‘No, but … but I was busy watching the servers,’ she stammered.
‘Just like everyone else in that reception hall who was busy doing something other than staring at a video camera,’ Tish stated. ‘I’ll also point out that the sheriff made it clear that there were no traces of arsenic in the food Binnie ate or in the glass from which she drank.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t arsenic,’ Jules suggested. ‘It’s not like the boys in blue of this county – or the coroner, for that matter – have much experience with this sort of thing. Schuyler is an intelligent man, an attorney, who no doubt has connections in the world. He could have found a tasteless, odorless poison that’s impossible to trace and used it on Binnie Broderick.’
‘And Doctor Livermore?’ Tish crossed her arms across her chest in defiance. ‘What’s the connection?’
Jules became uncharacteristically quiet.
Having won the battle, Tish collected her sandwich and drink and went inside to eat her lunch in solitude. She was not alone for long.
Mary Jo, followed by a sullen Jules, swung open the screen door and stepped inside. They silently approached Tish, who was ensconced at one of the whitewashed café tables, munching a pita and looking out of the window.
As if on cue, a roll of distant thunder indicated that yet another afternoon storm was on the horizon.
‘Look, I grant you that we may have been hasty in accusing Schuyler of murder,’ Mary Jo admitted after several minutes had elapsed. ‘But I do take issue with the fact that he wasn’t completely honest with you.’
Still gazing out of the window, Tish swallowed a bite of her sandwich and opened her mouth to argue.
Mary Jo stopped her before she could utter a word. ‘Wait. Hear me out.’
Tish closed her mouth and faced Mary Jo with a nod of the head.
‘You told us that what you like about Schuyler is that he was open and upfront with you even when you questioned him about his dislike for Binnie Broderick.’
‘Yes, he had no qualms about telling me everything regarding Binnie and his mother’s death,’ Tish explained.
‘But did he actually tell you everything?’ Jules countered. ‘It’s great for him to say he’s being above board about the whole thing, but you only have his word for it that he is.’
‘Exactly,’ Mary Jo agreed. ‘So, on that note, did Schuyler tell you he was seated at the table next to Binnie’s? Did he mention that he walked directly past Binnie while she was talking to Opal and, therefore, he was one of the last people to see Binnie before she died?’
Tish’s eyes turned down as if searching the table for an answer. ‘No, he didn’t.’
A voice came from the doorway. ‘I came back into town for a meeting and thought I’d bring by some croissants from the Sub Rosa Bakery that a client of mine gave as a thank-you, but I can see you’re all very busy.’
Schuyler Thompson’s voice was harsh and embittered. He tossed a white paper bag on to the table adjacent to the one where Tish was seated and turned to bid a hasty retreat.
‘Schuyler.’ Tish pushed her chair back, causing it crash to the floor. ‘Wait.’
Schuyler stepped back inside the doorway. Tish rushed to his side.
‘You know, if you had any questions about that night and where I was or what I was doing, all you had to do is ask,’ he reprimanded her. ‘I said I wanted things to be out in the open between us, and I meant it.’
Schuyler slid an eye in Jules’s direction, causing the color to rise in the weatherman’s cheeks.
‘OK, if all we have to do is ask,’ Mary Jo took Schuyler up on his offer, ‘we have footage of you at the fundraiser, leaving your table and pushing between Binnie Broderick and Opal Schaeffer just as the main course was being served. Where were you going? And why did you go that way?’
‘I had to go to the men’s room. Cutting past Binnie’s table was the shortest route because the other way was blocked by a waitress. A waitress who happened to be serving the main course you just mentioned.’
‘That’s the best you can do?’ Mary Jo remained accusatory in tone.
‘MJ,’ Tish scolded.
Schuyler held a hand aloft as indication that he could handle the situation without Tish’s assistance. ‘Yes, that is the best I can do because it’s the truth. If you have a Bible handy, I’d be happy to swear on it.’
‘That’s nice—’ Mary Jo’s response was cut short by the appearance of Opal Schaeffer, who swung open the screen door of the café and poked her head inside.
‘Hello,’ she sang. ‘I have some goodies for you.’
‘Doesn’t anyone in this town knock on doors?’ Tish complained.
‘It’s a café,’ Opal explained. ‘Why would I knock on the door of an eatery?’
‘Because it’s not open for … oh, never mind.’ Tish realized it was best to deal with Opal as quickly as possible. ‘What can I do for you, Opal?’
‘I’ve brought you that bag of homegrown cucumbers I told you about and threw in some cherry tomatoes,’ Opal announced as she extracted two brown paper sacks of vegetables from her hemp tote bag. ‘And since you may be using my garden produce in your restaurant, I figured why not offer you the full Marjorie Morningstar package?’
‘The full what?’
‘Morningstar romance package.’ Opal reached into her tote and pulled out two books and an assortment of jars. ‘Here are my two latest novels. The Young and the Vestless features scandal and seduction in the men’s fashion industry, and A Scot in the Dark is a fun historical romance timed to coincide with the success of the Outlander series.’
‘To think I was blown away by the cheesiness of your menu titles, Tish. You may have been out-punned,’ Jules acknowledged.
Opal looked up to see who had spoken. Cocking her head to one side as she gazed upon Jules’s face, she asked, ‘And who is this striking young man?’
‘Julian Jefferson Davis, ma’am.’ Jules extended his hand in greeting.
‘Do I know you from somewhere?’
The smile ran away from Jules’s face.
‘He’s the Channel Ten weatherman,’ Tish explained.
‘The one taken out by the snowplow last winter,’ Schuyler was more than happy to add.
‘Don’t be catty, Thompson,’ Jules warned.
‘That face,’ Opal declared. ‘You should be on my next book cover.’
‘Really?’ Jules was agog.
‘She asks everyone to be on her book covers,’ Tish said to Jules, aside.
‘She’s never asked me,’ Mary Jo pouted.
Tish flashed her friend a look that was the nonverbal equivalent of Seriously? ‘I’d be happy to sell your books, Opal, with suitable warning labels. As for the produce, I’ll give it a taste and get back to you.’
‘Oh, but that’s not all. I also have my line of homemade aphrodisiac bath bombs – I call them sex bombs,’ Opal giggled, ‘and massage oils. Just a little nudge to get my readers to spice up their own love lives.’
‘Yeah, I, um, I’ll have to think about those.’ Tish cleared her throat.
‘Don’t be such a worrywart. They’ll sell. Not everyone in this world is wrapped up as tightly as Binnie Broderick was. You’d think I was running a meth lab in my house the way she carried on about this stuff. Thankfully, the police saw I had all the appropriate certificates and paperwork and let me be.’
‘So Binnie knew about your scent business?’
‘Tish, my dear, Binnie Broderick made it a point to find out about everything. Everything.’ She winked. ‘For someone to have slipped arsenic into Binnie’s food without her knowing, that person had to have known precisely what they were doing. One slip and it would have been curtains for them.’
Again, Tish’s mind returned to the subject of Binnie’s bread-and-butter pickles. And the empty jars in the kitchen sink at Wisteria Knolls.
Opal clicked her tongue. ‘Well, that’s it for me. Storm’s coming in and I’d better go home and make sure my computer’s
plugged into the surge protector. I have a deadline looming.’
As Opal grabbed her hemp bag and headed through the screen door and out into the world, Mary Jo’s phone rang. ‘Sorry, I have to take this. It’s Kayla.’ She excused herself behind the counter and moved to the opposite corner of the café.
Tish stared after Opal as if in a fugue state. The hot sauce … the pickles …
‘Well, if you’re all finished interrogating me, I’d best be going too,’ Schuyler announced.
Tish immediately snapped out of her reverie. ‘What? Wait. Are we OK?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’ Schuyler sighed and ran a hand through the back of his hair.
‘I’m sorry about what happened today. Jules and Mary Jo kind of blindsided me, and what with the murders, and the café being involved …’
‘Relationships are based upon trust and it seems you have some questions about me.’
Tish felt as though she might cry. ‘No, I don’t think I do. I … I defended you.’
From the opposite corner of the café, another drama was playing out. ‘No, you were just in Williamsburg a few weeks ago to go to Busch Gardens with your friends. You can’t go again. You have a summer job, remember?’
‘Nice defense, letting Mary Jo question me about the video footage.’ Schuyler’s reply dripped with sarcasm.
‘Well, you might have mentioned walking past Binnie’s table when you did,’ Tish rebutted. ‘Even you have to admit the timing is odd.’
Mary Jo’s voice grew louder. ‘Yes, I know this is a concert and not a theme park. That’s precisely why the answer is no. Funhouse Fest takes place on the front lawn of the old mental hospital where there’s absolutely no shelter nearby. You’re only fifteen years old. I’m not letting you camp overnight in a tent in the mud with teenage boys and perverts all around.’
The mention of Williamsburg and an old mental hospital triggered something in Tish’s brain. ‘Is there still a psychiatric hospital in Williamsburg?’
‘What?’ Schuyler nearly shouted. ‘We were talking about us.’
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I still want to talk about us, but for the moment, I need to know if there is still a psychiatric facility in Williamsburg.’
‘Yes, Eastern State Hospital. Why?’
‘Sheriff Reade said that Charlotte was at St Margaret’s School until an incident occurred this past Christmas, remember?’ Tish prompted.
‘Yeah, I do. What about it?’
‘What if the trouble Charlotte got into required her to be taken to Eastern State?’
‘That’s a stretch, isn’t it?’ Schuyler was skeptical.
‘Is it? It would explain why Cordelia didn’t call her daughter to notify her about her grandmother’s death. It also explains why John and Cordelia Ballantyne were arguing about moving Charlotte to Baltimore. The question is, why is John Ballantyne going to Williamsburg to talk to Charlotte but not taking Cordelia with him?’
‘I don’t understand.’ Schuyler shook his head and looked to Jules to decipher Tish’s behavior.
‘No idea.’ Jules shrugged.
‘Why isn’t Charlotte’s mother going to speak with her? Why is Roberta Dutton going in her place? Why did Binnie Broderick change her will?’ Tish blurted.
‘She changed her will?’ Jules repeated.
‘Tish, that was confidential information,’ Schuyler shouted.
Tish paid no mind. ‘It’s like Sheriff Reade said. We’ve been looking at this the wrong way round. The hot sauce wasn’t the cause of Binnie Broderick’s poisoning. It was a symptom.’
Once again, Schuyler forgot about his indignation. ‘A symptom?’
‘Didn’t you tell me that Binnie was suffering from a headache the day she came to your office?’ Tish reminded Schuyler.
‘Yes, she asked me for a Tylenol and then insisted I close the blinds in my office because the light was bothering her.’
‘Headaches, photosensitivity, and a metallic taste in her mouth,’ Tish listed, pausing between each symptom.
‘How do you know about the metallic taste?’ Jules quizzed. ‘Did Binnie mention it at the fundraiser food tasting?’
‘No, not at the food tasting, but Binnie did tell us. She told us when she asked for hot sauce at the fundraiser. She told us with the case of sriracha in the pantry at Wisteria Knolls. And, most of all, she told us when the pickles she made for the annual barbecue were so foul-tasting no one else could eat them. Binnie adjusted the seasoning of those pickles to mask the horrible taste in her mouth. To everyone at that barbecue, they were horrid. To Binnie, they were delicious. They were delicious because they were seasoned to cover up the horrible effects of long-term arsenic poisoning. And I think I now know exactly how that arsenic was delivered.’
Tish ran out on to the front porch and snatched from the swing the handbag she had left there seemingly a lifetime ago. Retrieving her car keys from the inside pocket of the bag, she hopped into the Matrix and pulled out of the café parking lot.
Schuyler and Jules watched as Tish took off toward the bypass road. By this time, Mary Jo had disconnected from her phone call. ‘Where’s she going?’ she asked.
‘She has a lead on the killer,’ Jules explained.
‘That’s it. I’m going after her,’ Schuyler announced.
‘Not so fast,’ Jules warned. ‘Tish is an intelligent, independent, and strong woman. She does not need you or anyone else to rescue her.’
Mary Jo folded her arms across her chest and nodded. ‘And, if she needed your help, she would have asked for it.’
‘I’m not rescuing her,’ Schuyler insisted. ‘And I know Tish didn’t ask for help, but don’t you think someone should be nearby just in case something goes wrong?’
Jules pulled a face. ‘Maybe. But you are not that person. We still don’t know for certain what you were doing on that video footage.’
Again, Mary Jo nodded.
‘I already told you. I was going to the men’s room,’ Schuyler shrieked.
‘So soon in the evening?’ Jules challenged.
‘Yes. I drank two glasses of champagne before dinner and … well, what happens to you after you drink two glasses of champagne?’
‘I dance,’ Jules answered flatly.
Schuyler threw his hands up in the air and marched out of the café and into the parking lot. ‘Look, with or without you, I’m going after Tish.’
‘OK. OK, we’ll go, but Mary Jo drives,’ Jules insisted.
‘Whatever. Let’s just track down Tish before anything happens,’ an exasperated Schuyler shouted.
Jules followed, leaving Mary Jo to lock up the café.
‘There’s no time for that,’ Schuyler shouted to Mary Jo as she fumbled with her keys. ‘Shut the door and let’s go. You know, you guys are a trip. You’re ready to jump all over me, but meanwhile you let your friend—’
He was interrupted by a sudden gasp on the part of Jules. ‘Is that a Series 3 BMW you have there?’
‘Yes,’ an angry Schuyler replied.
‘MJ, honey. No need for you to drive,’ Jules called to Mary Jo, who was still on the porch. ‘We’re taking Mr Thompson’s car and I’m calling shotgun.’
TWENTY-THREE
Just before she reached Wisteria Knolls, Tish pulled the Matrix on to the shoulder of the road and shifted into park. As she pocketed the keys and stepped out on to the asphalt, the sky opened up, sending lightning bolts flashing through the treetops and heavy drops of water splashing down on to the earth below.
Running as fast as she could, Tish picked her way through the shrubs and trees that formed a natural fence around the property and also shielded her from being seen from inside the house. Dispensing with the polite convention of ringing the front door bell, she sprinted directly to the side entrance. As before, it was unlocked. Tish turned the handle as quietly as possible and admitted herself into the butler’s pantry. There, she slipped out of her wet shoes and tiptoed into the kitchen to look for the items
she had seen there earlier in the day.
Unfortunately, the objects in question had been moved and the kitchen table was empty.
Padding across the kitchen floor, Tish pushed open the door that led to the dining room and stepped inside. In the gloom of the unlit room, she examined the glass hutch of the mahogany-inlaid Chippendale breakfront, but the items she sought were not on display.
With trembling hands, Tish opened the left door on the bottom section of the cupboard and peeked inside. Dessert plates matching the pattern of the dishes on display were stacked high and topped with a glass trifle bowl.
A peek behind the cupboard door on the right side of the cabinet yielded a view of neatly stacked cups and saucers, also in the same delicate blue floral with silver trim.
Tish closed both doors and continued her search. Sliding out the center drawers of the cabinet produced two different sterling silver flatware sets – one of which most likely belonged to Enid Kemper’s family and, thankfully, appeared to be complete – as well as a vast and varied array of table linens. Tish closed both drawers and took a sweeping glance over the Chesterfield dining-room set, consisting of a broad, impeccably lacquered table and a dozen ornately carved cherrywood chairs. This also yielded nothing.
Tish shook her head. They had to be somewhere in the house or this hunting trip had been for naught. Pushing open the door that led to the entry foyer, she placed a tentative toe on the nearest floorboard only for it to be met with a loud creak. Her heart in her mouth, Tish listened for an audible reply to the sound of her movements, but there was none.
Stretching her other leg into the hallway, Tish shut the dining-room door behind her and shuffled along the floorboards to minimize the production of further squeaks and scrapes. So focused was she on keeping silent that she failed to notice the presence of Cordelia in the front parlor, seated in one of two silk-upholstered antique wingback armchairs.
‘Hello, Tish,’ the woman said through the open parlor door.
Cordelia’s voice might as well have been the sound of a gunshot, for its effect upon Tish was precisely the same. ‘Cordelia,’ Tish greeted, despite the tremor in her voice, racing heartbeat, and a queasy stomach. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
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