Kitchen Witch

by Cora Buhlert

  “You told us yesterday that Miss Pembroke was planning to change her will and disinherit her nephew,” Helen said.

  “Yes, I did.” Tara crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Shouldn’t you rather be looking at the nephew then? After all, he actually had a reason to kill her.”

  “We have been able to ascertain that Miss Pembroke indeed changed her will three months ago,” DC Walker said.

  “Good for her,” Tara snapped, “At least it means that jerk of a nephew won’t get a single penny. But what has this got to do with me?”

  “Do you know who the beneficiary of the new will is, Ms. Willows?” Helen asked.

  Tara shook her head, ginger curls bobbing. “No, of course not.”

  “Miss Pembroke never mentioned it, not even in passing?” Helen probed further.

  Tara shook her head again. “No, why should she? Eudora was a customer and a fellow practitioner. We talked magic, not finances.”

  “The main beneficiary of Eudora Pembroke’s new will, Ms. Willows, are you,” Helen said.

  “What?” Tara’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my goodness!” She stumbled and finally collapsed onto a wooden chair behind the counter.

  Helen and DC Walker exchanged a glance. “Constable, would you please make Ms. Willows a cup of tea?” Helen ordered, “She looks as if she needs one.”

  “Top shelf on the far right,” Tara whispered weakly, “Nerve calming blend.”

  “Got it,” DC Walker said. He pulled a tin from the top shelf and vanished through the bead curtain into the backroom.

  Meanwhile, Helen walked around the counter and crouched down beside Tara Willows.

  “And you had honestly no idea that Miss Pembroke was planning to leave her house to you?” she asked.

  Tara shook her head. “None. Eudora never said anything, didn’t even drop the slightest hint.”

  Tara’s cat brushed past Helen to jump onto the lap of her mistress. Tara gathered the cat to her chest and began stroking it absentmindedly.

  “Why would she do such a thing?” Tara wondered, “I mean, Eudora always came to my shop, we chatted, perhaps we were even friends. But to leave her house, her whole legacy to me…” Tara shook her head in disbelief.

  “Miss Pembroke had no living relatives apart from Nicholas York,” Helen said, “And Miss Pembroke probably thought that you would be a better custodian for her legacy than Mr. York.”

  Helen couldn’t even blame her. Tara Willows might be flighty and a tad strange, but as heirs went, she still was a much better choice than Nicholas York.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I feel honoured that Eudora trusted me so much, but I… I’m speechless.”

  The cat purred and snuggled closer to Tara.

  At this point, DC Walker returned with the tea in a mug emblazoned with images from the Major Arcana. He handed the mug to Tara, who promptly wrapped her hands around it and lowered her head to inhale the scented steam rising from the mug.

  Tara looked up. “What do I have to do now? About the house, I mean. And Eudora’s funeral, of course. If I’m her heir, it’s only fair that I should organise it.”

  “Miss Pembroke’s solicitor will contact you in time,” Helen said soothingly.

  Tara took a sip of her tea. “Is that why you think I’m the killer?” she wanted to know, “I’m Eudora’s heir, so I’m the killer?”

  DC Walker shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time that the person who inherits turns out to be a killer.”

  “Money and property are always strong motives,” Helen added.

  “But I didn’t do it,” Tara insisted, “For goodness sake, I didn’t even know that Eudora had changed her will. And wherever she got the autumn crocus passed off as wild garlic, it wasn’t from me.”

  “But you are selling fresh wild garlic in your shop.” DC Walker pointed at a crate on the counter, which contained bundles of wild garlic leaves.

  “Yes, I do. A lot of my customer ask for it and the markets and grocery stores don’t always carry it, even when it’s in season.” Tara got up, chasing away the cat, and set the mug down on the counter.

  “And if you want to analyse my wild garlic, be my guest!” She picked up the crate and shoved it at the rather startled DC Walker.

  “But Eudora didn’t even buy wild garlic at my shop the day before yesterday. Check the receipts if you don’t believe me.”

  “Did she normally buy wild garlic at your shop?” Helen wanted to know.

  “Originally, she used to gather her own on the Heath,” Tara replied, “She used wild garlic to make some kind of tincture. Once Eudora’s back troubles got worse, she started buying it at my store instead. But not the day before yesterday.”

  “Why not?” Helen asked, “If she bought it regularly, then why not on the day she died?”

  “I’m not sure actually…” Tara scratched her chin, considering. “Come to think of it, I actually asked her if she wanted some wild garlic the last time she was here. But Eudora said she didn’t need any that day, cause some kindly soul had already brought her some.”

  “Did she say who?”

  Tara scrunched her forehead, thinking hard. “No,” she finally said, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Helen said, “You’ve been very helpful, Ms. Willows.”

  “So am… am I under arrest now?” Tara wanted to know.

  “Not unless you wish to make a confession,” Helen said.

  “Do you buy that story about the mysterious benefactor who brought Eudora Pembroke some autumn crocus laced wild garlic on the morning of her death?” DC Walker asked once they were back outside, strolling along Haverstock Hill to where Helen had parked the Rover. He was lugging the crate full of wild garlic that Tara Willows had given them.

  “It would explain how she came by the poisonous leaves,” Helen said, “And why she wasn’t suspicious.”

  “I still think it’s a bit too convenient…” DC Walker insisted, “…that someone just shows up one morning and gives Eudora Pembroke the fatal greens. And besides…” He scowled at the crate of wild garlic of was carrying. “…if this batch of the stuff turns out to be clean, it still doesn’t prove anything. Tara Willows would only have needed a single bunch of tainted leaves — maybe tied with a different coloured ribbon or something like that — which she just happened to hand to Eudora Pembroke.”

  “True,” Helen said, “But I still don’t think Tara Willows is our killer. Her surprise and shock at learning that she was the sole beneficiary of Eudora Pembroke’s new will seemed convincing to me.”

  “I found her convincing as well,” DC Walker admitted, “But that doesn’t mean she isn’t lying.”

  “At any rate, we should have Ms. Wong test the wild garlic Tara gave us,” Helen said, “We should also go back to Eudora Pembroke’s house and see if we can locate this tincture that Tara Willows mentioned, the tincture she supposedly made from wild garlic. There were all sorts of jars and bottles in the kitchen, maybe one of them contains the tincture in question.”

  “Uhm, boss, what do you want with Eudora Pembroke’s wild garlic tincture?”

  “Have Ms. Wong check whether it really contains wild garlic or autumn crocus. Maybe she can even determine where the autumn crocus was picked or something like that, which might lead us to the identity of the mysterious benefactor. Besides…”

  Helen spotted her Rover parked at the curb. She pulled her car keys from the pocket of her jacket, aimed and pressed the button. In response, the headlights of the Rover flashed briefly.

  “…if the tincture really turns out to be made from toxic autumn crocus, it’s best to remove it from the premises before someone else manages to poison themselves.”

  “So where are we going now?” DC Walker wanted to know, “Back to the house?”

  “First to the house to pick up the tincture, then to the lab to drop off the wild garlic and the tincture for Ms. Wong and then we’ll go to see our other suspect, Nicholas York, in… — where did
he live again, Constable?”

  DC Walker set down the crate and consulted his notebook. “Ashford.”

  Helen sighed. “Oh dear. That’s the fucking end of the world and the M20 is chronically congested these days.”

  A long one and a half hours later (because Ashford really was the fucking end of the world, the M20 really was chronically congested and the line of lorries waiting for processing at the Eurotunnel that stretched all the way to back Ashford due to tightened security measures didn’t help either), Helen’s Rover finally came to a halt in front of Nicholas York’s nice suburban bungalow in a nice suburban street.

  “If I had to live out here in the boondocks…” DC Walker commented, “…I’d commit murder as well to get my hands on a house in Hampstead.”

  “I’m sure there are some mitigating factors to living here…” Helen remarked, “…though I cannot for the life of me imagine what they might be.”

  “If Nicholas York turns out to be not in…” DC Walker said, as they trotted up the driveway to the Yorks’ bungalow, “…then I shall be very cross.”

  “His employer claimed that he stayed at home today to make preparations for his aunt’s funeral,” Helen said.

  “I really hope he didn’t do a runner,” DC Walker said darkly, “The Eurotunnel is nearly next door.”

  “Even if he did, with the traffic jam and the extra security measures, he likely won’t get far,” Helen countered.

  “Never thought I’d ever say anything positive about those stupid anti-refugee measures,” DC Walker remarked.

  Helen rang the doorbell and after a few tense seconds, a somewhat harried looking dark-haired woman opened the door. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. York? I’m Detective Inspector Helen Shepherd and this is Detective Constable Kevin Walker. Is your husband in?”

  Mrs. York nodded. “He’s busy planning the funeral of his aunt. There’s so much to do in cases like this…” She shrugged helplessly. “You never know until it actually happens.”

  “I can imagine how hard this must be for you and your husband,” Helen said, infusing her voice with a sympathy she did not feel.

  “Do you know when your investigations will be finished and we’ll be able to bury Eudora?” Mrs. York asked, “Because all this uncertainty is really hard on Nick.”

  Interesting. So Mrs. York cared more about when the investigation would be finished than about what had happened to Eudora Pembroke. Because she already knew how Eudora Pembroke had died? Or because she just didn’t care?

  “At the moment our investigation is still ongoing,” Helen replied, “However, we have some questions to ask of your husband, which will hopefully help us to bring the investigation to a speedy conclusion.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Nick will be pleased to help you,” Mrs. York said, “Just come one in. Would you like some tea, by the way?”

  “Some tea would be excellent,” Helen said.

  Mrs. York ushered Helen and DC Walker into the living room, where Nicholas York was sitting on a cream-coloured sofa that had seen better days, various folders and papers spread out on the low table in front of him. His smartphone was pressed to his ear and he seemed in the middle of a heated conversation.

  “No, she wasn’t a church member as far as I know. It’s just that we’d like her buried with my mother and grandparents.” Nicholas York paused to jot something down on a piece of paper. “Yes, cremation will be completely sufficient, I’d say…”

  “Darling, the police are here,” Mrs. York said before vanishing into the kitchen to make tea.

  Nicholas York looked up, grey eyes blinking behind half glasses. “Oh, Inspectors! Is there any news about Aunt Eudora yet? And do you know when we can bury her?”

  At least, he asked about what happened to his aunt before he asked about the funeral, Helen thought. But then if he was the killer, he’d of course be very interested in the state of the investigation.

  “You’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve been able to determine your aunt’s cause of death,” Helen said, “Our initial suspicions have been confirmed, since it turns out that your aunt was poisoned.”

  “Poisoned,” Nicholas York repeated, blanching ever so slightly, “Do you know how?”

  “The toxin in question was a substance named colchicine,” Helen continued, “Have you heard of it, Mr. York?”

  “Colchi-what?” Nicholas York shook his head emphatically. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  “The toxin is contained in a plant known as Colchicum autumnale or autumn crocus,” DC Walker added, “Does that ring a bell?”

  “Autumn crocus…” Nicholas York rubbed his hands together, which — Helen noticed — were still reddened and covered in some kind of eczema. “Yes, I know that plant. Aunt Eudora mentioned it sometimes when she took me herb gathering on Hampstead Heath back when I was a boy. It’s poisonous and easily confused with another non-toxic plant, woodruff or wood garlic or something.”

  “Wild garlic, actually,” DC Walker said.

  “Wild garlic, yes, that was it.” Nicholas York frowned. “Aunt Eudora used to gather it on the Heath to make some kind of tincture. Ghastly stuff.” He shuddered. “Is that what happened to Aunt Eudora? That she got autumn crocus mixed up with wild garlic and accidentally managed to poison herself?” He shook his head. “I knew this would happen someday.”

  “Actually, we have reason to suspect that your aunt’s death was due to foul play,” Helen said.

  “Foul play, really?” Nicholas York said, “And you’re not just overreacting? I know you’re just doing your jobs, Inspectors, but…”

  He spread his hands wide in a gesture clearly designed to make him appear harmless. Helen noticed the reddened skin again and frowned.

  “…as I said, Aunt Eudora was getting on in years and her eyes and memory were no longer what they once were. It was probably just a tragic accident.”

  “Oddly enough, you’re the only one who claims that your aunt had vision and memory problems,” DC Walker pointed out, “Everybody else said that your aunt was surprisingly healthy for a woman her age.”

  Nicholas York met his gaze squarely. “Everybody else didn’t know Aunt Eudora as well as I did,” he declared, “After all, I was her only family.”

  “Even her GP said that your aunt with perfectly healthy apart from some lower back pain,” DC Walker countered, “And yes, we talked to her.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time an overworked doctor didn’t notice a patient’s symptoms, while the family did,” Nicholas York insisted, “And while I understand that you have to investigate my aunt’s death and am certainly grateful for your thoroughness, I still think you’re wasting your time here.”

  He adjusted his half-glasses to glare at Helen and DC Walker.

  “The most likely explanation is that Aunt Eudora accidentally picked the wrong leaves on Hampstead Heath and ended up poisoning herself. Like I said, a tragic accident.”

  “Actually…” Helen drew out the word deliberately. “…your explanation is not at all likely, because your aunt no longer gathered herbs on Hampstead Heath.”

  Nicholas York swallowed hard. “She — uhm — didn’t?”

  Helen shook her head. “No, due to her persistent back pain, which her GP confirmed, your aunt had taken to buying herbs at a local esoteric shop instead.”

  “Well, then investigate that shop, since that’s obviously where she got the toxic herbs from,” Nicholas York exclaimed, “And anyway, wasn’t it just typical of Aunt Eudora to buy her herbs not at a respectable store, but at some kooky New Age shop?”

  “Our lab already analysed the wild garlic sold at the shop in question…” DC Walker replied, “…and it really was just wild garlic.”

  “And besides…” Helen added, “…the owner of the shop told us that your aunt didn’t even buy wild garlic there on the day before her death.”

  Nicholas York blanched.

  “In fact, when the shopkeeper asked your aunt whether she want
ed any wild garlic, your aunt replied that she didn’t need any, because a kindly soul had already brought her some.”

  Nicholas York was struck speechless.

  “Of course, we wondered who that kindly soul might be…” Helen continued, “…especially since the only person seen visiting your aunt on the day before her death was you, Mr. York.”

  “What… what are you implying?” Nicholas York sputtered.

  “I’m implying that you were the person who gave your aunt the toxic autumn crocus leaves, passing them off as harmless wild garlic,” Helen said calmly, “And since you were family, her only family, your aunt saw no reason to mistrust you.”

  Nicholas York rubbed his hands together in agitation. “Do you really think I’d bring my aunt wild herbs to support her… silly, eccentric lifestyle?”

  “If it served your purpose, why not?” DC Walker said.

  “And what purpose would that be?” Nicholas York demanded. He was frantically scratching his hands now. Apparently, the stress of finding himself accused of murder had caused his skin rash to flare up again.

  “You were very eager for your aunt to move out of her house, presumably so you could either sell it or move in yourself,” Helen said, “Maybe you simply got tired of waiting.”

  “So I poison my own aunt?” Nicholas York’s relentless scratching on his hands had drawn blood now, but he did not seem to notice. “With some obscure poisonous plant?”

  “Autumn crocus isn’t all that obscure,” DC Walker said, “It’s actually quite common in Britain, found in parks and gardens around the country, including Victoria Park right here in Ashford. Yes, we checked with the council.”

  “And you certainly had the knowledge both to recognise autumn crocus and to know about its resemblance to wild garlic…” Helen continued, “…all thanks to your herb gathering expeditions on Hampstead Heath with your aunt, when you were a child.”

  “She probably never suspected that one day you would use the very knowledge she imparted to kill her,” DC Walker added.

  “You have no proof…” Nicholas York said, “…just wild suspicions.”

  “Actually, we do have proof,” Helen began.