by K. J. Emrick
Darcy felt so foolish. Of course he wasn’t married. That was one more lie on top of every other lie he’d told. He was a drug dealer. Ellie had seen the man making stops all over Lakeshore, without ever picking up a fare. She hadn’t known why.
Well, they knew now. Roy had been committing crimes, all right. Just not the murders and attempted murders of four people in town. This was why Cutter was keeping them here. They were here as witnesses to a crime committed on the front lawn of the Pine Lake Inn.
It was good to know that a drug dealer had been taken off the streets. At the same time, it meant they weren’t any closer to finding out who had poisoned four people.
In fact, Darcy felt like maybe they had taken a big step backward.
Chapter Nine
Darcy gave her statement to Kevin. She had to wonder what good it would do. If this went to trial, would they actually subpoena her from America to come and testify here? Not that she wouldn’t mind another trip to this beautiful country in the future, but she doubted they would give her an all-expenses paid trip to come back and testify. Not even for a drug arrest like this.
Besides. Roy wasn’t the killer.
Walking through the town of Lakeshore now she wondered if the person they were looking for didn’t even live in the town. Someone might have come to town, poisoned the four victims, and then left again. Hmm, she thought. It was an idea. She was running out of suspects in town. That was for sure. There was still Mabel, but besides her, who? She’d have to ask Dell if anyone suspicious had been in town three weeks ago when all of this happened.
Maybe this was one mystery that she just wasn’t going to be able to solve. She took a deep breath of the clean smelling, dry air, and frowned at herself. It shouldn’t be that way. If this mystery had managed to find her all the way across the ocean, she must be here for a reason. She’d like to think that she wouldn’t have ended up here, now, if she wasn’t supposed to solve the crime.
After all, like Jon had said, she was Darcy Sweet. It was kind of what she did.
Jon had told her there was no sense in her having to wait at the police station. What he meant was obvious. He wanted to talk to Senior Sergeant Angus Cutter by himself, learn what he could Chief to Chief. Darcy wasn’t offended by him basically kicking her out of there. Truthfully she didn’t want to be in there any longer than she had to. She didn’t want to be in the way, either, while Jon pumped Cutter for information.
It turned out that Ellie was right about Angus. He was just as dull and dense as Ellie had promised him to be. He hadn’t told them everything about the investigation into Roy’s drug sales. Only that he was known to sell drugs up and down the southern coast of Australia. His legitimate job as a cab driver had let him grow his sales business in Tasmania until he was one of the top distributors in and around Hobart. Not saying much, on a national scale, but still pretty big time for the little town of Lakeshore.
He was still mad at Darcy for blowing the operation early, but they had what they needed and no harm done, as he put it. “She’ll be right,” he said with a wink for Darcy that was probably meant to be endearing. Instead it had made her wish he still had his sunglasses on.
Then every other question, the Senior Sergeant would tell them it was privileged information. Couldn’t say. Can’t answer that. Sorry. You understand.
Darcy was only too glad to get out of there. It was like talking to a wall. He only told them what he wanted to, and he didn’t want to hear anything they had to say about the deaths of three people in his town. He definitely didn’t want to entertain suggestions of protecting Alec Beaudoin, in case the killer tried to get at him again.
So, they were stonewalled. Thus the “talking to a wall” reference. It definitely fit Senior Sergeant Angus Cutter.
But here, out on the sidewalk, the sun was warm and the people all smiled at her and as she turned up this street or down that one she could just catch a glimpse of dark mountains in the distance. It really was a beautiful place. Some of her frustration had melted away with each footstep, and she felt much better for her little walkabout.
Darcy laughed at herself. Wasn’t that what Australians called it? Walkabout? It was supposed to get you away from things and help you find yourself.
Stopping where she was, she looked at the town all around her, wondering where her walkabout had brought her. She was on the street that led into town. Rows of tightly spaced houses, all painted white, marched up one side and down the other. Before she left to go back to Misty Hollow she was going to have to take as many pictures of this place as she could. No one was going to believe this little white town in the middle of the Tasmanian wilderness. Not if they couldn’t see it for themselves.
On her side of the street Darcy found herself in front of one of the houses that Roy had pointed out to them when they’d first arrived. Mrs. Havernathy’s. The woman who made jams that were “to die for.” Probably not the best idea to take a drug dealer’s word for anything, but she was curious. A hand painted sign leaning against the inside of a window declared different kinds of fruit jam for sale, with their prices next to the names. Blackberry. Strawberry. Ginger Jam.
Her mouth began to water. It had to be close to noon now and she hadn’t had breakfast. There was a rule about not shopping for food when you were hungry, but Darcy had always thought that rule was stupid. Hoping to distract herself from everything else, she went up the inlaid stone steps and knocked on the door.
“Just bring yourself inside, dear,” an older woman’s voice sang out. “We’re all friends here.”
The door opened to a small room with squared off corners. Wooden shelves had been hung floor to ceiling on two of the walls and most of the shelves were full of small jars with white lids and white labels. Different colors filled each of the jars. Black, red, orange, brown. Jams, Darcy saw when she closed the door and stepped closer. All kinds of jam and preserves.
Printed on their paper wrappers was “White Label Jam. The taste of Australia.”
“I thought up that name meself,” the old woman told Darcy from her chair in the far corner. She was knitting with gnarled hands, and her skin was brown leather creased with time and laugh lines. Her blue eyes were still sharp, and her smile was warm. The flowered dress she wore covered her from ankles to neck. She looked just like someone’s grandmother. Which she probably was.
“Hello,” Darcy said to her. “I thought I might like to take a look at your, uh, shop.”
The woman chuckled. “No shop here. Just me home. Yer an American? Good on ya. Have yerself a look see. Got lots to pick from right now. I don’t ship to Sydney ‘til Monday.”
That explained the number of jars on the shelves. None of them were very old. Little dates stamped on the top of their lids weren’t any older than two weeks ago. Darcy watched the woman’s curled fingers clicking the sharp metal needles over and over. She had to wonder how someone like that could do all this work by herself.
“There’s all kinds,” she said without looking up. “Oh, forgot me manners. I’m Mrs. Havernathy. Call me Gail. Take yer while and look ‘round, dearie.”
So she did. “How do you make ginger jam?” Darcy asked her, reading one label after the other.
“Ooh, ya don’t want to try that’un. Not yer bowl of rice, dearie. It’s got some heat to it. Try me berry jams. Over that way.”
Darcy moved over to the other shelf, finding more recognizable jams like blackberry and raspberry, and others she’d never heard of like greengage, which was more of a purplish-plum color than it was green.
“This is really impressive.” Darcy couldn’t decide what to buy. She loved raspberry jam but hardly ever bought any for herself. Since this was her honeymoon, maybe she should splurge. “You sell to stores in other parts of the country?”
“Too right, I do,” Gail said with a touch of pride. “Sydney, mostly. I’ve a few buyers in Melbourne. Couple of stores back of beyond, too.”
Wherever the “back of beyond” was, it sound
ed like Gail had people all over the place buying her jams. There was always a danger when you bought homemade foodstuffs because you never knew what got put into it or whether the cooking process was clean and sanitary. If Gail’s customers were still alive, she must be doing something right.
Of course, Gail might be exaggerating about how many people bought her jams. Sweet foods like jam could always mask other flavors like poisons or mold…
Poisons.
“Uh, Gail?” Darcy straightened up from examining the jam jars and tried not to sound like she was asking a very important, very suspicious question. “Do you use any really exotic plants in your jams? Anything, you know, out of the ordinary?”
Gail’s fingers stopped their movements and the needles fell silent. She smiled, but it didn’t touch anywhere but the deep wrinkles around her mouth. “I use lots of different things, dearie. Why do you ask?”
Picking a jar at random off the shelf Darcy tried to sound like she was only mildly curious. She shrugged, and turned the label on the jar to see the ingredients listed on the back. “Everyone has a special recipe, right? Something no one else has. What if, say, I have an allergy to nuts or something else? Do you use anything like that?”
Now the old woman set her knitting aside, into the big carpet bag next to her chair. “Got something in that noggin of yours trying to rattle its way out, don’t ya? I don’t use nothing poisonous. Nothing dangerous in me jams. The list is right on each jar and you can see it for yerself. I’ve got me a few hard to find jams. Even they’s as safe as a newborn kitten in a basket full of pillows.”
With slow, painful movements she stood up from her chair and shuffled her way over. Her back was stooped over, and when she got closer she had to look up to talk to Darcy. “Excuse me, dearie.”
It took a moment for Darcy to realize that Gail wanted her to move. Stepping to the side, she watched the woman pluck one small jar among many off the shelf. The jam inside was an opaque, orangish color. She held the jar out to Darcy.
“This here is soursop jam. Don’t fret, it tastes better than it sounds! Betchya never heard of a soursop, now have ya? Course not. See, I use the fruit to make jam, but don’t touch the leaves. The leaves is a sedative.”
She winked, like that was a secret just between two girls, then picked up another jar of purple jam.
“Passionfruit preserves. One of my favs. Have to be careful with this one, though. The fruit is delish, but the leaves and the flowers have a right powerful poison in them.”
So basically, poisons everywhere. Darcy had hoped to take her mind off the mystery unfolding in Lakeshore but this had brought it all up again. Gail Havernathy was basically admitting that she had the means and the knowledge to put poison into anyone she wanted. Her jams were wildly popular. It wouldn’t surprise Darcy to know that everyone in town used them, including the four victims.
It was hard to believe this frail, old lady was a killer, but it wouldn’t be the first time an elderly woman had murdered someone. Take those spinsters in Arsenic and Old Lace.
“Gail, let me ask you,” Darcy said after a long moment. “Where do you get all this fruit? Does someone bring it to you?”
“Used to pick it all meself,” Gail said with a heavy sigh. “Too old now. Got a young man who picks and delivers to me. Has himself some orchards, and the rare-o’s like soursop, and passionfruit, and tayberries he picks himself. They grow wild, just west of here. Wish me old bones could still make the trip.”
“So, he hikes there?”
“Sure does! He’s a right strapping lad, and only charges me what things is worth.”
An idea was forming in Darcy’s mind. She didn’t like it, but it made too much sense for her to ignore.
Well. One of the things Jon and she had wanted to do for their honeymoon was go for a hike through the Australian countryside. It looked like they were going to get that chance.
“Thank you for explaining all that to me,” Darcy said to Gail, hoping she was fooling the crafty old woman just a little. “I’ve got to get back to the Inn. I’m sure my husband will be waiting for me by now.”
“That’s fine, dearie. Um, the jam?” she said, hefting the two jars she was still holding. “Which would you fancy?”
“Actually, I’d like both. And a raspberry one, too.”
If nothing else, Darcy figured they would give her good samples for a lab to test.
For poison.
***
It was another two hours before Jon came back to the Inn. Darcy had tried entertaining herself with what was on television but after two back to back episodes of Mako: Island of Secrets with mermaids and magic water, she turned the set off and took up one of her books. It couldn’t hold her interest, either. Her mind was racing with thoughts about jams and death by poison.
She’d been wrong about Roy. Well. Sort of. Her instincts had told her that he was up to something bad, which he had been, just not the bad things she had accused him of. In a way, what he actually had done was just as bad as murdering people with poison. The drug he sold was a poison, which also killed and ruined people’s lives. She hoped he rotted in prison.
Into that thought came a knock on her door. Not Jon. He wouldn’t knock. He would just use his key and come in.
Darcy shook her head and set her book aside. For two people on vacation in a different country, a world away from where they lived, they certainly did have a lot of visitors.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She wanted to have Jon back already so she could tell him what had happened at the jam shop, and what she thought they should do.
Instead she went to the door with a sigh that ended in a growl. “Who is it?”
“Miss Sweet?” a man said, his accent strong and clear like he was proud to own his Australian heritage. “Can I speak at ya for a moment, please?”
“Well, I guess that depends on who you are.” She emphasized the last words, pointing out that he still hadn’t answered her question.
“Oh, right. Sorry ‘bout that. Name’s John Callahan. I’m a reporter with the Lakeshore Times. Was wondering if we could have a bit of a convo, you and me?”
“Uh, what about, Mister Callahan?”
“Seems you were a witness to a crime. Roy Fittimer? I hear tell he’s under arrest down at the police station, charged with distributing Ice. The Australian Federal Police is even sending officers down to assist. This is one banger of a story, Miss Sweet, and here you stand hip deep in the middle of it.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to get her name in the paper. This was her honeymoon, for Pete’s sake!
“Uh, Miss Sweet?” James called to her again, with another little knock. “It’s right hard going, talking at ya through a door like this. Can I come in?”
“I’m sorry, Mister Callahan,” she said quickly. “I don’t have a comment for you. I’m new here to town, after all.”
“Well, that’s deadset, I know. Makes for a better story, don’t ya think? Here’s this idiot running around the country selling drugs right under the noses of the cops and God Himself, and no one sees it until you and your fella blow into town.”
She had to admit that was true. It seemed to be a pattern in this town with the police, as far as she could see. “That’s not the only thing going on under the nose of the Lakeshore PD,” she muttered to herself.
A little too loudly.
“Er, what was that, now?” There were muffled sounds as he leaned himself up against the door to hear her better. “What else is going on, didya say?”
Fantastic, Darcy chided herself. Now there would be a news reporter all over the story and she still had to figure out if what she had put together in her mind was right. She didn’t want to make another leap of logic like she had with Roy, only to find out she might be accusing someone who was actually innocent next time. She didn’t need the press poking around and stirring things up by turning over stones no one else was willing to look under…
Or d
id she?
“Mister Callahan,” she said, leaning closer to where she imagined his ear was pressed, “do you have a business card? I’m, uh, indisposed right now but maybe I can talk with you later today?”
“Excellent! How long’re you two here for?”
“A few more days,” she answered.
She listened to the sounds of him bending down to slide a small white rectangle under the door. “Then I’ll be in touch. Can I get yer mobile number?”
She really wished everyone would stop asking her that. “I don’t have a cell phone. Just call me here at the Inn.”
“Sure, okay.” He sounded confused, but let it go. “I’ll ring ya here. Dell owes me a few favors, anyways. Call ya tomorrow morning if I ain’t heard from ya by then, Mrs. Sweet. See ya!”
Listening to his footsteps going down the hall, Darcy retrieved his card from the floor. James Callahan. Lakeshore Times. There was a phone number, she thought, although it was a zero and a two in parentheses followed by eight numbers. Must be the phone number. She tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans, where she’d have it if she needed it later.
She was back on the bed, trying to read while thoughts of every sort ran amok in her mind, when Jon finally did come back.
“I’m really sorry, Darcy,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to be that long. Chief… ah, I mean Senior Sergeant Cutter is probably the densest man I’ve ever met. It was like talking to a stone, I swear to you. I’d probably still be there trying to make him see reason if this reporter from the local paper hadn’t just shown up at the office pestering everyone with questions.”
Darcy melted into his embrace and let him hold her there. “I think I met that same reporter not too long ago.”
“Really? Tall, thin? Blonde hair swept over in a kind of movie star sort of way?”
“I don’t know. I only talked to him through a door.”
Amusement shone in his eyes. “You have all the fun, don’t you? Anyway, Cutter was more interested in getting his quotes in print than he was in listening to me. Then some very serious looking detectives from the Australian Federal Police showed up. That’s their version of the State Police or FBI, from what I gather. It was all getting a little crowded for my liking. So, I left.”