Drumming her fingers on the table, she hesitated but then plunged in. “I had to go by there. I had new evidence, from Margaret.”
“Margaret Gray?”
“Yes. I went to see her after church, and—”
“You went to see Margaret alone? For all we know she’s the one who killed Ethan.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Tate. You should have seen her. She’s a devastated woman.”
“That could have been an act.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. Anyway, I wasn’t in any danger. I think I can defend myself against one sixtysomething widow.”
Tate leaned forward, elbows on the table, head in his hands, and rubbed at his temples.
“I’m giving you a headache?”
“This situation is giving me a headache. I’m ready for it to be resolved.”
“I was making her coffee, and I found two jars labeled like the ones at Patricia’s house. I think it’s how Patricia poisoned him. I was going to bring them home and discuss it with you, but then I received the call from the Village about the problem with the mystery guests, not to mention your text saying you wouldn’t be able to meet for lunch. It seemed wiser to take the jars by the police and drop them off with Cherry.”
“First sensible thing you’ve said,” he muttered. “But how do you know Margaret wasn’t in on it?”
“I don’t.”
Silence once again fell between them. Tate studied Amber, the lamplight on her face, the way she pulled in her top lip when she was thinking, even her hands on the table. He needed to tell her how he felt. Then she’d understand why he worried.
“There’s something else.” She scootched her chair closer to his, opened the cover on her tablet, and pulled up photos. “Here’s one of the pictures you took. You emailed them to me. Remember?”
“Sure. They’re the pictures from Patricia’s garden.”
“Yes. You can tell this plant is more developed than the others. I think she must have grown it in the greenhouse and then transplanted it outside.”
“Possibly.”
“And here is what I found on the Internet.”
“Why did you think to look for foxglove?”
She told him about Hannah’s message, explaining what Minerva had said, detailing the list of poisonous plants easily grown in local gardens or possibly in greenhouses.
“And you checked them all out?”
“No. I checked out the first few she listed. As soon as I saw this one with the pink flowers, I knew I’d seen it before. I’d seen it here.” She touched the tablet, and the picture Tate had taken once again filled the screen.
“Same plant, but it could be a coincidence.”
“You don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Not as a rule.”
“And today? The chaos you had to deal with combined with what has been going on at the Village? I think—”
“You think we’re close and that Patricia is trying to stop us.”
“Yes. I do.”
“And Margaret?”
“What would her motive have been? As Ethan’s wife, she would have received any life insurance or monies they shared.”
Tate leaned back in his chair and studied her.
“What?”
“You’ve worked hard on this. And I think you’ve come to some realistic conclusions. But Avery is going to need a motive, a reason for Patricia to kill her own brother.”
“That I haven’t been able to figure out. We know from the letters that she was upset about his sale of the land. And we know that he was scraping the bottom of his savings.” She stopped for a moment. “Who told us that?”
“Carol, from the quilt shop. She said Ethan’s savings had run out.”
“Maybe Patricia was afraid she was going to have to move.”
“What’s the advantage though? How is she better off with him dead?”
Leo stretched and wound first through Tate’s legs and then through Amber’s.
“It’s possible that Patricia’s line of reasoning might not make any sense. That she’s not completely aware of what she was doing or why she was doing it.”
“She had to be pretty aware to grind up a plant and slip it in his coffee.”
“True.”
“You’re right that she seems emotionally and possibly mentally unstable.” Tate remembered running from Patricia’s home, and how afraid he had been for Amber. If something were to happen to her now when he’d so recently realized his feelings for her—
“What are you thinking about?”
Tate sat forward in his chair, pulled Amber’s hands into his lap, and jumped into the topic that mattered most to him. “I’m thinking about how much you mean to me. How devastated I’d be if anything happened to you.”
Amber began to interrupt him, but he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. “I’m thinking about how much I love you.”
If his kiss had settled her, his words caused her to rocket out of the chair.
“What did you just say?”
“I said I love you.”
“Why?”
“Why do I love you?”
“Why would you say that? We’ve only known each other, what? A week?”
“We’ve known each other for years.”
Amber stared at him a moment and then began stacking dishes together. Finally she dropped them back onto the table.
“I’m not ready for this.”
“Not ready for what?”
“To discuss . . .”—her hands waved back and forth, up and down—“this! Us. I thought I might be ready, but I’m not.”
“You thought you might be. So you do have feelings for me.”
“Of course I do.” She shook her head, causing her hair to tumble forward. “But we almost have her. We almost have the person who killed Ethan. I need to focus on that.”
“Sometimes being close to death allows you to appreciate life.” He stood in front of her and put a hand on each of her shoulders, but he didn’t kiss her again. The panic in her eyes tore at his heart. What was she so afraid of? How had she been hurt before? Or was she so used to being alone that she was terrified by the thought of depending on someone else?
“Do you love me, Amber?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and he regretted bringing up the subject. Perhaps he should have waited. He couldn’t pull it back though. He couldn’t unsay the words that had risen from his heart.
“I’m a patient guy. You don’t have to know right now. And you’re right. We were basically strangers to one another until a week ago. This all started when you rescued my donkeys.”
She smiled at the mention of Trixie and Velvet.
Tate walked across the room and picked up his jacket. They’d spent nearly every evening together. Perhaps she needed time alone. Maybe she needed to rest.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned through Peggy’s death and my time as a widower, it’s that life is short.”
“I know that,” she whispered. Then she added, “And I know the answer is to trust one another, and trust whatever God is doing here. I do care for you, Tate. I may even love you. I might be frightened because this is all so sudden. A girl needs time to think.”
“Take all the time you want.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “You look tired. Promise me you’ll get some rest?”
“Sure. I’m going to clean these up and go straight to bed.”
“I could help.”
She shook her head. “Some time alone would be good.”
He moved next to her, squeezed her hand, and didn’t let go until she smiled, albeit shakily. “If you need me, I’m right next door.”
He walked out into the night, not relieved exactly. He’d rather she had jumped into his arms and proclaimed her love with certainty. But he was satisfied that he’d said what was on his heart.
He’d said what needed to be said.
Now all that remained was to wait.
> Thirty-Four
Amber went to her bathroom, splashed water on her face, and ran her fingers through her hair. Had Tate said he loved her? Was all of this happening, or was she dreaming?
She walked back into the dining room. Best clean up the mess. Once she hit the bed, she didn’t plan to stand back up for eight hours. Though she questioned whether she’d be able to sleep in spite of her exhaustion. So many questions were buzzing through her mind that she felt like she’d consumed an entire pot of coffee.
Did she love Tate?
Did they know each other well enough to even talk about their feelings?
She carried their glasses to the kitchen, and that was when she heard her front door open, heard someone step inside. Tate must have forgotten something.
But when she walked back into her dining room, her heart stopped.
Patricia stepped closer. Amber fought the scream clawing at her throat. She needed to remain calm. She wanted to look directly at Patricia Gray, to talk with her and try to persuade her to stop this madness.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off the enormous snake that was draped around Patricia’s shoulders like a shawl. Amber knew very little about snakes. She’d had a paralyzing fear of them since she was a child, but she was fairly sure that Patricia had brought a boa constrictor into her home.
What else could be so large?
“Charlie’s fascinating, isn’t he?”
Amber pulled her gaze away from the snake long enough to see the smile spreading across Patricia’s face. Yes, she was going with a diagnosis of flat-out crazy. For the briefest second, sympathy surged through her fear, but then Patricia lowered the boa to the floor. It slid across the tile toward her.
“Don’t run,” Patricia whispered. “Charlie loves a game of chase.”
Amber stood so still she felt as if she’d turned to stone. Maybe Charlie would pass her by and slide out the back door in search of a more appetizing dinner.
“I wish you could have seen him when he was a baby. He hit six feet by the time he was two years old. Unfortunately, it seems he has stopped growing. A shame, as I have heard that many red-tailed boas can easily grow to ten feet and fifty pounds. My Charlie seems to have stopped just under seven feet, but still I love him.”
Patricia pulled out one of the dining room chairs and sat down. Her voice sounded surprisingly normal, almost devoid of emotion, as if she’d locked all she was feeling inside.
“What do you want?” Amber’s throat was suddenly so dry that the words came out scratchy and little more than a murmur.
Charlie had moved in a straight line, toward her, and was now starting to coil around her feet. Amber wanted to scream. She wanted to run, but she feared that would cause the snake to attack. Perhaps she should remain still and attempt to talk some sense into Patricia.
Or she could die of fright.
“What do I want? I think you know the answer to that. I want what’s mine. What my brother gave away to you.”
“That acreage was sold to the Village.”
“Call your little scheme whatever you want. I want it back.” Patricia’s expression never lost its congenial smile.
Charlie had continued coiling around her legs. Perhaps he was simply curious. Did snakes have a sense of curiosity, like a cat? Amber’s heart thumped in triple rhythm. Was this what a heart attack felt like? Was this how most snake victims died? From fear?
“There’s something about Charlie you should know.” Patricia leaned forward. “He hasn’t eaten.”
She sat back, relaxed and apparently enjoying herself. “I usually feed him every seven to ten days, but I decided to wait this week. I wanted to have your attention.”
Amber felt her entire body go cold.
“Why, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. No need to worry about Charlie, dear. Unless you’ve eaten recently.” Patricia reached out and tapped one of the dinner dishes left on the table—dinner for two. The plates still held the remains of the chicken, dumplings, salad with bacon and cheese, fresh bread—all that she’d shared with Tate a few minutes ago. “Ah . . . I see you’ve barely finished dinner. Well then, Charlie might smell the chicken on you and become . . . interested.”
She paused, and Amber knew Patricia was waiting for her to look up. There was no doubt this woman had planned out her every move, had probably waited until after Tate left but before Amber had cleaned up the dishes. Her eyes were the one thing she felt safe moving. She was still wearing her khaki slacks and dark blue blouse from church that morning. The snake was now brushing against the material of her pants. He was still coiled loosely but had worked his way above her knees.
Most of his body remained on the floor, but she was beginning to feel the weight of him. What would happen if she stumbled, if she fell over onto the floor?
She had to find a way to survive this. She did not want to be suffocated by a snake in her own dining room. “What do you want me to do, Patricia?”
“I’d love to see you close the Village, since it sucked the life out of poor Ethan.”
“You killed Ethan.”
“Of course I didn’t.”
“You hired the boys to shoot at his window—”
Patricia clapped her hands, which startled Charlie. Amber still didn’t dare to look down at the snake, but she felt it tense, then resume its long, slow crawl up her body.
“They did a wonderful job! I wanted to pay them double, but I don’t think that would be teaching them a good work ethic.”
“You knew about Ethan’s heart condition.”
Patricia ran her palm across the top of Amber’s table. “Ah, yes. Ethan always did have problems of the heart.”
“We know you put foxglove into the sugar and salt you gave him.”
“You figured that out? You should receive a grade of A+, Amber Wright.”
“You killed him.”
“Of course I didn’t. At first I ground up caffeine pills and put it in with his sugar, but it wasn’t working fast enough. Ethan had found me another place to live, a less expensive place, a home where I’d be looked after. Do I look like the kind of person who needs a house parent?” Rather than aggravated, Patricia seemed amused. She waved away Amber’s accusation and explained, “I kept the caffeine in there even though it worked too slowly. At that point he was addicted and didn’t even know it. I didn’t kill my brother. The caffeine did, and the foxglove—a lovely plant—and the terrible fright from those boys, and his heart condition.”
“I can’t give you that land back. I work there. I don’t own the place.”
“I thought you might say that. So instead I’ll take money. Poor Ethan was always saying he couldn’t give me money, but I think you can. Tell me the combination to the safe in your office.”
Amber wasn’t going to die for money. At the same time, if Patricia had what she wanted, she might decide to let Charlie have a surprise dinner. Praying for wisdom, she tried to think of a way to stall the woman in front of her.
“Did you go into Katie’s shop?”
“Yes. I thought you had recognized me when I passed you with my neighbor’s little pooch in my bag. Wasn’t that fun? You and that little Amish girl stared at the dog and ignored me completely. Snatching her key so I could go back later and open the window was child’s play. Once I’d spread birdseed throughout the shop, it was only a matter of minutes until all manner of critters came inside.”
“Why—”
“Because I could! And I wanted to hurt your precious Village. Do you realize how much time Ethan spent there? Whenever I asked him to take me somewhere, he said he couldn’t because of work. Always work! You think your little group of stores and tourists, the little kingdom you’ve built, is strong and secure. But it’s not! Iron breaks and smashes everything, and I will break you.”
“Daniel.” The word nearly stuck in Amber’s throat. “Those words are from Daniel.”
“Handy book. Don’t you think? I love to read about battles, and I plan to win t
his one. Now tell me the combination for your safe.”
Amber rattled off a string of numbers. She couldn’t imagine how Patricia knew about the safe. Perhaps she had only guessed.
“Very good. I shouldn’t have any trouble finding it since there’s just the one quilt hanging on your office wall, and we both know the safe is behind that quilt.” Patricia stood and patted her pockets. All of her moves were slow and methodical. Possibly she was taking some narcotic that delayed each response. Or it could be that she was aware any sudden move would attract Charlie’s attention.
How loyal were snakes to their owners?
Hadn’t she seen on the Internet that one had recently eaten its owner?
Amber closed her eyes.
“Keys?”
“Promise me you will take this animal with you, and I’ll tell you where the keys are.”
“Of course.”
Her eyes flicked toward the living room, toward the table near the front door.
“You and I have a lot in common.” Patricia moved into the living room and pocketed the keys. “We both have small homes. We both are smart women, and we both live alone.”
“The snake?”
“Oh. I’ll come back for him after I make sure that combination you gave me is correct. Just hold perfectly still and I think you’ll be fine. Charlie has never eaten a person before.” Her laughter was soft, controlled. “Of course there’s always a first time.”
Then she stepped out onto the porch, into the gathering darkness, leaving Amber alone with Charlie, with no alternatives, and paralyzed by her fear.
Tate had backed his pickup truck into the carport. He sat watching Amber’s place.
He’d seen the headlights pulling into her place. The vehicle arrived at the same time he’d cut his engine. So he sat there, waiting and wondering. What if it was someone she didn’t want to see? What if it was someone who wanted to hurt her?
The person had left not long after arriving.
So he should relax.
But he didn’t.
Instead he checked his phone display again. No missed messages. No calls.
Why would she call him? He’d just left there.
Watching her house, he felt his adrenaline begin to pump as his anxiety increased. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.
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