I got to my feet and paced around the apartment, out onto the sundeck, and back inside. I tugged a small stack of papers from the ream in the box on the couch and taped twelve of them together in three rows of four pages. At the top I wrote, Yasmine poisoned? Below that and to the right I wrote, Morgan stolen castor beans >> castor beans = ricin >> ricin = poison. To the side in red ink I wrote ONE BEAN CAN KILL and circled it multiple times. Next, on the center page, Signs of Ricin Poisoning.
I returned to my laptop and typed those same words, signs of ricin poisoning, into the browser. The results were virtual echoes of the symptoms Keko Shen and Duane Crawford said Yasmine had: nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, diarrhea, dehydration, possible seizures.
“Initial symptoms occur in less than twelve hours,” I read aloud, “progressing rapidly over the next twelve to twenty-four hours. Death can occur within thirty-six to seventy-two hours depending on method of exposure and amount of dose.”
After writing all of that on the wall, I did a search for Yasmine Long. A number of hits for that name appeared, but it took me approximately three seconds to find the woman who had been laying at the edge of my property. Yasmine had been a true beauty with long platinum-blonde waves, brilliant white teeth, and a body perfectly adorned by the black-and-white striped bikini she wore in the picture. The woman I had found was a shriveled shell compared to the vibrant Yasmine in the picture, surrounded by friends and smiling big.
I couldn’t help but note that Frisky had looked more like the Yasmine I’d found outside than the one in the picture on the internet. My heart ached for both of them as I clicked print. I needed an image of Yasmine for my suspect wall. She’d go at the very top, like the apex of a pyramid. I also copied the image to a file in my computer I titled simply, ‘Yasmine Long’.
On the left side of my suspect wall at the top I wrote, Suspects. My list included: Keko Shen, Martin Reed, and Donovan. Even though the village would likely back Donovan’s trance excuse, that didn’t mean he didn’t do it.
Finally, I clicked the ‘Images’ tab on my browser and typed in ‘castor beans.’ I covered my eyes with my hands before the result appeared, not sure I wanted to see the image I knew would be there. Slowly, I peeked through my fingers. There on the screen was a collection of oval beans, light brown in color with random brown streaks.
They looked very much like pinto beans.
Chapter 23
Toxic castor beans resembled pinto beans. I think I knew the method used to poison Yasmine. Someone gave her castor beans, and it was a safe bet that they came from the shelves hidden behind the rack of wreaths at Shoppe Mystique. The one filled with jars of ‘dangerous’ plants. I added Morgan Barlow? to my suspect wall. Was she somehow involved with Yasmine’s murder? If so, why? And why did she even stock poisonous plants?
I had to talk to her. And I needed to let Lily Grace know that it looked like the reading she did for me had meant something.
I glanced at the time on the laptop—nearly five-thirty. Was Shoppe Mystique still open? I grabbed my keys and rushed out the door just as Tripp was coming up the stairs.
“Hey,” he said with a smile. “I was at a good stopping point so . . . what’s wrong?”
“Pinto beans look like castor beans.” I shook my head at his confused expression. “I’ve been doing some research. I’ll explain later. I’ve got to talk to Morgan.” I dropped my head back and groaned. “Damn. I forgot to put the chicken on the grill.”
Tripp took my hands and said nothing until I looked him in the eye. “Calm down first. You’re too agitated to get behind the wheel.”
He was right. It’s not like this was an emergency. Worst case scenario, I’d talk to Morgan in the morning. “Okay. I’m good.”
“You look nice, by the way.” Tripp flipped the hem of my tunic. “I like this. Where’s the chicken? I’ll have it ready when you get back.”
And he cooks, too? Was this guy for real? Now I needed to calm down for an entirely different reason.
“Thank you,” I said. “The chicken is in the fridge. I shouldn’t be gone that long.”
Tripp and Meeka seemed happy with each other’s company, so I left them together. Ten minutes later, I was climbing the steps of Shoppe Mystique.
Morgan looked up from a ledger and what looked like receipts spread out in front of her. “Jayne. Blessed be.”
I always felt like I was supposed to place my hands together and bow or cross myself when she said that. Instead, I just nodded.
“What’s wrong?” Morgan asked. “You look frantic.”
“Why do you stock dangerous plants?” I strode over to the shelf hidden behind the rack of wreaths.
“Various reasons.” Morgan took a jar from the shelf. “Morning Glory is not only an adorable flower, placing the seeds beneath your pillow will stop nightmares. The flower petals won’t harm you, but the seeds contain an LSD-like chemical.” She returned the jar and took another. “Consumed, daffodil can cause nausea and vomiting, but the symptoms should dissipate after a few hours. It is, ironically, quite effective in love spells, and in the bedroom, it increases fertility.” She gave me a suggestive wink. “Add Bearberry to a sachet to increase your psychic powers, but do not consume it if you have liver disease.” She took another. “One of my personal favorites is Blue Flag. It can cause abdominal issues, but used in the proper dosage it’s beneficial for healing. I keep a bit of the root in my cash register to increase business.”
These jars were identical to the ones on the shelves across the store. The only difference was that while the safe plants had old-fashioned tea-stained labels, these had tea-stained labels with black backgrounds and a skull-and-crossbones at the top.
I glanced at the jar labeled “Castor Beans.” It was empty.
“What about castor beans? Why do you carry those?”
If Morgan heard the accusatory tone in my voice, she didn’t acknowledge it.
“Castor beans serve numerous purposes,” Morgan explained. “As you already know, the oil is used as a laxative. It can also soothe sore muscles, hemorrhoids, and arthritis pain. It can help with hair growth and preventing split ends. It heals scratches and acne. It will also repel moles in the garden. I use the beans in witch balls as they absorb evil and are, therefore, excellent protection against negativity.”
Mumbo. Jumbo. “What about as a food?”
“The oil is perfectly safe,” Morgan said.
“And the beans?”
“Oh no. The beans must never be consumed as they are highly toxic.” Morgan tilted her head to the side. “But you already know that. What’s going on?”
“I think Yasmine Long was poisoned.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “And not only do you believe that my beans were used, you think I’m responsible. Correct?”
“I’ll have to see the results of the autopsy,” I said, “but from the information I’ve gathered, her symptoms are the same as those in ricin poisoning.”
She stared at me for so long I started to worry she was placing a hex of some kind on me. The clock on the mantel in the reading room softly struck six. Morgan glided to the front door and turned the hand carved wood sign from “Open” to “Closed.”
“The last time we talked, Jayne, I told you that one of the prime rules of Wicca, if not the only rule, is to do no harm. I respect life, in all of its forms, far too much to ever consider taking one. I didn’t know Yasmine; I had no reason to harm her. I’d never even met the poor girl until she arrived in Whispering Pines.”
I wandered to the table of amulets and talismans. “The coven . . . council . . . whatever. They didn’t approve of her, did they?”
“Many in the council did not approve of Yasmine.” A small smile turned Morgan’s mouth. “I had to give her points for ingenuity, however. The girl needed to earn money and no one would hire her—”
“Despite the fact that her aunt lives in Whispering Pines?” I couldn’t find a single Triple Moon anything on the “Amulet
s and Talismans” table. I didn’t see the symbol anywhere in the shop except for the one hanging around Morgan’s neck.
“Normally, having a relative who lives here helps,” Morgan said. “I know Flavia quite well, but I don’t know what happened between her and her niece. I do know there was a falling out. Perhaps it had something to do with the car washing.”
“Is Flavia a member of the council?”
“One of our longest sitting members.” An expression that was part amusement, part annoyance crossed her face.
“What was that look for?” I asked.
“Flavia is one of the oldest Originals in the village. She has taken it upon herself to act as our mayor.”
“Does the village need a mayor?”
She smiled again, this time sadly. “Your grandmother was the village elder. We looked to her for decisions.”
That seemed fair, since she owned the land and all.
“We let Flavia think she’s running things,” Morgan whispered and gave a little wink. “No real harm and it keeps the peace.”
“Keeps the peace?”
“She has a bit of a short temper.”
“What do you mean by that? Is it possible she became so upset with her niece’s behavior that she—”
“Do no harm doesn’t apply to just me,” Morgan interrupted sternly. “Wicca is a way of life we all abide by. We cherish life as a gift given by the Goddess. Taking a life is an unconscionable act.”
“It is possible, though.” I looked over my shoulder at her. “Right?”
After a great deal of obvious internal debate, Morgan relented. “Yes. I suppose it is possible that Flavia harmed her niece.”
I crossed the aisle from amulets to “Oils and Incense,” contemplating her claim. I believed Morgan and mentally crossed her off my suspect wall. There was nothing in her behavior, nothing in her responses, that made me think she was lying. In fact, she looked devastated by the possibility that Flavia had ‘caused harm’ to another.
“Yasmine was poisoned,” I said. “I’m sure of it. There is a very high probability that she was poisoned with your castor beans.”
Morgan shook her head and blinked repeatedly. “That any of my plants were used to do this . . .”
“Do you think that Sheriff Brighton is really searching for the thief?”
Morgan spun toward me, a tinge of anger mixing with shock. “What are you saying?”
I backed down. “Nothing.”
“He seems fairly certain it was a tourist, and I agree. We know the people in this village. I can’t imagine any of them either stealing from me or poisoning another person.”
“A tourist,” I said thoughtfully.
“You have someone in mind?”
I met Morgan’s gaze. “You told me that Keko Shen was here often. She wanted to learn negative magic, right?”
Morgan’s face brightened, but with understanding, not pleasure. “Keko? She definitely wants to learn magic, both negative and positive. She said once that she wanted to learn to cast a love spell, but sadly, a spell to repel seemed far more important to her.”
“Repel what?”
Morgan shook her head. “She didn’t say. Honestly, I didn’t encourage the desire. All I told her was that if she wanted to learn a spell to harm or repel a person, she needed to find a better way to deal with the situation. She didn’t argue, so I think she did want to repel a person.”
“You’re saying Keko wanted to attract someone with a love spell while also repelling someone else?”
The scorned cheerleader look on Keko’s face popped into my mind. Did Keko want to repel Yasmine? Even though they’d just met, maybe Yasmine reminded her of someone she used to know. Someone who had embarrassed or one-upped her? Maybe Yasmine had hooked up with a guy Keko was interested in. Petty reason to murder someone, but people were killed for petty reasons every single day.
“Is Keko a suspect?” Morgan asked.
“I’m not making any accusations at this point. She is a person of interest, though. I need to know the results of the autopsy first. It’s possible it was simply food poisoning that Yasmine couldn’t recover from. Then again, Keko had answers for a lot of my questions even though she claimed to not know Yasmine well. There’s also her interest in dark magic.” I gave Morgan a hopeful look, like maybe she could supply a conclusion. “When I put all the pieces together, a lot of things point to her.”
“Sheriff Brighton hired you to patrol the village, correct?”
I hung my head. “I know. It’s not my job.”
“But you can’t stop yourself,” Morgan concluded.
“I can’t. I’m trying. It’s just not possible for me to shut this off.”
Morgan studied me for a few moments and then held up a finger, indicating I should give her a moment. She took a silver tray and a small purple muslin bag, about the size of a deck of playing cards, from a basket beneath the large wooden table by the front door. Then she floated around the store, placing items on the tray.
From the herb corner, “Basil and bay. Cedar and thistle. Lavender and, of course, pine.”
From the charms and amulets table, “A golden pentacle.”
From the crystals and stones corner, “Quartz and black tourmaline. Now, come with me.”
I laughed, internally, because it looked like she was getting ready to cast a spell. Didn’t she need eye of newt? A hair from a unicorn? Dragon’s blood?
She scowled at me, like she was reading my mind.
I silenced the bratty thoughts in my head as I followed her into the reading room. There, she pulled on one of the bookcase sections, and it slid opened to reveal a small hidden room. A circle extending almost to the walls looked like it had been burned into the wood floor. At the center of the circle was a small rectangular table covered with a purple cloth. Morgan set the silver tray on the table. From an antique cupboard in the corner, she retrieved one white and one black candle.
The déjà vu feeling I got in Gran’s office returned. There was something about this whole set up . . . the table, the cloth covering it, the candles. It all seemed so familiar.
“I want you to think of only two things,” Morgan instructed as she laid out the table. No, not a table, an altar. “Two things and nothing more. Can you do that?”
“I think so,” I answered, confused. “What two things?”
“Love and protective energy.”
“What are you doing, Morgan?”
She held up the small purple bag. “I understand why you can’t step away from this, and I won’t ask you to, but I fear that you are wandering into potential danger. I’m creating a spell bag for you.”
I was about to protest, I didn’t need magical help, but I knew she wouldn’t listen and that things worked differently in Whispering Pines. There was one rule that applied to being new to or when visiting an area: listen to the locals.
After lighting the candles, she held a bundle of herbs tied together with a purple string to one of the flames. She came to me, took my hand, and pulled me into the circle drawn on the floor. Her lips moved but she didn’t speak out loud as she wafted the smoke from the bundle around me, front and back, head to toe.
“Stand right here,” she said when she was done. Then she prompted, “Love and protective energy.”
I played along and started chanting the words over and over in my head as Morgan stepped behind the table. She closed her eyes, as though in meditation, and held her hands over the items on the tray, a look of serenity on her face. Taking one item at a time, she placed everything from the tray into the little bag and tied the bag shut. She began chanting silently again and held the bag near, but not in, the flame of each of the candles. Finally, she extinguished the flames with a candle snuffer and pressed the bag into my hands.
“Carry this with you at all times,” Morgan instructed. “Keep it in a pocket or tuck it into your bra if you have no pockets. Sleep with it under your pillow. It will protect you from whatever is going on in
this village.”
Whatever is going on in this village? Murder? Some other kind of danger? I turned the bag over and over. It was just a bag full of herbs and rocks. But to Morgan, it was a bag full of love and protective energy. I thanked her for it.
“Be careful, Jayne. Nothing like this has ever happened in Whispering Pines. We are a peaceful, loving community that accepts everyone as they are.”
“Unless you’re an outsider,” I added. “Like Yasmine was.” Or Tripp. What about me?
Morgan frowned. “I still can’t imagine any of us harming her. The tourists however . . . I can’t speak for them.”
“I know it’s not my job, and that I should let this go, but I feel like no one else cares about what happened to Yasmine. Not even Sheriff Brighton. That’s not right.”
“It’s not right. I think it’s very noble of you to step up. I do care, and I’ll do what I can to help you figure this out.”
Her confidence and support, far more than the little purple bag of trinkets, comforted me.
“Are you going home now?” Morgan asked as she returned to the ledger she’d been working on when I got there.
I should, the chicken should be getting good and crispy. “Soon. I have one quick stop to make before that.”
~~~
As I hoped, the sheriff’s station was empty at six-thirty at night, Sheriff Brighton’s phone number posted on the door in case of emergencies. I signed on to Deputy Reed’s computer, not too difficult since he had taped a sticky note with his username and password to the bottom of his keyboard, and went straight to his email program. Reed had been copied on many of Sheriff Brighton’s emails, including those from the medical examiner. The latest arrived late this morning and had “Preliminary Autopsy – Y. Long” in the subject line. Not even forty-eight hours after I had found her body. It was sobering to think how much things could change in such a short amount of time.
The first thing that caught my attention was Yasmine’s age. She had turned twenty in April, a little more than a month ago. Her adult life had barely begun. Approximate time of death was listed as Saturday, the day I arrived, sometime between one and three in the morning. Her weight, only ninety-three pounds. There were no external injuries discovered, except an abrasion on her right cheek. The internal exam showed severe dehydration. As expected, there was no cause of death listed. Final autopsy results, in uncomplicated cases, generally took weeks. Add in things like toxicology reports, as we had done, and it could take months.
Family Secrets: A Whispering Pines Mystery Page 16