Tommie stared at him. “Dangit, Holmes! That was a brilliant deduction,” she said in awe.
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” he mugged.
“Finbar, you watch and read too many mysteries.”
“Not at all. It keeps my mind sharp. Right, Sherlock?” he said to the dog, who tilted his head in reply.
“Who’s left? Ah, the one who was not officially present. Linda Beadwell. What about her?”
“I’m not going into your level of detail. Here’s the Cliff Notes version. Linda’s a social butterfly. Younger than Coral, early 50s, a bit taller than Beverly, attractive in a put-together sort of way, heavily mascaraed eyelashes and honey brown eyes, very fit. There’s only one gym here, and lots of women go there. Beverly, Linda, and Sarah Beth, too. The thing about Linda that’s really distinctive is her hair. It’s a dark shiny walnut color with light blond highlights. And she wears it in a rounded, curled under style with short bangs and chin level on the sides and back. I think people used to call it a ‘Prince Valiant’ pageboy.”
“Sounds ghastly.”
“It is.”
“How about Sarah Beth Brewster?”
“She never came into the shop.”
“But she has access, does she not?”
“Yes, I guess so. Sarah Beth is 55 and very pretty, with naturally curly light auburn hair and jade green eyes. She’s 5’4” tall and in great shape. I’d say she’s much more fit than either Beverly or Linda. She works out at the gym every single morning before she opens her coffee shop at 6:00 a.m. I guess she’s the last one.”
“No, Thomasina. She is not the last suspect. You are, and I can describe you—a lovely, engaging, intelligent woman of 64 years. Slightly wavy salt and pepper hair in a pixie cut. Height 1.60 meters. Weight 14.2 stones. Olive skin tone. Bright eyes so dark brown they appear black. Deep dimples. Bow-shaped mouth with lines at the corners from frequent smiling and laughing. Small hands with strong fingers. Broken left ankle set in a walking boot. Clever and observant. Certified herbalist. Lives with two fine rescue dogs, so one can tell she is compassionate. Easily makes strangers feel like friends and brings them homemade tea blends and special milk.”
Tommie was touched beyond words, and tears welled up in her eyes. In just a few hours, Finbar Holmes had become her friend, her confidant, and her partner in crime solving.
“So, missus, there it is. We have listed our suspects. Tomorrow, come over at half nine, and I’ll fix you a traditional Irish Breakfast. You can ring your cousin in the morning and find out our murder method. The tea’s gone cold, so I propose we have some of your special blend—and I’ll have a bit of that Dreamer Creamer you brought over—and we’ll call it a good night’s work.”
Chapter Nine
Tommie’s dreams were not as pleasant as she hoped Finbar’s were. Her mind replayed Coral Beadwell’s death over and over, and each time, it became more bizarre until she finally woke up, sweating and breathless. The last images she recalled before the dream drifted away were confusing: Coral’s face glowed fire engine red as she sat drinking from an unusually large teacup the size of a mixing bowl with a handle; Charles Williams towered over her wearing a top hat like the Mad Hatter. “Off with her head,” he yelled; Don Lareby swayed to and fro, his arms ending in cell phones instead of hands; His identical twin sisters (dressed like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum) stood on either side of him and spoke like a looped recording. “9-1-1,” Susan repeated. “What is your emergency?” Elaine chanted; Beverly Cantrell and Henry Erving stood with their arms, faces, bodies, and bulging eyes plastered against the glass; and Linda Beadwell stood in the bathroom, dressed as Prince Valiant with a sword, stabbing at Sarah Beth Brewster, who stood in the herb storage room and parried with her own sword.
The bedside clock read 7:45. Zed and Red were still snoring under the covers, so Tommie got on up and took a long, hot shower. Because she was unsteady and couldn’t put any weight on her left foot, she had to sit on a plastic milk crate covered with a towel in the tub and direct the handheld shower wand over her body. She looked forward to the day she could finally take a proper standing shower. After drying her hair and putting on a clean set of scrubs—worn not because she fancied herself a medical professional but because they were roomy and had lots of pockets—she saw it was 8:30. Sanderson would be at work at the coroner’s office.
She took a cup of Red Rooibos tea with honey to her small office, took a seat on the loveseat, and called his cell phone. Sandy picked up on the third ring.
“Sanderson Harper speaking,” he said.
“Hey, Sandy. It’s Tommie. I got your message on Monday. Thanks for giving me a heads up about talking to the police,” she said in her brightest voice.
“Hi, Tommie. Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, and no. I was surprised to hear the M-word from Earl. I thought Coral had a heart attack or a stroke.”
“Yeah, no. It was definitely not either of those.”
“It was poison, right?”
“What makes you say poison?” He sounded wary.
“Process of elimination. What kind of poison?”
“Now, Tommie. I’m not supposed to say. Did Earl tell you anything?”
“Not really too much. He did say he doesn’t believe I had anything to do with it. But they’ve ransacked my shop just the same, Sandy. You should see the mess they made.”
“I know, but it’s necessary when there’s a death like that in a place of business. We’ve analyzed most all of your herbs and potions and tea blends. Ah, tell me, cousin. How do you determine what you put in those herbal teas and natural remedies anyway?”
“Sandy, I’m a certified herbalist. I’m not a doctor, but I had to have extensive training and then pass rigorous tests, just like licensed medical personnel.”
“Yeah, Tommie. That could be good for you, or it could be bad.”
“What do you mean? Sandy, please tell me what you’ve found out. I need to know if any of my product was tampered with.”
“Do your herbs come with any kinds of warnings or contraindications for people taking pharmaceuticals or who have existing conditions?” he asked, his tone professional.
“Well, sure they do. I had to learn which herbs and combinations people with preexisting conditions like diabetes or allergies or even pregnancy should avoid, and which ones interact with prescribed medication, too. It’s not just throwing a bunch of stuff together and calling it a remedy.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m just asking.”
“Well, a lot of people think I’m a witch or a quack or somebody trying to be Claire Fraser from Outlander. I’ve worked hard to learn how to use natural ingredients safely.” “What do you know about cyanide?” he asked.
“Wait, what? Cyanide? Oh my gosh, Sandy! I don’t have any use at all for cyanide. Is that what poisoned Coral? Cyanide?” she asked.
“I didn’t tell you that. Preliminary findings indicate that type of poison, but it’ll take a while before we have the full toxicology results. Tell me about that Fruity Friendship tea of yours. How did you come up with it?”
“It’s a base of Honeybush, which comes from Africa. It’s a naturally sweet herbal tea. And then, to spice it up, I added chopped dehydrated peaches, cherries, and apricots, and some broken bits of whole cinnamon. That’s all that’s in it,” she explained.
“Where did you get the ingredients, Tommie? Did you prepare them yourself?”
“No, I have distributors I order from. They’re all very reputable, though. I’ve vetted them for quality control. I’m meticulous about my products. Are you saying something was wrong with the tea or the fruit in that special blend?”
“Not necessarily, but did you realize there’s cyanide in apricot kernels, peach pits, and cherry rocks? If they got ground up and blended into your tea, it could be toxic.”
“There were no kernels, pits, or rocks in my blend. I check everything really well. Dried whole fruit. Nothing more. Even if
there were, I outsource those things. I don’t do the actual dehydrating. And, besides, I would have felt the hard pieces when I chopped them up,” She was getting agitated.
“Tommie, settle down. Nobody’s said that’s where the cyanide came from. I’ve been covering all the bases … for you, Tommie … just to be extra sure you’re not implicated.”
“Implicated? Oh my gosh! I have absolutely no motive for harming Coral Beadwell. She swung business my way, for crying out loud. She was one of my best repeat customers,” she said, her voice rising.
“I understand that. Relax. Your loose tea blend was cleared. The tea in the cup? Now, that’s a different story. It was most definitely contaminated. It’s a good thing you protected the evidence by putting the cup in a zipper lock bag. And the napkins had a cyanide-like contaminate on them, too. I hope you wore gloves when you handled them.”
“No, I used a plastic bag from my pocket.”
“That’s a good thing, because just touching that much cyanide can make you really sick.”
“Sick, like how?”
“Dizziness, weakness, vomiting, headache, problems with your heart and breathing. Those kinds of sick. And before you ask, touching it with the plastic bag protected you from getting it in your system. What made you think to do that?”
“You and I used to play detective when we were young, remember? Plus, I didn’t want to get cut by the ceramic cup shards. That’s why I keep a bag in my pocket, just in case a customer spills something or breaks a cup.”
“Glad you thought of it.”
“Would touching it directly kill you?”
“Probably not. Just make you really sick.”
“That’s good to know. The teacup and the napkins. So, the brewed tea had the poison?”
“The napkins held pretty good trace from the liquid, but they were secondary to the primary source. The teacup was loaded with it, mostly on the bottom and around the rim. It wasn’t the tea, Tommie; it was the cup. The cup was tainted.”
Chapter Ten
“Cyanide poisoning,” Finbar said, “in and on the teacup itself. That’s a new one for me.”
“You and me both,” Tommie agreed.
“Well, missus. This is becoming a most interesting murder case. Let me get the breakfast on the table, and we can discuss it whilst we eat.”
Finbar set several serving bowls on the table, along with the cozy-covered teapot. “Help yerself,” he said as he poured her a mug of the strong Barry’s Tea he brought over in his luggage from Dublin. Tommie stirred in the Honey-Honey she made (since his diabetes prevented him from using the sweetener) and surveyed the food in the assembled bowls as Finbar identified them.
“This is a traditional full Irish breakfast. These here are crispy bacon rashers, fried eggs, mushrooms, and grilled tomatoes,” he said, pointing to each bowl.
“I recognize those, and that’s more of the Irish soda bread and Kerrygold butter we had yesterday. And are those baked beans? For breakfast?” she asked.
“Oh yes. That’s a favorite.”
“That one looks like a potato pancake in the shape of a four-leaf clover.”
“Hm. Never thought of it that way, but yes, it’s a fried potato farl, which comes from the Gaelic word fardel meaning four parts. Well thought out, missus.”
“That leaves that brown one and that black one.”
“Right. The brown one is rissole hash, made from the leftover rissole we had last night. The small black patties are drisheen—black pudding.”
“Ah yes, the black pudding you were telling me about. What’s in it?”
“Protein, herbs, spices, onions, and barley. Try a bit. I like mine with tomato catsup.” He served her two crispy fried black discs and a healthy squirt of ketchup.
“Oh, that’s good. It has a spicy, kind of gamey taste.”
“D’you like it?”
“I do. I’ll have another one, and I’ll help myself to a little bit of everything else, except the tomatoes. I’m not so crazy about them.”
“Are you not? But you like the tomato catsup?”
“Yeah. I don’t know why. Just a preference. OK. I’m digging in.” And she did. In fact, though she thought there was more food than anyone could possibly eat, she finished off her whole plate, as well as two more black pudding rounds and another spoonful of rissole hash. When she pushed away from the table, she was stuffed.
“I need a nap now,” she lamented.
“Here, dear. Another sup of tea should wake you up. Just leave the bowls and go sit on the sofa. I’ll be right there.”
Tommie waddled over to the couch and sat. She noticed it was brand new, but the doilies were much older.
“Mary made them doilies. She was good with her hands. All the furniture is new from the Badcock’s store. Had it delivered last week,” he called from the kitchen as he put plates in the sink to soak, covered bowls, and stored them in the fridge.
When he came into the living room, he pulled the top off the round ottoman, brought out a crocheted afghan, and laid it on the cushion opposite where Tommie was sitting.
“Put your legs up on this, missus, and lean back against the sofa pillow.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to get it dirty,” she protested.
“Woman, I’ve had four children and twice again as many grandchildren. D’you think it’s never had feet on it?”
She gave in, not reluctantly, and instantly felt more comfortable. He even brought out a little low tray on which she could perch her mug.
“So, I’m glad you liked the breakfast. I don’t eat that way every day, but I felt we needed it this morning.” He smiled.
“Why do they call it ‘black pudding’ instead of sausage. It was sausage, wasn’t it?”
“Er, well, yes. I suppose because it’s a bit gelatinous when they first combine the ingredients.”
“What was the protein … pork?”
“Yes. Yes, it was. Came from the pig. Pig’s blood.”
“What? Not the meat, but the blood?”
“Don’t you go getting queasy on us, now. It’s pork protein, just the same.”
“Well, I’ve eaten a lot of different things, like goat testicles in Africa. I have to say the black pudding was way better. I’ll eat it again,” she said with a wink.
“Good on you, Tommie. Always approach food with an open mind. I’ll feed you all sorts of delicious things, like crumpets, kippers, haggis, jolly boys, deviled kidneys, tattie scones, bannocks, kedgeree, laver bread, cockles, Crempog, and bubble and squeak, just to name a few.” He grinned.
“Super. Just not today, OK? Let’s talk about cyanide poisoning. What do you know about it?”
“It’s deadly. I’m just looking at the internet right now on my phone. Chronic symptoms—that’s exposure over a long period of time—are weakness, dizziness, paralysis, liver and kidneys damage. Acute symptoms indicate a large dose of the poison and can be seizures, breathing difficulties, coma, and cardiac arrest. Says here that victims may have a cherry red face as pulmonary edema sets in. Yer Ms. Beadwell had a red face, didn’t you say?”
“I did. And when she went over, it was like a heart attack. How is it administered?”
“It occurs in pesticides, tobacco smoke, seeds and kernels of apricots, apples, oranges, cherries, and peaches, in raw almonds, cassava, bamboo shoots, and even flaxseeds.”
“We’re exposed to a lot of those things all the time. I would think it’d take a highly concentrated dose, not just a few shavings from kernels and pits. Anyway, Sanderson said my tea blend was cleared. Anybody in the food service industry could have access to those food items, and so can anyone who buys groceries,” Tommie contemplated.
“Tobacco smoke is implausible, wouldn’t you say?” Finbar noted.
“Yeah. Gardeners use pesticides, and so do people who like to take care of their lawns, or even farmers. I feel like we’re making our potential suspect pool larger instead of pinpointing anyone. Does it show anything else?”
“Hm. It says here there are traces in acetone nail polish remover.”
“Like what they use at nail salons? That means someone who has their fingernails done could possibly get ahold of some, don’t you think?” she asked.
“I see where you’re going. Beverly Cantrell has those professionally manicured fingernails,” he said.
“Yes, she does,” Tommie agreed.
“Cyanide salts are used when cleaning metal and doing electroplating. There are also medications that contain cyanide: hydroxocobalamin, sodium nitroprusside, citalopram, and cimetidine. I’m not sure what those are used for. Does anyone have access to a jeweler or a chemist?”
“I don’t know, but we need to find out. Where are we on our list?”
“We have a short list of suspects, and I’m going to officially discount yer name because we know you did not do it. What we don’t have is motive, Thomasina. Why did someone want to kill Ms. Coral Beadwell. That’s probably the single most important key to solving this crime. To find out motive, we must do some investigative work, and we must be careful not to alienate the Gardai.”
“The what?”
“The law authorities.”
“Ah, yeah. How do you propose we go about our clandestine investigating?”
“We need to interview our suspects without them knowing that we are investigating them. D’you have any ideas how that can be done?”
Tommie sat upright, a huge grin making her eyes squint and deepening her dimples.
“We come a’calling. Finbar Holmes, I think it’s time for me to introduce you to the citizens of Floribunda, Florida. Meet me out front in twenty minutes, and we’ll take a ride around the town.”
Chapter Eleven
Brewster’s Coffee Shoppe was the duo’s first stop. As Tommie parked the car parallel to the curb, Finbar studied the window displays in front of the store. They were orderly and attractive, if a bit pedantic in their synchronicity, with coffee packages, mugs, pots, and artificial flowers arranged in perfect alignment with one another in each window. This is a woman who thrives on organization and control, he speculated. He opened his door and went around to Tommie’s, helping her from the vehicle, and then they entered the door.
Tainted Teacup Page 6