by Tegan Maher
Her chin quivered, and in that instant, my heart bled for the woman who had likely just began to heal from her mother's natural death.
"I know," I said, dropping her tailgate so she could sit down. "But somebody did. That's why we're here. Is there anything you can think of that was odd about the days leading up to her death? Did she mention anything out of the ordinary? Get in an argument with anybody, maybe?"
"No." She shook her head, dazed and staring at the ground, though she wasn't really seeing it. "Nothing. She'd been complaining a little of a headache and had a couple dizzy spells where she'd get sick to her stomach. At first we thought it was a bug because I was sick to my stomach and under the weather for a couple days, too. But hers kept up, and then she got worse. We took her to the doc, but he said it was probably just because she'd been in the heat too much."
On the way over, I'd Googled the symptoms of arsenic poisoning and those were three of the big ones. I said as much.
"When did she start having those?" Hunter asked.
"I don't know," Kensey said. "Maybe two or three weeks before she died. That's why I didn't question it much when they said she'd had a stroke. I kicked myself after for not insisting on more testing because it just didn’t set right with me."
I laid my hand on her arm. "More testing wouldn't have likely turned anything up, unless they were specifically looking for arsenic in her blood." I didn't know if that was true or not, but I felt the need to say it just to take that burden off her shoulders.
"Have you done much with the house?" Hunter asked.
"No," she said. "As a matter of fact, aside from doing the last of the dishes and laundry and keepin’ up the yard, I haven't done anything to it at all. You're welcome to take a look around. Lemme turn the hose off, and I'll go with you."
"Thanks," Hunter said.
She turned off the hose and climbed in the truck with us.
"So what happens now?" Kensey asked. "I mean, we don't have to exhume her or anything do we?"
"No," Hunter replied as he dodged a pothole. "I can't imagine that will be necessary. Now we treat it like a murder investigation. I'll need to talk to people. Do you know what she did during the last couple days she was alive?"
"Sure. I was with her most of the time. She was like clockwork, for the most part. I'll show you her weekly calendar when we get up to the house."
It only took a couple minutes, and we were standing on the front porch. She dug a fake rock out of the dirt to the right of the porch steps and twisted open the bottom to get the key, smiling a little as she did.
"Mama hardly ever locked her door. Said she hadn't needed to in all the years she'd been on this earth and wasn't planning to start now." She looked a little sad. "Now I wish I'd have insisted a little harder."
My heart went out to her. "You don't know for a fact somebody got into her house. It could have been anywhere. Was there any particular place she went to eat or drink on a regular basis?"
"Not really," she replied as she slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. "She'd go to Brew4U a couple times a week, and she liked to have lunch at the diner after she went to the youth center. She and another woman, Jana Smith, volunteered together, then went and ate. She had a group of ladies she went to dinner with once a week, but they mixed it up." She smiled. “Mama said they liked to support all the local restaurants, not just one.”
We stepped into the house, automatically toeing our shoes off when we did. The place was immaculate but comfortable. You could have eaten off the floors, but you could have also plopped down on the couch and pulled your feet up under you to chat or watch TV. It was definitely a home and not just a house.
"I guess the best place to start would be the kitchen," Hunter said, "since she was poisoned."
"I don't know much about it," Kensey said, "but since she was sick for a while, could it be that she was eating or drinking it regularly?"
"That's a good point," I said.
"Yeah," Hunter replied. "That seems logical. I talked to a couple of the women Ida volunteered with at the auxiliary, and they said she'd been under the weather, too."
Kensey shuddered. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but that woman was horrible. She and Mama had it out a few times over the years. Mom was a don't start none, won't be none type, but that woman was enough to drive a Saint Peter to swear. I can't imagine Mama spent any time with her, so if you think they're connected, it wasn’t anything they did together."
Addy randomly popped in while she was speaking and waited for her to finish. Hunter glanced from her to Kensey, who seemed not to have noticed.
"Don't sweat it," she said, waving her hand. "I’m in invisible mode. She can't see me. I just popped over to let you know Gabi needs a ride to work. Her truck won't start and nobody's there. She's gonna be late."
Our post-living community was thriving, but they didn’t let just anybody in on their existence. It had to be a consensus before anybody living was clued in about the entire group. As a single person, you could show yourself to your loved ones, but you couldn’t “out” anybody else.
There were two primary reasons for that. First, nobody wanted a bunch of reality-TV ghost hunters showing up and taking over the town. Second, the same general rules of courtesy applied when you were dead as when you were living: your business was your business. I have to say, the dead were better at following that rule—at least when it came to that—than the living were.
"Uh, Kensey,” I said, holding up a finger, “if you'll excuse me, I left my phone in the truck, and I'm expecting an important call."
"Okay, sure," she said with a hint of a smile. "Do what you gotta do."
I went out and acted like I was digging in the truck, hoping she hadn't noticed my phone was in my back pocket. Addy floated through the door of the truck.
"How did you know where I was at?" I asked as I reached for my purse so it looked like I was doing something.
She lifted a shoulder. "I don't know. I just always do."
"Always?" That weirded me out a little when I thought of some of the places Hunter and I had ... been.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, c'mon. What do I care what you two are doing at the lake at midnight? You're a grown woman. Now, forget about that. What about Gabi?"
I thought for a minute. "I'm going with Anna Mae to some auctions this morning. I was gonna drive, but if you would, pop over and ask her to bring her truck instead of her car, then just tell Gabi to take my truck to work."
She gave a brisk nod. "Will do. I was hopin' it would end up workin' out that way. You know how that old bat she works for is when she's even a second late. Bye."
With that, she popped out before I could say bye back, and my ears popped right along with her. I shook my head. It was odd having a communication system like ours. Though I had to admit, it sure did come in handy sometimes.
Sometimes more handy than others, because when I walked back inside, my eyes caught something I'd missed the first time I walked in: the probable murder weapon.
CHAPTER 24
ANGUS'S WORDS DRIFTED back to me. Merriam had run the frozen sangria booth at the fair.
There were probably eight or ten bottles of wine hanging in a wine rack in a dark cubby.
"Kensey, your mom ran the sangria slushy cart, right?" I asked.
She lifted one corner of her mouth up in a small, sad smile. "She did. She loved wine and started it because everybody loved her sangria slushies when she'd make them here for garden parties. We were low on cash one summer for school clothes, so she came up with the idea for the cart.
"Dad built it out of materials we had around here, so it didn't cost hardly anything. She bought a few gallons of cheap cabernet and the fixins, then went to town for the fair. Back then, they didn't care much about liquor licenses or anything like that. Anyway, she sold out halfway through the first day, Daddy bought her more supplies, and she made enough to buy our school clothes and make a car payment."
Her eyes shone
as she looked into the past at a vision nobody but she could see. "Mama was so proud when she marched me into the shoe store and bought me the sneakers she knew I'd been pinin' for instead of the cheap ones I was ready to settle for. Then she bought me a nice pair of sandals too."
She pulled her attention back to us. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
I pointed to the Wembly's Wine of the Month Club box. "Did your mama make a habit of having a glass of wine or two a day?"
"Well, she wasn't a drunk or anything, but sure. She enjoyed a glass or two of wine in the evenings once she was home and relaxing. Often times I'd come up and have one with her and we'd share our days."
"Let me guess—you didn't have time to do that much in the week or so before she died," I said, remembering she said she'd been sick for a few days, too.
She furrowed her brow. "No, actually I still came up and sat with her, but I ran a nail through my foot and the doc had me on antibiotics, so I couldn't drink."
"But that was after you were feeling sick, right?" Hunter asked, catching on.
"Yeah, it was, but—" a look of dawning crossed her features. "Are you saying I didn't have the flu, but rather was being poisoned too?"
I pulled in a deep breath and leaned against the kitchen counter. "That's exactly what I'm saying. That nail probably saved your life."
Several emotions crossed her face: confusion, devastation, anger, then sheer, all-out, baby-bear rage. Her eyes glittered. "You think that wine she got from that wine club was tainted."
It wasn't a question, but I treated it as one.
"I think it’s possible. It's the only thing so far that she and Ida had in common—they were both members."
"I'm going to have to take those bottles of wine if you don't mind."
The revulsion on her face made it clear she didn't mind one bit. "As a matter of fact, I don't know if I'll ever drink wine again."
I patted her on the back as she grabbed the box and started putting the wines in it. "Now don't go getting carried away."
That reminded me of our most recent drinking adventure and how horrible I'd felt after just two glasses. My blood ran cold when I remembered part of it was the wine that we brought from Ida's.
"Hunter," I said, feeling a little sick just thinking about it, "we need to stop and get the wine from the farm, too."
"Why?" he asked, confused. "You don't have a wine membership."
"No, I don't. But that wine we drank the other night that gave us all such horrible hangovers?"
"What about it?"
"Part of that was wine we brought from Ida's house."
His face paled as realization set in. "Did you already pitch those bottles? And did you drink it all?"
I thought for a minute. "Trash runs today. Anytime between now and eleven or so. The bottles are in there, and I'm sure we didn't drink all of them. There were like a dozen bottles."
"What's going on?" Kensey asked.
"We drank some of the wine Rose brought from Ida's, and we were wicked sick the next morning. I only had three glasses and felt like I'd had two bottles."
Hunter grabbed the box of wine from the counter. "Kensey, I'm sorry, but we've got to go. I've got to get those bottles before the trash man comes."
"Okay," she said, shooing us toward the door. "Go. I can walk back to the house."
"We'll keep you posted," Hunter called over his shoulder. He was already halfway back to door and I hustled to keep up.
He had the truck running before I even pulled the door shut.
CHAPTER 25
THE RECYCLE TRASH TRUCK was just pulling up when we got there, and Hunter laid on the horn as he locked up the brakes. He almost put the truck in the ditch in his haste. Arnie, the poor trash guy, held his hands up when he recognized him.
"I swear man, it's medicinal."
I rolled my eyes. "For God's sake, Arnie, put your hands down. We just need to go through the trash before you take it."
"Okay, man," he said, his eyes red and glazed. Now that we had the trash safe and sound, Hunter examined him a little closer and narrowed his eyes. "Are you driving county property stoned?"
Larry Stackpole got out of the truck. "Nah, he ain't had a license in five years because he kept runnin' his truck into his wife's flowerbed." He snickered and gave Arnie a shove on the shoulder. "She took it from him and won't let him have it back. Says he ain't got no business bein' on the road 'til he can learn to function without wakin' and bakin'."
Hunter turned to me. "Please tell me they don't have kids."
"Hey!" Arnie said, drawing his brows down. "What'd be wrong with me havin' kids? I'll make a damned good daddy someday."
"His wife won't let him have none of them, either,” Larry guffawed. "Says he's all the kid she can keep up with."
Arnie watched as we went through the recycling can. "Whatcha need the trash for, Sheriff? Your little woman go and throw away your good whiskey or your bathroom literature?"
"What? No!" Hunter said, blushing when he realized what Larry was referring to.
I didn't know whether to laugh or sock Larry in the nose for calling me the little woman. I settled on a glower. I could laugh at Hunter later, and I figured if I went and punched somebody right in front of him, he'd have no choice but to arrest me, especially after Larry had just implied I had his manly bits wrapped up tightly in my pocketbook.
"Just ... go," Hunter said, pinching the bridge of his nose after we had the can with the bottles in them. He shook his head and jabbed a finger at Arnie. "And quit smokin' weed on the county's dime."
After giving him the two-fingered I'm watching you sign, he grabbed the trashcan and tossed it in the back of his truck, then climbed in and slammed the door behind him. I'd already beat him inside because I didn't trust myself not to poke Larry a good one in the eye anyway.
Once he put the truck in park, Hunter sighed. "Yet another phrase I didn’t think I’d ever utter. Just when I think I'm getting used to this place, something like that happens."
I smiled and patted him on the leg. "Look at it this way, honey. You're never going to get bored."
Cutting a sideways glance at me, he said, "You say that like it's a good thing. We have stoner garbage men, bossy ghosts, a gossip circle that knows things before I do—"
He stopped dead and motioned to my purse. "Pull up Coralee's number. See if she has any more dirt on either of the two women, or knows anything else about the conversation Harriet overheard. Roberta's probably there anyway, right?"
I couldn't help it—I laughed. "Are you serious?"
"Hey," he said. "She refers to the salon as the local information dissemination center. So let her disseminate some information in my direction for once."
It's not like he was wrong. "Okay," I said. "It would probably be better for you to just go down there and talk to them in person. If you call them on the phone, they'll all be on speaker talking at once. They’ll talk all over each other."
A few expressions flitted across his face, and he settled on neutral. "That’s fine with me. At least I'll have you to act as a buffer. The thought of walking into that place frankly terrifies me."
I chuckled. "As well it should, big guy. It's not for the faint of heart. But I hate to tell you"—I pointed toward Anna Mae's truck as we rounded the bend in the driveway—"my auction chariot awaits, so you're on your own."
Thankfully, he didn't whine, but I could tell he kinda wanted to. And I couldn't blame him. I could laugh at him, though.
Anna Mae was sitting on the porch with Matt when we pulled up. The sight of the two of them together still made me smile, even though they'd been together for a few months now. They both deserved happiness, and I was glad they'd found it in each other.
Hunter pulled the trashcan out of the back of the truck and I grabbed an empty can we kept on the porch. Anna Mae and Matt looked at us like we'd lost our minds when we started pulling empty pizza boxes, milk jugs, and cereal boxes out of one and putting them in
the other.
We explained what we were doing as we pilfered through it all, and Matt went inside to get a clean garbage bag for the bottles. Since they were heavy, we had to dig almost to the bottom.
Matt held the bag open while we put all eight bottles in there. Don't get all judgy. It was a week's worth and when you have three or four people drinking a glass or two a day, it adds up quick.
"Not all of those bottles came from Ida's," I said.
I pointed out the ones that had, and Hunter paused, then waved toward the bag. "Put ’em all in there anyway. We'll sort them out later. There may be drips on the outside of one that came from another or something."
After putting the bottles in the floorboard of his truck, he turned to Matt. "I have to go down to the Clip N Curl and talk to Coralee and Roberta. Do you want to go?"
Matt drew his brows together and looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Not just no, but hell no. I'm your bro, but I am not steppin' foot into a beauty parlor. Especially that one."
Hunter snorted. "Some bro you are, then. Leave a man to fend for himself in such heinous circumstances."
"Hey," he said, holding up a hand and backing away, "if you're goin' somewhere and somebody's gonna be shootin' at you, I've got your six. Those women are way more dangerous than any fifty cal I've ever seen, and I'm not doin' it. Good luck. I'll have a cold beer waiting for you when you get back."
I gave Hunter a quick kiss before he thought to wrangle me into the truck and kidnap me, then hustled to Anna Mae's truck. We had some pickin' to do!
CHAPTER 26
ANNA MAE HAD REALLY done her homework on the sales. We both picked up some great pieces for practically nothing at the first two, which were estate sales. The third was a little pricier, but had nicer stuff. Since Things Remembered had a certain clientele that collected antique jewelry and furniture almost as-is, Anna could spend a little more than I could since she didn’t have to invest much into them before she sold them.