A Flock and a Fluke (Clucks and Clues Cozy Mysteries)

by Hillary Avis

  Eli shook his head. “No, I can tell you have a good reason for thinking that—you always have a good reason to back up what you say. So I’m genuinely interested to hear.”

  My cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. Ruth would say Eli was just currying favor, but she was as susceptible to his compliments as anybody. Apparently, he’d given her enough compliments that she invited him to be her plus-one instead of me!

  Not to say I was jealous. I wasn’t.

  OK, maybe a little. But I wasn’t jealous of Ruth—I was jealous of Eli. Ruth was my best friend, not his!

  Anyway, I never knew him to be a liar. A flirt, maybe, but he didn’t try to trick people, so he probably did want to hear my opinion. I thought back to Amelia’s body stretched out behind the bush on the creekbank. “Amelia’s dress was dry when I found her. There’s no way she fell into the water before she died.”

  Eli licked his lower lip absentmindedly, considering the information. “Newts spend part of their life cycle on land. Maybe she slipped in the mud and accidentally swallowed one that was hibernating in the leaf litter.”

  “Really?” I stared at him. “Really? She slipped and landed mouth-down on a newt? That’s your theory?”

  He spread his hands and shrugged. “That’s the best I’ve got. The ME says there’s no suggestion of foul play. It’s called accidental death for a reason. Weird accidents happen all the time. One time I got called to a car wreck that happened because a seagull got skewered on a car antenna. I mean, what are the chances of that?”

  “A lot higher than the chances of Amelia Goodbody laying on her back in a clean, dry dress after having slipped and fallen face-first on a newt.” I crossed my arms triumphantly. “Anyway, it took Aaron Alpin six hours to develop symptoms after he did CPR. Why did it kill her instantly, but not him? How’s he doing, by the way?”

  “He pulled through, but he’ll be in the hospital for a few more days,” Eli said absentmindedly, running his hands through his dark, silver-shot hair. It was the same unconscious gesture he’d always used even back in high school when we were a couple. I didn’t mind one bit that he still wore his hair the same way, short on the sides and a little longer on top so sometimes a wavy lock escaped and hung down on his forehead, like right now. I resisted the urge to smooth it back into place. One didn’t fix the chief deputy’s hair while he was on duty.

  “That’s good. Now tell me, if there was a newt in her mouth, how come he didn’t just immediately kick the bucket, too?”

  Eli took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right. Shoot.”

  I nodded smugly. “She got that poison in her system a whole lot earlier than Saturday morning. And it wasn’t from a stupid newt.”

  He stood up abruptly and left the room through a depressing gray metal door that matched the rest of the depressing gray décor, returning a moment later with his sheriff’s jacket. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I pushed back my chair and stood up. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to pay a visit to an expert.”

  Chapter 8

  I tagged after Eli as he strode briskly down the street. At first, I thought he was heading for the Rx Café, but to my surprise, he turned into the pharmacy next door instead. The small building had large plate-glass windows that showcased a collection of dusty giftware—teacups, music boxes, windchimes, and poseable harlequin dolls that had been collectible thirty years ago. In the back of the store, compact shelves were stocked with all the necessities of life: Tampax, Alka-Seltzer, cough drops, and Tylenol.

  A hand-lettered sign taped in the window read, “No tree nuts. No peanuts. No wingnuts.”

  Eli held open the door and I stepped through it onto the unassuming brown carpet, threading my way through the tchotchke displays to the pharmacy window where the top of Doc Morrow’s head was visible through the sliding glass. That’s who Eli must have meant when he said he was consulting an expert. I supposed a pharmacist would know about things like poisons.

  Eli rapped at the glass and Doc looked up, his mouth an “O” of surprise. Before he could slide open the window, Margie appeared pertly from the back room, beaming and adjusting the loud purple scarf she wore around her neck. When she wasn’t at City Hall, Margie could often be found here working the register. In a town as small as ours, the mayor’s salary barely amounted to minimum wage and the job was only half-time. It made more sense for her to wrap gifts and ring up prescriptions in her husband’s store than to pay someone else to do it.

  “So sorry. I didn’t hear you come in,” she chirped at us. “What can I help you with?” Her eyes darted slyly to the display of condoms behind the counter and then back to me and Eli. I felt the heat crawl up my neck and I fanned myself before my flush turned into a flash. I elbowed Eli and he jumped to attention.

  “Uh, I need to speak with Doc. Coupla questions about a case.”

  “Is this about Amelia?” Margie’s eyes lit up when Eli nodded. “Ooh, sounds important. I’ll get him right away. I’m sure he’ll give you special access.” She turned and rapped at the glass just as Eli had done just moments before, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Special access,” I mouthed silently to Eli, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing.

  Doc slid open the window grudgingly, and I wondered if a person could move any more slowly. He raised his eyebrows with great effort, as though they weighed twenty pounds each. “Yes?”

  Margie clung to the window frame as she peered up at her husband. “Warren, the sheriff is investigating Amelia’s death and needs special access.”

  Doc frowned in slow motion. “There’s no such thing, Marge. I keep telling you that. All my records protected by confidentiality laws.” He turned his attention to Eli. “Sorry—unless you have a subpoena, I can’t share anything with you.”

  Eli nodded. “This is just a general question, more of a chemistry problem than a medical one.”

  Doc’s face brightened. “Excellent. I love chemistry.” He disappeared back into the shelves that held rows of bottled medicines and emerged from a door to the side. He led us to a small dinette table near a sink at the side of the store that seemed out of place amid the merchandise. “Coffee?”

  He didn’t wait for us to answer, just rinsed two stained coffee cups and poured us each a serving from the pot next to the sink. Then he did the same with a third cup for himself and plunked down at the table. “Welcome to my office,” he said magnanimously.

  Margie fluttered over and grabbed another coffee cup for herself from the sink. She noisily doctored her cup with a lot of sugar and took a seat, looking annoyed that Doc hadn’t poured her coffee along with ours. “OK, I’m ready. You can go ahead,” she said, as though Eli were there to talk to her instead of Doc.

  Eli cleared his throat. “Well. My question is along these lines: what do you know about tetrodotoxin poisoning?”

  Margie gasped and leaned forward, blinking rapidly. “Is that what killed Amelia? I thought it was food poisoning!”

  “It wasn’t,” I said sharply. Then I bit my own tongue. I didn’t want to ruin any chance we had at learning what we could from Doc Morrow. I didn’t want to alienate Margie, either. She could be a great way to spread the truth about what happened around town, if I could set her straight in a gentler way.

  Doc tipped back even further in his chair, his eyes twinkling. “Oh my, I haven’t heard that word in some time. Not since pharmacy school, probably. There was a Japanese food craze at the time and our professors were keen to keep us engaged in the classroom. What better way than claiming our sushi takeout could poison us?” He chortled. “You can bet I sat up and listened!”

  “I’m not following,” Eli said. “What does tetrodotoxin have to do with Japanese food?”

  “It doesn’t—not much, anyway. It’s a toxin produced by pufferfish. Some daring gastrophiles eat pufferfish sushi, but it has to be skillfully prepared or—” Doc made a cutting motion across his neck. “You’re a goner. Of co
urse, the fish is quite expensive and hard to find, so none of us needed to worry about a chef slipping any into our California rolls!”

  Margie’s eyes grew round. “Maybe Amelia should have worried about her sushi.”

  Eli gave Margie a reassuring smile. “Honeytree doesn’t have any Japanese restaurants, and last time I checked, the Rx doesn’t serve pufferfish either.”

  Her voice went up an octave. “But she did eat her share of smoked salmon at the cocktail mixer! Everyone’s share, actually. Maybe that’s what did it!”

  Doc rolled his eyes. “Oh, stop. Salmon doesn’t contain tetrodotoxin.”

  “It might. And I had some yesterday at Easter brunch!” Red spots bloomed on Margie’s cheeks and she began breathing heavily. “Oh my word. I’m feeling a bit queasy.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and made a dash for the back room.

  I rose to my feet and stared worriedly after her, wondering if I should call the ambulance or go check on her, but Doc motioned for me to sit down.

  “She’s fine. She’s fine. She gets herself worked up over everything. If she’d eaten poisonous pufferfish for brunch yesterday, she’d be dead by now. It’s more likely she’s been sipping Schnapps in the back room.”

  “That brings me to my next question,” Eli said thoughtfully. “How quickly does the poison work?”

  “Varies quite a bit,” Doc said, leaning forward so all four legs of the chair were on the floor again. He drained his coffee cup and leaned sideways to set it in the sink nearby. “Could be a half-hour, could be hours. Depends on the person, the dose, the fish itself. But I’ll tell you what. A dose high enough to kill you would kick in pretty quickly. We’re talking symptoms within thirty minutes. And someone who got a smaller dose would be feeling it in three, four hours. A little shortness of breath, a little numbness. Upset stomach and so forth.”

  Eli’s shoulders relaxed, and he extended a hand to Doc. “Thank you very much, sir. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Right-o. I should get back to pills and bills.” Doc pushed himself back from the table and ambled off toward the pharmacist’s booth.

  “Can you let it go now?” Eli asked when Doc was out of earshot. “The ME’s theory is right—the timing works for Amelia accidentally ingesting poison at the creek, then Aaron getting a smaller, sublethal dose from performing CPR. It all fits together.”

  I shook my head slowly. “It doesn’t, though. Not quite. Her dress was clean and dry, so I know she didn’t fall in the water or the mud. And the golden egg was still in her hand. She hadn’t been there on the creek bank for more than a few minutes before she died, because she didn’t have time to hide the egg.”

  Eli’s head jerked toward me in surprise. “How do you know that? We didn’t find any egg!”

  Oops. When I was giving my official statement, I might have left out the part of the story where I found the grand prize egg in Amelia’s hand.

  “I meant to tell you,” I said lamely. “I have it.” It was somewhere on my bathroom floor—or maybe in the hamper. I left that part out, too.

  Eli wasn’t in sheriff mode anymore—he was just plain annoyed. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head disbelievingly. “Why didn’t you turn it in?!”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t seem...right? To claim a grand prize right after I found it with a dead person.” I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for his reply.

  “That’s because it’s not. Obviously, you knew that. If you find a treasure in the hands of a dead woman, that’s evidence. You leave it alone. You don’t stick it in your pocket.” Eli swore under his breath. “Do you realize what a scandal it’s going to be if this comes out? Rumors are already flying about your eggs giving Amelia food poisoning, but of course nobody thinks you did that on purpose. But if you turn in the golden egg and claim a thousand-dollar prize, now you have a motive. Now it looks like more than a tragic accident.”

  My heart sank and my stomach squeezed, and suddenly I was worried that I might need to follow Margie into the back room in search of a bucket to chuck in. I steadied myself on the table and took a few deep breaths while Eli steamed, still shaking his head.

  “I’ll give it back,” I said quietly. “I’ll go tell Margie about it right now and give it back to the city.”

  I started for the doorway where Margie had disappeared, but Eli caught my arm. “No, don’t. Give it to me. I’ll bag and tag it and slip it into the evidence box. It’ll look like we recovered it at the scene.”

  I swallowed. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  He pressed his lips together and gave one swift nod. “But it isn’t wrong. I’d rather be in the business of justice than law. I just want to set things right. The faster we can get back to normal around here, the better off everyone will be.”

  The better off I would be, that was for sure. I didn’t understand why Eli would risk his career for me, but I wasn’t going to stand in his way. I sighed. “I’ll bring it to your office this afternoon.”

  He gave a curt nod and strode toward the door, ducking to avoid the windchimes that hung from the ceiling. He didn’t look back. I couldn’t help but worry that I’d lost his goodwill once and for all. Maybe this was the last straw for our friendship, even though it might save my farm. I gnawed my lower lip. That’s what I wanted, a successful farm. I didn’t need Eli to approve of my every decision, right?

  Right.

  Chapter 9

  Before I could gather my wits and get the heck out of there, Margie reappeared from the back room with reddened, mascara-smeared eyes, dabbing her nose with a tissue. “Sorry you had to see that,” she croaked. She glanced up at the pharmacy window where Doc was studiously engaged in his work, and then when she was sure he wasn’t paying attention, she turned back to me and made a sad face.

  “How are you doing?” I asked. Under her smeary makeup, her face was pale. Maybe she really was sick.

  “I’ve been better. How do I look?” Margie jutted her chin toward me as though I was a mirror.

  “Fine,” I lied. “Nothing a little lipstick won’t fix.”

  She grabbed her beige pocketbook from behind the counter and rummaged in it. She pulled out a compact and a tube of bright pink lipstick and stretched her lips thin to apply a fresh coat. Then she smacked her lips together, snapping the lid of the lipstick closed with a pop. “I need to get back to City Hall, but I’m a wobbly mess. I don’t know if I can make it down the street.”

  I caught a whiff of alcohol on her breath. Maybe that was the real reason for her quease, not the suggestion of tainted salmon. “I’m parked over there, and I’m headed out anyway. I’ll walk you.” While I wasn’t particularly interested in palling around with a drunken Margie Morrow, this was the perfect chance for me to put a bug in her ear about spreading the word that my eggs—and the Rx Café—had nothing to do with Amelia’s death.

  “Well, aren’t you a gem!” Margie beamed at me. I held the door open for her and we turned down Main Street together. A half-second later she added, slurring her words slightly, “I really appreciate your support.”

  “It’s no problem,” I said absentmindedly, distracted by the sight of Eli’s unmistakable figure a couple of blocks ahead. He’d chosen his profession wisely—he really did look great in uniform.

  “Oh yeah, he’s a keeper,” Margie said, stumbling slightly as she followed my gaze. I held out my arm and she leaned on me heavily. “I wouldn’t let him out of my sight, either. He and Ruth Chapman have been getting cozy-cozy.”

  I smiled tightly. “We’re all just friends.”

  “We Honeytree High alums are all friends, aren’t we? I hope I can count on all your votes next month,” Margie continued without taking a breath. “I swear, this whole business with Amelia has really thrown a wrench in my campaign. Cal’s going to get the pity vote, I’m sure of it. I just wish people weren’t so blind to his flaws. He and Amelia aren’t perfect, you know. But of course I can’t say that now.”

  She turned to me, he
r expression earnest, her eyes searching my face. “Promise me you won’t vote for him. He’s no good for this town, with or without that so-called wife of his.”

  I blinked, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken. “I’m not voting in the election. I live outside the city limits, remember?” I said quickly, still puzzled by what she’d said. Maybe it was just partisan politics that led her to make comments like that, but I couldn’t help but feel that she was bursting at the seams to tell me something. “What’s so bad about Pastor Cal, anyway? Everyone seems to love him.”

  Margie stopped in her tracks and nodded, her expression dark. “Exactly. But what do they really know?” Her eyes darted down the street to where Eli had been, but he’d disappeared into the building. Then, after ensuring nobody was witness to our conversation, she leaned close to me, blasting me with peach-Schnapps breath, and whispered, “They’re from Idaho.”

  I pretended to be shocked. “Not Idaho.”

  Margie nodded meaningfully, her eyes wide. “They haven’t been here two years and suddenly it’s like they’re king and queen of Honeytree. The perfect couple, right? The charming pastor and his pretty wife. But guess what?” She looked over her shoulder again toward the bank to make sure nobody was looking out the window before continuing. “They weren’t even together.”

  I blinked again. “What do you mean, they weren’t together?”

  A smug smile spread across Margie’s face. She knew she had me. She took my arm again and resumed walking toward City Hall. “I can’t say how I know, but I know that they weren’t happily married. They weren’t even living together. Their whole relationship was fake.”

  As much as I wanted to laugh at her old-fashioned expression and prudish morals, the accusation she was leveling was serious. If it came out that their marriage was on the rocks, Pastor Cal would certainly lose his reputation—and maybe his job—at the church. And his hopes at being elected mayor were slim-to-none. Honeytree might be able to forgive the Goodbodys for being separated, but I doubted they’d forgive them for lying about it. Margie’s smugness annoyed me, though. Why should I believe her, anyway? She had every reason to smear the Goodbodys’ reputation.