Jackson put a hand on my arm. “You can’t. It’s all one big crime scene. You have to leave it for the police.”
I called 911 and spoke to the operator again, who told me that the police were still sorting out the disturbance by the brewery. It would be hours before anyone could respond to a nonemergency call.
“I don’t think they’re coming tonight,” I said after I hung up. “What if we just clean up the bedroom? I don’t think I can sleep in it the way it is.”
“How about you let us take photos first?” Tony asked. “That way we can at least document what we found.”
“That’s a good idea,” I admitted, calming down a little.
Jackson and Tony took photos of the mess that was the bedroom. The thief had opened all the drawers, pulled everything out of the closet, taken the cushions out of the chair. He even tore the sheets and blankets off of the bed. We did a bit of straightening in Allie and Hector’s offices, but I wasn’t looking forward to telling them what happened. I’d have to clean up my office in the morning, which also wouldn’t be an easy task.
The only bright spot was that when I was putting things back into the bedroom closet, I discovered several old journals that had been Aunt Claire’s. So, after we finished cleaning up, I made myself a cup of chamomile tea, got into bed, and began to read them. One of the journals chronicled the early years of Nature’s Way. Others were filled with photographs and doodles of her favorite herbs and flowers, the germs of new book ideas, her goals, her feelings, her dreams, and even a travel journal, which I hoped contained notes about her trip to London’s physic garden.
I’d had no idea that she had been so dedicated to writing about her life. But now that she was gone, these books felt like a gift, a second chance to learn more about her. This, to me, was real treasure, and I knew absolutely that she would want me to read them all, especially now, when I needed answers.
My dearest wish was that I’d find some clue to her intentions for the future of the business. Would she have lobbied for the lot as I had, or would she have stepped aside when the process became so contentious, especially with Dr. White? And what would she think about everything that had happened since then? Claire was no pushover, but she’d had gift for—how did she put it?—calming troubled waters. It was hard to imagine that she would have let things get so antagonistic. And dangerous.
My tendency was to dig in my heels and fight, and I wondered now if this had been the wrong approach. However, perhaps it was this aspect of my personality that enabled me to find answers when it came to murder.
Still, if I could find something to indicate that she would have approved of the direction I’d taken, I’d feel a whole lot better about everything.
• • •
I fell asleep before I could read all of her journals, and woke up the next morning at seven thirty-five, with Jackson’s arms around me and the books on the floor. The rain, which had started out as a drizzle, was now a downpour, and I immediately worried about the tender, new plants in the medicinal garden.
On another front, it was Friday, and every merchant in Greenport knew that this rain would be the deciding factor as to whether the Maritime Festival this weekend was a washout or a success. Of course, I had other more sinister factors determining my fate.
So while Jackson and I ate a breakfast of oatmeal and blueberries at the window table in the café, I took out my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking the weather for this weekend. I’m worried about the garden.”
“Isn’t rain good for plants? Or am I missing something?”
“Some rain is good, but a torrential downpour could wash out plants that aren’t firmly established. That means more work and more money to replace them.” I brought up the weather site and put in our zip code and got the forecast for the weekend.
“What does it say?”
“It says there’ll be rain all day and tonight with clearing tomorrow, supposedly by noon. Sunday looks like a beauty, though, with sunny skies and temperatures in the midseventies, perfect weather for the last day of the festival.”
I put the phone on the table. “At least it won’t last for days, but I’m still worried.” As I said this, the rain began to come down in sheets, completely obfuscating the view. “Is Bob here now?”
“He was supposed to come in, but he may not. He’ll let me know. It’s unlikely anyone is out there in this weather anyway. What are your plans for today?”
“I want to talk to Kylie about Harold, Maggie, Ramona, and Rhonda, and find out what they’re really up to.”
“What makes you think she’ll talk to you?”
“Because I think she trusts me since we talked the day of the art show. She saw that I did what was right in awarding her first place, regardless of whether she was helpful to me in the case or not. I think she wanted to tell me about Sandra and her problems with Dr. White, but because Sandra was a friend, she held back.”
Jackson gave me a skeptical look. “So what’s different now?”
“I just don’t think she’s as close to Harold and the rest. She may open up to me this time. Anyway, I have to try. I also think we should tell Detective Koren about Dr. Gillian and the sword, the break-in, and our suspicions about Harold and the rest. It may get him on our side and off of your back.”
“If he believes us. He didn’t before.” A thumping sound came from outside, and Jackson glanced out the window. “I think Bob’s here. I told him about the break-in. I hope there aren’t any more problems. It’s not even 8 a.m.”
The door opened and Bob stepped inside. He took off his raincoat and came over to us and sat down.
“Would you like some breakfast, Bob?”
“No, I’m good. I just wanted to check in about the weather. I’ve been out there for an hour and if it stays this way, I just don’t think I’m needed today. Do you want me to stay?”
Jackson shook his head. “Go home. It’s too wet for intruders or to get any work done in the garden. We need to clean up in here anyway.”
“They made a mess of things, huh?” He gestured to the counter, which still needed to be reorganized.
“There’s that, and the office, plus my practitioners’ offices on the third floor,” I said.
“Can I help?”
“I think we’re okay,” Jackson said. “But we’ll really need you over the weekend. I’d like to finish up the patio for the teahouse, and Willow would like to lead tours if she can.”
I looked at him. “Should we really be giving tours with all of this going on?”
“During the day you’ll be fine with Bob around. What do you think, Bob?”
“No problem. Tony will watch the garden from 7 p.m. until I come back on shift in the morning.” He got up and prepared to leave, but then he turned back to us. “You should know that as good a guy as Tony is, he’s also a gossip and there’s a very good chance that he’s talked all about your break-in to cop friends of ours. You may want to get ahead of this with Detectives Koren and Coyle.”
chapter twenty-five
Willow McQuade’s
Favorite Medicinal Plants
LICORICE
Botanical name: Glycyrrhiza glabra (European licorice), G. lepidota (American licorice), G. inflata, G. uralensis (Chinese licorice)
Medicinal uses: Known as the “great harmonizer,” licorice is one of the most commonly used herbs in traditional Chinese medicine, and is often added to herbal formulas I sell at Nature’s Way. Licorice contains glycyrrhizic, which cools the inflammation of a sore throat, strengthens the vocal cords, and eases stomach irritation.
I’ve found that licorice tea and tinctures also do a great job of supporting the work of the adrenal glands to produce and eliminate hormones from the kidney and liver. In addition, licorice helps induce feelings of calmness, peace, and harmony. Some of
my customers tell me that it enables them to deal with stress more easily and rebound faster from stress-
related fatigue. Peeled licorice root is available in dried and powdered forms. Licorice root is also available as capsules, tablets, and liquid extracts.
But before we could call the police for the third time—no one had ever shown up the night before—Detectives Koren and Coyle walked in, dripping puddles of rainwater all over the floor. Bob said hello and excused himself, while the two men hung up their overcoats and came over to the table.
“We were just going to call you,” I said as the sky darkened and rain poured onto the porch.
“Is that so?” Detective Koren gave me a neutral look, giving away nothing.
“Yes, can I get you two some coffee?” Maybe if I was gracious they’d be nicer.
Koren looked at his partner. “Sure, why not? Two cream, no sugar.”
I went into the kitchen and poured two cups of freshly brewed coffee, added cream, put a few banana muffins on the tray, and returned to find Koren and Coyle still standing. “Would you like to sit down?”
“We have something to tell you,” Jackson said.
Koren sat down and threw his police notebook onto the table. “Save it, Spade. We already know about the break-in.” He looked at the ransacked counter. “Was anything stolen?”
“Not that we can tell,” I said. “But the only room we’ve cleaned up is the bedroom.”
Koren gave me an annoyed look. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you’re not supposed to touch a crime scene?”
“There’s plenty of crime scene for you to examine,” Jackson said. “That counter, for instance, and Willow’s office. And before we cleaned up the bedroom, we took photos, documenting everything.”
“We’ll have a look at the office,” Koren said. “And we’ll take those photos.”
“I’ll get you the memory cards,” Jackson said, and left the room.
“We tried to get in touch with you,” I explained. “I called 911 twice last night. The operator told me she didn’t have anyone to send out on a nonemergency call. You were all at a fight—or something.”
The two detectives exchanged glances. Then Coyle took a bite of his muffin. “What is this? It doesn’t taste like a real muffin, but it’s still pretty good.”
“It’s gluten-free, Detective,” I said. “I thought you might enjoy it.”
“Whatever.” He took another bite.
“A fight broke out by the brewery last night,” Koren told me. “It started with some high school kids getting rowdy and then it escalated. Things got out of hand fast—and yeah, we were all on the scene until late, and then we were all down at the station house taking statements from the property owners, witnesses, and the guys we arrested.” Greenport was a small town with a small police department. It didn’t take much to tie up the entire staff. “It was a long night,” Koren finished. “So why don’t you just tell us what happened here?”
Jackson returned, handed Koren the memory cards from the cameras, then walked them through the timeline of the break-in, from when we arrived to the intruder in the garden and the mess left behind.
“What do you think they were looking for?” Detective Coyle said, taking out his notebook and preparing to write.
“Pirate treasure,” I said.
Detective Coyle put his pen down. “You’ve got to be kidding”
“We tried to tell you that we found things in the garden, and you didn’t want to hear it,” I reminded him. “You didn’t believe us.”
“So about our trip to East Hampton on Tuesday,” Jackson said. “We weren’t exactly forthcoming.”
“Really,” Koren said. “You, withholding? What a concept.”
I ignored that and said, “We went to a lecture Monday night at the Maritime Museum given by Professor Russell, who is an expert on pirates who frequented the East End.”
Coyle groaned. “C’mon. What does this have to do with Dr. White’s murder?”
“We don’t know yet,” Jackson said. “But the next day, Dr. Russell called Willow and told her he had an expert who could appraise the artifacts, someone who knew even more than he did.”
“So that’s why we went over to East Hampton,” I said. “We went to see Dr. Travis Gillian, from the East Hampton Historical Society. When we showed him what we’d found—”
“Which was what?” Koren said, interrupting.
“We found an earring, a goblet, and a sword,” Jackson said.
“A sword?” Koren echoed.
“Yes, and Dr. Gillian thought it might be pirate treasure, Captain Kidd’s in fact—a sword that was stolen from an exhibition at the East Hampton Historical Society in 1999. He’s evaluating it now.” The rain made a rat-a-tat sound on the windows, and the wind pushed against the branches of the rose of Sharon bushes in front of the porch.
“What’s this expert’s name again?” Coyle asked. I told him and he wrote it down. “We’ll need to talk to him.”
“Go ahead,” Jackson said. “As of yesterday, Professor Russell said there’s no word on whether the sword is authentic or not.”
“What about the goblet and the bracelet?” Coyle asked.
“It was a single earring, and both Russell and Gillian think it’s Victorian, not pirate treasure. And they didn’t seem all that excited about the goblet either,” I said, for the first time wondering why not. “The earring and the goblet are in a bank safe-deposit box.”
Koren ran his hand through his hair, looking exasperated. “So what does this have to do with the murder of Dr. White, and why shouldn’t you, Spade, be our prime suspect?”
“Because we think that Dr. White was murdered because of what was buried in the garden,” I said. “We also think that Professor Albert Russell, Harold Spitz, Maggie Stone, Ramona Meadows, and Rhonda Rhodes may be involved, and maybe Joe Larson, too.”
“So you’re saying that this Professor Russell, who was helping you, as well as four local business owners and a Village Board member, may have been involved in Dr. White’s murder?” Detective Koren was looking at me as if I’d just told him that it was sunny out.
I shrugged. “Except for Joe, we’ve heard that they may all be working together to find the treasure, but he may also be after it.”
“So basically, they’ve all lost their minds,” Coyle said.
Koren’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Jackson. “If you ask me, Spade, that’s a stretch. For all we know, you still have the sword yourself.”
“I don’t, and it’s not a stretch. At least, it’s no more of a stretch than you thinking I killed White because he wasn’t nice to Willow at the Land and Sea Ball,” Jackson said.
“You don’t get to decide that, Spade,” Detective Koren said, getting up. “We do.”
• • •
We followed the two detectives upstairs and then back downstairs and into my office to examine the mess the perpetrator had left behind. Koren immediately called for a tech to try to lift prints, and then told us to stay out until their guys were done with it.
“That didn’t go particularly well,” I said to Jackson when Koren and Coyle finally left. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jackson said. “I have faith that you and I can solve this before they do. We’ll just have to focus.”
“Let’s get more coffee and go back to the bedroom,” I suggested. “We can brainstorm up there.”
We had finished pouring more coffee when I got a text. “It’s from Merrily. She isn’t coming in today either.”
“She’s probably still taking care of Nate.”
“I can understand that, but we need her here, too,” I said.
The front door opened and Wallace came in. He stared wide-eyed at the counter. “What happened here?”
“We had a break-in last night,” I said. “Nothing see
ms to be missing, but everything is a mess.”
“But why? Is this about Dr. White’s murder?”
“We think so,” Jackson said.
“How can I help?”
“I just heard from Merrily and she isn’t coming in. Can Lily fill in this afternoon?”
“I’ll call her right now. But I thought you needed to see this, too.” He pulled the latest issue of the Suffolk Times from under his arm and handed it to me. “Go to letters to the editor. I’m really sorry, Willow.”
He went to hang up his raincoat and I flipped to the editorial section. I skimmed the page, my eyes coming to rest on a headline that read “Shut Down the Garden of Death!” and the letter below it, and quickly skimmed it. As I did, I reminded myself to breathe.
“Who wrote it?” Jackson asked. “Wait let me guess—was it Greenport Merchants United?”
I nodded.
“What does it say?”
“Basically, it repeats the information on that petition they tried to circulate—that Dr. White’s death proves that the village made a mistake in granting the lot to me, how the publicity from the incident will hurt business in the village now and in the future and threaten the livelihoods of every Greenport merchant, etcetera.”
“They want concerned citizens to write to the mayor if they agree, and the letters will be presented at the next board meeting in July.” I put the newspaper down and shook my head. “They’re not going to give up.”
“Neither are we,” Jackson said. “It’s all the more reason to solve this thing and clear my name and yours. You said you wanted to brainstorm, so what’s next?”
“First, I’m going to call Kylie Ramsey. Maybe she can tell us what Harold and his gang are up to.” I looked up her number on the farmer’s market Web site and called her, but she didn’t answer, so I left a message asking her to call me.
“And your next move?”
“I don’t know yet.”
We went upstairs, played with the dogs and cats, and brainstormed ideas back and forth, but each one was more impractical than the next. After an hour, we took a break and went back downstairs to watch the police techs dust my office for prints.
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