day now.”
“You too, Mr. Carter,” we both said, then we closed the door and emerged onto the busy sidewalk.
Malachi was nowhere to be seen, but the flowers and vase were sitting outside the passenger door.
“Where’d he go?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Beats me. Man, did he move fast.”
“Wasn’t he a little… different back there?”
I nodded. “Yes. Very.”
“That’s not the Malachi I know,” Ivy said, picking up the vase. “I could tell he was hiding something.” We both caught each other’s eye. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
We placed the vase in the truck and I extended a hand to the passenger door.
“After you, Inspector Clouseau.”
Chapter Nine
Ivy giggled and hesitated climbing inside the truck. “Well, where should we try first? He could be anywhere.”
“You know Malachi better than I do. Did he ever go somewhere when he was sad or upset?”
“Like you do at the diner? Yeah. He goes to the boardwalk, though we haven’t been together in months. He kind of distanced himself when I started school again last spring.”
“Something’s definitely wrong with him,” I said.
“Yeah…” Ivy agreed, her face tilting into a frown.
Deciding to search the boardwalk, I drove a few blocks down the street until the smell of salted seaweed invaded the truck’s air vents. I stepped out of the truck and gazed at the beach, which hummed with tourists enjoying the colorful string lights draped over the noisy game booths. The sun was high and blinding in the clear, blue sky—not a cloud in sight—and a stiff breeze blew off the sea and seemed to claw straight to my bones.