Home Sweet Murder

by Eliza Brookes

“Is anything standing out to you?” Greta asked gently, feeling uncomfortable standing at the bus stop and not doing anything.

  Allegra shook her head and concentrated on that first meeting. She remembered seeing a woman in her late fifties walking up to her and looking down at her. She was the sternest woman Allegra had ever seen. She reached out to take Allegra’s bag, but Allegra burst out crying. It was all too much for her younger self. She remembered watching the stern woman bend down and wipe the tears away. Grumpy Dot gave her a warm smile and bought her a piece of candy.

  She turned to look at where the candy stand used to be. There used to be a rickety old stall where an old man sat and sold treats to travelers, but now there was only a dank corner.

  “She bought me a piece of candy,” Allegra remembered, “it tasted awful, but it made me feel better.”

  “Llewes candy,” Greta said with disgust, her face twisting as she said it.

  “Yeah, that stuff was awful.”

  “Everyone in town buys it just because her husband named it after the town.”

  “Is the factory still around here?” Allegra asked suddenly. Her great-uncle had opened a sweet factory with his money since he thought of himself as the American Willy Wonka. The money from the factory funded Dot’s comfortable life after he died.

  “Yeah,” Greta confirmed, “it’s just a half hour away. Did she ever take you to go see it?”

  “Once or twice, but she was a silent partner. She hated that place. She said it took away from the magic of candy, or something like that.” Dot sold the business when her husband died but kept shares in the business so that she would receive a share of the profits every month.

  “It sucks that Ashlee and Ellie inherited the shares with the estate,” Greta muttered, and Allegra had to bite her tongue from making a retort.

  “You know, it surprises me that Ashlee hasn’t been arrested yet,” Allegra muttered. Every time she turned it around, it felt like Ashlee’s name popped up. She was looking more and more suspicious by the hour.

  “Do you think the factory is the clue?” Greta asked suddenly, feeling fed up with the gloomy bus stop. Allegra’s mind switched back to the memory of her sitting in the car eating that terrible piece of candy.

  “My husband invented that candy, you know,” Grumpy Dot said proudly, “he was a great man.”

  Allegra nodded thoughtfully. “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Well,” Greta said, looking down at her watch, “I still have a few hours before Bud begins to get hungry. I think we could make it there and back in time.”

  “Are you sure?” Allegra looked worried, “I mean, I could see if there was a bus…”

  “Come on,” Greta announced, “we’re going on an adventure.”

  ***

  “Welcome to Wickers Sweets! Are you here for the tour?” A lady behind the receptionist desk greeted brightly. Greta and Allegra looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Sure,” Allegra said casually, leaning against the desk while Greta looked around the lobby.

  “Great! You can book one a week from now,” the lady informed her, looking at her computer and typing rapidly. Allegra felt her spirits drop at that piece of news.

  “Isn’t there one today?” she asked desperately, not willing to wait a whole week.

  “We have a tour every Thursday afternoon,” the woman told her, still not looking at her.

  “That’s today!” Allegra cheered, “can’t we join the tour that is happening now?”

  “That tour is almost over, but you can come back and enjoy the full tour next Thursday afternoon.” Allegra groaned and buried her face in her hands. This was not good news.

  “Listen,” Greta said smoothly, coming to the rescue, “this is Allegra Mitchells. Her great-aunt used to own this factory, but she was recently murdered. Ally over here, just wanted to tour the factory one last time before she gets back to teaching underprivileged kids in Africa.”

  The woman looked up, startled by the unusual story. Greta elbowed Allegra and she made an appropriate sad face to indicate that the story was true.

  “Well, this is highly unusual,” the woman admitted, looking flustered. Allegra batted her eyelashes pathetically and the woman sighed. “But I suppose I can allow it.” Allegra cheered, and the woman looked proud of herself.

  Allegra did not feel like cheering, however, when fifteen minutes later she was listening to the most boring man on earth drone on about the equipment while school children walked behind him, tapping away on their phones.

  “This way please,” the man called when he saw Allegra and Greta try to duck into one of the open doors. Allegra found herself deflating. This was another dead end. Maybe they could go back to the drawing board. Maybe Dot was talking about something else.

  “Now we have come to the most exciting part of the tour,” the man said in a monotone. “Here, we get to see the workers stop the machines and clean them with a special chemical solution. As you know children, sugar is very sticky, and the equipment needs to be cleaned every few months to keep it working well.”

  Allegra nearly groaned and threw herself into one of the machines to make the torture end. Greta on the other hand, was looking around at everything as if the machinery would tell her who killed Dot.

  “First, the machines are stopped. Then, the excess candy is cleared away. Sugar is very hard to clean, children, so the workers use a powerful chemical called Xosyn Sirtunade to clean the equipment effectively.”

  “Sorry,” Allegra interrupted suddenly, “what do they use?”

  “Xosyn Sirtunade,” the man said with the air of someone who hated his job very much. Greta looked startled and began digging in her bag to find a notebook.

  “Isn’t that poisonous?” Allegra asked, narrowing her eyes at the man. The children began to look up from their phones and appeared excited. The man looked taken aback and gave a nervous chuckle.

  “Only in large doses, we use a very light solution to wash the equipment,” the man explained, looking spooked.

  “Are you trying to kill us?” one of the children asked suspiciously.

  “What?” the man squeaked as the children began to mutter mutinously, “No! There is not enough of the chemical in the solution to be fatal.”

  “Do you only keep the solution around here or the chemical itself?” Allegra asked as Greta began to scribble furiously.

  “We make the solution,” the man said nervously, “but like I said, it is a very light solution. It would be very hard to kill someone with that solution.”

  “Have you thought about it?” One of the children asked. The teacher tried to step in, but she had already lost control of her class by this point. Allegra felt a twinge of sympathy for her, but she was too focused on finding answers to help a fellow teacher.

  “No, of course not,” the man sputtered, looking panicked.

  “Why not?” the kid asked before being chastised by the teacher.

  “So, you do keep the chemical in the factory?” Allegra asked again. The man glared at her angrily, but then he saw all the children watching him curiously and he gulped.

  “Yes, but…”

  “Is it in powdered or liquid form?”

  “What does that…” he asked shakily.

  “Answer the question, poison man!” one of the children yelled.

  “The chemical comes in a white powder!” the man squeaked loudly, backing away from the mob that was forming in front of him.

  “Well, that sounds fine then,” Allegra announced. Some of the children turned to her incredulously. She smiled at them and felt her teacher persona take over. “It probably won’t kill us. Besides, now we can say that we eat candy with a little poison in it.” The children giggled as the man sputtered again and the teacher gave Allegra a dark look. She winked at her and walked ahead as the man tried to continue the tour despite a very nervous look in his eyes.

  “We are in the right place,” Greta whispered triumphantly.

>   “We are, now we just need to link this place to one of the suspects,” Allegra answered.

  “Do you think Dot knew they were using Xosyn Sirtunade to clean the equipment?”

  Allegra shrugged but looked at the tour guide. He still had answers for them, but he was avoiding eye contact with her. For good reason, since she had almost started a riot, but still. Finally, the tour ended with everyone getting a bag of candy, and the teacher left the building with a haunted look in her eye. She was probably dreading the bus ride back with a bunch of kids pumped full of sugar.

  “Excuse me,” Allegra called, cornering the tour guide before he could escape.

  “What do you want?” he muttered. He was a thin man with grey hair and dark circles under his eyes. He had probably been giving these tours since before she was born.

  “I was just wondering, have you always used Xosyn to clean the equipment?”

  “Why are you so fascinated by this chemical?” the man asked in frustration.

  “I’m writing a paper about it,” Allegra lied blithely, giving Greta a warning look when she opened her mouth. Greta grinned sheepishly and took a step back.

  “No,” the man said tiredly, “we switched a few years back when the new owner took over.” He turned around and walked away before Allegra could ask anything else.

  “Who is the new owner?” Allegra asked in confusion, turning back to Greta.

  “Oh, you’re going to love this,” Greta announced with wide eyes.

  “What?”

  “Reginald Vance bought the factory from Dot.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “So, Reginald Vance owns this factory which he bought from Great-Aunt Dot. That means he knows all about Xosyn Sirtunade, and better yet, he could get his hands on some.”

  “Dot would never sell her property, so maybe he decided to get creative,” Greta suggested as Allegra paced around the foyer in the factory. Greta was examining the photographs on the wall as Allegra tried to clear her mind.

  “We should probably get going,” Allegra told Greta, “so that you can get to your family before dinner time.”

  “I told Bud I deserve a night off. He’s taking Eric to the diner,” Greta said calmly. “Hey look, this must be your great-uncle.”

  Allegra smiled at Greta’s nonchalance and walked up to see what she was talking about. The wall in the foyer was covered with annual staff photographs. The owner or boss sat in the middle with most of the employees huddled around him or her. It was a touching tradition that went back since the factory first opened.

  “And then there’s my great-aunt,” Allegra pointed out, smiling fondly at a much younger Grumpy Dot. “Wow, she ran this place for years. I wonder why she sold it.”

  “And here’s Vance,” Greta pointed, Allegra took a closer look and then turned away in disgust. They followed the next few photographs, but Vance only made one appearance. He did not care enough to take more pictures with his staff.

  “Hey, this person looks familiar,” Allegra noticed. When the owner stopped taking pictures with them every year, the staff allowed the employee of the month to be in the middle of the picture.

  “He really does,” Greta agreed, moving forward to get a closer look at the familiar man. “When did they take this picture?” Allegra checked the bottom and touched the date with her finger, “About five years ago.”

  “I got it!” Greta gasped, snapping her fingers, “take away the stubble, and clean him up a bit. That’s Pastor Rob!” Allegra looked closer and when she looked at it from that light, she saw what Greta was talking about.

  “Well, Dot really knew what she was doing when she sent us here,” Allegra mused, her mind swirling with all the new possibilities. It felt like the case was finally taking off somewhere. They had new leads and it felt like Dot herself was leading the investigation.

  “We have to talk to him,” Greta said excitedly, “maybe Reginald did something suspicious, or he can give us more information.”

  “Or, he could have done it,” Allegra pointed out, “he would be familiar with the chemicals, he would know where to get it and what to do with it.”

  “Haven’t we been over this?” Greta asked with a pained expression as she followed Allegra out of the building. Allegra shook her head at Greta and climbed into the car, settling in for a long drive back and removing a paintbrush from her seat.

  “We cannot think that we know everything about people. They can still surprise us,” Allegra told her. “I like Pastor Rob, it was nice of him to give me that letter…”

  “You have a place to stay because of him,” Greta interjected, raising her eyebrows.

  “And Eleanor,” Allegra added, “but that does not mean that he isn’t a suspect. Likeable people turn out to be murderers all the time. I’m sorry to say it, but we have to go back and talk to him.”

  ***

  “Ms. Mitchells,” Pastor Rob greeted with a friendly smile. He was standing outside the church watering the bushes that hid her a few nights ago. She tried not to blush as he smiled knowingly. He had the same thought.

  “Pastor,” Allegra greeted. Greta honked and drove off, not wanting to get involved with questioning the Pastor. Apparently, she had sinned enough that week and was beginning to feel guilty. Allegra was left feeling confused as to who was keeping track of the sins and why it mattered if she spoke to the Pastor or not. But it was Greta. You did not argue with Greta.

  “What can I help you with?” he asked, turning off the hose and wiping his hands on his shirt to shake her hand.

  “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you,” Allegra mentioned, shaking his hand firmly. Pastor Rob’s face split into a beaming smile and he seemed to grow excited.

  “Of course,” he said enthusiastically, “that is my job description.”

  “I meant about my great-aunt,” Allegra clarified, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Pastor Rob’s smile dropped slightly but he still looked friendly.

  “Ah, yes,” he looked down for a second and she wondered if he was feeling uncomfortable, “let’s go inside and get something to drink.” Allegra nodded gratefully and followed him into his cottage. He gestured for her to take a seat while he disappeared into the kitchen. She looked around her, taking note of the paintings that hung on the wall.

  The entire house was a little old and worn, like the church itself, but it was still warm and cozy. She always felt amazed at how comfortable old furniture made a house look. It wasn’t necessarily stylish, but it was still a lovely little home.

  “I hope it’s all right, but I brought out some lemonade,” Pastor Rob said a little sheepishly, “but gardening makes me thirsty.” He put down a tray in front of her and let out a contented sigh as he sat down in the armchair across from her. The fruity aroma from the lemonade mixed nicely with the fresh smell that emanated from the house. She made a mental note to ask him what he cleaned the house with. Dot’s house was beginning to smell a little musty.

  “I took a trip down to the factory today,” she told him, watching his reaction carefully. He nodded politely, as if waiting for her to get to the point. “I didn’t know you worked there.”

  “In my younger, more lost years,” he said, still smiling, “It was a great place to work.”

  “Did you work with Dot?” she asked curiously.

  “That was the best time for the factory,” he said, his smile brightening somewhat, “She was a wonderful employer. She was always planning things for the company staff and took a real interest in the people that worked there. All that changed about ten years ago. She lost interest and decided to sell the business. Things changed then,” he remembered, his face darkening slightly at the last part.

  “When Mr. Vance took over?” she asked gently, wondering what he meant by things changing.

  “I won’t speak ill of anyone,” Pastor Rob said slowly, as if he was thinking about what to say next, “but certain people aren’t too worried about who their workers are. It’s all about profit. The atmos
phere in the factory was different and more oriented toward making money. The older folks left, and meaner ones came in. That was around the time that I decided to leave too.”

  “It must have been nice to see Dot again when you came back as a Pastor,” Allegra mentioned, wondering how she could turn the conversation around without looking too obvious.

  “It was a nice surprise, but you know Dot, she was never one for church.”

  “I thought you said she was one of the most spiritual people you ever met,” Allegra pointed out, referring to their first conversation.

  “That doesn’t mean I got to see much of her,” the Pastor clarified, “she walked to the beat of her own drum. I only really started to see her near the end. About a month or two before she died.”

  “Why the sudden change?” Allegra asked, trying not to look too eager.

  “Well,” the Pastor said, lost in thought as he tried to remember all the details, “she sent me a letter, asking if I would meet her. At least, that’s what I think it said. To be honest, it was a little confusing.”

  “May I see it?” Allegra asked eagerly, forgetting that she was trying to be subtler about it all. The Pastor chuckled at her reaction and stood up heavily to go look for the letter in question.

  Allegra looked at her full glass of lemonade and monitored his progress, wondering if she could drink most of it now while he was busy. She hated being offered something to drink when she couldn’t say no because she felt rude not drinking the beverage. Which was why when Pastor Rob came back, he found her chugging at the glass like a man lost in the desert. He gave her a small smile and handed the letter to her.

  “Thanks,” she said softly once she had swallowed all the lemonade. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before opening the letter. It wasn’t addressed to her, but she was still afraid that it would not hold a clue. Maybe the treasure hunt ended here, and she would have to start from scratch again. Pastor Rob shifted in his chair and she could tell he was beginning to get impatient, so she opened the envelope and began reading.

  Robert,

  It’s been awhile. I’d like to speak to you soon.