Poisoned Pairings

by Lesley Diehl

  “Cranberry,” he said.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Cranberry and orange, like a holiday party.”

  Damn. The man was brilliant, and I told him so.

  The next words out of his mouth surprised me even more.

  “Jake said you were pretty good getting information out of the students in Bruce Clement’s culinary arts class. Would you be willing to talk with them again? I’d do it, but college kids make me nervous.”

  He let out his breath in a whoosh, as if he had been holding it, concerned he wouldn’t be able to form the sentences. Now I wondered if he weren’t a genius, verbalizing what I already thought the next step in the case should be.

  “Great. I think I’ll talk to them one at a time.”

  He nodded as if he didn’t trust himself to pull together one more sentence.

  “Gotta go now.”

  He waved as he exited the door, then stuck his head back in.

  “Oleander. Someone who knows plants.” He retreated out the door once more.

  I read the scribbles on my note pad: “Cranberry and orange, call it Cliff’s Christmas. Students. Plants.” I’d talk first with Amy Farnell, the young woman who found Bruce’s body and who had joined Father’s group. Did she know anything about poisonous plants? Did Father?

  I had my holiday ale and my sleuthing assignment. I felt good, better than I had in a long time. Then I remembered I’d better not let Jake know what I was doing. I also knew I missed him already, his voice warning me away from the investigation, his arms tightening around me to keep me safe. I was pulled between danger that made me feel alive and the man who made me feel loved.

  Sixteen

  “Would you be willing to come with me when I talk to Amy Farnell?” I asked Megan. I’d returned to the house to find Megan had pulled out all the contents of my kitchen cupboards and set them on the counters and table.

  “When was the last time you did an inventory of your supplies? Some of these spices come from the A & P Stores, and there hasn’t been one of those around these parts for decades.”

  “I don’t cook much. I focus my energies on my microbrews.” To my own ears, I sounded defensive.

  “That may have worked for you before, but now that you’re trying to promote pairings, you need to get some familiarity with food, other than fast food, I mean.” She tossed several spice jars into the garbage.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t think Amy likes me. She’s now one of Father’s followers, and I’m not. I wouldn’t be much help to you.”

  “Who would? She seemed to be closest to Bruce. Were there any other students he mentioned that he liked?”

  She tossed another jar toward the garbage. “Dried parsley is supposed to be green, not grey in color.”

  “Anyone he liked or admired or talked about?”

  “I don’t think my brother was close to any of his classmates. He was a pretty competitive guy, and that created distance with other students.”

  “He must have talked about someone.”

  “Risley. He hated Risley.”

  “Did Risley feel the same about him?” Another jar hit the trash with a thunk.

  “Bruce wasn’t a very likeable guy. Even I didn’t much care for him, and he was my brother. I’ve told you before. Take a closer look at Father and those goons of his or that Marshall guy, the one I saw hanging around here the night of Bruce’s murder.”

  An unpleasant thought, one I’d tried to dismiss, crossed my mind. Maybe I should take a look at you, Megan, the sister who didn’t like her brother, who was jealous of her parents’ doting on him, and who showed up at the barn the night of his murder, the young woman who had worked her way through my defenses and suspicions and won my affection. Was I wrong to trust her?

  Later that night I lay in bed considering my options. Everyone I should talk with about the murder wasn’t interested in talking with me. Most of them despised me. Eeney, meeney, miney, moe. I had to begin somewhere.

  So I began stalking Amy Farnell, finding out her course schedule, where she went after classes and when she studied in the library. I had to waylay her someplace where she couldn’t easily get away from me. That meant I would probably have to talk with her on the run between classes that met across campus. I had ten minutes to pry information out of her, assuming I could keep up with her as she fled from my interrogation to the safety of her organic chemistry class.

  If Bruce was an unpopular student, Amy seemed more so. She never talked or walked with other students. It was as if she and Bruce were shadow people, ignoring their fellow classmates and ignored by them in turn.

  With the weather still warm, students lounged on benches along the tree-lined quad on campus, enjoying the sunshine, aware that winter would descend soon. I stood on the steps of the brick building which housed the culinary arts program and heard the bell signaling change of classes. Amy was one of the first to exit and begin her trek to her next class. She didn’t spot me until I sidled up and began keeping pace with her.

  “Hi, Amy. I guess you don’t want to talk with me, but you were friends with Bruce. Don’t you want to find out who killed him?”

  She turned her head. Her eyes widened when she recognized me.

  “I know who killed him. You did.” She began walking faster.

  “Don’t be stupid. I had absolutely no reason to want him dead, and don’t give me that poisoned brew stuff. You don’t believe it. Father planted that one in your head. Chicken on the oleander skewers killed him.”

  She slowed a bit. “Yes, but I also know you’re evil.”

  “Fine. I’m evil, but I’m not a killer. Who is?”

  “I don’t know.” By now she had sped up and was almost running. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Someone hated Bruce. You were there. You were his friend. You must know something.”

  Without warning, Father’s two goons appeared at our side.

  “This lady bothering you?” asked the younger of the two. His face was round and as unlined as a baby’s, but his tone was threatening.

  “Yes,” Amy said. “I mean, no. Go away, all of you! Go away and leave me alone.”

  She turned and ran into the nearest building, the one housing administrative offices and campus security. I stopped pursuing her and stood confronting Father’s men.

  “You’ve been warned more than once. Now stay away from our people.” Again it was the younger man who delivered the message.

  “You’ve been warned also. She doesn’t seem to like you any better than she likes me. In fact, I get the feeling most of the young women in Father’s group find the two of you unpleasant.” I didn’t like the dark looks that came over the goons’ faces. I couldn’t trust they wouldn’t harm me just because there were people around, so I beat a hasty retreat back the way I’d come.

  Well, I thought to myself as I headed toward my truck parked in one of the nearby lots, that went well. Actually, what I’d said to the men was more than just bravado. There was a kernel of truth there. Amy didn’t like them. Maybe I could use that to my advantage.

  “Psst,” a voice said from the doorway of a residence hall I was passing. Amy stood in the shadows of the entry.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I ran through the administration building and down into the basement. There’s a tunnel that connects it to several other buildings. This is one of them.”

  She looked both ways and signaled me to come closer. “I can’t think of anything I could tell you about Bruce’s murder, but I guess it can’t hurt to talk, and I want to find out who killed him. I’ll meet you tonight in the library. Down in the basement, reference section. There usually aren’t many students there.”

  Without waiting for my answer, she ran back inside and out of sight.

  I was right. She didn’t like Father’s bodyguards. Or it was a trap.

  ~

  The skies had darkened, and rain began to fall. The temp
erature dipped. The forecast said we’d have sleet before the sun set. I coaxed my old truck down the road to home, wishing I’d had better sense when I purchased it and bought the rattletrap some new tires. The bald ones I was riding on would be a hazard tonight. I’d prefer to stay in, snug and warm in front of my fire, a piece of chocolate cake on a plate beside me, a glass of my superb stout in my hand. I banished the picture from my mind. There was no way I would miss the meeting tonight. I had this one chance to talk with Amy. The girl was skittish, and I didn’t feel comfortable with the company she attracted whether willingly or not.

  “Pot roast,” announced Megan as I slammed through the door. I was soaked to the bone, dashing from the truck to the house. “But you’d better get those wet clothes off and jump into a warm shower.”

  The house smelled wonderful, like it used to when Mom was alive. I’d arrive home from school on the bus and dash up the hill eager to discover what she’d baked that day or what she made for dinner. Her cooking was simple country fare, but oh, how it tasted—juicy meats seasoned with garlic and herbs, fluffy whipped potatoes, and her desserts were every bit as good as those found in any gourmet bakery. My poor father. Once she died, he was stuck with what I could throw together, usually Dinty Moore out of a can. I knew we both missed her, not because of what she cooked, but what she cooked with. There had been love in every bite.

  “Don’t just stand there, Hera. You’re dripping all over the floor. Here.” Megan threw a hand towel at me which I failed to catch because I was too wrapped up in past memories.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” I picked up the towel from the floor and threw it over my wet hair, then removed my boots. “I think it’s going to freeze, and I have to go out tonight again.”

  The door opened, and Jeremiah entered. The wind had kicked up, almost wrenching the door out of his hands.

  “This is a good night to hunker down in front of the fire.” His words echoed my earlier thoughts. “I hope I won’t be imposing if I stay the night. I’m not eager to drive back into town if I don’t have to.”

  “You don’t, but I do.”

  “No way. You won’t even get out of the driveway with that truck. She’ll slide down the hill and into the ditch.”

  “I don’t have a choice.” I told them about my conversation with Amy and the meeting we’d set up for this evening.

  “Jake would have a fit if he knew what you’re up to,” said Jeremiah. “Father’s men won’t be far away, assuming you even make it into town.”

  “Jake’s not here, and you have to promise you won’t tell him what I’m doing.”

  Megan and Jeremiah looked at each other, then at me.

  “Promise.”

  “Okay, we promise not to tell him. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. We’d only get him upset, and he couldn’t do anything about it,” said Jeremiah.

  I started toward the stairs.

  “One thing. If you’re intent on meeting Amy tonight, I’ll drive you in my sister’s car. It has front-wheel drive, and the tires are better than your truck’s.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “It’s that or I call Rafe right now and tell him what you’re planning. He’ll be over here in a minute and set you straight.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Jeremiah crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded. I hesitated, but Megan grabbed the cell phone off the table and handed it to Jeremiah.

  “Fine. You win. You’re the chauffer for the night.”

  “I’m coming, too.”

  “No!” both Jeremiah and I chorused. On this we were in accord. Megan would stay home.

  The weather forecasters were wrong. The wind shifted to the south, and the temperature held a few degrees above freezing, but the rain increased. The evening news reported the possibility of flooding in our area.

  “I wish they would make up their minds.” Megan clicked off the television, and we sat down to dinner.

  “If we have to go out tonight, I’d prefer driving in the rain rather than on frozen roads,” said Jeremiah. At least, I think that’s what he said. His mouth was so full of Megan’s pot roast, he could have been commenting on how the fermentation was going.

  “Now you don’t have to drive me in to town.” I wiped up a bit of gravy on my plate with Megan’s homemade bread.

  “No. I do. You might need someone to help out in case Amy brings Father’s hit men with her.”

  I chuckled. “I’m sure they’re not hit men.” I looked at Megan for confirmation.

  “They beat up one of the boys once when he ran off without Father’s permission.”

  “What do you mean by beat up?”

  “I mean they beat him with their fists. He was bruised and bloody.”

  Suddenly, I lost my appetite for dinner. Jeremiah put down his fork.

  “Maybe you should call Cliff and tell him about the meeting,” Jeremiah said.

  “If she sees anybody but me, she’ll run.”

  All of us decided against dessert.

  Jeremiah and I debated taking the truck despite the bald tires. She rode higher than the car, and we reasoned it might be easier getting over flooded sections of the road. Instead we settled on the traction of the front- wheel drive on the car, hoping the water wouldn’t be too deep.

  “Call me.” Megan hugged both of us. We set off down the driveway, which had become more like a stream bed than a road.

  “This doesn’t look good.” Jeremiah had insisted on driving, and given my recent accident on slick roads, I let him.

  The headlights reflected off the moving water ahead. At the end of the drive, he turned toward town. To our surprise, the asphalt was wet, and here and there the water stood in pools on its surface, but the run-off we’d encountered in the drive dumped into the ditch at the side of the road. Now, as long as that didn’t overflow, we would be fine.

  The wind buffeted the car around, and Jeremiah had to pay full attention to keeping it on the road. The water came down in sheets, making it difficult for our lights to penetrate the solid wall. If an animal ran out into the road, Jeremiah would never see it, and if he did, could he stop in time?

  “Watch out!” I yelled.

  “Got it.” Jeremiah yanked the wheel to the right to avoid a downed tree limb in the middle of our lane. His quick reflexes allowed us to avoid hitting the debris, but the maneuver threw us off the pavement and onto the muddy shoulder. The car began to slip sideways toward the ditch, but he held the wheel steady, then steered back left. We continued our drift until we were inches from the churning waters of the ditch. Just as I felt the nose of the car dip, the tires grabbed, and he steered back onto the road.

  “Hooray for front-wheel drive,” he said.

  “That and a skilled driver.”

  At the edge of town, we crossed some patches of moving water, but the street lights showed us it was only inches deep. The storm sewers in town were handling the deluge.

  The town looked deserted. Only the night lights were on in the stores, but everyone was closed for the evening.

  I looked toward Tony’s shuttered restaurant as we passed and thought I saw a dim light around back. I couldn’t see into the parking lot to notice if his car was still there. He or Risley was probably cleaning up in kitchen.

  “It looks like a ghost town,” I said.

  “Who would come out in this weather?” Jeremiah’s tone was pointed.

  “Sorry, but I think this is my only chance to talk with her.”

  “Unless she decided the weather was too much.”

  “She lives on campus, and there are tunnels going between buildings.”

  “Yeah, I know. But sometimes they’re closed because of flooding. Maybe she won’t be able to make it through.”

  “She’ll show. I hope.”

  “Now, let’s see what the drive up the hill to the college is like.”

  The street was passable. As we ascended the hill, the rain increased. Without t
he protection of the trees and stores in the downtown, the wind shook the car and moved it toward the shoulder. I looked toward the side of the road.

  “If the wind tosses us off the pavement, that ditch is deep enough we’ll never get the car out of it.”

  “That’s why we’re not going into it.” Again I admired his ability to keep the small car on the road.

  We pulled into the library parking lot, empty except for two or three cars.

  “This is interesting. Usually you can’t find a spot to park here, and you have to use one of the outer commuter student lots.” Jeremiah eased into the empty slot nearest the door.

  “You wait here. I don’t want her scared off.”

  “I’ll wait inside, somewhere near you. I’ll be hidden, don’t worry.”

  I flipped up the hood on my coat and ran to the library entrance, leaving Jeremiah to follow. Once inside, I took the stairs down to the reading and study room and then descended another flight to the reference area housed in the sub-basement. I paused on the last step and listened.

  Reference was one large space with cinderblock walls painted a beige tone that shouted “state issued.” The fluorescent ceiling lights gave off a sickly yellow glow. Row upon row of books and periodicals stood like silent sentinels in unbroken lines that ran toward the far wall. Study tables were wedged at random intervals between the stacks, but no one sat at them tonight. Several upholstered chairs were positioned to my immediate right, and a small area rug, grayed by years of foot traffic, lay on the floor in front of them. This attempt to make the place appear comfortable for study gave off an aura of desperation rather than hominess, and I wasn’t surprised no one was here tonight. I’d bet it was empty most nights. This was not the inviting place to get out of the wind and rain and to cozy up with a good book. I shivered in my winter coat.

  “Hello?” With nothing but metal shelving, the books, the concrete block walls and cement floors to absorb the sound, my voice echoed back to me.

  No one answered.

  I tried again, this time louder. “Amy?”

  I thought I heard footsteps from the far side of the space. She must have been checking me out to make certain I’d come alone.