Never Enough Thyme

by Juliet MacLeod

  “But it was almost like you were surprised that Barry—in particular—was dead.”

  Viki stood up. The interview, such as it was, had come to an abrupt end. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. A man died in front of me. I was in shock. I have no memory of what I said, and I certainly didn’t have an argument with him this morning. I have to get back to work.” Viki opened the door and strode out to the sales floor. I remained at Mom’s desk, knowing that she would be back in three... two... one...

  “What was that all about?” Mom asked, entering her office and shutting the door behind her. “And why are you sitting at my desk?”

  I stood up and claimed the chair where Viki had been sitting. “You’re gonna hear this eventually, so it might as well be from an eye-witness and not someone’s grandmother’s sister’s best friend’s cousin’s boyfriend who wasn’t actually there, but heard from her uncle’s—”

  “Bryony Elizabeth, what are you jabbering about? What’s happened?”

  I took a deep breath and said softly, “Barry Shubitz is dead. He died this morning. During the Fest.”

  Mom sat down hard like someone had cut her strings. She gasped and pressed her fist against her mouth. “No,” she said, her honey-brown eyes filling with tears. “What happened?”

  “No one’s certain yet. Doc Hutchins sent his body to the CBI’s morgue for an autopsy, but he thinks Barry might have been poisoned.”

  “Poisoned? Was it food poisoning? Did he eat something bad?”

  “Like I said, no one knows for certain what happened. But since he’s the only one who died, and no one else is sick, I’m pretty sure he was targeted. Someone meant to kill him.”

  Mom sat back and reached for a tissue from the box on the corner of her desk. As she shook her head in disbelief, she dabbed at her eyes. “I just can’t believe anyone would want to kill Barry. He was such a nice man. Generous, funny, so kind.” She sniffed and crumpled the tissue into her hand. “Why did you need to talk to Viki? Did she... Was she there?”

  “Yes. She was sitting right next to him when he... Well, when it happened.”

  “Oh, dear. That poor girl. What an ordeal.”

  “Yeah. That poor girl,” I said, not unkindly. As negatively as I was currently viewing Viki, I could not deny that it was pretty awful to witness someone dying not five feet from where I was standing. I went to hug Mom before kissing her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” Mom looked up at me. “I’ll keep an eye on Viki, too.” She reached and patted my hand. “And I’ll still see you Thursday?”

  “Of course. It’s the highlight of my week. Bye, Mom.” I headed out of the shop to my car. Viki was nowhere to be found. Once I was belted in, I dug my cell phone out of my purse and dialed the sheriff’s station. I introduced myself to the woman who answered and asked to be connected with Dean. A moment later, I heard the line ringing.

  After the fourth ring, Dean answered. “Sheriff Jensen.”

  “Hi, Dean. It’s Bryony.”

  There was a slight pause before Dean said, “Hey, Bryony. What’s up?”

  “Have you finished questioning the witnesses?”

  “Have I finished...? Why do you want to know?”

  “Well, I got to thinking that if Barry had been poisoned, someone probably got it—whatever it is—from my shop. I feel responsible. So. Anyone know anything?”

  There was a long pause, as Dean no doubt mulled over telling me anything. I held my breath until he said, “No one knew why anyone would have targeted Barry. Everyone we spoke to—”

  “Names?”

  He made an impatient sort of sound. “I’m not giving you names, Bryony. You know better.”

  “Fine. Go on. Everyone you spoke to...?”

  Dean sighed. “Everyone we spoke to today said that Barry was a nice man. Kind, generous, funny. No one knew of any enemies he might have had. Nothing that would lead anyone to believe that he might be murdered, anyway.”

  “Have you spoken to his ex-wife?”

  “Yes, his family has been informed.”

  I was silent for a moment as a thought struck me. “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that Barry was killed in the middle of the SummerFest today? I mean, it’s almost as if whoever killed him wanted the entire town to witness it.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Poisoning seems to me to be a private affair. It’s sneaky and underhanded. If you poison someone, you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re a killer. You know?”

  Dean was silent again. After a few moments, he made a thoughtful grunting sound. “You’re right,” he said. “I hate saying that, by the way. Just like in Mrs. Matthews’ calculus class. Remember?”

  I laughed. “I remember. And listen, here’s something else. Remember when Barry won that $500 this morning? When everyone was congratulating him and Stephen, Viki Childress was there, too. She didn’t congratulate them at all. She started an argument with Barry. Their argument was pretty intense.”

  “I didn’t see that. Of course, I was too busy clapping Stephen on the back. Did you overhear what Barry and Viki were arguing about?”

  “No, I wasn’t close enough. All I know is that Barry stormed off, looking quite angry.” I paused again. “And another thing,” I said after a moment.

  “This has to be the last thing, Bryony. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation.”

  “Oh, I know. But I think it’s important. After Barry died, Viki was there, and she seemed—I don’t know exactly how to describe it—but surprised it was Barry who’d died.”

  “Everyone was surprised Barry died. That’s not—”

  “No, I know. But it’s almost as if Viki was surprised it was Barry in particular who died. Like, she expected someone else to have been killed. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  Dean was silent for a long time. Just when I was about to ask if he was still on the phone, he said, “Yeah. I think I get what you’re saying. I’ll talk to her. Is she at the bookshop?”

  “Yep. I just got done talking with her.”

  “You talked to her before I could? Bryony!”

  “Relax, Sheriff. She didn’t say anything interesting. You’ll probably have better luck. You know, with the badge and all.”

  “Yeah. The badge and all.” He sounded skeptical. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the heads up on Viki. Stay out of trouble. Understand?”

  I chuckled. “I understand. I’ll call you in the morning to see if you’ve made any headway with the investigation.”

  “We’re not partners here, Bryony. I can’t talk to you about any of this.”

  “Fine,” I said with a huff and hung up. “I’ll just have to get my information elsewhere,” I said as I started the Ghia’s engine and pulled away from the curb. I glanced out my side window and spotted Viki staring back at me through the store’s display window. She did not look happy.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I stopped at the Red Dragon for take-out in honor of Barry and headed home to my hundred-and-fifty-year-old house, located halfway up Mount Saxon on four acres carved out of the thick forest. It had been built fifteen years after Saxon Lake was founded during the Colorado Gold Rush. Although gold had never been found in the hills or streams surrounding Saxon Lake, silver had. That precious metal sustained our little village for almost thirty years before the flow dried up and the town went bust. Saxon Lake struggled to survive for the next fifty years until skiing became the new gold in the Rockies, and tourists discovered that Saxon Lake was perfect for après-ski parties before returning to Denver. It was just such a party that had brought Jakob Jørgensen and his late wife Inger to Saxon Lake.

  My Italianate house had been run-down and in danger of being condemned when I bought it ten years ago, but I’d been determined to bring it back to its former glory. I’d dumped a lot of money into it, and as a result, the National Register of Historic Places had given me a plaque that hung on the outside wall next to my front door. D
an Kessler, Hannah’s father and director of the local history museum, had taken photographs during my renovations and put them on the museum’s website. He had later informed me that the page on which my house appeared had the highest number of visitors of any of the historic properties featured on the site.

  After changing my clothes and leaving my take-out on the kitchen table, I headed to the chicken coop to check on my girls and then to the goat shed to check on Daffodil and Tulip. They were all happy and safely tucked up in their beds. I milked the goats and stored the buckets in the dairy shed until I’d have time to use it in one of the lotions or soaps I sold in my shop.

  I ate after checking on the animals. Beryl, so named for his amazing blue eyes, sat on the chair next to me, staring at me, watching my every move. I passed him a piece of orange beef, at which he turned his nose up before leaving the kitchen. “Silly cat,” I called after him. “Why were you begging if you knew you wouldn’t eat whatever I offered you? Because he’s a cat,” I muttered to myself.

  When I’d finished most of my food, I went into my living room and dug the scone out of my purse. It had crumbled a bit and was sort of stale, but it was still delicious. I made some Earl Grey and curled up in front of a fire with the newest Nancy Atherton novel, my tea, and the scone. Despite it being summer, the mountains got cold at night, and I was grateful for the fire.

  I went to bed soon after. My dreams were haunted by the look on Barry’s face as he died, and I woke before my alarm went off, covered in sweat. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep again, I got up and showered, breakfasted, and got to work on my farm chores.

  I spent the next few hours collecting eggs from the chickens and turning them out into the apple orchard for the day. Then I milked Daffodil and Tulip and led them into the peach orchard. After that, I weeded and harvested my extensive vegetable and herb gardens before storing the produce. Most of the vegetables went into boxes I loaded into the back of my old red farm truck, so I could take them to the local grocer’s, while most of the herbs went into the drying shed.

  While I was in the drying shed, I selected some herbs to make a quick tea for Viki to help soothe any stress or anxiety she might experience in the aftermath of Barry’s death. I added dried lavender and passionflower to a base of chamomile and added a dash of peppermint. I poured the mixture into a small glass jar and took it with me into the house to set by my purse.

  I called the bookshop, intending to see if I could stop by and drop off the tea and an apology to Viki later that afternoon. Mom opened the bookstore at eleven on Sundays, and a quick glance at the clock on the mantle showed me that it was just after noon.

  “Good morning, Taylor and Sons.”

  “Mom?” I was surprised when she answered. “Isn’t Viki supposed to work on Sundays? I wanted to drop off some tea for her.”

  “Yes, but she called in sick. Who can blame her, after what she saw yesterday? Are you next door? I didn’t see your car in the lot out back.”

  “No, I’m at home. I don’t usually work on Sundays.”

  “Oh, thank heavens. Can you come down and help out? I’ve got to get these orders in before tomorrow morning.”

  “Did you try calling Stephen?” Jennifer’s son worked at the bookshop part time, helping out on weekends and some nights after school.

  “I couldn’t reach the Baxters. They may be in Denver for the day.”

  I sighed and glanced at the couch across from me. I had planned to devote my Sunday to reading and lounging with Beryl. “Well,” I said, drawing out the word as I considered. “Yeah, I guess I can come down for a while. But only until you’re done with the orders and only if you stick a Help Wanted sign in the front window.”

  “Deal. You’re an angel,” Mom said. “See you in a few!” She hung up before I could say anything further.

  After giving Beryl, who was curled up in a sunbeam on the couch, a belly rub and an ear scratch or two, I gathered my purse, the jar of tea, and my car keys and drove down to the Jørgensen Building. I parked in the back, where there were a private lot and a door that led into the bookstore’s break room. I tried the knob, but the door was locked. I pounded on the door for a good five minutes before Mom came and opened it.

  “I thought you’d come through the front door,” she said once she saw my look of annoyance. She ushered me inside and then locked the door behind her.

  “You heard me say that I was at home, right?”

  “Yes. But I—”

  “Why would I park on the street when there’s this huge lot back here?”

  “I don’t know. I’m all mixed up today. This horrible situation has my head spinning.”

  I gave Mom a light squeeze and looped my arm through hers as we went back onto the sales floor. “I know. But you should try not to let it bother you so much. Dean’s on the case.”

  Mom glanced askance at me and smiled a little. “Dean, huh? You always did have a crush on him.”

  I rolled my eyes and fished beneath the register for the name tag Mom had made for me years ago. I found it and attached it to my shirt. “I’m a grown woman, Mother. I do not have crushes anymore.”

  “Right. Well, I’ll be in my office if you need anything. It shouldn’t take but an hour or two.”

  “I got this. Go do your ordering.” I shooed Mom away and then looked around for something to do until there were customers to help. I straightened shelves, restocked books that had been returned, dusted displays, and neatened the magazine and postcard racks. Then there was an influx of customers, and I found myself running back and forth between the register and the stacks, showing people where books were located, ringing up sales, and answering questions. The biggest thing on everyone’s mind was the recent murder. All the customers seemed to believe that because I had been there, I had some secret knowledge that no one else but the sheriff’s department was privy to.

  After the fifth time of reassuring someone that I didn’t know anything more than they did about Barry’s death, I was rescued by Mom, who had finished her orders and had come to take over the register.

  “Would you mind staying until closing?” Mom asked. Hesitation was obvious in her tone. She knew I had plans.

  “Mom,” I said, drawing out the word and coloring it with just a hint of frustration. I really wanted to go home, drink tea, read a book, and occasionally annoy Beryl by grabbing a handful of his thick, luxuriant fur and tugging it gently. I pursed my lips in thought but soon relented. Mom was nearing seventy and racing around the store probably wasn’t good for her. “Fine. I’ll stay. But you have to promise to put that sign out right now.”

  “I already took care of that.” Mom grinned and pointed to the Help Wanted sign in the window. She took up a spot behind the counter, leaving me to work the sales floor.

  Business was hopping until closing. After Mom flipped the sign on the door from Open to Closed, I helped her count the drawers, bag up the money, and straighten the store. As she shut off the lights on the sales floor, I glanced across the street to the building that Barry owned. His law offices were on the bottom floor, and he had converted the two upper floors to eight apartments. He lived in one on the third floor.

  “Does Barry have a pet?” I asked Mom as we walked back into the office and got ready to leave.

  “He’s got a cat. Why do you ask?”

  “Is anyone taking care of it?”

  Mom gasped, and tears filled her eyes. “Oh, no. I hadn’t thought of that. That poor baby.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a single key on a chain. “Can you go over and take care of her? Her name’s Lily. She’s very sweet. I would do it myself, but—”

  “I know. You’re allergic.” I took the key from her and followed her outside into the back lot.

  She paused by her car and hugged me tightly. “You’re a blessing, Bryony Elizabeth. Call me when you get home.”

  “I will, Mama.” I kissed her cheek and slid behind the wheel of the Ghia. I left the lot and parked in front of Barry’s bu
ilding. Using his key, I let myself into the tiny foyer of the building and then scaled the three flights of stairs to Barry’s apartment.

  It was dark and cold inside, and there was the strongest smell of cat pee wafting from the room. I reached to flip the light on, and the combination kitchen-dining room-living room was flooded with light. A tiny white cat with one yellow eye and one blue eye peered up at me from her spot on the couch. She made a little trilling sound and hopped down, her tail stuck straight up in the air as she approached me.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” I said as I hunkered down to pick her up. She went limp as I cradled her in my arms, a funny purr escaping her throat as I scratched the top of her head and snuggled her close. “Let’s get you some food and water and clean your box. Sound good?”

  I set Lily carefully back on the floor and began investigating Barry’s kitchen cupboards, looking for cat food and kibble. I found a can of Tuna Delight and scooped it out onto a plate. Lily stuck her face under my hand as I was still scooping and got a glob of food on her nose. I laughed as I watched her clean it off and then as she devoured the rest of what was on the plate. Then I refilled both her kibble bowl and her water bowl before heading into the bedroom, where her box seemed to be.

  I found it in Barry’s large walk-in closet. It was overflowing, making me think Barry didn’t clean it as often as he should. I wrinkled my nose in distaste and emptied all the litter into a garbage bag, then washed and rinsed the box itself in the bathtub before refilling it and putting it back into the closet. A few moments later, Lily was digging around in it, and I smiled. There was nothing like a clean toilet.

  Giving the cat some privacy, I returned to the living room and looked around. There was a potted pothos vine on a small desk against the windows that faced the street. I went over to it and stuck my finger in the pot. It was bone dry. “Poor dude,” I said to the plant. As I was turning away to get some water, a letter on Barry’s desk caught my eye.

  I picked it up, vaguely aware of the fact that I was probably doing something illegal, especially if this was a document having to do with one of Barry’s cases. I scanned the computer-printed note quickly and gasped out loud when I got to the end. I went back to the beginning and read more carefully.