An Unthymely Death

by ALBERT, SUSAN WITTIG

  Cattle ranching isn’t as profitable as it used to be, and in this part of Texas, a great many of the large ranches have been broken up and sold. Barbara had told us that the Bucher ranch—the B-Bar-R—had been a huge spread once. Now, all that was left was the old ranch house, built of native stone and nestled into a grove of willow trees where Harold Bucher lived. Around it bloomed a wild garden, filled with wildflowers and herbs: echinacea, tansy, and Joe-Pye weed.

  “Looks like Hannah and her brother shared one interest, anyway,” Ruby remarked as we got out of the car. “They were both gardeners.”

  I glanced toward the house. A colorful flock of bantam chickens was chasing bugs through the grass, while a black dog napped on the porch. He raised his head when he saw us and gave a short, sharp bark. A moment later, we saw a stooped old man in denim overalls and a wide-brimmed straw hat, hoe in hand, going through the gate into a vegetable garden. Ignoring us, he began to chop weeds along a row of healthy-looking garlic.

  Willow

  Ginkgo isn’t the only tree-sized herb. Some ten centuries ago, Egyptian, Greek, and Chinese herbalists recommended willow to lower fever and relieve pain. Now, willow’s chief chemical constituent, salicylic acid, appears in every medicine cabinet—as aspirin. We take it not only for pain relief, but to help prevent heart attacks. Other herbal trees include juniper (its berries are used medicinally and to flavor gin), hawthorn (a cardiac tonic), chaste tree (once used to treat malaria, as well as respiratory ailments, although it was thought to reduce sexual desire), and eucalyptus (antibacterial and antibiotic, used to treat fevers

  and malaria).

  “Are you Mr. Bucher?” Ruby called.

  “That’s me,” the old man said shortly. “What d’ya want?”

  We walked closer. “We’d like to talk to you about your sister,” I said. “We were friends of hers.”

  “We were very sorry to hear about her death,” Ruby said softly. “It must have been a terrible shock.”

  Harold Bucher went right on hoeing. The man might have been in his late seventies, his face lined and gray, his eyes slitted against the bright sun. “She was an old woman,” he said sourly. “People die when they get old.”

  “But your sister didn’t die of old age,” I replied. “You’ve heard the results of the autopsy?”

  “Luella told me. Said the sheriff arrested that Jessica woman for poisoning her.” The old man turned his head and spat. “Well, all I got to say is, Hannah’s fancy new will won’t do Jessica no damn good in jail.”

  He was right, of course. A murderer cannot profit from her crime. If Jessica Powell was convicted of killing Hannah, she wouldn’t inherit. But who would?

  “Are you Hannah’s nearest relative?” I asked.

  Echinacea

  Many plants found growing in the wild have had important medicinal uses. Echinacea (Echinacea angustifolia or E. purpurea) is a native American herb with drooping purple petals around an orange center. It is said to boost the immune system and fight colds, flu, and yeast infections. The yellow button-shaped flowers of tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) are a pretty accent in the garden. A bitter herb, tansy was used medicinally as a blood cleanser and tonic. It is not native to North America, but became naturalized here when it was brought by colonists. Joe-Pye weed (Eupatorium purpureum) is another American native. It takes its common name from the Indian doctor Joe Pye, who publicized its many medicinal uses. Butterflies love all three of these plants.

  “What if I am?” He eyed me obliquely. “How come you wanna know?”

  I shrugged. “Just curious, that’s all.” I looked around the place. It must not be easy for a man his age to live so far from civilization. What if he got sick? “You ever think of moving into Cedar Crossing?”

  Garlic

  Garlic (Allium sativum) has been called the “herbal wonder drug” for its many medicinal uses. It has been found in Sumerian caves where early humans lived over twelve millennia ago. It has powerful antibiotic properties and has been used to stave off colds and flu, lower blood pressure, and reduce serum cholesterol levels. And of course, its flavor can’t be beat. To make a tasty, heart-healthy spread, mince 4 cloves of garlic and stir into 1 cup of low-cholesterol margarine. Add 1 tablespoon each of minced fresh basil, chives, and parsley. Stir in 1 tablespoon of lemon juice. Keep tightly covered until used.

  “My girl Luella’s been after me to move,” he said grudgingly. “Reckon I might, if I could find me a pretty place with a nice garden.” He spat again. “Wouldn’t feel right if I couldn’t get dirt under my fingernails every day.”

  I nodded, knowing how he felt. My fingernails have dirt under them most of the time. I wondered if the “pretty place” he had in mind was Hannah’s. “Did you visit your sister often?”

  He stopped hoeing and straightened up. “Saw her the day ’fore she died. We had some fam’ly business to transact. Didn’t get it done, though. Got interrupted by that nosy neighbor of hers. Mildred Rawlins.” He reached into the pocket of his bib overalls. “You wanna know about Hannah, you see Mildred. Her an’ Hannah was thick as a pair of thieves.”

  He took his hand out of his pocket. He was holding a can of chewing tobacco.

  “Do you think Hannah’s brother could have killed her?” Ruby asked thoughtfully as we drove back to Cedar Crossing.

  “He seems to have had a motive,” I said. “According to Barbara, he was furious about the will. And from what he said about wanting a place with a nice garden, I’d guess that he was hoping to inherit Hannah’s house.”

  “Not just motive, but means,” Ruby replied grimly. “Did you see that can of chewing tobacco? And he admitted that he was with Hannah the day before she died, so he had opportunity, as well!”

  “It’s certainly something to think about,” I agreed. “Let’s see what Hannah’s neighbor has to say.”

  Mildred Rawlins’s garden was smaller than Hannah’s, but very pretty and bordered with a low, clipped hedge of germander, a plant that was cultivated in many medieval apothecary gardens for its usefulness in treating rheumatism and gout. Ruby and I were knocking at the front door when she came around the house, carrying a tray of seedlings. She was a tall, thin woman with gray hair in short, tight curls all over her head. We introduced ourselves, but she already seemed to know who we were. She put down the tray and invited us in.

  Ruby and I went into the living room while Mildred went for tea and cookies. She obviously enjoyed garden crafts, and the room was full of her work—bouquets of dried flowers, some small framed pictures made with delicate arrangements of pressed pansies, lavender, and dried herbs, and a sweet-smelling bowl of rose potpourri.

  In a few moments, Mildred was back with a tray. “Hannah talked about you two often,” she said, pouring a fragrant tea out of a china pot. “She was anxious for your visit. She hoped you could help her.” She sighed heavily. “I certainly do miss her. We were good friends—it’s hard to believe she’s gone.”

  ROSE POTPOURRI

  2 cups dried rose petals

  1 cup dried lavender

  ½ cup rosemary leaves

  3 bay leaves, broken

  1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

  2 teaspoons grated nutmeg

  2 teaspoons whole cloves

  1 teaspoon powdered cloves

  2 tablespoons orris root powder (to serve as a fixative)

  6 to 8 drops rose oil

  Dried rosebuds for decoration

  Mix dried ingredients together and toss with rose oil. Place in a covered container for 6 weeks, stirring or shaking daily, to blend the fragrances. Display potpourri in a pretty bowl or basket, and renew scent with rose oil when necessary.

  “Did she tell you what she wanted to talk to us about?” I asked.

  “Not directly,” Mildred said. “But I got the idea that something odd was going on and she hoped you’d help her straighten it out.”

  “Her death was tragic,” Ruby said with a sigh. “I’m glad they’ve caught the killer.�
�

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I was you,” Mildred replied darkly. “Jessica Powell isn’t much liked around here. Folks don’t forget or forgive the past, and that husband she killed grew up in this little town. But Hannah gave Jessica a job and a place to live when she got out of prison. That took courage, and Jessica was grateful. She’d never have done anything to harm Hannah.”

  “They found a can of tobacco in her room,” I pointed out.

  “What does that prove?” Mildred tossed her head. “Lots of folks in this town have tobacco in their houses. Cigarettes, pipe tobacco, chewing tobacco. Even nicotine patches. I read somewhere that you can die if you put too many of those patches on yourself.”

  “But if Jessica didn’t do it,” Ruby asked reasonably, “who did?”

  Mildred shook her head, tight-lipped. “I’m not one to accuse, mind you. But that brother of Hannah’s—he’s a devious old man, with a terrible temper. And he was here the day before Hannah died. I know because I walked in on them. They were having a fight.”

  “What were they fighting about?” I asked.

  “About the house, that’s what,” Mildred said fiercely. “They’d been arguing about it ever since Hannah made that will.” She stood up and went to a corner cupboard. “Hannah asked me to keep something for her until you got here.” She turned, holding a large manila envelope.

  “What’s in it?” Ruby asked curiously as I took the envelope.

  “Papers,” Mildred said with a little shrug. “That’s all Hannah told me—just some old papers.”

  It was almost noon by the time we got back to Barbara and Ramona’s house. Barbara was still at her office, but we found Ra- mona at the picnic table in the backyard, repotting several scented geraniums.

  If you have room for only one herb in your garden, make it a scented geranium (Pelargonium graveolens). You can use the fragrant leaves for potpourri, teas, drinks, and desserts, as well as jellies, sauces, and even vinegars. Growing beside a path where you can brush against it, this generous plant will share its scent with you each time you pass. Among the popular favorites are rose, lemon, orange, apricot, grapefruit, and strawberry scents. Plan to bring these tender plants inside during the winter.

  “Hi,” she said, looking up from her project. “Did you learn anything new?”

  Ruby shrugged. “We learned plenty—we just haven’t figured out what it means. Let’s have a look, China.”

  I opened the envelope Mildred Rawlins had given us and slid the contents onto the table. But if we were hoping to see something dramatic—a threatening note, or a map to a long-lost treasure, or old love letters tied with a faded pink ribbon—we were disappointed.

  “Why, these are nothing but canceled checks,” Ruby said, sounding disappointed. She picked up one of the two rubber-banded bundles and flipped through it. “They’re all made out to the Texas Fidelity Investment Company. Looks like they go back about three years.” She pointed to the signature. “They’ve all been signed by Hannah.”

  I glanced through the other bundle. “These are made out to Texas Fidelity, too.” I looked closer. “There’s an account number typed on the check.” I read it aloud.

  Ruby frowned. “But these checks have a different account number. Hannah had two accounts?”

  “I wonder why she wrote the checks but typed the account numbers,” Ramona remarked. “If I were going to the trouble of typing anything, I’d type everything. Except for my signature, of course.”

  “Maybe somebody else typed the numbers,” Ruby suggested.

  “Maybe Hannah didn’t know there were two accounts,” I said slowly. “Maybe, when she signed the check, she thought she was depositing the money in her regular account. Then somebody else typed in the account numbers—making some deposits to Hannah’s regular account, and some to a second account.”

  Ruby snapped her fingers. “And then maybe Hannah discovered the second account and figured out that somebody was stealing her money! And that’s when she called you, China—to help her put a stop to it.”

  Ramona stood up. “I’ll phone Barbara and tell her what you’ve found. As Hannah’s lawyer, she can contact the investment company and get the names on those accounts.”

  Barbara called back in fifteen minutes with what she had learned. Ramona put the call on the speaker phone, so we could all hear.

  “You were right, China,” Barbara said. “There were two investment accounts. One is in Hannah’s name, and has about thirty thousand dollars in it. When the other account was closed last Thursday, the balance was nearly seventy thousand.”

  “Last Thursday!” Ruby exclaimed.

  “The day after Hannah died,” I said. “That can’t be a coincidence. Whose name was on the account?”

  “Jessica’s?” Ramona asked.

  “Hannah’s brother?” Ruby guessed.

  “Hannah’s niece,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Barbara said. “The name on the account was Luella Mitchell.”

  “But just because Luella was investing her aunt’s money under her own name doesn’t mean she’s a killer,” Ruby pointed out.

  “Let’s see if we can reconstruct what might have happened,” I said. “Luella figured out that her aunt had discovered her scheme and was planning to expose it—and perhaps to have her charged with embezzlement. She brewed a nicotine concentrate and put a fatal dose into her aunt’s coffee, or into some other strong-tasting food. Hannah died of cardiac arrest, and everybody thought it was a simple heart attack.”

  “Until,” Ruby said, “the autopsy report came back.”

  “Right,” I said. “The autopsy that Luella herself had requested. If she hadn’t insisted on an autopsy, the death would have been put down to natural causes.”

  “So what are you saying, China?” Ramona asked, frowning.

  “I’m saying that Luella wanted the autopsy in order to prove that her aunt had died of nicotine poisoning. Then she hid the tobacco can under Jessica’s mattress and tipped off the police that it was there.”

  “But why incriminate Jessica?” Ramona asked in a puzzled tone. “If all Luella wanted was to get out from under a possible embezzlement charge—”

  “Because,” Ruby said triumphantly, “that’s not all Luella wanted. If Jessica were convicted of Hannah’s murder, she couldn’t inherit Hannah’s estate.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Hannah’s property would go to her brother, Harold. And he’s an old man. It wouldn’t be long before everything belonged to his daughter.”

  “It makes sense,” Ramona said reluctantly, “but it’s just a theory. How are you going to prove it?”

  “I wonder,” I said, “where that can of smoking tobacco came from. It was an odd brand, as I recall. Duke’s, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Ruby said. “You don’t suppose Luella would have been careless enough to buy it around here, do you?”

  As it turned out, that was exactly what had happened. It took us less than an hour to canvass three convenience stores and the only grocery in town. In the end, we found one that carried that particular brand of tobacco, and a curious clerk who remembered Luella’s purchase.

  “We don’t sell that brand very often,” she said, “so I remember. It was a lady that bought it, which kind of surprised me, since smoking tobacco ain’t exac’ly what most women around here buy. They smoke cigarettes, y’ know—and they don’t usually roll their own. But I figgered maybe she was gittin’ it for somebody else.”

  Once we had the clerk’s statement, it didn’t take long to convince the sheriff to arrange a lineup and persuade Luella to be a part of it. The clerk identified her without hesitation. Confronted with the evidence of her crime—the tobacco purchase and the second investment account—Luella broke down and confessed. The case became even stronger when the police found Luella’s fingerprint on the inside of the tobacco can lid. Not long after, Jessica was a free woman.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said t
o Ruby and me as we stood together in Hannah’s garden—hers, now.

  “We don’t need any thanks,” I said. Around us, the thyme that Hannah had planted was blooming, each bush covered with bees gorging themselves on the fragrant nectar. I thought of an old bit of folklore I’d heard once—that each thyme blossom contains the soul of a departed loved one—and felt glad that Jessica would be around to take care of the garden and carry on Hannah’s tradition of growing thyme. “It’s enough to know that the garden will go on, just as Hannah wanted it to.”

  Jessica’s smile made her face almost pretty. “Yeah. Well, that’ll happen, for sure. But in the meantime, don’t forget these.” She bent over to pick up a tray of sturdy lemon thyme seedlings.

  So Ruby and I drove home. Hannah’s untimely death was tragic, yes. But now I’d have a bit of her garden, growing in my own. And as someone said once, “Thyme heals all wounds.”

  THE KHAT WHO BECAME A HERO

  IT was a gray, drizzly Tuesday afternoon outside, but inside Thyme and Seasons, the air was sweet and lavender-scented, soft music was coming through the open door of Ruby Wilcox’s Crystal Cave, and I had just finished happily hanging a dozen bright red chile-pepper ristras on the wall, carefully handcrafted by my friend Carmelita. Every now and then, as I look around my shop, I have the feeling that my life is complete. A wonderful husband and son, work that I enjoy in a business of my own, and a quiet life in a pretty place. What more could anybody want?

  Ristras are fun and easy to make. To create a small one, you’ll need about 4 dozen fresh, unblemished red chile peppers, with stems; 3 pieces of cotton string, 24‘ long; an untwisted coat hanger; and a pair of rubber gloves. Don’t use green (unripe) peppers or peppers with soft spots. And peppers can burn you, so be sure to wear the gloves and work in a place with good ventilation.