Rebecca chuckled. “You must be Aaron. They’ve been telling me about you. Come and see the apartment.”
I wanted to go with her, so I said to Matilda, “Matilda, could you mind the shop?”
“Sure,” she said and then turned to Eleanor. “Eleanor, mind the shop, won’t you.” She said it as a command and then hurried after us, leaving a sputtering Eleanor behind.
Aaron was clearly impressed with the apartment. “It’s bigger than I thought,” he said. “I didn’t ask how many bedrooms it had, and there are three. I’m not sure I could afford it. I do have my own business, which pays well, but I was also getting free accommodation on Gemma’s property in exchange for my work. Now, I am solely relying on my business.”
When Rebecca told him the price, he was visibly relieved. “I can afford that. That’s quite reasonable, especially for three bedrooms. Are you sure?”
Rebecca nodded. “But it would have to be only you. You can’t sublet it to anybody because it’s over my store. I’d rather have someone reliable here, so I m happy to rent it for less to one person. No parties, mind you. You would have to be quiet.”
Aaron was delighted. “You have a deal.”
“But if it turns out that you murdered Mrs. Calhoun, then the lease will be broken immediately,” Matilda said.
Aaron uttered a nervous laugh, but I knew she wasn’t joking.
Chapter 10
Matilda and Eleanor had convinced me that we needed to speak with Francis face to face. They were certain we would obtain more information from her that way.
And so, after work, I drove Matilda and Eleanor to Francis’s farm.
“What if she’s in the middle of milking all the goats?” I asked.
“No, it’s well after five and they usually milk goats around three,” Matilda said. “Honestly, Jane, you should know that.”
I cut the engine and stared at her. “How do you know so much about so many obscure things?”
“You’d be surprised,” Eleanor said, earning her a glare from Matilda.
“Leave all the talking to me,” Matilda said as she jumped out of the car more nimbly than somebody half her eighty plus years.
We headed for the door, but Francis walked outside to greet us. “I thought I heard a car,” she said. This time, she didn’t invite us in, and we all stood around awkwardly.
“We were hoping you could give us some information about Gemma Calhoun,” Matilda said.
Francis hesitated for a moment and then said, “Please come in.”
I didn’t know if it was my imagination, but I thought her welcome was slightly more chilly than the previous one.
We traipsed inside. This time, Francis showed us into the living room and indicated we should sit on a comfortable couch. She sat opposite us in a rocking chair.
I looked around the room. It was quite homey. Big framed pictures of goats wearing champion ribbons covered the walls. The couch and the rocker were upholstered in a matching floral pattern, and magazines lay strewn across the coffee table. There were some gardening magazines mixed with the inevitable goat magazines.
Francis came straight to the point. “How can I help you?”
“We wondered what became of Gemma Calhoun’s goats.”
Francis gave a little start. “Became of them?” she repeated.
Matilda nodded and pushed on. “Yes, we happened to bump into Aaron Alexander at the park and he told us that Gemma’s son, Horatio, had sold all the goats.”
“Oh yes, I see what you mean. He must be the goat milker.” She folded her hands and placed them on her lap. “I bought them.”
“You did?” I said, rather too loudly.
Francis looked somewhat guilty. “Yes, I did. Horatio called me last night and offered them to me at a rather ridiculously low price, but don’t tell anybody I said that.” She broke off and uttered a nervous laugh.
“Why did he offer them to you rather than anybody else?” Matilda asked her.
She shrugged.
Matilda pushed on. “I thought you didn’t like Mrs. Calhoun?”
“Nobody liked Gemma,” Francis said, “but I doubt her son knew that or even cared. He isn’t a goat person, you see. He had no idea of the value of the goats. In fact, I now own Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine herself!”
“And you got her for a song?” I guessed.
She nodded. “But the transfer is signed; it’s all perfectly legal. The goats were jointly owned by Horatio and Gemma, and he’s signed the papers over to me.”
“Why did he jointly own the goats when he didn’t know anything about them?” Matilda asked.
“I have no idea. You would have to ask him.”
“How many goats did you end up with?” I asked her.
Francis relaxed a little into her chair. “Too many! I have the champion goat, Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine, and two of her daughters, and then another eight goats. I expect I’ll sell the other goats at some point. I haven’t really decided yet. After all, I’m shocked that Gemma died and then shocked that Horatio offered them to me.”
“Why do you think he offered them to you?” Matilda said. “If you could think on that, it might be a great help in solving her murder.”
Francis frowned hard. “I don’t see how it could be of help, but I kept asking Gemma that if she ever did want to sell Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine, she would give me first offer. I expect she mentioned it to Horatio. Is that any help?”
“Possibly not.” Matilda shook her head. “Still, it might be of help later on. I take it you got on better with Horatio than with his mother?”
“That’s for sure,” Francis said. “I’ve always gotten along well with Horatio. He always was a nice man.”
Eleanor spoke for the first time. “How did you know him if he didn’t go to goat shows?”
Francis shifted in her seat. “Horatio did go to goat shows. Gemma made him carry stuff for her, that sort of thing. She was a bit of a bully.”
Eleanor nodded. “Would you have any idea who would want to murder Mrs. Calhoun?”
Francis pulled a face and inclined her head slightly. “No. I mean nobody liked her, but not enough to kill her, surely.”
“What about Horatio himself?” I asked her. “He certainly has the best motive.”
Francis was visibly annoyed. Her face turned an unpleasant shade of red. “Motive? No, of course not. Horatio would never kill his own mother.”
“Clearly, Mrs. Calhoun was very wealthy, and Horatio is apparently the sole heir as far as we know,” Matilda said. “We heard there were no siblings.”
Francis took off her glasses and wiped them on her shirt before popping them back on the end of her nose. “No, there are no other siblings, and Horatio did tell me he is the sole heir, but why would Horatio murder his mother? I mean, why now? Gemma hasn’t come into any more money recently, and if he was going to murder her, surely he would have done so years ago.”
I didn’t follow her logic, but I nodded simply to placate her. She certainly did get all riled up at our suggestion that Horatio could be the murderer.
My thoughts turned to Aaron. “What about the young goat milker and pool boy, Aaron Alexander?”
“I guess he’s out of a job, isn’t he.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “Well, I do my own milking, and I don’t need anybody else’s help.”
“I wasn’t suggesting he work for you. I was asking whether you thought he might have a motive to murder Mrs. Calhoun.”
Francis quirked one eyebrow. “Are you asking if he was having an affair with Gemma, and then she broke it off with him, so he was hurt and murdered her?”
“Well, no…” I began, but she pushed on.
“Or maybe she found out he was having an affair with her best friend and threatened him. Or maybe he found out she was having an affair with another man and murdered her in a jealous rage.”
I was about to protest that I did not mean that at all, when Matilda piped up. “Yes, any of those could be p
ossibilities. Did Aaron have a good relationship with Mrs. Calhoun?”
“I have no idea. She barely mentioned him to me, and I’ve never met him. Do the police know what killed her yet?”
“Poison,” I said.
Francis looked quite put out. “Yes, of course. I mean, I guess everyone knows that, but have they discovered the type of poison it was?”
“If they have, they haven’t told us,” Matilda said.
Francis nodded slowly. “As far as I know, Gemma didn’t have a medical condition, but you never know, do you? Still, if it was simply an accidental overdose of medication, the police wouldn’t be carrying on like they are now.”
“Have they questioned you?” I asked.
She nodded and once more took off her glasses to wipe them on her shirt. “Yes, a detective came here and made a nuisance of himself. He came right when the goats arrived. I was doing my best to settle them into their new home—goats are very sensitive creatures, you see, and it was stressful for them to arrive at a new place—and all the detective wanted to do was ask me questions. He seemed suspicious that I had Gemma’s goats. As if I would murder somebody just to get Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine! How ridiculous. There would be no one left in the goat world if everybody murdered the owner of the goat they wanted.” She made a disparaging sound.
“Was it Detective Stirling?” Matilda did not wait for Francis to respond but continued. “He questioned us both, didn’t he, Eleanor?”
Eleanor nodded vigorously. “He wasn’t very nice. After all, we had only met the victim once and didn’t even know who she was at the time. He questioned us for hours and even impounded Jane’s car. It seems rather over the top. I’m sorry he gave you a hard time too.”
Francis narrowed her eyes. “Yes, it’s been quite stressful. I’m hoping I will feel better tomorrow after a good night’s sleep. It was a shock that Gemma died when we were there at the show. It was also a shock to get a call from Horatio out of the blue offering me his mother’s goats, even though it was a good shock, and then I’m excited to have Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine, but at the same time I feel guilty because I’m excited to have her in spite of the terrible circumstances.”
She took a deep breath and then bent forward and put her head in both hands. “Maybe I need therapy.” She uttered a rueful laugh.
“It seems the police don’t have any real suspects then,” Matilda said. “Are you sure Mrs. Calhoun didn’t have any enemies?”
“Gemma had plenty of enemies, but I can’t think of anybody who would actually want her dead. I mean, it’s rather extreme, isn’t it?”
We all agreed that it was.
Francis stood up. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I had better go and check on those goats. The poor things have only been here a few hours, and I want to make sure they all settle in nicely. It’s a lot of upheaval for them, you understand.”
We followed her out the front door. When we were in my car and safely out of earshot, I said to Matilda and Eleanor, “Do you think she did it?”
“Anything is possible,” Matilda said, “and although she protests that she wouldn’t murder Gemma just to get Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine, she sure is obsessed with that goat.”
Chapter 11
Matilda leaned over from the back seat and yelled in my ear. “Maybe we should drop by Wanda Hershberger’s house now.”
“What, now?” My spirits fell. I wanted to get home and enjoy my new house. The investigating was tiring as well as stressful. “We could go early in the morning.”
“We need to go there now.”
I sighed. “Okay. I hope she doesn’t mind.”
“She always seems pleased to see us,” Matilda said.
I grimaced. “I hope we don’t wear out our welcome.”
“We don’t have to stay for long,” Matilda continued. “We just have to ask Wanda to ask her daughter to find out the type of poison used on Gemma.”
I waved one hand over my shoulder. “You know I don’t like doing that. I think it’s an imposition. I know she doesn’t seem to mind…” My voice trailed away.
“Why don’t you tell her you understand she might not be able to help but ask her to help anyway?”
I was about to suggest that Matilda ask her, but then I realized it would be better coming from an ex-Amish person like myself.
I turned down the long driveway to Wanda’s farm. She was in her vegetable garden. She broke into a smile when she saw us. “Oh, I wondered who could be in the car. I don’t get many Englisch visitors.”
“Yes, we only seem to visit when we want your daughter to find out something for us,” Matilda said with a laugh.
Wanda chuckled too. “Nee, you were kind enough to bring me cupcakes on other occasions.”
I nodded. “I don’t have any cupcakes this time because we’ve just been to speak with a suspect.”
Wanda gave no indication that she found my words surprising. “You had all better come inside.” To me, she said, “You look as though you could use a cup of meadow tea.”
“That’s for sure!” I said with feeling.
Wanda ushered us inside. As soon as we sat down, she vanished from the room to return soon with a tray of cups and slices of dry bottom Shoo-fly pie. The aroma, both the peppermint of the tea and the molasses of the pie, was heavenly. “Help yourselves,” she urged us.
“Matilda and Eleanor seem to be murder suspects this time,” I told her. “A detective took them in for questioning, and my car was impounded for a short time.”
She nodded. “Jah, I know all about it.”
I was surprised. “You do?”
She continued to nod. “Waneta told me. She overheard the police talking about it. She was quite concerned that anyone could possibly think the three of you were involved, so she told me something in confidence.”
Eleanor leaned forward in her chair. “What was that?”
Matilda was quite put out. “Honestly, Eleanor! Wanda said it was in confidence. That means she can’t tell us.”
Eleanor’s lips pursed. “I know what it means. Do you think I’m a fool?”
Wanda obviously saw the situation was about to escalate, so she quickly said, “Nee, Waneta wanted me to tell you. She said it was in confidence, meaning I couldn’t tell other people, but she wanted me to tell you.”
I could see Matilda was torn between not being right and wanting to find out the information Waneta had for us.
“Waneta knows the type of poison.” I said it as a statement, not a question.
Wanda set down her cup of meadow tea. It was a particularly pungent brew, and the fragrance of peppermint wafted toward me. “It was ethylene glycol.”
“Car coolant?” Matilda said in shock.
“Exactly.”
Matilda’s hand flew to her throat. “But Agatha Christie didn’t poison anyone with coolant.”
I was puzzled. “But what would it taste like? Wouldn’t it taste horrible? Why would somebody slip that into someone’s drink? I mean, surely there are more effective poisons? How much of it would it take to kill somebody? And what would taste like?” I asked again.
Wanda stood up. “I’ll fetch the information.”
The three of us exchanged glances but remained silent.
Wanda returned and sat down in her chair. She produced a piece of paper. “Waneta asked me to burn this piece of paper after I read to you, just to be on the safe side,” she said.
“Very Mission Impossible,” Matilda said.
“An impossible mission?” Wanda said, clearly confused.
I hurried to explain. “It was a TV show, now a series of films.”
Wanda did not seem interested in the slightest. “Oh, I see.” She picked up her glasses from the big German Bible next to her on the small wooden table and pushed them back on her nose. “Ethylene glycol.” She looked up at us. “Yes, I already told you that.” She looked back down at the slip of paper. “One ounce of ethylene glycol is fatal in humans.
”
“One ounce!” Matilda exclaimed. “That’s about the size of a shot.”
Wanda was clearly confused. “A shot?”
“A shot of alcohol,” I told her. “It’s a measure of alcohol. People drink it in one gulp.”
Wanda nodded slowly. “Yes, I see,” she said, although the expression on her face showed clearly that she didn’t. She looked down at the note and then back up at us with a bright smile. “That’s exactly what Waneta has written here. Shot glasses were on the desk in the office where the victim was found. The poison, the ethylene glycol, was found in one of them. Waneta also notes that there was a hip flask of brandy that also contained ethylene alcohol, although it appeared hardly any was missing.”
“So somebody gave it to the vic as a shot,” Eleanor said. “The fact that she had a hip flask shows she was prone to drinking, and obviously whoever killed her knew of her tendency to drink.”
“Obviously,” Matilda said.
“But what would it taste like?” I said. I tapped myself on the side of my chin. “Still, I suppose people don’t taste shots before they swallow them.”
“Ethylene glycol is generally sweet,” Matilda said. “Maybe it didn’t taste all that unpleasant.”
“That’s true, but what color was it?” Eleanor said. “If it was the bright green ethylene alcohol, I doubt she would have thought it was an alcoholic beverage.” She hesitated and then added, “Unless maybe she thought it was absinthe, but people don’t do shots of absinthe.”
I was wondering how Eleanor knew so much about absinthe, when Wanda spoke again. “Green,” she pronounced suddenly. “Waneta also said that the office was at the back of the building and nobody was supposed to be there. That’s why there were no witnesses. Will you remember all that so I can burn it now?”
We all said that we would. She crossed to the fireplace, threw it in, and then turned back to us. “I’ll burn it later. Was that a help?”
“It was a great help, thank you,” I told her. “Please thank Waneta for us. It was very good of her to tell us all this.”
“Waneta did feel bad about passing along the information, but she knows that you didn’t do it, Jane, and she knows Matilda and Eleanor didn’t do it as well. She’s worried that the murderer will get away, and she knows the three of you are investigating.”
Speak With Confection: An Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery Page 6
