by Sonia Parin
“Don’t throw it out. The police might want to test it,” Faith said as she picked up the phone to call the police. When she finished, she dialed again. “I’m calling the Lamington Committee.” Moments later, Faith finished the call and frowned. “This is strange. They haven’t actually made any deliveries. In fact, they’re running late with their sample boxes and had planned on doing it tomorrow.”
“So where did that box come from?” Abby asked.
“You said it was here when you arrived. Someone must have dropped it off when I stepped out for a break.”
Abby tipped the bottle of water back and drank deeply. Moments later, Joshua arrived and found them both staring at the box of Lamingtons.
“Someone tried to poison Abby,” Faith said.
Abby hugged Doyle against her chest. “We can’t be sure of that. The box was delivered here, so you might have been the target.”
Faith screeched. “Me?”
After a lengthy discussion, they decided Abby had been the most likely target probably because word had spread about her writing an article about the ongoing Lamington saga.
She turned to the detective. “I remember telling you about it. Have you been talking about me?”
“Do I look like I spread gossip around?” the detective asked. “Maybe someone at the café overheard you.” He took the box away for testing and promised to get back to her with the results as soon as they came in.
“If I hadn’t just come from Felicia Williams’ house, I’d think she’d had something to do with poisoning the Lamingtons.”
“Would you like me to see what I can find out about her?” Faith offered. We already know she worked as a chemist. She’d know all about poisons. If we can find a connection to Dermot, it might bring us closer to a motive for maybe wanting to poison you.”
“Okay. You work on that. Meanwhile, I need some fresh air. Also, I’m going to return Dermot’s journals and finally drop in on June Laurie.”
Chapter Sixteen
When Abby reached number 12 Edgar Street and knocked on the door she hoped no one would answer. She felt fine but the idea of someone trying to poison her had left her feeling shaken.
Did someone feel threatened by her? She tried to think what might have triggered such a violent reprisal but came up empty.
If only one or several Lamingtons had been poisoned, the killer had gone to a lot of trouble to put together the contents of the box, making sure to include a variety to give the impression they had come from various sources.
She knocked again and as she waited, she checked her cell phone. Joshua had promised to contact her as soon as he had some results but she doubted that would happen any time soon.
After the third knock, she decided to give up, which was just as well because she’d had no idea what she would ask June. The cleaning lady had already been questioned a couple of times by Joshua and had obviously been cleared of any involvement.
Doyle trotted beside her, his nose in the air as if sniffing out any sign of trouble. She hoped that didn’t mean anything. “I refuse to believe someone tried to poison me. It must have just been a bad Lamington. Why do I think that? Well, the person who sent the cakes wouldn’t have any way of making sure only I ate them. And I seriously doubt anyone would want Faith to fall ill… or worse.” Perhaps it had been a warning to stay away and stop snooping around. After all, the first bite had been enough to put her on the alert. The reminder made her gag.
They reached Dermot’s house and, using the key Sebastian had given her, Abby let herself in. She put the journals back and had a quick look around the study.
Doyle whined softly. “In a hurry to get somewhere?” Abby asked. He woofed and scurried to the study door. “I won’t be long. I just want to make sure I haven’t missed something obvious.”
Doyle woofed again. “What is it, Doyle?” A feeling of apprehension had her tensing. Abby turned around, or at least, she tried to. When her body eventually responded, she looked toward the door where Doyle stood at attention, his soft growl breaking the silence in the house.
“Doyle?” Abby whispered. She inched toward him. Had she heard a floorboard creak? Yes. Definitely. There was someone else in the house. Sebastian?
As far as she knew, no one else had the keys to the house. No one, except… “June Laurie,” Abby whispered and tried to get up the courage to peer down the hallway. She looked down at Doyle and caught him looking up at her, his expression a mixture of amusement and puzzlement, Abby thought.
Doyle took a tentative step forward and peered down the hallway.
“What do you see?”
He looked up at Abby and then took another step.
“I guess that means the coast is clear.” Scooping in a breath, she followed Doyle down the hallway, crouching down with each step she took. Thinking she’d heard another noise, she stopped in mid-step. Doyle lowered his head and sniffed the floor. A few more steps brought them up to the kitchen.
She figured the only way to do this was to take the plunge. “On the count of three,” she mouthed. In that split second, she threw all caution to the winds and leaped forward, only to shriek in response to the other person’s shriek.
While Abby sprung back, the other person lunged at her with a rolling pin.
Doyle found his voice and fired out a series of barks.
Abby and the rolling pin wielding woman looked down at him, their eyes registering surprise.
“Good boy, Doyle.” Abby looked the woman square in the eye. “He bites and I have no way of controlling him, so I suggest you put down your weapon.”
“You’re that reporter.”
Felicity had used the same accusatory tone. What was up with that? Abby nodded. “Do you have a problem with that?” The woman wore a housecoat and a headscarf. “June? June Laurie?”
The woman lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
“My job.”
“A likely story. Everyone knows you come in early.”
“Only because that’s the way Dermot liked it. Now that he’s gone, I thought I’d come in and give the place a thorough clean. I have Sebastian Cavendish’s permission.”
“Oh, I see.”
June gave her a lifted eyebrow look. “So, what are you doing in here?”
Abby held up the house key. “I too have Sebastian’s permission.”
They both lowered their shoulders.
“Right… well… I thought you might have been the killer returning to the scene of the crime,” June said. “They always do that on TV.”
Abby didn’t want to admit she should have entertained the same thought. After the close encounter she’d had with the Lamington, she should have kept her guard up. Instead, she’d been fixated about finding something… anything she might have missed. Abby gaped.
“What?” June asked.
She’d just realized something. “Sorry, I just had a stray thought about Dermot’s journals. He’d mentioned everyone he ever encountered, but there is one name missing.” Felicia’s name. There hadn’t been a single mention of her. She’d noticed it before but now the information swirled around her mind as if trying to prompt her into attaching some significance to it.
Dermot hadn’t cared much for his snoopy neighbor, Thelma Harrison. Yet, there had been regular mentions of her. Nothing derogatory. Just general remarks. Thelma looked cheerful today. Thelma’s had her hair done.
“Well? Are you going to tell me?” June asked.
“Do you remember Dermot ever mentioning Felicia Williams?”
“That stuck up old stick?” June shook her head. “There’s a photo of her on the mantle. She’s glaring at Dermot for no good reason. I mentioned it to him once. Told him there was something odd about her and Dermot said some people just wanted to be left alone and didn’t care to socialize. As for the way she’s looking at him, he said none of us got to pick and choose how we looked so we shouldn’t judge.”
“Did he know her
from somewhere?”
“I got the feeling he did but he never said anything.”
When Doyle barked again, Abby lifted her eyebrows. “I’d no idea you were such a good guard dog. What is it, Doyle?”
He trotted over to the back door.
“Oh, he probably heard my Henry.”
“Your Henry?”
“My husband is sitting outside waiting for me to finish. I told him I needed to clean today and he wouldn’t let me come here alone. He’s been trying to talk me into quitting my job, but what would I do with myself?” She glanced at Abby. “I know what you must be thinking. A cleaning lady attached to her job? Well, cleaning people’s house is an honest job. My mother did it. My grandmother did it. I have a daughter who put herself through school cleaning people’s houses. I offered to pay for her studies but she refused saying cleaning gave her time to think.”
For some reason, Abby felt chastised. “I’ve always done my own cleaning,” she felt compelled to say. “Did you ever cook for Dermot?”
June shook her head. “That’s one domestic task I never cared for. Henry and I enjoy eating out at the pub. It’s a good way to round up our day. Their food is just like home cooking.”
“So you don’t have an entry for the Lamington contest?”
June laughed. “I get my fill of cakes every weekend and there’s always a Lamington drive.”
“What’s that?”
“The local school organizes all the parents to bake Lamingtons and they’re sold to raise money for the school.” June set down the rolling pin. “My Henry must be getting restless. I should get going.”
“Lovely to meet you at last, June.”
June nodded and, taking her apron off, she trotted off.
“We can at least cross her off the list.” Abby pressed her hand to her chest. “That was too much excitement for me.” She sank down on a chair and wondered what to do next. Stretching her legs out, she looked out the window.
“Everyone we thought had a reason to want to see Dermot dead has been cleared.” She checked her cell phone for messages even though she knew it would be too soon to hear back from the lab. “Can you believe someone might have tried to poison me?”
Doyle shook his head. When he scratched his ear, Abby decided he hadn’t actually been answering her.
On a whim, she decided to call Joshua and tell him about June Laurie. The moment he answered, she forgot about June Laurie and actually said, “I need you to tell me if the police has linked the deaths which have been reported recently.” She’d been focusing on finding a killer among the locals, but what if Dermot had fallen prey to a serial killer roaming the countryside?
“Yes.”
“Pardon? Did I hear you correctly?”
“I was about to call you. You’re bound to read all about it in the morning edition,” Joshua said. “The deaths are linked to each other but not to Dermot’s death. The victims all died from rat poisoning and the person responsible has been apprehended.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Abby sat up. “What was his motive?”
“Revenge. Years before he and the victims had belonged to a motorcycle gang. The police raided their headquarters and busted them for drug trafficking. The victims set him up as the fall guy. After serving his time, he was released. Instead of enjoying his freedom, he decided to go on a killing spree and get revenge on everyone who’d betrayed him.”
Abby chortled. “I don’t suppose he used Lamingtons to deliver the poison?” She waited for Joshua to respond. First came the long exhalation. That was followed by some throat clearing. “Detective?”
“Short answer. No. He didn’t use Lamingtons to deliver the poison. However…”
Abby raked her fingers through her hair. “You’re drawing this out. Why?”
“It’s rather a delicate matter.”
“Someone trying to poison me? Yeah, I’ll say it is. Did I step on someone’s toes?”
“No. After his release, the killer made his way to his elderly aunt’s house. He’s in his fifties and his aunt is in her early eighties and suffering from bouts of dementia.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“In more ways than one. She actually lives nearby and every year, she enjoys entering the Lamington contest. This year was no exception. As she’s getting on in age, she rather hoped she’d win a ribbon before she… runs out of time.”
Abby cupped her chin in her hand. “She sounds sweet… despite her unfortunate relationship with a killer.”
“Yes. That’s why we’re treating this with… kid gloves. She is sweet and she had nothing to do with her nephew’s criminal activities. You have to understand, this was an accident.”
“What was an accident?”
“Mistaking the sugar she needed for the last batch of Lamingtons she baked with the rat poison her nephew had stored in a canister.”
Abby heard the hallway clock tick.
“Abby? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” she replied in a small voice. Abby sat up. “Wait a minute. The box contained a variety of Lamingtons.”
“That’s right. As I said, she’s been trying to win a ribbon for quite some time. This year, she decided to enter every single flavor she could think of. Sending them to the Gazette was her way of trying to impress at least one of the judges. I should add, she didn’t know about Dermot’s death. Like I said, she’s not well and some days, she doesn’t quite know what’s what.”
“I see.” Abby slumped back on the chair. “What’s her name?”
“Ah… well. This is the part where we’re doing our best to spare her further humiliation. We’ve decided to withhold her name. You have to understand, she didn’t do it on purpose.”
Abby’s voice hitched. “You think I’d press charges?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think you would. She has a health care worker looking after her, but when her nephew appeared on the scene, he sent her away. Now she’s back and assures us this will never happen again.”
Abby sighed. “Well, at least that’s one mystery solved.” She took a moment to enjoy the feeling of relief. She hadn’t been a target. Although, she had come close to becoming a statistic. Abby looked down at Doyle. “That’s a sort of wake-up call. Enjoy every moment because you never know what’s around the corner. I think this calls for a celebratory cup of coffee.”
Chapter Seventeen
“There is one person I haven’t spoken with. Thelma Harrison.” Doyle gave her a wide-eyed look. “You think that’s asking for trouble? It would be remiss of me to exclude her. After all, she is the one and only eyewitness.” The eyewitness who’d failed to see the killer entering Dermot’s house.
Doyle whimpered.
“Is that a warning or are you just telling me we’ve done enough for today and should head back home?” Abby locked the front door and stepped out. Expecting to see Thelma peering at her from the window, she looked across the lane.
“Well, if she’s been keeping tabs on the place she sure is doing a fine job of staying out of sight.” Abby crossed the narrow lane and knocked on Thelma’s door.
While she waited, she turned and looked over at Dermot’s house. Thelma had an uninterrupted view of his front door and the lane was narrow. She’d be able to both see and hear anyone approaching.
The door opened but only enough for Abby to see a light blue eye and part of a pale cheek.
“Can I help you?” a thin voice asked.
Abby introduced herself. “I’ve been meaning to drop by and say hello.”
The door opened another fraction. “You’re that reporter who’s been dropping in to visit Sebastian Cavendish.”
Abby nodded and before she could ask if she could have a word with her, Thelma opened the door and beckoned her inside.
Thelma wore a hounds-tooth patterned suit. Abby couldn’t be sure, but she suspected it might be an original Coco Chanel suit. Thelma was probably in her late seventies or early eighties; old enough to have been aroun
d when the suits had been the height of fashion.
The narrow hallway, painted in a light beige tone, was lit by an old-fashioned carriage light.
“Come through.” Thelma invited her through to the sitting room lusciously furnished in a Parisian style with art deco pieces displayed on the mantelpiece and on small side tables.
From the outside, Abby would never have guessed the house would be furnished so elegantly. Thelma gestured toward a settee while she made herself comfortable on a royal blue club chair.
Doyle sat by Abby’s feet, his manners impeccable.
Abby remarked on the lovely room as she took in the black and white photographs covering an entire wall.
“I traveled extensively,” Thelma explained. “Charles, my late husband, came from money. Our first trip to Europe was by sea.” She pointed at a photo of a young couple sitting at a sidewalk café. “That’s us at Les Deux Magot café in Paris. We always made a point of going there at least once during our stays in Paris. When I married him, he’d worked as a lawyer but then he became a judge.” Thelma shivered slightly. “He used to tell me about his cases. I could never understand the horrors people could inflict on others. Luckily, Charles passed away in his sleep. When I lost him, my interest in traveling faded and I came to live here.”
Abby marveled at the choices people made. Thelma had lived in the city and had enjoyed all the distractions the city had to offer. What had brought her to a small town?
“This house had belonged to my grandparents. It’s quite modest, but to them it was always a castle. When I came here to settle the estate I fell in love with… the town.”
Thelma’s chattiness struck Abby as odd. She came across as someone eager to share her experiences but reluctant to step out of the house. She wondered if it had something to do with a phobia. Then she remembered either Joyce or Faith saying Thelma usually went out for lunch.
“Do you remember ever seeing this woman visiting Dermot?” Abby asked as she showed her the photograph of Felicia Williams.
Thelma studied the picture for some time and finally shook her head. “He always received visitors. Every afternoon, they visited him for tea and a chat. When I first moved here, he invited me but I… I turned him down. Then he never invited me again.”
