Book Club Killer

by Mary Maxwell

  The line was silent for a few seconds as my husband processed the news.

  “That’s horrible,” he said. “Do you know what…” He paused and I heard our sons in the background. “Listen, sweetie,” Ben continued. “I’m dropping the boys at the Kincaid’s. I’ll be home in ten minutes, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I forgot they were having a sleepover tonight. Do they have everything they need?”

  “Don’t worry about them,” said my husband. “Just sit tight and I’ll see you in a few.”

  I kept the phone in my hand and pulled the blanket to my shoulders. The initial shock of the day’s bizarre events had melted into a dull ache at the base of my neck. I couldn’t believe that Rosemary was dead. I couldn’t believe that it had happened in our house. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the detective’s comment before he left: “We suspect the dip she ate here may have been poisoned...”

  As his voice echoed in my mind, I retraced my steps from earlier in the day for the one millionth time. I remembered Rosemary’s arrival, our brief conversation at the front door and her remark that she was thirsty. I guessed that during the time it had taken me to finish getting ready, Rosemary had opened the refrigerator, spotted the spinach dip and decided to help herself to a taste. She probably assumed it was for the book club group and wanted a little sample before the others arrived. When I’d shared that information with the police officers, they’d confiscated the box of crackers that Rosemary had opened as well as the dip from Olive Street Café. They didn’t take the pitcher of water because I told them that I’d had some of it earlier without becoming ill.

  I was sifting through everything again from the beginning when my husband rushed into the house.

  “Hey, sweetheart!” He dropped to his knees beside the sofa and gave me a big hug. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here.” He kissed my cheek and brushed a few strands of hair from my eyes. “And I’m so, so sorry about your friend.”

  “I just can’t believe it happened,” I said. “The police think she was poisoned.”

  Ben’s face went blank. “Poisoned? Are you kidding me?”

  “A detective came by after the ambulance left,” I said. “He told us about Rosemary. And he said they suspected she ingested some kind of toxic substance.”

  Ben leaned back and frowned. “Here?” he said. “In our house?”

  I pushed against the sofa and sat up. “I don’t know. I mean, they took the dip that the guy from Olive Street Café delivered. And they—”

  Ben held up one hand to interrupt me. “Olive Street Café?”

  “Yeah, I figured it was for your dinner party.”

  My husband shook his head. “But I canceled the order earlier,” he explained. “After the boys and I left for the movie, I got a call from my boss. It turns out that Truscott changed his mind at the last minute. Instead of staying here for the rest of the weekend, he’s flying to New York for some other contract he’s been working on.”

  “Does that mean your deal fell through?”

  Ben shook his head. “Not at all. Truscott’s divesting himself of three separate companies, the one we’re buying plus a couple of others back east. I guess it’s all somehow related to his divorce.”

  “How many businesses does he own?”

  My husband smirked. “Too many. The guy’s a royal pain in the butt. When we first started negotiating the acquisition, I heard rumors about him. I figured that somebody as successful as Truscott probably made a few enemies along the way. But I never imagined just how many people can’t stand the guy’s guts.”

  “In that case, I’m glad he’s not coming to dinner,” I said. “After the shock of what happened with Rosemary, I’m afraid I might’ve lost my temper if he was pompous and arrogant.”

  Ben smiled. “That’s a kind description of the guy. Truscott actually let it slip that he’s been receiving death threats.”

  The remark sent shivers down my back. “What did you just say?”

  “We were talking about a movie that one of the other guys saw last week on a flight,” Ben explained. “It had something to do with a family that gets a bunch of anonymous threats in the mail. When Truscott heard us talking about it, he just casually mentioned that he’s been down that road a time or two in his life.”

  “What road—getting death threats?”

  Ben shrugged. “Yeah, but I figured it was probably just another one of his self-important stories, like it was a badge of honor somehow to be so rich and powerful that someone would want to put out a hit on you.”

  I pulled in a deep breath and closed my eyes. Then I turned to Ben and took his hand. “Can you do me a favor?”

  He nodded. “Anything at all, sugar.”

  “Can we not talk about death and dying tonight? I’d really love to just take a hot shower, order a pizza and watch Pretty Woman again.”

  Ben lifted one eyebrow. “Didn’t we watch that last year?”

  “Yes, but you know it’s one of my favorites. It always puts me in a better mood.”

  He wrapped me in a hug and kissed my ear. “You got it,” he whispered. “Anything for my sweetheart.”

  Chapter 7

  The clock on my bedside table glowed in the darkness. It was half past two, and I’d been tossing and turning since midnight. After a slice of deep dish from our favorite pizzeria and watching Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, Ben and I had climbed into bed shortly after eleven. I was so exhausted from the stress of the day that I fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. But something woke me an hour later, and I started to obsess about Rosemary and the horrific events of the previous day.

  I couldn’t shake the images of her stretched out on our kitchen floor. Her legs had been rigid, her breathing had been labored and her eyes had been fixed and unblinking. When the EMTs first started working on her, I heard one mutter something about poison. But I was so distressed by what was happening that I hadn’t thought much more about it. I was too worried about my friend to concentrate on the offhand comment. I’d also never been in a situation like that before, so I figured that maybe the first responders made an initial assessment based on previous cases they’d handled.

  As Ben continued sleeping soundly, I slipped out of bed, grabbed my robe and walked down the hall toward the kitchen. I stopped to check on the boys before remembering that they were spending the night at a friend’s house. Normally, I encouraged them to accept invitations for sleepovers because I thought it would be good for them to build friendships and experience the dynamics of other family homes. But walking through the dark hallway with thoughts of Rosemary crowding my mind, I wished they were sleeping in their own beds. I always felt better when we were all together at times that were difficult or stressful.

  I flipped on the kitchen light, rummaged in the refrigerator for a few moments and then sat down at the table. An owl hooted in the distance and the limbs of an oak tree brushed against the side of the house. I felt a chill run down my spine and pulled my robe tighter.

  “Take a breath,” I whispered to the empty room. “Those are all totally normal nighttime sounds.”

  When my heartbeat had calmed and the owl stopped yelping, I opened my laptop to check my email. There were a few announcements for sales at my favorite stores along with a note from my mother about my sister’s impending wedding. After I drafted a careful response encouraging mom to let Becky make the decisions about her nuptials, I clicked on a note from Sonja:

  Jana:

  I can’t believe the news about Rosemary. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to help you. Something came up at the last minute with my brother. He’s been spiraling downhill lately and I think he may have done something really stupid. I was trying to find him before it was too late. I started to call you, but figured you probably had enough on your mind.

  Maybe we can get together soon?

  Thanks for being a friend,

  Sonja

  There was something cryptic about the note that I couldn’t
quite put my finger on it. I knew that Sonja had a brother who lived in California, but she rarely mentioned him. I stared at her note for a long time before deciding how to respond:

  Sonja:

  It’s the middle of the night. I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Rosemary. Shock is putting it mildly. The detective that came to the house mentioned that they suspect she was poisoned. I just can’t wrap my brain around that idea. Who would want to hurt someone so sweet?

  I know you and she had some squabbles over the years. And I know you were joking when we talked at the store on Friday night. But I just keep asking myself the same things: Why Rosemary? What did she do to deserve such a terrible fate? Who could have done something so awful?

  Everyone from book club is going to see her husband and offer assistance with meals, housework, etc. Do you want to go? I’ll call you tomorrow or maybe just stop by your house.

  I’m going to try and get some sleep now. Or maybe I’ll watch TV for a while.

  J.

  After I sent the note, I started to close my laptop. But then I decided to do a quick search for Death by Poison. There were more than seventy-six million results, beginning with “Poisons Used to Kill People.” When I clicked on the link, an article appeared that featured ten different substances. Some were familiar from the mysteries that I’d read—hemlock, arsenic and belladonna. I’d heard about some in news reports involving the death of spies and government officials—polonium, cyanide and mercury. And the rest were new to me, including aconite, dimethylmercury, botulinum toxin and tetrodotoxin.

  When I did a little digging, I discovered that aconite, also known as wolfsbane, was derived from the monkshood plant. It is so toxic that you can be poisoned just by touching the leaves of the plant. Once absorbed into your body, aconite causes arrhythmic heart function and then suffocation.

  I’d never heard of tetrodotoxin by name, but I was familiar with one of its sources: the puffer fish. It’s also found in the blue-ringed octopus, which carries enough of the nasty stuff to kill twenty-six adults.

  Botulinum toxin sounded familiar, and I learned why in the first paragraph of the article’s description. It’s the same thing used for Botox injections, although it’s only fatal if it enters a person’s body through an open wound or when they eat contaminated food.

  As I read that last bit over and over, my heart began racing. Of course! Someone must’ve put botulinum toxin—or some other deadly substance—in the spinach dip that was delivered yesterday shortly before Rosemary arrived.

  I studied the article again carefully, making a list of the ten poisons along with a set of questions:

  Was poison in dip?

  Who was the man in the Olive Street Café cap that delivered the dip?

  Why would he want to harm Rosemary?

  Did Rosemary have some association with the café? Maybe a feud with the owners or an employee?

  How did they know she would be at our house on Saturday afternoon?

  Maybe Rosemary wasn’t the target?

  I stopped and read through the list a few times. If Rosemary wasn’t the killer’s intended victim, then it was someone else:

  Is someone out to harm Ben? Our family?

  Could the dip have been intended for Mr. Truscott, owner of the company that Ben’s firm was acquiring?

  Who is Truscott? Criminal past? Legal trouble?

  By the time I finished making my notes and doing more research into toxic substances and murder by poison, the sky was beginning to glow with hazy streaks of pink and gold. It was nearly six, and I’d been going for hours. I saved my notes, closed the laptop and started a pot of coffee.

  It was going to be a very long day. After attending church with Ben, I would send him to pickup the boys while I headed over to Sonja’s. I needed to talk with her about Rosemary. After the puzzling note she’d sent the night before, I wanted to make sure she was doing okay.

  As I poured my first cup of coffee, Ben shuffled into the kitchen.

  “How long have you been up?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t ask,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I got maybe an hour of sleep before my brain clicked on.”

  He rubbed my neck and kissed the tip of my nose. “I’m not surprised, sweetheart. I know how much you liked Rosemary.”

  “Yeah, in a lot of ways she was like the sister I never had.”

  “Are you and the other girls going to see her husband?”

  I nodded. “We talked about dropping by this afternoon. But there’s something else I need to do first.”

  “What’s that?”

  I told him about the email from Sonja. I explained that there was something odd about it that I couldn’t quite put into words.

  “Just a gut feeling?” Ben asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “She’s never really talked about her brother all that much. And she mentioned in her email that he’s spiraling out of control and maybe did something stupid. I want to go over and make sure she’s okay.”

  Ben folded his brawny arms around me and pulled me in for a tight hug. “That’s my Jana,” he murmured in my ear. “Always taking care of everyone. Always watching out.”

  “Well, that’s easy to do,” I said, giving him a kiss. “Because I’ve got you to take care of me.”

  Chapter 8

  The look on Sonja’s face when she opened the front door of her house told me that she wasn’t thrilled that I’d stopped by. When she didn’t answer my calls earlier, I sent a couple of texts. After those went unanswered, I decided to jump in the car and drive over.

  “I’m in the middle of something,” she said, fixing her gaze over my left shoulder. “Can I maybe call you later?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. And to see if you’d heard about Rosemary.”

  Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

  I studied the subtle changes in her expression. It seemed as if she was distracted and barely listening to me.

  “She’s dead, Sonja. The police suspect that she was poisoned.”

  I kept my eyes on her as she gasped and stumbled back from the doorway. “Oh that’s horrible!” she whispered. “Is this about what I said the other day? Do you think I had something to do with it?”

  “Heavens no! Everyone knows that you and Rosemary had your differences. And we’ve all said things that we don’t really mean when we’re upset. I’m really here because—”

  “Yo, Sonja!” a loud voice called from inside her house. “Where’d you put the keys to my car?”

  For a brief moment, Sonja’s body went rigid and her hands collapsed into tight fists that hung at her sides. I knew it wasn’t her husband, but I didn’t recognize the voice. The guy sounded gruff and gravelly; from the tinge of pale pink on Sonja’s face, it seemed to make her instantly uncomfortable.

  “Sonja?”

  She put one hand on the door. “Thanks for stopping by, Jana. But I need to go take care of this.”

  “Sure you’re okay?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice was tight and brittle, making her sound anything but okay. “I just need to—”

  “Where the hell are you?” the voice demanded as footsteps thundered loudly down the stairs.

  Sonja began closing the door, but I stepped forward and put my hand on it. “What’s going on?” I asked. “You don’t look fine to me.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just—”

  Before she could finish, a man wearing a blue jacket and black pants appeared over her shoulder. I glanced at him and felt my pulse quicken; it was the guy that had delivered the spinach dip from Olive Street Café the previous afternoon. As he walked toward us, Sonja smiled nervously.

  “Jana,” she said. “This is my brother, Warren.” The guy glared at me. “And Warren, this is—”

  “Where are the car keys?” he snapped, ignoring me completely.

  Sonja clenched her teeth. “On the kitchen counter,” s
he said. “By the coffeemaker.”

  Without a glance at me or a word to his sister, Warren spun around and stomped back down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” Sonja said quietly. “He’s not the most social person.”

  I reached out and took her hand. “What’s going on?” I asked. “You seem totally on edge.”

  She shook her head. “Not while he’s here,” she whispered. “Wait until he’s gone.”

  A few second later, a deafening crash announced that Sonja’s brother had gone out the kitchen door. I heard the familiar metallic drone as the automatic opener raised the garage door, and then glanced over as a bright red sedan lurched down the driveway toward the street.

  “Come inside so we can talk,” Sonja said, opening the door so I could step into the foyer. “I doubt if he’ll be gone long. I want to try and explain quickly so you can leave before he gets back.”

  I followed her into the kitchen, where she poured two cups of coffee before slumping into a chair at the table.

  “Okay, what’s up?” I asked. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  She sighed heavily. “Warren suddenly appeared on our doorstep a couple of days ago. He said he needed a place to crash until he could find an apartment.”

  “Wait a sec,” I said, holding up one hand. “I thought he lived in San Diego.”

  Sonja nodded. “He does,” she said. “Or he did. I’m not exactly sure what he’s up to, but I couldn’t just turn him away. He’s my baby brother. And even though he’s made some really bad choices in his life, I feel obligated to help him.”

  The pain in her eyes was deep. Her voice was trembling as she picked at the hem of a placemat.

  “You’ve never told me much about him,” I offered. “And I’m not asking you to now. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  She shrugged. “I will be once he’s gone.”

  “How long is he staying?”