Poisoned Pages

by Lorna Barrett

  Entering the little coffee shop, Tricia treated herself to a banana muffin and a skinny latte—which she felt would make up for the muffin—and returned to Haven’t Got a Clue. Miss Marple was already ensconced on her carpet-covered perch for the morning, snoozing. The shop seemed far too quiet, and Tricia put on some lively music. It got her revved up, and after her breakfast, she found herself working on the scrolls for the swag bags. They did look incredibly cute, and she put together a couple of bags to gauge the effect. She had wanted to use fabric ribbons to tie the bags, but Pixie thought curly ribbon would look more festive, and she was right. Tricia did like Pixie’s version better.

  She was about to start on the rest of the bags when Pixie arrived, pink-cheeked and raring to go. “You started without me?”

  “Just the scrolls. Here’s what the finished package should look like—after we get the magnets, that is. What do you think?”

  Pixie positively beamed. “It’s absolutely adorable. And nobody will be able to resist those chocolates.”

  Before Pixie had even taken off her coat, Mr. Everett arrived, all smiles. “I’ve brought pictures of Charlie!” he exclaimed, and had his phone out before he’d even taken off his coat. Pixie made coffee, and then the three of them sat in the reader’s nook to look at the digital photos.

  “My, he’s a handsome boy,” Tricia said, admiring the large tabby, who looked to be at least seven or eight pounds heavier than Miss Marple.

  “He’s a big boy, all right,” Mr. Everett said, sounding as proud as a new papa.

  “How old did you say he was?” Pixie asked.

  “Twelve. We didn’t want to get a cat who would outlive us.”

  “I dunno,” Pixie said. “Fred’s mother has had cats that lived to be twenty.”

  “Pixie,” Tricia admonished. Mr. Everett was only in his late seventies and took good care of himself. Tricia hoped he would live to be at least a hundred.

  “Charlie has had health problems. He was a very sick boy when someone turned him in to the shelter. It took months for them to nurse him back to health, but nobody wanted to take a chance on him.”

  “Not until you came along,” Tricia said.

  “And Grace. It was a mutual decision.”

  “Did he have a good first night with you?”

  Mr. Everett’s smile was positively infectious. “He slept at the end of our bed all night long and never made a peep.”

  “That’s great.”

  After they’d looked at the twenty or more photos, they settled down to work on assembling the swag bags and were only interrupted by customers twice the entire morning. That would change in a few weeks when the Christmas rush began in earnest, something all the merchants on Stoneham’s main drag looked forward to.

  Pixie and Mr. Everett headed out to lunch together, and Tricia and a dozing Miss Marple held down the fort, until they returned and Tricia could take her own lunch break. As usual, she headed for Booked for Lunch, but when she arrived she found that Angelica hadn’t yet made it in. Tricia sat down at one of the empty booths in the back, ordered her lunch, and then pulled out her cell phone to call her sister. But Angelica didn’t pick up. Next, she called Antonio, but he said he hadn’t heard from Angelica that day, either.

  “I’m sorry we haven’t had another chance to talk,” she apologized.

  “Has Angelica told you why she’s so unhappy?”

  “Yes, but she’s asked me not to talk about it.”

  “I would not expect you to betray her confidence.”

  “Thank you. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to pin her down.”

  “I must walk softly,” Antonio said. “She will tell me when she thinks I must know.”

  Tricia wasn’t so sure about that.

  They said good-bye and Tricia hurried through her soup and half a ham-and-Swiss-cheese sandwich before she donned her coat and headed for the Cookery.

  A forlorn-looking Frannie stood behind the counter, earbuds in place, her phone sitting on the cash desk, reading a copy of Popular Mechanics magazine—which seemed a little odd, but then, so was Frannie. Her sad expression reminded Tricia that she hadn’t heard back from Chief Baker about Ted Harper’s autopsy, and she decided she would call him from her office once she returned to Haven’t Got a Clue.

  “Is Angelica around?”

  Frannie pulled one of the buds from her ear. “Upstairs. After my lunch break, she took Sarge for a walk and then went straight back upstairs. She said she had paperwork to do.”

  Tricia frowned. “Thanks.”

  “Aren’t you going to say something about Ted?” Frannie asked, sounding hurt.

  “Oh, sorry. Yes. I’m … I’m so sorry.”

  Frannie shook her head. “If only I’d known about his allergies, I might have been able to help him.”

  “Help how?” Tricia asked.

  “With homeopathic remedies. I’ve been reading up on it.” She picked up another magazine. “You can cure just about anything with the right diet and supplements.”

  Tricia remembered what a nurse had once told her: that Americans had the most expensive urine in the world because they took so many vitamins and other supplements that weren’t absorbed by the body. Tricia doubted a mere supplement or two could have helped Ted.

  “Have you heard about any funeral arrangements?”

  Frannie’s eyes began to tear up. “His family is going to have him buried in Pennsylvania.”

  “Will you go to the service?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, then snatched a tissue from the box under the counter and blew her nose loudly. “I liked him, and I’m devastated that he’s dead, but I really didn’t know him all that well.” Her voice hardened as she looked at Tricia. “I didn’t get an opportunity to know him better.”

  Tricia nodded meekly, but didn’t know what to say on that account. “Have you spoken to them?”

  Frannie nodded. “Ted’s sister. She was quite upset—as you’d expect her to be.”

  “I’m sure she was. I would be devastated if anything happened to Angelica.”

  Frannie merely nodded.

  “Speaking of her, I’d better go upstairs and—” Check on her? Of course that’s what she meant to do, but she didn’t want to give Frannie that explanation. “Speak to her,” Tricia finished lamely.

  As Tricia backed away from the cash desk, Frannie replaced the earbud, and her gaze returned to her magazine. Tricia hightailed it for the stairs to Angelica’s apartment.

  As she rounded the landing at the second floor, Sarge began to bark. “It’s only me, Sarge,” Tricia called. When she got to the top, she reached for the door handle and found it locked. “Ange! It’s me, Tricia. Are you there?”

  She received no answer. “Angelica?” she called again, more strident. Still no answer.

  Fumbling with her keys, Tricia unlocked the door and burst through it. Sarge was immediately at her feet, excited as ever to see her, and she nearly tripped over him on her way to the kitchen, where she found her sister standing at one of the windows overlooking Main Street, coffee mug in hand, her back turned to the rest of the apartment.

  “Ange!” Tricia called frantically. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

  Angelica looked up and started. “Goodness, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “Didn’t you hear me calling you? Didn’t you hear Sarge barking?”

  Angelica shrugged. “I guess not. I was lost in thought.”

  Tricia wriggled out of the sleeves of her coat and settled it on the back of one of the island’s stools.

  “Why didn’t you answer my call? How come you didn’t show up to meet me at Booked for Lunch?”

  Angelica ambled over to the island and set her cup down. “I guess I lost track of time.”

  “Antonio said you haven’t checked in with him today, either.”

  “Have you been calling around town checking up on me?” Angelica asked, sounding more than a little annoyed.

/>   “Why wouldn’t I? It’s not like you to pull a disappearing act.”

  “I’ve hardly disappeared,” Angelica muttered.

  “Well, you’re certainly not acting like yourself.” And then Tricia realized what was the matter. “You got another one of those blackmail letters, didn’t you?”

  Angelica shrugged.

  “Ange?”

  “So what if I did?”

  “You’ve got to report this to Chief Baker.”

  “I don’t need to. I’ve taken care of it.”

  “You caved in?”

  “I didn’t cave in,” Angelica said testily. “I did the prudent thing.”

  “But I thought we discussed it.”

  “We did. But I made up my mind to just put an end to it.”

  “How much were you fleeced?”

  “Just five grand.”

  “This time. You know these things always escalate. Now that you’ve paid, they’re going to keep up the threats and demand more and more money.”

  “As it turns out, I have a lot of money, and I can spend it any way I choose.”

  Tricia stared at her sister. “Ange, what’s come over you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What is it you’re not telling me?” Tricia demanded.

  “I’ve told you everything you need to know.”

  A wellspring of emotion seemed to bloom inside her chest, and Tricia found it hard to speak. “I thought we were done with all the secrets from the past. I thought we had moved on. I thought—”

  “Trish, drop it. Please.”

  “How can I? I’m worried about you—about what you’re facing and how it can only get worse.”

  “Drop it,” Angelica said, her tone deadly.

  There was no point in arguing. When Angelica made up her mind, nothing could change it.

  Tricia swallowed. “Okay.”

  Okay for now. But when she spoke to Baker, she would bring up Angelica’s situation, whether her sister would want her to or not.

  “I have to get back to work. Are we on for dinner tonight?”

  Angelica sighed wearily. “I guess.”

  “My place or yours?”

  “Come here. I’ll pull something together.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Angelica fairly snapped.

  “All right. I’ll see you around six,” Tricia said, and headed for the door to the stairs, but paused before opening the door. “If you need me, you know where to find me,” she called.

  There was no answer.

  Tricia stepped out onto the landing, and then pulled the door shut behind her.

  *

  • • •

  Pixie and Mr. Everett were rearranging the hard-boiled suspense titles when Tricia arrived back at Haven’t Got a Clue. She’d considered heading straight to the police station, but then worried that Angelica might have gone back to staring out her kitchen windows and would be able to see her walking down the sidewalk in that direction. No, she’d call. If Baker was out of the office, she’d leave a message.

  Down in her office, she punched Baker’s personal number into her cell phone. She’d taken him off her contacts list but still remembered the number, and she wondered why she’d committed it to memory.

  “Hello, Tricia,” Baker answered.

  “Hi, Grant.”

  “I suppose you’re calling about Ted Harper’s autopsy.”

  “Well, yes … and maybe something else.”

  “Why don’t we get Harper out of the way first.”

  “Okay.”

  “I probably shouldn’t be telling this to you, but it’ll get out eventually, and I was going to come and speak to you about it anyway.”

  “Go on,” Tricia said cautiously.

  “The medical examiner and I both spoke with Harper’s private physician. He had only one known allergy.”

  When he didn’t immediately go on, Tricia prodded, “And?”

  “Sumac.”

  Tricia blinked. “I beg your pardon. The stuff that grows at the side of the road?”

  “That’s it exactly.”

  “How would anyone find out they were allergic to sumac?”

  “Harper worked for a landscaper. He had to be very careful when clearing brush.”

  “Sumac is poisonous to everybody, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. If you touch the oil, you’ll get a rash. Those with heightened sensitivity can go into anaphylactic shock by breathing in the fumes from burning plants.”

  “I certainly didn’t put any sumac oil in my mushroom appetizers.”

  “The fact that nobody else became ill seems to point to another scenario.”

  “Such as?”

  “Someone other than you put it in the hors d’oeuvre.”

  “Well, that’s a given. Do you mean as a joke?” Tricia asked in disbelief.

  “Some joke. A man is dead.”

  What had appeared to be a case of food poisoning now had a much more sinister connotation.

  “According to the people I and my officers spoke with after your party, nobody but Frannie Armstrong even knew Ted Harper.”

  “So what are you saying?” Tricia asked, already anticipating his answer.

  “Someone at that party tainted that one mushroom. The question is, who had access to the food?”

  Tricia blew out a breath. “Just about everybody, I guess. I mean, Angelica and I were the ones who took charge of it, but Ginny and Antonio helped out by passing things around and arranging things. And don’t you dare suspect any of them.”

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t.”

  “There was also food spread across the kitchen island, and people helped themselves.”

  “What concerns me is that someone at that party tainted that one mushroom, so it’s not like he or she was targeting any one person. Of course, whoever did it may have wanted you to get in trouble for making someone sick.”

  “I can’t think of anyone at the party who would have wanted to do so.”

  “Oh, no?”

  Tricia found her patience thinning. “Who do you suspect?”

  “I don’t suspect anyone, but I do know that despite the fact that he attended your party, Chauncey Porter has not been your friend for some time. He blames you for the death of—”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. But that was two years ago. He’s gotten over his loss, and he and Mary Fairchild are about to be married.”

  “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still hold a grudge.”

  That was true. But Chauncey hadn’t been as blatantly rude to her since he and Mary had become a couple earlier in the year, either.

  “I don’t know, Grant. Chauncey may not like me, but I can’t see him potentially poisoning someone at my party just to get back at me. And where does one get sumac leaves at this time of year, anyway?”

  “That’s a good question—and I don’t have an answer.”

  “Is the medical examiner sure it was sumac?”

  “We’ll have to wait for the toxicology report to make certain, but that’s the line she’s going after right now.”

  Tricia nodded—not that Baker could see her do it.

  “Has anyone threatened you lately?”

  “Just Bob Kelly—at his sentencing,” Tricia said matter-of-factly.

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “I can’t repeat it word for word, but he put a curse on me. That my life would be a living hell until the day I died.”

  “He said that?” Baker asked.

  “Yes. And he may be right. Since then, someone left a large pile of doggy doo on my back steps, which I slipped in on Saturday, and yesterday someone egged my shop display window. It sounds like a teenaged prank. Has anyone reported petty vandalism?” Tricia asked.

  “No. But I want you to be careful.”

  “You don’t think Bob could be responsible, do you?”

  “Not when he’s behind bars, but don’t forget he was a big cheese in
this village for more than a decade and he had a lot of friends. You heard the character witnesses his attorney called to the stand.”

  She had. But their glowing words couldn’t erase the testimony she and the other witnesses had given that had sent Kelly to prison, either. Tricia changed the subject.

  “Frannie said Ted’s family is having him buried in Pennsylvania.”

  “Yes. The body has been turned over to a mortuary and will be transported there tomorrow.”

  “I feel terrible about this entire situation.”

  “Which isn’t surprising. But like I mentioned, you’d better think long and hard about who might have it in for you, because even if whoever put the poison in the mushroom didn’t think anyone would die, he or she had to know it could make someone sick, which would make you look bad.”

  Again Tricia nodded. “Okay, I’ll think about what you’ve said, and if I have any ideas, I’ll get back to you on it.”

  “What else did you have on your mind?”

  “What?”

  “You said you wanted to talk to me about Harper and something else.”

  “Yes,” Tricia admitted. “I’ve been told I should mind my own business—”

  “And how’s that going?” Baker said rather pointedly.

  Tricia ignored the dig. “My sister is being blackmailed.”

  “What?”

  “She’s received letters in the mail asking for money and saying that if she didn’t pay, things she’d like to remain secret will be made public.”

  “What does Angelica have to hide?”

  “It’s not up to me to betray her confidences, but rest assured it’s nothing illegal, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why she wants to keep it all so hush-hush. But that’s her decision, not mine. I’m just concerned that even though she’s paid what the blackmailer asked for—”

  “And what was that?”