The Remedy Is Murder

by Mary Maxwell

  He hummed into the phone. Then he said, “That’s the best thing that I’ve heard all day.”

  “What are you in the mood for?” I asked. “Sandwich? Salad? Pasta? Pizza?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That’ll be perfect! I’m so hungry right now.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Give me forty-five to an hour. I’m just finishing up here, so I can get out the door in a few. I’ll figure out the menu on the way into downtown.

  “Thanks, Katie,” he said. “I love you.”

  “Ditto, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “We’ve got another one,” Dina said when I answered the phone later that day.

  “Are we talking about the Whistler case?” I asked.

  She issued a weary sigh. “Yeah, sorry about that, Katie. This one is starting to get under my skin.”

  “Take a breath,” I said. “Inhale for a count of four, hold it for a—”

  “Later,” she interrupted. “Right now, we’ve got a lunatic terrorizing Crescent Creek with a bunch of random threats.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What can you tell me about the new one?”

  “Lyle Polson,” she replied. “He came in this morning with a package that was delivered to his office. It was around fifty thousand in Monopoly money along with one of those handwritten notes about Dr. Whisper and the truth coming out.”

  “Can you go over that again?”

  “Which part?” Dina asked.

  “I thought you said something about Monopoly money.”

  She laughed. “Yep. To be exact, the envelope contained fifty thousand, one hundred and seventy-five dollars in phony bills. But there’s a significant difference with Lyle Polson. This one is more like the threat sent to Dr. Whistler. The perp didn’t physically attack anyone. They simply left a message on his phone and dropped off a package the next day.”

  “I don’t know Lyle,” I said.

  “He’s new in town,” Dina replied. “Well, as of six months ago. He and his wife both work at the Regional Med Center.”

  “Is that the connection to Whistler?”

  “No,” Dina answered. “Lyle’s a patient.”

  “Ah, okay. So his file was taken during the burglary.”

  “I can jump ahead,” she said. “Lyle was very forthcoming when he and I talked. He’d already heard about the other incidents, and didn’t want to risk being physically attacked if the perp decides to escalate.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “What’s the deal?”

  “Gambling debt,” Dina said. “Well, a gambling addiction and a mountain of debt.”

  “Is the mountain fifty thousand dollars high?” I asked.

  “I knew you’d get that one,” she said. “And it seems that Lyle fudged his application to the Med Center when they asked about any outstanding financial liabilities or concerns.”

  “Does he work in finance at the hospital?”

  She laughed. “You’re two for two. Care to guess the rest of it?”

  “His wife doesn’t know about the gambling,” I said.

  “Three for three,” Dina said.

  “Which also explains why Lyle came to see you,” I said. “He’s afraid that both his wife and employer will learn about the debt and his gambling problem.”

  “Actually, it’s just the employer at this point,” Dina told me. “His wife inadvertently heard the voicemail that the perp left on Lyle’s cell phone.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Not much,” Dina answered. “It was essentially a heads-up about watching his mailbox for an envelope filled with cash. But the caller used a voice scrambler.”

  “That was my next question,” I said.

  “I figured,” she replied. “And before you ask, the techs in the lab are working to descramble the recording. That should give us something more to work with. If we get a clean sample of the caller’s voice, then maybe one of the victims will recognize it.”

  “Good plan,” I said. “What about the money?”

  “We’re checking for prints and DNA now.”

  “How is Lyle’s wife doing with all of this?” I asked.

  Dina sighed. “Tyler handled that interview,” she said. “But from what he told me, I’d guess that Lyle’s probably spending a few nights in the guestroom.”

  CHAPTER 22

  An hour after learning about Lyle Polson’s special delivery, I was driving through downtown Crescent Creek when I spotted The Joker’s Wild. The novelty store was owned by Walt Roebuck, a good friend since middle school. If he didn’t sell Monopoly sets, I figured that he might know where someone could buy extra cash for the game.

  “Howdy!” Walt said after I walked into his shop. “How’s my favorite pie purveyor today?”

  “I’m great,” I said. “How’s my favorite novelty nut?”

  He patted his belly. “Other than eating too much for lunch,” he said, “I’m doing a hundred and twenty percent. What’s going on?”

  “I’m looking for Monopoly money,” I said. “Well, to be more accurate, I’m looking for places in town that sell extra bills for the game.”

  Walt tipped his head toward a nearby shelf. “All of that sort of thing is over there. I think we still have a couple of accessory money packs.”

  “Have you sold any lately?” I asked.

  He offered an exaggerated frown. “Not in forever. Most people play on their phones or laptops these days.”

  “I was wondering about that,” I said. “But don’t some folks still prefer the old school approach?”

  “If they do,” Walt said, “they haven’t come through our door in a long time. I seriously don’t remember the last time anyone asked about a board game.”

  “Well, it was worth a shot,” I said. “Plus, it gave me an excuse to see you.”

  He held up both arms and spun around. Then he bowed at the waist and came up with a huge grin.

  “Here I am!” he announced, still holding out his arms. “But there’s less of me to go around these days. I’m fifteen pounds lighter than the last time I saw you.”

  “I was wondering about that. You look amazing, Walt!”

  His cheeks went red. “Ah, thanks, Katie. I wouldn’t tell just anyone that, but you’ve known me for so long and helped me with my battle of the bulge.” He patted his belly again. “And, by the way, the big lunch that I mentioned was a huge salad that I made at home and brought in. That’s also part of the reason that I haven’t been to Sky High lately. It’s too tempting to be that close to all of those pies and cakes and cookies. I’m still working on my willpower.”

  “Looks like you’re winning that fight,” I said.

  He smiled. “So far, so good!”

  “How’s business?” I asked. “Other than the lack of board game sales?”

  “We’re rolling along,” Walt answered. “We’ve added a ton of things in the last couple of months, including a new line of slime, magnet building blocks and special anniversary collections for Barbie, Little Mermaid and SpongeBob. But I’m most excited about the WowWee Fingerlings!”

  “That’s awesome!” I held up my hand for a high five. “Are those toys or potatoes?”

  He frowned. “Sorry?”

  “Fingerlings,” I said. “In my world, that’s a type of potato.”

  Walt’s eyes brightened. “Oh, right! Well, in our world, WowWee Fingerlings are some of the hottest toys going. They’re little monkeys, dragons, pandas and dragons that wrap around your finger for hours of fun playtime.”

  “Well, that sounds…much different from the kind of fingerlings that I’m familiar with,” I said. “I hope you sell a gazillion!”

  “Thanks, Katie,” he said. “I also hired a consultant to revamp our online store. That’s made a huge difference in the month-to-month sales.”

  “Are you offering the new products online as well as the classic novelties?”

  “Heck, yeah! They’re outselling the old stuff by a mil
e.”

  “Even better,” I said.

  He nodded. “So were you looking for the Monopoly money to give as a gift?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “It’s actually for something that I’m researching.”

  Walt stepped closer. “Is it the Lyle Polson thing?” he asked in a hushed voice. “My neighbor works with the guy’s wife. She was at their house when Lyle opened the package, so she knows all about the fake Monopoly money.”

  “Fake money?”

  Walt nodded. “It’s not the real deal,” he explained. “My neighbor saw it before the police confiscated the package. She said it felt different from the bills you get with a Monopoly game and smelled like a copy shop. You know that odor? Kind of like hot plastic with chemicals?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It makes me queasy.”

  “Same here,” Walt replied. “My nose isn’t overly sensitive, but that’s one thing that turns my stomach.”

  “It’s not a pleasant scent,” I said.

  “You should go talk to Bernadette at Crescent Copy,” he suggested. “Have you two met?”

  “I don’t believe so,” I said. “We’ve been using Kenny Wolf’s shop.”

  “That’s cool,” he replied. “She doesn’t do large quantity accounts. Her place is primarily small batch jobs, silk screen printing and framing.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said. “But I’m a little confused about why you think I should talk to her about the Monopoly money.”

  Walt grinned. “Because she found some in the trash at her shop,” he said. “Which could mean—”

  “They printed it on her equipment,” I said.

  “You got it,” Walt replied. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t connect the dots earlier, Katie. I’ve been thinking about fingerlings and slime for so long that my synapses aren’t quite firing on all cylinders.”

  “You know what my Nana Reed would say to that?”

  He shook his head. “Go eat more pie?”

  “No,” I said with a laugh. “She’d say, ‘At least you have a brain. Maybe it just needs a break.’”

  After thanking Walt for the tip, I left his shop and started toward Crescent Copy. On the way, I called Dina to surprise her with what I hoped would be welcome news. Unfortunately, she beat me to the punch.

  “Bernadette called this morning!” Dina said excitedly when I told her about the scoop from Walt. “Tyler went by and collected the evidence a couple of hours ago. It will need to be confirmed by the team at the Crime Lab, but to my eye the counterfeit bills that Bernadette found match the ones Lyle Polson received with the threat.”

  I felt my excitement wilt. Then I asked if Bernadette was able to identify the person that printed the fake Monopoly loot.

  “She did,” Dina said. “But I want to keep that under wraps for at least a day or two since it involves a minor.”

  “A minor?”

  “Someone under the age of eighteen,” she said.

  “You don’t say!” I teased. “I’m just surprised it’s someone that young.”

  “Why? Whistler’s patients are all ages. If this has something to do with revenge by a disgruntled client, it could be anyone from their teens to Blanche Speltzer’s age.”

  “I know that,” I said. “And you’re right. The things that have happened so far, like the milkshake and childish lettering in the threats, do seem to suggest someone closer to the teens than a senior citizen.”

  “Not to mention the need for agility and speed to get away,” Dina replied. “Someone Blanche’s age could toss a shake or compose a note with messy handwriting, but they might not be able to run away after committing the assaults.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Have you ever seen Blanche at the Simply Chic trunk sales? She easily jumps from zero to sixty in less than ten seconds.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Harper stepped onto the back deck the next day as I was returning from taking a bag of trash to the Dumpster.

  “Who’s the cute guy with Viveca?” she asked.

  I turned to look at my neighbor’s house in the distance. Two cars were in the driveway, but I didn’t see anyone outside.

  “Not over there!” Harper said. “In the dining room. They came in about five minutes ago for lunch.”

  “What does he look like?” I asked.

  As she described the man, Harper’s eyes slowly narrowed and her cheeks became red. Based on the assessment, Viveca was having lunch with someone who was part male model, part NFL quarterback, part Hollywood heartthrob and part Michelangelo sculpture.

  “I bet that’s Antonio,” I said.

  Harper nodded eagerly. “Go on,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

  “I really can’t,” I replied. “I’ve never met him. But he teaches the painting class that Viv’s taking at the community center.”

  “Oh, wait a sec,” she said. “Is he also the new art teacher at the high school?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Antonio Rivera,” she said.

  I laughed. “You know him?”

  “No, but Aisha Greenway does,” Harper explained. “Her daughter came home from school on Antonio’s first day. She announced that she’d just met the man she was going to marry.”

  “How old is Aisha’s daughter?” I asked.

  “Blair’s fourteen,” Harper answered. “But the kid’s got more confidence and drive than any teenager you’ll meet.”

  “Sounds like it,” I said. “Was Blair referring to Viv’s new friend as the man she was going to marry?”

  “Yep.” Harper smiled. “And by the time she got home that day, she’d planned the whole thing: which designer gown she’d wear, how many bridesmaids, what flowers for her bouquet, where they’d go on the honeymoon.”

  “You’re making this up,” I said, planting one hand on my hip.

  “No, I’m not,” Harper replied. “Aisha and I volunteered last weekend at the ASPCA thing at City Hall. I asked about her kids and she went into a long rant about Blair acting too old for her age.”

  “Because she was daydreaming about a handsome teacher?” I asked. “Isn’t that fairly common with people that age?”

  Harper glared at me. “Katie,” she said firmly. “He’s in his late thirties.” She paused. “And he’s married, too.”

  The news arrived like a shot across the bow. Viveca had told me that her art class teacher was a widower, so the claim by Aisha’s daughter made me wonder if Antonio was being honest with my friend or deceiving her like a few other married men had in the past.

  “Oh, wow!” she said. “Viv doesn’t know, right? I can tell from your expression.”

  I nodded.

  “And she likes the guy?” Harper asked.

  “From the sound of it,” I told her.

  “Then you need to get right in there and warn her,” she said.

  “While they’re having lunch?”

  “Well, I guess…” She stopped to think. “How about when I drop the check? I’ll give you a heads up so you can stop by the table and talk to Viv while he’s at the register paying the bill.”

  “What if she pays?” I asked.

  “Oh, right. In that case, maybe you should just go ahead and do it now.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to barge in while they’re eating. I’ll wait until later.”

  “What did your grandmother always say?” she asked. “‘No time like the present,’ right?”

  “I don’t think Nana Reed ever had to deal with something like this,” I said.

  Harper narrowed her eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because she would’ve told me,” I replied. “My grandmother was a tough cookie. She wasn’t afraid to ruffle feathers or go out on thin ice if it meant helping someone.”

  “Like stopping them from getting involved with a married man?” Harper asked.

  “That’s right,” I said. “And if she ever had faced this kind of situation, she would’ve marched right inside, walk
ed up to the table and said, ‘Viv? Your friend here is a scoundrel with a wife at home.’”

  “And two kids in grade school, a new dog named Adonis and biceps the size of ripe melons.”

  I laughed. “Are you making all of that up?”

  “No,” Harper said. “That’s directly from what Blair told her mother.”

  I turned and reached for the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Inside,” I said over my shoulder. “I want to see this scoundrel with my own two eyes.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “I’m sorry to trouble you,” Alma Tucker said when she called that afternoon. “Do you have a minute?”

  I was preparing ingredients for six loaves of banana walnut bread, but I put down the measuring cup when I heard the panic in her voice.

  “I have as many minutes as it takes,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  Alma cleared her throat. “I found something,” she said. “It could be entirely innocent. But after all of the strange things going on in town, I wanted to get your opinion before I bother Detective Kincaid.”

  “First of all, don’t ever worry about that,” I told her. “Dina would rather hear things when they’re fresh in someone’s mind as opposed to later down the road.”

  “Okay.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Because I think what I found may be connected to all of this madness.”

  “Do you mean the anonymous attacks?”

  “Yes, of course that’s what I mean,” she said. “Why else would I call you?”

  The sudden swing in tone left me momentarily confused. I’d never heard Alma sound curt before, so I took a breath and repeated my question from a few moments earlier.

  “Yes, I’m okay!” She sighed. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

  “Because you sound a little upset,” I replied.

  “If I sound upset,” she said, “it’s because I am. When I was sorting the laundry earlier, I found a ticket from Briarfield Pawn. There’s a notation on the back that says ‘Rose’s lockets.’”

  Her distressed tone suddenly made sense. I asked where she found the ticket.