by Emma Belmont
Guy tucked it into his pants pocket. “Can we open tomorrow?”
“It depends on whether or not forensics is finished,” Mac said.
The hardware store employee frowned. “Rudy would have wanted it to stay open.” Although Heather regarded the young man, she didn’t say anything.
“I’m sure that’s true,” Mac said. “But the investigators need to finish their work.” He paused for a second, and then said, “Is there a spare key for the doors?”
Guy immediately removed a set that had been clipped to his belt loop. “I have one,” he said, taking it from the ring. “The front and back use the same one.” He placed it in the sheriff’s outstretched palm.
“Thanks,” Mac said. “I’ll lock up today and give you a call later to let you know about tomorrow.”
20
Mac locked the front door behind Guy and Heather when they left, giving them both a little nod through the glass. He adjusted the ‘Closed’ sign so that it hung straight, and then turned to Maris. Subconsciously she’d crossed her arms over her chest as she’d watched them depart.
“Right,” Mac said. “Your body language is showing what I’m thinking. None of this is making sense.”
“To say the least,” Maris agreed, and then had an idea. “Let’s start from the beginning.” She gazed around their vicinity. “First, Joy Castro has an argument with Rudy Schmid on the morning of picnic day. Here. He refuses service to her and she leaves.”
“Then,” the sheriff said, “she sees him and Heather at the picnic, and gives him a piece of her mind.”
“At that point,” Maris said, “she’s already been poisoned by the salsa.”
Mac nodded. “She dies at the picnic, and it seems like a case of food poisoning.”
“But now,” Maris said, looking to the back of the store, “two days later, Rudy dies.”
“And it seems likely due to the same cause,” Mac noted.
“But how?” Maris said, throwing out her hands. “How could the two cases of food poisoning be connected?”
Mac paused for a moment, but then said, “The only connection between the two victims is their arguments—the only apparent connection.”
Heather and Guy had both got in different cars and were now gone. “Heather says she’d never met Joy, but what if that wasn’t true?” She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “Even so, what would be her motive to see Joy dead?”
“She said that she stood by her husband,” Mac mused, “but I wouldn’t exactly call that motive.”
Maris nodded. “And she admits that the love had gone out of their marriage, but that’s not a motive for murder either.”
“Although,” Mac interjected, “she doesn’t seem overly distraught at her husband’s death.”
Maris gazed out the window again. “No. She doesn’t.”
Approaching footsteps caused them both to look toward the aisles. Lucille was in the lead and carrying an armful of evidence bags. She’d lowered her face mask. “We need to make one more trip for the gear boxes,” she said to Mac. He quickly went to the door and opened it for Sefina, who was also carrying several evidence bags, but Lucille paused. “We’re done collecting evidence though.”
Maris looked at the various bags the senior investigator held. Rudy had apparently brought his lunch from home in an actual lunch box. They had also collected the travel mug that Heather had mentioned. They must have gone through the desk as well, since Maris hadn’t seen the pack of gum, container of breath mints, or the chapstick in the office. They’d been very thorough.
“All right,” Mac said. “Thanks for the quick work. Are you done with the crime scene?”
Lucille nodded. “You can have it.”
Sefina came back in and passed them, heading to the back.
“Was there anything that jumped out at you?” Mac asked, eying the collection of bags.
Lucille took them to the counter and picked one up. The plastic bag held a large plastic jar, and in it was a large syringe with a downturned needle. Maris arched her eyebrows.
“Was the victim on any medications?” the investigator asked.
Mac shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to be finding out.” But then he took a second look at the evidence. “This isn’t a piece of medical equipment. It’s the type of syringe used for epoxy.”
Maris cocked her head at it, but Lucille shook the jar a bit. “I don’t think that’s epoxy,” she said.
“No,” Mac said, looking closer. “It’s not viscous enough. You’re right.” He looked at Lucille. “Good call.”
Sefina brought three gear boxes through. “That’s everything,” the young woman said, and headed outside.
Lucille gathered up the bags again. “I’ll let you know if we find anything,” she said, heading toward the door. “We’ll start testing right away.”
“Thanks, Lucille,” Mac said, following her to the door. As she exited, he held the door for Maris. Once they were outside and he’d locked it, he turned to her.
“What’s your next step?” Maris asked.
“I’m going to have to start looking for some other connection between the two victims,” he said. “Just regular old shoe leather, I’m afraid.”
Since Joy had lived in Cheeseman Village, there’d be some ground to cover. “Is there anything that I can do?” she asked.
Mac shook his head but smiled. “I’ll take it from here, but thanks for your help today.”
Maris had to grimace a little. “I wish I could say it was my pleasure.”
21
Maris was on her way to her car when she noticed Max peeking out the front window of his pizzeria. He darted to the door as she approached.
As he opened it, he cupped his mouth. “Pssst, Bella,” he whispered. He beckoned her inside with a quick motion, even as he checked right and left on the sidewalk.
“Max,” she said, coming inside. He shut the door behind her. “What’s up?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said. “I saw Heather and Guy leave. They both looked upset. Has something happened to Rudy?”
Word was likely already out and spreading in the small town. Everyone had seen what Max had, and the emergency vehicles.
“I’m afraid so,” she said. “Rudy Schmid is dead. I found his body this morning in his office.”
Max’s eyes grew huge. “You?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Found his body?” He put a hand to his forehead. “No.” His face had gone white.
“Here,” Maris said, guiding him to one of the stools next to the shelf table. “Have a seat.”
As she put her purse down, the Italian chef slumped onto the stool. When she sat as well, he peered into her face. “Are you all right?”
Maris gave him a little smile. “I’m fine.” The real shock had come with the precognitive vision. Actually finding the store owner dead had been more like the other shoe dropping. But when Max continued to stare at her, she added, “Really. I’m totally fine.”
“Okay,” he said nodding. “Okay.” He stared at the wall as though he could see through it to the hardware store. “What happened to him?”
Maris tilted her head to the side and scowled. “I’m afraid we won’t know for sure until the coroner is done.”
With a stern look that furrowed his eyebrows and brought attention to his crooked nose, he said, “What do you think happened?”
Maris considered for a moment, before offering an observation. “I’d have to say that Rudy and Joy might possibly have shared the same fate.”
“Oh no,” Max muttered, shaking his head. Suddenly he sat bolt upright. “Did he have my pizza?”
“Your pizza?” Maris asked, recalling the lunchbox. “No, not that I saw. What would make you think he had your pizza?”
“Guy, his employee, had come in for one,” Max said. “Earlier today.”
“Really,” Maris said. There’d been no sign of any other food at all.
“Yes,”
Max said, nodding his head once. “He comes in almost every day.” He managed a lopsided smile. “And I can tell you that I appreciate that vote of confidence. Especially with the grand opening only a few days away.” He paused and his smile slipped. “Especially with…everything that has happened.”
Maris nodded. “I’m sure the coroner will have this cleared up quickly. Sooner than the grand opening.”
“Of course,” Max said, though he didn’t sound at all encouraged.
Although Maris wished there was something she could do to allay the restauranteur’s fears, the only thing she could really do was get to the bottom of the two deaths—possibly murders.
Max lightly thumped his hand down on the table. “I can only do what I can do,” he declared. Then he stood. “I will cook.”
Maris smiled at him as she stood too, and took her purse. She could imagine Cookie doing the same thing. “That’s a great plan. Keep busy.”
Max put the stools back in place. “Precisamente. Time will fly.” He turned to head to the kitchen, but paused and gave her a grateful look. “Grazie, Bella.”
“You’re welcome, Max. Ciao.”
22
Finally back at the B&B, much later than she’d planned, Maris went straight through to the back, exiting onto the side porch. As expected, Cookie was in her garden, but put down the potted plant she held as soon as she saw Maris.
“What happened?” the chef asked, coming over to the border where Maris joined her.
“Rudy Schmid died this morning,” she said without preamble. “It looks like it could be another case of botulism.”
“You’re kidding,” Cookie said, her gloved hands dropping to her sides. “Another?”
Maris grimaced. “That’s what it looked like.”
“But how in the world could…” Understanding dawned on the chef’s face. She narrowed her eyes. “Murder?”
With a reluctant nod, Maris said, “That’s the way Mac is going to treat them.”
“Them,” Cookie repeated. “Joy Castro and Rudy Schmid.” She put her gloved fists on her hips. “An unlikely pair if ever there was one.”
“I completely agree,” Maris said. “I can’t see how they’d possibly be connected.”
At that moment, a loud and familiar meow sounded from the porch’s screen door. Both women looked over to see Mojo’s big eyes staring at them. The orange orbs disappeared when his eyes closed as he meowed again. Then he turned and bounced away.
Cookie chuckled a bit under her breath. “Maybe you’re about to find out about their connection.”
Maris smiled and turned on her heel. “Maybe.”
Back in the library, Mojo was nowhere in sight. But as Maris went to the hallway, she saw him disappear into the parlor. It was going to be a Ouija clue. Except once she entered the parlor, she discovered that the Ouija board was gone.
“What?” Maris muttered. Mojo jumped up to the coffee table where it was usually displayed. “Where is it?” she asked, just as Mojo yowled. “Yeah,” she told him. “Me too.”
She turned in place scanning the room. To her relief, she spotted it immediately. It’d been tucked on top of some books in the bookshelf. As she went to retrieve it, she frowned a little. Neither she nor Cookie put it anywhere but on the table. Maybe one of the guests had used it and then stowed it away.
As she brought it over, Mojo watched intently and gave her his tiny, tinny meow.
“I know,” she said. “I’m moving as fast as I can.” She held the board and planchette out in front of her. “You know, it’d help if you weren’t in the way.”
He quickly crossed the table and sat down at its end.
Surprised, Maris said, “Thank you.”
No sooner did the board touch wood than Mojo was on top of it. Maris stood back.
“You’re anxious today,” she told him. Or maybe he’d been perturbed by the board not being in its rightful place.
But as she watched, he settled into position and immediately looked into the distance. He really wasn’t wasting any time. Soon one ear began to spin and his gaze became fixed and unfocused. Then the other velvety ear began to cock one way and then the other. Without warning, his paw lifted and then landed on the planchette, moving it to the first letter.
“B,” Maris whispered. The fuzzy black paw wasted no time in moving to the adjacent letter. “A,” Maris said lowly. Without pausing, the planchette slid back to the middle of the board. Its plastic window hovered over the ‘T.’
A bat? Maris thought. Which kind? The animal or a piece of wood?
But Mojo wasn’t through. The planchette made a move she’d never seen before. It was heading toward the numbers at the bottom. This would be a first. But the planchette quickly stopped and went back to the ‘T.’
Maris cocked her head down at it. He’d spelled a double T.
There was no time to ponder it, however, as the little black cat slid the planchette over to the ‘E.’
“What in the world?” Maris muttered. BATTE?
In the next few seconds, though, she had her answer. Just under the ‘E,’ Mojo moved the planchette down over the ‘R.’ Then, with a long and skittering slide, finished with the ‘Y.’
“Battery,” Maris said. Mojo blinked and looked up at her. He gave her his signature meow. “Yeah,” she said. “I see it. Battery.” She picked him up and gave his head a gentle pat. “And you set a land speed record spelling it.”
But as she stared down at the board, she had no idea what it could mean. Maybe the hardware store carried batteries.
“Or maybe it’s a car battery?” she asked him. Maybe she ought to ask Jude over at Flour Power Sandwiches & Gas. “Is that it?”
Rather than give her an answer, he squirmed to be put down, and Maris obliged him. Without a backward glance, he bounced away, into the hallway, and disappeared.
“Thanks,” she called out to him. But when she followed him out, he was gone. For a moment she paused and looked back at the board. He’d been awfully anxious to spell that word. She was going to have to track down something that had to do with batteries.
But as the late afternoon light cast long shadows across the Persian rug, Maris knew her search for the meaning of the clue would have to wait. It was time to get ready for the Wine Down.
23
The next morning after breakfast, Maris was intent on making up for lost time. Yesterday, following Rudy Schmid’s death, most of the day had been spent in town. As she turned down the guest beds and dusted, Cookie made sure there were enough toiletries and fresh towels. Although they passed each other on the stairs and in the hallways, Maris found herself lost in thought.
It seemed clear now why Claribel had shown her the dingy little office. Unfortunately, Maris hadn’t recognized it. If she had, then perhaps she could have done something to prevent Rudy’s death. What was much less obvious were Mojo’s clues: the seven of swords and a battery. Even more obscure was what would link Rudy with Joy, and mean they had to be killed.
“Who would stand to benefit?” Maris muttered.
Guy had been more upset than Heather at her husband’s death. If Superior Hardware went out of business, he’d have no job. If anything, he had a vested interest in seeing Rudy alive and well.
When the dryer sounded, Maris trotted down the stairs, dusting the banister as she went. She’d found that if she were prompt with the machine loads, she could cut the washing and drying time by almost a half hour. Once the next loads were running, she began folding the linens—the napkins and matching tablecloth from the dining room.
Again, her thoughts returned to yesterday. Heather had not seemed overwrought with sadness and been frank about the state of her marriage. Like Guy, she seemed to have a vested interest in seeing her husband alive, having never worked outside the home.
Maris paused.
“But what about a life insurance policy?” she murmured.
Had Rudy been the type to make sure his wife would be taken care of, in the eve
nt of his death? For a moment she wondered if Mac would be looking at that possibility, but then nodded to herself. Of course he would. After her aunt’s death, he’d asked much the same questions of her.
As she opened the linen cabinet, she suddenly thought of Max. After Bear had repaired his oven, he’d joked about making his restaurant wider. The pizzeria was indeed an incredibly narrow place, probably contributing to it having been vacant. But could the big-hearted Italian chef have the type of ambition for his restaurant that he’d actually kill someone. More than once he’d asked about his pizza in connection with the deaths.
Could there actually be a link?
Cookie had already posited that he was one of the magick folk, with a talent like hers but with food and not potions. Surely he’d use his magic ability rather than botulism to kill someone.
A shiver ran down her spine.
If anyone were capable of food poisoning, wouldn’t it be someone whose magic ability involved food?
“Are you hanging on to the knobs for any particular reason?” Cookie asked. She put a load of dish towels on top of the washing machine.
Startled out of her thoughts, Maris realized she’d opened the doors to put away the linens but hadn’t. “Just thinking,” she said, as she quickly grabbed the linens and put them away.
“Well,” Cookie said, “before you close that, you might want to take the duster out.”
“What?” Maris said, yanking the doors back open. She’d set the napkins on top of it. “Oh, sorry.” She snatched them out, along with the duster. When she turned the stack over to see the bottom napkin, she saw that she’d gotten it dirty. “I’ll wash this one again,” she said, peeling it off.
“You can toss it in with the dish towels,” the chef said, standing aside. As they swapped places, Cookie took the clean napkins but didn’t put them away. Instead, she unfolded them.
