Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set

by Jeanne Glidewell

  Stone discovered that, several decades ago, Cornelius had been engaged to Horatio's first wife, Ethel. According to Cornelius, lies and deception utilized by Mr. Prescott had allowed Ethel to be stolen from him. According to Cornelius, Prescott had convinced Ethel her fiancé was of questionable character, and marriage to him was sure to cause her great heartache. Ethel had dumped Cornelius and soon found herself engaged to Horatio. Cornelius had never married, or even become engaged again in the wake of his sorrow at losing the "love of his life." He was further devastated when Ethel died mysteriously in a boating accident on the day before she would have celebrated her and Horatio's tenth anniversary.

  Horatio, however, was apparently less distraught following Ethel's untimely death. He remarried within three months of the tragedy, to a woman who was fifteen years his junior. Several years later, his second wife also died prematurely, in a horrific house fire, which was eventually determined to have been set by an unknown arsonist.

  "How awful," I said. "Mr. Prescott sure had to endure a lot of tragedies, didn't he?"

  "I don't know about Mr. Prescott, but those close to him sure did."

  I caught Stone's meaning but wondered why he thought Horatio Prescott might have been responsible for the deaths of his two former wives. I was going to ask him about this when I suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my abdomen, just seconds before a veil of darkness settled over me and I crumpled into an undignified heap on the kitchen floor.

  Chapter 6

  The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and being startled by two other pairs of eyes, worried and inquisitive, staring down at me. I glanced around quickly and discovered I was lying on a hospital bed. There was a sedative-type medication and a bag of saline solution dripping into my arm via an IV tube, an oxygen monitor clipped to my index finger, and a heart monitor beeping to the side of my bed.

  "Mom?" I heard Wendy ask in a concerned voice. "Can you hear me?"

  "Yes," I tried to answer, but my throat was raw and swollen.

  "Don't try to talk, honey." Stone's voice was soothing. He had an apologetic tone to his voice as he said, "They've just had to pump your stomach."

  "What happened?" I asked. My words were raspy. I sounded like an old metal gate rubbing against a wooden fence post.

  "They discovered traces of tansy oil in your system, Mom," Wendy said. "It's the same toxic poison we found in Prescott, according to the results of the toxicology report."

  "Tansy oil?" I'd never heard of it.

  "Uh-huh. According to Nate, tansy is a poisonous herb once considered a 'cure-all.' Less than a tablespoon of the oil derived from it can be deadly. In other words, Mom, someone tried to kill you. And it looks like it was the same person who killed Horatio Prescott."

  "Fortunately," Stone said, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe his own words, "the massive amount of coffee you drank today probably saved your life. It diluted the tansy oil enough to prevent it from being a lethal dose."

  I nodded. My throat was too sore to speak more than a few words at a time. Stone spooned a few ice chips into my mouth, giving me immediate relief.

  Wendy lifted my hand up to inspect the IV infusion site. "Good, no signs of bruising," she said. She turned toward Stone as she spoke again. "Why would anyone want to kill both Mr. Prescott and Mom? It's not as if they have anything in common. Do you think the person has a vendetta against the Alexandria Inn for some reason? Could any other guests be in danger?"

  Stone considered my daughter's questions for a moment before shaking his head. He brushed loose tendrils of hair away from his forehead. "It's possible, I guess," he said, "but I don't think it's very likely, Wendy. I expect it's more probable the killer is concerned that your mother may stumble on to the truth of who's responsible for the murder. She's been questioning all the Historical Society guests, and it appears as if it is one of them, not an outsider, who's responsible for the murder. That's why I don't want her questioning any of them anymore. I don't want her to even be present at the inn until the perpetrator is in police custody. The success of the inn is nowhere near worth her getting injured or killed over."

  Wendy nodded in complete agreement with Stone. I felt slightly betrayed. The ice chips had soothed and moistened my throat so I could now speak clearly. I'm sure I sounded more annoyed than I meant to, considering both of them had my best interests at heart. "I refuse to back down, Stone. I'll be more cautious, but I won't let the killer intimidate me."

  Stone knew me well enough by now to know I meant exactly what I said. Being poisoned by the perpetrator only increased my resolve to help see him ferreted out and arrested. Stone sighed and dropped his head into his hands. I listened to the near-hysterical ranting of my daughter, while sucking on a throat lozenge Stone had given me.

  When Wendy finally settled down and came to the same resigned realization as Stone, I cleared my throat and said, "I recall having set my cup down on the sofa table while I gathered up the ashtrays to empty and rinse out. Boris is the only guest who smokes, but he seems intent on distributing his ashes evenly among all the ashtrays in the various rooms. With the guests milling around in the parlor, any one of them could have slipped a dose of tansy oil in my coffee undetected."

  I paused a moment to reflect. "Weren't there ashes in the ashtray in Horatio's room this morning?" I asked. "I remember thinking the ashtray needed to be cleaned. That seems odd because I don't think Horatio was a smoker."

  "I don't remember even looking at the ashtray, but it wouldn't have been my primary concern at the time. Nor do I remember if Horatio smoked," Stone said. "But I don't really recall ever seeing him with a cigarette or cigar, or even a pipe."

  I couldn't remember seeing him with a cigarette or cigar either, and I tended to notice that kind of thing even more since I quit smoking. I always had to remind myself to keep my mouth shut because there was nothing more annoying than an ex-smoker expounding on the stupidity of smoking.

  I wondered who, beside Boris, could have deposited ashes in Horatio's ashtray. I was trying to think back to earlier in the evening and visualize exactly what had happened and in exactly what sequence. I was having trouble thinking through the fog filtering into my mind. The medication dripping into my IV tube was beginning to take effect.

  "I also remember the coffee took on a bitter taste after I retrieved the cup from the sofa table," I said, after a lengthy interval.

  "And you continued to drink it?" Wendy asked incredulously.

  "Yes, I did—out of habit, I suppose. I was distracted by other things at the time and attributed the unusual taste to the fact I'd been drinking so much of the stuff all day long. Strong coffee can be a mite bitter all on its own, you know."

  Wendy and Stone were both looking at me as if I were one goose short of a gaggle, so I decided to lie back down to rest for a moment. In my current condition, it took too much effort to try to convince them I was not losing my mind. I closed my heavy eyelids and swallowed the melted ice accumulating in the back of my throat. Stone squeezed behind the hospital bed and began to knead the taut muscles in my neck and shoulders.

  "Who could feel threatened enough by my simple questioning to attempt to kill me?" I asked. Neither Stone nor Wendy replied, so I wasn't sure I'd even asked the question out loud. I was feeling more and more relaxed from the medicine and from the hypnotizing feel of Stone's hand rubbing the tension out of my upper body.

  Could it be a guest I hadn't found the time to question yet? I wondered. Maybe someone who didn't want to be questioned by a nosy, interfering servant? It was my last conscious thought before I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 7

  I was released from the hospital at about noon on Tuesday. I left with a long list of instructions that included returning to the ER if any of my symptoms worsened or if any new ones developed.

  As the male nurse wheeled me to the front vestibule, Stone walked along beside the wheelchair carrying my coat and fanny pack. He'd arrived at the h
ospital just as I was signing the release form.

  "Anything new?" I asked.

  "A few things," he said. "I'll bring you up to date on the way back to the inn."

  I knew Stone didn't want to say anything in the presence of the nurse, so I changed the subject to something more mundane. The weather was always a good subject when one wanted to make idle chatter. "Snow's all gone, I see. I hope yesterday's snowfall was winter's last gasp and spring is just around the corner. Maybe this was the last major winter storm we'll have this season."

  "Could be, but I doubt it. More snow is predicted for tonight. Quite a lot of it, they're now predicting. The forecast gets more intimidating every time the weatherman revises it."

  After assisting me as I climbed into the passenger seat of a silver Chevy Cavalier, Stone took his place behind the steering wheel and prepared to drive the car out of the parking lot.

  "I borrowed Tony's car," he said, as he turned toward me to help me fasten my seat belt. "My car is at the dealership getting an oil change and a tune-up, and your Jeep's gas gauge was on empty. I will fill it up for you this afternoon."

  "Thanks! Who's Tony?"

  "Oh, you know. The Italian-looking guy on the remodeling crew with the ponytail and earring. He's the one who promised to take me crappie fishing at Perry Lake this spring."

  "Oh, sure. He's the painter. I'd forgotten his name was Tony. I think he looks Italian because he is Italian. His last name is Morelli, if I remember right. He told me his grandparents still live in Sicily. Anyway, it was nice of him to loan you his car and thoughtful of you to ask him if you could borrow it."

  "I wanted to make sure you'd be comfortable."

  "I'm quite comfortable, thanks. I'll be completely recuperated shortly. I feel almost like my old self today."

  "Good. But you need to rest and take it easy for a while anyway. You scared at least ten years off my life when you passed out in the kitchen last night."

  "I'm sorry—"

  "It's not your fault, honey. And I'm glad you got a good night's sleep. It's more than I can say for any of the rest of us."

  "Why? Did something else happen?" I asked as he braked the car to a stop at a red light.

  "No, thank God. Prescott's murder and the attempt on your life were enough as it was. I just think our guests were afraid to go to sleep last night, lest the same thing happen to them that felled Mr. Prescott. There were people scurrying about all night long, from one room to the next. I had no less than a dozen reports of suspicious sounds and intruder sightings. The guests were all carrying weapons of varying degrees of effectiveness, from Rosalinda's pepper spray to Cornelius's golf club. And Robert Fischer whacked Patty Poffenbarger on the head with his pipe when she surprised him as she was sneaking out of the kitchen with a snack. She has an under-active thyroid, you know."

  "Yes, of course," I said with a laugh. "I'll bet Patty had a thing or two to say about the indignity she suffered. 'Peckish Patty Poffenbarger pissed when painfully popped with pipe while packing pillaged pastries from pantry to parlor.' How's that for a tongue twister?"

  "Pretty pathetic, my perky partner," Stone said in amusement. "But I admit I couldn't say it three times in a row. Are you sure you're feeling okay, honey?"

  "Sorry, Stone. I know I sound half crazy, but I'm just so relieved to be on my way back to the inn. I don't like hospitals very much."

  "I can understand that. But I can't help worrying about you," Stone said, patting my hand, which was resting on my knee. "You're right about Patty, though. She's pissed and still spouting off about an impending lawsuit, I'm sure. It was a long night, I assure you. I missed you more than I can say."

  Stone reached over again and rubbed the top of my thigh for a few seconds and then placed his right hand back on the steering wheel. His forehead appeared to have several new furrows etched in to it.

  "I missed you, too," I said. "So what's going on at the inn today?"

  "Not much so far. It's been pretty quiet this morning. Boris Dack left for his office at about seven this morning and told the investigators he'd return by eleven. I just spoke with Crystal on my cell phone, and Boris has still not arrived back at the inn. I thought we might drive by the D&P Enterprise office building. Harry Turner, rather reluctantly, it seemed to me, explained where the building was located. Sound okay to you? We can head straight back to the inn, if you'd rather," Stone said.

  "No, I'd like to see the building, and it'd be a good time to do it, while we're driving a less conspicuous vehicle—one that doesn't stand out like my yellow Jeep or your red Corvette."

  "Yes, that's what I thought. This silver car blends in well. It seems to me as if every other vehicle on the road these days is putrid or silver—"

  "Putrid?"

  "Excuse me, I meant pewter. It's beautiful, I'll admit, but it's become such a popular color for vehicles, I'm getting sick of seeing it. Does the sign ahead say Executive Drive? I can't read it from here."

  I couldn't either, so I found my glasses in my fanny pack and slipped them on. I saw the sign read Executive Drive just as Stone made a quick left turn onto the street.

  "That building on the right says D&P Enterprises on its front," I said, pointing to a modern, three-story chrome and glass structure. Stone slowed down and steered Tony's Chevy into the nearly vacant parking lot. A white cardboard sign was tacked on the front door of the building. Stone pulled the car up to the door and stepped out to read the sign printed with a red magic marker. He re-entered the car, shivered dramatically, and turned toward me.

  "Chilly out there, isn't it?" he commented, placing his icy fingers against my neck. He then pulled them back and began blowing on his hands to warm them. "The sign says the business will be temporarily closed due to the unexpected death of Horatio Prescott. Employees will be notified by phone when they're to return to work. Looking through the glass doors, though, I saw a man who looked like Boris going out the back door with a very large, bulging trash bag. I'm almost positive it was Boris, even though I didn't see his blue Chrysler in the front parking lot. Now I'm going to sneak around to the back of the building and see if I can see anything else."

  I waited while Stone walked around to the back of the building. While he was gone, I saw Boris pull around the building in his navy blue sedan. He drove out of the parking lot without even glancing my way. Just a few seconds later I heard the trunk on Tony's Chevy pop open behind me. I turned to look at Stone as he tossed a large trash sack in the trunk and then jumped back into the car.

  "I want to follow him. Which way did he turn?" he asked, gasping for breath. I pointed south, and Stone drove out of the parking lot and turned in that direction. "Boy, am I winded! Next time I buy a stationary bike I'm going to use it more than a half dozen times before I sell it in a garage sale for five bucks."

  "You used a stationary bike six times?" I asked. "I'm impressed. I can't remember using mine more than twice. But I got ten bucks for it because it was still in 'like new' condition. I hadn't even removed the original price sticker, yet."

  "Yes, but did you dust yours for three years before you sold it?"

  "No, I disposed of it quickly because I didn't want to be reminded of my vow to get in shape and use it an hour a day, every day. It sat in the corner of the living room and taunted me for just two months before I sold it."

  "Good for you. I love a woman who can stand up to a piece of exercise equipment and show it she's the boss."

  I chuckled at his remark. It struck me at that moment I had laughed more in the few months I'd known Stone than I'd laughed in the entire twenty years since my husband Chester had died. Having a man in my life again was turning out to be good for me in more ways than I'd anticipated. "What's in the bag, Stone? Any idea?"

  "No, other than what appears to be a lot of shredded paper. Later we'll check out the contents of the trash bag. He was sure intent on getting rid of it in the dumpster. I could see by the look on his face he was convinced no one had seen him take that bag out of
the building. He's covering his butt for some reason—getting rid of a paper trail or evidence of something. He's either guilty of murdering his business partner, or concerned about white-collar crimes that might be uncovered in an all-out investigation. That'd be my bet at this point."

  We soon caught up with the dark blue Chrysler Concorde. Stone tried to stay several cars behind Boris. We followed him for about twenty miles before he turned off into the immense parking lot of the new horseracing facility. The racetrack had caused a lot of controversy among local residents as it was being built. The newspapers had been full of editorials for and against the new racetrack. Many of the town's citizens thought all the new casinos in the Kansas City area were detrimental enough without adding other outlets for gambling.

  I had to agree the new gaming establishments could prove to be the downfall of many people with a weakness for gambling. Not only an addicted gambler, but also almost anyone under the right circumstances, could be enticed to bet their entire house payment on a chance to win a large jackpot. And, like it or not, the odds are never in the gambler's favor. On many occasions, even I had been known to donate more money than I'd intended at the casinos. I had an unrequited love for the triple diamond slot machines for several years. I finally got tired of losing all the money I took with me.

  "Hmm. I wonder what he's doing here," Stone said, bringing me out of my reverie on the pitfalls of the area's casinos. "I'm going to go in there and see if I can learn anything without being seen by Boris. If he spots me, I'll just walk up to the betting cage and place a twenty dollar bet on the number three horse to win, nod at Boris if I catch his eye, and leave. You stay in the car, out of the cold wind. I won't be long. I'll leave the motor running and the heater on for you."

  I would have liked to go with him, but I didn't really feel all that strong yet, so I nodded and said, "Okay, take your time. And make it horse number one. I think having the inside rail is a definite advantage in any horse race."