Thyme for Murder

by Bettie Jane

  A broken wine bottle lay on the ground within reach of Mr. Harrison and red liquid stained the front of his dress shirt. There were no wine glasses about, only the bottle. Mr. Harrison’s face was twisted in a way that indicated his death had been on the violent side.

  It’s murder, Lucy thought rather morbidly. Of course it was violent.

  “Hello?” Lucy heard Dr. Fitzgibbons call from inside the teahouse. Lucy stepped out of the shed to call out to him

  “Dr. Fitzgibbons, we’re by the shed. Thank you for coming so quickly,” she said as he joined them. “I’m afraid there won’t be much for you to do, but it seemed the obvious thing to call a doctor in such a moment.”

  They all stepped out of the way and made room for Dr. Fitzgibbons to bend down and examine the body. Barely one breath passed and the doctor confirmed what they all already knew. Geoffrey Harrison was dead.

  “I’ll call the coroner. Has someone phoned the police?”

  “I did,” Lucy said. “They should be here any moment. How do you think he died, doctor?”

  He shrugged, standing up and turning face Lucy. “Could have been a heart attack? It is too soon to say really. I wonder why he was drinking wine out here in the greenhouse.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll wait in the teahouse for the coroner. I don’t suppose you could put on a kettle for me, Lucy?”

  “Certainly. Mr. Jenson, would you please stay here with Mr. Harrison until Detective Brighton arrives?”

  He nodded, and Lucy followed Dr. Fitzgibbons back inside. Janey joined them.

  Lucy set the teapot on the table, and Janey placed cups for each of them and several small tins of tea rather than making a large pot of a loose leaf tea. Nobody spoke as each of them selected their own tea bags and silent minutes passed while their tea brewed. Every time Lucy thought to say something, she would open her mouth and then close it again, deciding there was nothing appropriate to say in a moment like this. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever felt so speechless.

  The bell over the door rang, and Lizbet came inside, clutching an envelope in her hand. “Lucy, have you seen Geoffrey? A gentleman was waiting at home for me with this envelope. He said it’s from the British government and that they need to speak to him immediately. I can’t imagine what they’d want with him. Makes no sense. Goodness, I thought he might be here because this is where he thought I would be and I figure he must have come looking for by now. The man barely lets me have two minutes to myself.”

  Everyone, including Lucy, stared at Lizbet. She’d barely taken a breath between sentences, and now that she had, awkward silence rested between them.

  Lucy came to herself first and stood. “Lizbet, come and sit, dear.”

  “Oh, no. I shouldn’t if Geoffrey isn't here. I better get back home before he turns up for me there. I’ll never hear the end of it if he’s looking all over Kingsbridge for me.”

  “Just for a moment, Lizbet. I need to talk to you. Come and sit,” Lucy repeated, this time taking Lizbet’s hand in hers and guiding her to a chair.

  “Lizbet, I don’t know quite how to tell you this, but I’m afraid something has happened to Geoffrey.” She felt herself choosing her words carefully, unsure exactly what to say. Lucy doubted very seriously that Geoffrey had only had a heart attack, but she couldn’t tell his new widow that her husband had been murdered.

  “I don’t understand. What’s happened to Geoffrey?” Lizbet looked from Lucy to Janey to Dr. Fitzgibbons. When her eyes settled on Dr. Fitzgibbons, her cheeks flushed, she blinked faster, and repeated with more urgency, “What’s happened to Geoffrey?”

  Lucy pulled a chair next to Lizbet and took her hand while Dr. Fitzgibbons delivered the news. “He may have had a heart attack. I’m not certain, and we’ll need to run tests to be sure, but I’m afraid the news isn’t good. Geoffrey is dead.”

  “I don’t—I—er, what I mean to say is, that can’t be possible. I just saw him this afternoon. I don’t understand. I’m afraid I don’t—where is he?” At the last, her voice climbed an octave and ended in a strange screeching sound.

  “Lizbet, we don’t know what happened yet, but the police are on the way. Dr. Fitzgibbons came right away, but there was nothing he could do. I found him in the greenhouse.”

  Lizbet’s head turned in the direction of the greenhouse, looking straight at it, barring the walls that separated it from her actual view. “He’s still there?” Her was voice was barely louder than a whisper.

  “Yes, he’s still there. Mr. Jenson is waiting with him.”

  Lizbet stood, leaving the envelope she had brought on the table, and took one step toward the garden, then paused, looking around at Lucy, confusion heavy in her eyes.

  “Can—should—I—I want to see him, Lucy.”

  Lucy remembered Geoffrey’s frozen face contorted in the throes of death and shook her head. “I don’t think that would be helpful for you, dear. Wouldn’t you rather remember him the way he looked to you in life?”

  “I want to see him, Lucy.” Her tentative voice had turned to stone and she gripped the wrist of her left hand with her right hand, squeezing tightly enough to make her knuckles white. “I need to see him.”

  Lucy nodded, not trying to stop her friend from going to her husband for the last time. “I’ll come with you, but you should prepare yourself, Lizbet. I don’t believe it was an easy death. Quick perhaps, but not easy.”

  Lizbet swallowed and took a tentative step toward the garden, one hand looped around Lucy’s arm. One step turned into another until Lizbet’s steps were confident and rhythmic.

  “That’s the way. You are doing marvelous. I’m right here with you. Say the word and we’ll leave the moment you are ready.”

  Lizbet’s steps faltered at the door of the greenhouse when she rounded the corner and saw Mr. Jenson standing over the body, a face tight with strained emotion.

  “You can change your mind,” Lucy offered.

  Lizbet took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward Mr. Jenson. Lucy watched her face as her gaze settled on the figure of Geoffrey on the ground before her. Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat, and a single tear rolled down Lizbet’s cheek. She fell to her knees and reached for Geoffrey’s hand. “Oh, Geoffrey. No. It can’t be.”

  She buried her face in his damp, wine-stained shirt, oblivious to the wet. As she sobbed into her husband’s chest, Lucy rested one hand on Lizbet’s back to offer what comfort she could.

  When Lizbet’s tears came to an end, she stood with Lucy’s help. When she didn’t step away, continuing to stare at Geoffrey’s face as though memorizing his frozen, contorted features, Lucy took action.

  “Come now, Lizbet. The detective will be here and we must get out of the way. Come now.”

  Lizbet obeyed without any resistance, letting Lucy lead her from the greenhouse, through the garden, and back into the teahouse.

  Janey had warmed a teapot and was ready for their return. “Come here, Lizbet. Come and sit.”

  Lizbet stared at the floor, shuffling her feet along until Lucy gently helped her into a seat where she continued to stare at the floor.

  “Janey, would you mind sitting with Lizbet for a moment while I talk with the doctor?”

  Janey sat next to Lizbet, holding her hand and whispering soothing niceties to Lizbet’s non-responsive demeanor.

  “Doctor, can I have a word?”

  Dr. Fitzgibbons nodded and stood, following Lucy back into the kitchen area.

  “Can you do anything for her?”

  “She’s in shock. She just needs a bit of time. Keep someone with her for now.”

  “Do you really think it was only a heart attack?”

  “I really cannot say until the coroner has run tests.” His face was blank. Too blank.

  “It wasn’t natural causes?”

  He narrowed his eyes in thought, and when he spoke, it was matter-of-factly. “I didn’t see any injuries. It is possible that he had an attack
, perhaps his heart, and dropped the wine.” He looked at Lucy intently. “I suspect if it wasn’t natural causes—which it may very well have been, so don’t jump to any conclusions—but if it weren’t, I would consider poison. I saw indications that could point to something like belladonna.”

  Lucy felt her breath catch in her chest and hoped her face didn’t give away her secret. She made a note to check the secret section of her garden to see if anything, especially the belladonna, was undisturbed. That would have to wait until after Lizbet was situated.

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  7

  Detective Brighton arrived along with his assistant, an intern from a local college. Lucy had seen the intern around before but hadn’t encountered a situation that warranted an introduction. Now she had occasion to meet the intern after eying her from a distance for some time but loathed the circumstances that brought them together. She’d wanted to get to know the type of woman that would enter a field so dominated by men, but now doubted she’d find the correct time to ask those sorts of questions. Even thinking about it a time like this when her dear friend was facing the tragic loss of her husband made Lucy feel guilty.

  “Detective Brighton, thank you for coming so quickly.”

  He shook her hand and introduced his companion. “Bonnie, this is Lucy Brooks, owner of Thyme for Tea. Lucy, allow me to introduce you to Bonnie, the intern here from America.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Bonnie. Detective,” Lucy instinctively lowered her voice to spare Lizbet, who was still essentially catatonic and staring blankly at the floor and occasionally at the bell over the front door. “Mr. Harrison is in my greenhouse. His wife, Lizbet, is quite distraught.” Lucy nodded in her direction, and the detective glanced at the grief-stricken woman.

  “Please keep her here. I’d like to talk to her before she leaves. Can you show me to the body?”

  “Of course.” She looked at Janey, who nodded in answer to Lucy’s unasked question about Lizbet. Janey would stay with her.

  Lucy led the detective, his intern, and the doctor back to the greenhouse where Mr. Jenson was still waiting, although now he was on the garden side of the lavender door rather than inside the greenhouse with Mr. Harrison. Lucy didn’t blame him one bit. Just having him on her property was disturbing.

  “Who discovered the body?” Detective Brighton asked.

  “I did,” said Lucy. “I was going out to my greenhouse to gather herbs for Mrs. Jenson.”

  “Headaches,” Mr. Jenson added.

  The detective nodded, looking expectantly at Lucy to continue.

  “I noticed the door to my greenhouse was ajar, which is unusual. I typically close it to keep the rodents out.”

  “When was the last time you noticed the door was closed?”

  Lucy thought back. She hadn’t been out to the garden all day since she’d been so busy with the teahouse and the children. “Yesterday evening. I would have been out to water this morning, but Sister Therese and the sisters from the abbey were here today, and she helped me pick the vegetables since I was so busy inside.”

  “I see. Who else had access to this garden since the last time you were here yourself?”

  “The garden here at the teahouse is usually frequented by the public all day, as long the teahouse is open.”

  “Who do you know for sure was in the garden today?”

  “I can only tell you who was in the teahouse. People come and go to the garden without much notice. The sisters from the abbey. The Rotary Club members who met here earlier. The out-of-town visitors who met in my other meeting room. Mr. Jenson. Mr. and Mrs. Harrison were also here earlier this morning. Janey, of course. Mayor Higgins and his assistant, Mr. Albemarle. And all the evacuee children and the pregnant women who were with them.”

  “What time was Geoffrey Harrison here this morning?”

  “I think it was near 11am. I had opened a bit earlier when he and Lizbet came in. We were talking about the news out of Poland. He was in a hurry, saying something about talking to Albert about fishing.”

  “So they didn’t stay long?”

  “No, they didn’t even sit down for a cup of tea.”

  “Is it possible Geoffrey went to your greenhouse this morning and that he’s been here in your greenhouse all day?”

  “No, he was dressed differently when he was here earlier. Janey spoke with Lizbet on the phone this afternoon, around one, I believe it was, to invite her to boat with us after I closed for the day, and Geoffrey was at home at the time because the children arrived and he said he wanted no part of them. We had to postpone the trip and instead Lizbet came here to help us.”

  He nodded. “I’ll need to interview everyone who was here today. Tell me, the visitors from out of town you mentioned, are they staying overnight?”

  “No, I believe they were headed to the train station when they left here, not long before I found Mr. Harrison. While I hate to speak ill of strangers, I must say that they acted oddly from the moment they arrived. The only one who spoke to me was Mr. Pennington, and he paid much more than I asked for, calling on me to be discreet. He was polite, just a bit odd. And when they left, there were only two. The third man disappeared sometime earlier in the day, and there was a time, while the children were chasing the cat into the garden, that I heard a fair amount of arguing coming from their room.”

  “Mr. Pennington, you say?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “We need to see if Pennington and his men made the last train. If not, I’ll want to talk to them. Bonnie, would you go to the train station and see what you can discover on that front?”

  “Yes, detective.” Bonnie turned and slipped out of the greenhouse and into the garden.

  Detective Brighton turned his attention to Dr. Fitzgibbons.

  “You’ve examined the body, doctor?”

  “I did. Cause of death was possibly a heart attack, possibly something more sinister.”

  “You are suggesting murder?”

  “It is highly likely. I expect to hear from Mrs. Harrison shortly if my suspicions are correct. I don't wish to cause alarm where none may be necessary.”

  “What?” Lucy couldn’t help herself. “You can’t think Lizbet had something to do with this, can you?”

  “Doctor!” Janey’s voice called from somewhere in the garden. “Come quickly. It’s Lizbet. Something is wrong with her.”

  “I suspected this might be the case. Detective, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Janey was holding Lizbet’s hand and towing her through the rows of plants in Lucy’s garden. Lizbet’s face was red with irritation, as were her hands. Essentially anywhere she had touched the wine that had spilled on Geoffrey.

  The doctor examined her briefly without touching the affected areas of her skin and then said, “Mrs. Harrison, I’ll need you to accompany me to the hospital at once.” Then he turned to the detective. “I believe Mr. Harrison was murdered and that the murder weapon was belladonna put in Geoffrey’s wine, which came into contact with Mrs. Harrison’s skin. I’ll need to treat her immediately. Good luck with your investigation.”

  He left with Lizbet and Janey. Nobody tried to stop them.

  “Poison?” a stunned Mr. Jenson asked. “That is rather unfortunate. If you don’t mind, Lucy, I’ll get home to my wife. I’ll come back another time for the herbs.”

  He was gone before Lucy could object, leaving her standing in the greenhouse with the detective and the deceased Mr. Harrison, wondering how her small little world had been turned so entirely upside down in only one day.

  “Do you grow belladonna in your garden, Lucy?”

  She was worried this question would eventually arrive on her doorstep and let out a sigh. “Yes, but nobody knows that but me. I grow it in a very secluded section of the garden.”

  “If the plant had been disturbed, would you notice?”

  “Probably. I keep a close eye on it.”

  The detective nodded, made a note in his notebook, and then conti
nued with his questions. “Is there another entrance into the garden besides the one through the house?”

  “Yes, the back gate. I keep it locked, though, so nobody can come in and out without me knowing it.”

  “Can you show me the entrance, please?”

  “Certainly.” She led him through the garden, and he continued asking questions.

  “Do you know of anyone who would want Mr. Harrison dead?”

  “Not specifically, no. He wasn’t exactly the kindest man in our Kingsbridge.”

  “I’ve heard rumors from my sister that Mr. Harrison has a reputation for, eh, shall we say disciplining his wife with a heavy hand. Do you know anything about that? She seems to be a close friend of yours.”

  Lucy’s heart sped up in her chest. How many people knew about Lizbet and Geoffrey? Why had Lucy waited so long to address it? She was embarrassed on behalf of Lizbet, knowing firsthand how it felt to be the focus of idle gossip, and foolish in her own right for not confronting Lizbet sooner. How long had she been suffering, right under her friends’ noses?

  “She is a close friend of mine, and Janey and I have suspected something like that may be going on. We were planning on talking with her about it today, but then the children arrived and we had to change our plans.”

  “Perhaps Lizbet took matters into her own hands? Not many would blame her for standing up to him.”

  “Standing up to him, perhaps not. Killing him, I believe that would be a different story. I think there would be quite a lot of judgment aimed at Lizbet if she murdered Geoffrey. I can assure you, though, that it would be impossible for Lizbet to have done this. She was helping us with the children all afternoon. She only left briefly to take supper home to Harrison and came back immediately looking for her husband. Obviously, he was here already.” She paused. “Someone from the government is here looking for Geoffrey. Perhaps that person is the killer?”

  “Perhaps. Does Lizbet know you grow deadly nightshade?”

  “No,” Lucy shook her head. “Nobody does. I’ve made sure to keep that an absolute secret for reasons exactly like this one. Oh, this is odd.”