by January Bain
The phone rang. I rushed to answer it.
“Charm?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Ace. You were right. The jar was labeled. So, it wasn’t the one she took home that day. Which means someone else could have placed the poison in it at an earlier time.”
“Thanks for checking.”
“When did you make the last batch?”
“Let me think. Yes, seven days ago.”
“Well, it’ll made my job a whole lot tougher, expanding it by a full seven days’ worth of visitors. I’ll get right on it. Interrogation’s one of my specialities. I’ll drop by later to confer.”
“Good, do that.” I liked his confidence. And the idea of conferring. We’d come some distance in forty-eight hours.
I sat down, tapping my fingernails on the wooden tabletop.
“Sounds like the new Mountie’s becoming a friend.”
I gave Emma a quick glance and shrugged. “Well, we both want to prove I’m innocent.”
“That’s something, that, him believing in your innocence.”
“Yeah, it is.” I picked up the fragile teacup and took a swallow, barely tasting the fragrant brew, my mind was so focused on the problem.
I sat down the empty cup. “I’m heading over to see Suzanna. See if she can remember who visited your aunt this past week.”
“I appreciate all you’re doing to solve my aunt’s murder.” Tears swam in her eyes, making me jump up from the table and hug her tight. Her red curls gave off their usual fragrance of strawberry shampoo and I breathed deeply, the odor comforting.
“We will find out. I promise.”
She nodded and I rushed to make it to my next stop. Suzanna worked at Doris Johnson’s on her off days. I hoped to find her there.
Five minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of the Johnson family, as advertised on a painted rock in their yard, surrounded by flowers. Nice touch.
Banging on the door, I waited impatiently for someone to answer.
“Ah, Suzanna, just the woman I wanted to talk to. You got a minute?”
“Come in. Just getting started, but we can talk as I work, if you don’t mind?”
“No worries.” I slipped in the door and followed her into the living room. She went back to dusting the ornaments.
“Is there any record of who visits Mrs. Hurst on a given week?”
“Not really. Why do you ask?”
“Well, turns out it’s important who visited her in the past seven days.”
“Really? Why?”
I explained the situation.
“Okay. Let me think. She doesn’t really get a lot of visitors any more—not like before. The day she died was more than most.” She scratched her head. “Christine Blackmore came by, one of the days. Monday, no, Tuesday. I remember because it was my bowling league night and I always leave an hour early. Oh, and she was in a right mood. Angry as a pitbull about something.”
“Really? Did you get any idea as to why she was so angry?”
Suzanna lowered her voice. “I think Sean was caught cheating on her again.”
“Oh.” That sounded plausible.
“Anyone else come to mind?”
“Hmm, like I say, she doesn’t get many visitors. Oh, yes, Pastor Evans came by one day with Mrs. Smith to collect a donation.” She gave a shrug.
“Really?” I filed away the information. “Well, I didn’t know Mrs. Hurst ever did things like that.”
“Not often. But she’d come into some money and wanted to purchase a pew for the church fundraiser to have a new roof installed. One of the nicest things I think she’s ever done. Good timing. Maybe it will buy her some ease in heaven. Who knows, eh.”
“Maybe. That all?”
“All that comes to mind. I’ll give you a call if I think of anyone else. Ah, while you’re here, Charm, could I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“I ran into Helen Davis today at the Grab-n-go. She was with her friend Elsie. They’re both looking so good. They said it was some kind of treatment you offered them?”
“Ah, not sure about that.” Flummoxed by the change of subject, I stalled for time.
“Maybe you could help out my brother? Thomas has been diagnosed with epilepsy. He has such terrible seizures, and they’re getting worse. Do you think you could help him?” Her pretty face screwed up with worry as she pleaded her case.
“I don’t know. I guess I could try.”
“That’s all I ask. Thanks, Charm, you’re the best.”
“Hardly.” My skin heated from the unexpected compliment. “Well, I should be going. I’ve got to find out who killed Mrs. Hurst and Boyd Thompson before they come after me.”
“No one in their right mind would ever think it was you.”
“Thanks. I’ll let myself out.”
Thor shone like sanctuary in the mid-morning sunlight bouncing off his paint and chrome. I climbed in and leaned on his steering wheel to gather myself. My life had left crazy in the rear-view mirror and taken a turn into the multiverse. Everything had shifted of late. My life no longer felt my own. Pieces were breaking away and I desperately needed to keep them cemented together, to keep everything the same. Star wanting to leave, a new Mountie in town, two murders and a lot of people in my little hamlet I suspected of doing things I couldn’t have imagined a couple of days ago. And strangest of all, some kind of weird new ability that made no sense and that I couldn’t get a handle on. Was the word going to spread all over town? The thought made me ill. I just wanted to fit in, not be different. But wasn’t that selfish, if I could help others? Goddess, I don’t know everything—give me a little guidance here. I pleaded my case to have silence returned.
Okay. Just take it one step at a time, Miss McCall. I started Thor’s motor and set a course for the Blackmores’. Christine had some explainin’ to do.
I’d barely driven a block before I caught sight of a figure racing toward me on the road, windmilling their arms for me to stop. Tulip. I braked hard to avoid hitting her and jumped from the front seat.
“What’s going on? I nearly ran you down!”
Out of breath, she leaned over at the waist, holding her sides. “Sorry. Need you. Big fight. Bake sale.”
“Get in.”
We clamored into Thor. I slammed my foot to the metal and made Main Street in record time. It was impossible to miss where the bruhaha had broken out. A large group of milling women gave the game away.
I leaped from Thor, leaving the driver’s door ajar, and ran full-tilt to the knot of angry worker bees protecting their hive. I shoved my way through the press of women, trying to get to the heart of the problem. It was obvious immediately. Bikinis. Not our usual bake sale dress.
“No! Absolutely not!” Mrs. Smith, the banker’s usually serene spouse, was confronting the two underdressed women, her face matching perfectly the color of her tomato-red dress. She caught sight of me. “Charm. Thank goodness you’re here! Would you explain to these—these girls that no one wears their underwear to a bake sale and brings cookies made from pre-made dough purchased in a package from the grocery store!”
The way she turned up her nose with a sniff at the offering of the ‘girls’’ not-homemade-cookies, I wasn’t sure which was worse. Bikinis or pre-bought dough.
The two out-of-towners eyed me up and down as I stepped forward, their eyes defiant. I got it. They were being dished for who they were when there was no crime in that. It was just best not to rub it in others’ faces—especially in Snowy Lake.
“Now, Mrs. Smith, they’re just trying to help themselves. You’ve heard of bikini car washes? This is kind of like that.”
“Help themselves! Yeah! To our husbands. You mark my words. They are up to no good. Why, in my day, we’d—”
“Looks like your day has passed, lady.” The blonde one stood her ground, the brunette at her side hanging back a little. She looked like she’d been talked into it and just wanted an excuse to leave.
&nb
sp; Crap on a cracker. Fighting words. I cringed. “Now, I think it would be best if you two would put on a dress or some pants or something. You might not realize it, but the sun in Snowy Lake is lethal to exposed skin. Very aging. Something to do with the huge amount of ultraviolet rays getting through the large ozone hole in the atmosphere right above us. And a hat or scarf wouldn’t be a bad idea. Don’t want to age a year or two in one day, now do you?”
The two twenty-somethings looked skyward, then gave a horrified look around at all the faces pressing in on them. “Yes. You’re right. I don’t want to prematurely age,” the blonde announced, grabbing the brunette’s arm and turning to leave.
Whew. The two women strutted through the reluctantly parting crowd. Best show in months, probably since John Cooper and Erin Johnson ran down Main Street in their skivvies at the stroke of midnight New Years’ Eve, drunk and waving a beaver crossing flag. That reminded me that I had to get the list for the New Years’ Day Polar Bear swim volunteers ready. That always brought in a nice chunk of cash for the town. Months early, but we could never be too prepared. It would be winter before we knew it.
“Well, I never.” Mrs. Smith put her hand to her pearls, and a few women crowded around to offer their undying support.
“I’m sure you haven’t,” came one last parting shot accompanied by one last hand gesture from the blonde. She’d better be careful or she’d need to hire bodyguards to protect those gorgeous blonde locks. This crew could easily snatch her bald.
Well, my job there was done. I wormed my way back to the outside of the crowd. Tulip followed, still breathing hard.
“Didn’t see that one coming,” she said, swiping the sweat from her brow. “Emma have anything useful to add?”
“Not really, but I found out that the jam was from an earlier batch, making it accessible to more people. I need to talk to Christine Blackmore now. Have you seen her?”
“She gave a small donation, said she had no time to bake, about an hour ago. Not sure when she went after that.”
“I’ll head over to her place. You got this?” I nodded toward the bake sale.
“Yeah, thanks for helping out. You know, I’ve been reading more about edibles online. Cannabis has a proven track record for a lot of medical conditions, like chemotherapy nausea, weight loss and vomiting, neurogenic pain, asthma, epilepsy, glaucoma, bipolar disorder, Tourette’s Syndrome, arterial blockages, Alzheimer disease, autoimmune disease, blood pressure disorders, Aids wasting, multiple sclerosis.” She ticked them off on her fingers, rushing to finish her rant.
“I can’t talk about it right now. Besides, it’s already available for medical conditions. You know that. Where’s this coming from, Tulip?”
“Well, some people won’t go to their doctor for a problem around here. You know how entrenched the history of doing for yourself is. So I thought we could fill a niche. Plus, it would control having it laced with something far worse for you or made too strong. Most people just want a little relief, not be blown away. They still need to work and live their lives.”
“I gotta go. We’ll talk about this later.” And I’d put the kybosh on it then. Not going to happen, not now, not ever. Granny Toogood would never agree. At least I’d have her on my side, and probably Auntie T.J. as well, effectively outvoting my enterprising fellow-triplets. There was nothing to worry about there, though the extra money would have been nice.
I hurried back to Thor—who was now blocking traffic—and jumped inside. Christine Blackstone, here we come.
I made a swift U-turn on Main Street—common practice—and was shocked to see sirens blaring and a flashing red light out of the corner of my eye. Oh, boy. Maybe it wasn’t so common anymore.
I put on my flashers, pulling to the right-hand side of the road.
I rolled down the window, all too aware that we had an interested crowd of spectators. And who came strutting up in all his lawman glory…
“Mornin’, Miss McCall. May I see your license and registration, please?” His low-timbred voice resonated, making me wish for a nice cold glass of water.
I reached over and fumbled with the latch on Thor’s glovebox. Please, please let the official papers be in there where I placed them months ago. Being stopped by a policeman—well, it had never happened. Ever. Until today.
Thankfully, they were right where they were supposed to be.
“Something wrong, Officer?” I asked, handing over the documents.
He raised his eyebrows under his hat, giving me a quizzical look. “I believe you like to read, correct, Miss McCall?”
“Ah, you know that.”
“Then, pray tell, why have you not taken note of the No U-turn signs situated at both ends of Main Street?”
“Oh—that. Nobody pays it any mind.” I chuckled with relief.
“Really? Well, time to let everyone know that times are a-changin’. There’s a fine for pulling a U-turn where you’re not supposed to. Pretty hefty one, as I recall.” He tipped his hat back, giving me a steady look that mesmerized me.
“O-kay. I’ll keep that in mind. Can I go now?”
“No. You broke the law. Wait here. I need to check your ID with the dispatcher.”
“For heaven’s sake! I just did a common practice. Why are you dinging me? And why aren’t you out catching a killer instead of working traffic detail?” My Irish sense of centuries of being put upon reared. I made a gesture to open the driver’s door and he stopped me with a look.
“I said, wait here. And as it happens, officers in this town are expected to do it all. Captain’s exact words.”
Sounded like something Captain Winn Duffy, the banker’s brother-in-law, would say. “Delores will vouch for me. I’ve never had a ticket, never driven drunk, never been thrown in jail,” I grumbled. Delores was not only the long-time RCMP dispatcher, she was an old friend of our family.
“Fine. Let me write that ticket and I’ll be on my way then. There’s a new way of doing things in this town, and it starts right here. No breaking the law—any law. Understood? It’s nothing personal, Miss McCall. Could have been anyone made the illegal U-turn and I would have stopped them. If it helps, I wish it wasn’t you.” He pulled out his ticket book from his back pocket, in preparation.
“Could you be charmed into just giving me a warning, Officer? I hate to ruin my perfect record with a ticket. I make a mean pot roast.” I batted my eyes, wanting to save myself an expensive ticket that I really couldn’t afford. I’d be scrubbing floors at the detachment to pay for it.
“Are you trying to bribe an officer of the law?” Was that a twinkle in his eye?
“No.” I shook my head emphatically. “I’d never do that either. But if you could see your way to cut me a break, I’d be ever so grateful.”
“Like make me dinner or something?” He paused in writing out the ticket.
“Oh, you want me to make you dinner? I hardly think that’s a fair trade.” ‘Don’t give in too easy, sweeting, a man only respects what he has to win over.’ My granny’s words, not mine.
“Oh, yeah. The fine will set you back more than a few groceries. Heck, I’ll even throw in the steaks and cook them on the barbeque, if you have one?”
“Well, can’t pass up that opportunity. Make it steaks for a dinner of—let’s see, there’s Granny, Star, Tulip and Auntie T.J., you and I. Adds up to seven.” My inner goddess roiled at my idiocy while his face tightened, his Adam’s apple moving up and down while he swallowed. “Nah, just kidding. Steaks for two, if you’ll bring the wine?”
“Ma’am, you strike a hard bargain. But I’ve been raised a gentleman, so I’ll go along with it. Say tonight? Seven p.m.?”
“Sounds good. What’s your favorite dessert, Constable?”
He smiled for the first time, a thoughtful expression on his handsome mug. “Anything with chocolate.”
“Hmm, one of those, eh.”
He raised his eyebrows in query.
“One of the thirteen out of ten chocoholics.
”
He snorted.
“I know. Lame. Catch you later.”
I left him in a small cloud of dust. No point in pushing it.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled into Christine and Sean Blackmore’s driveway on Ring Road, about half a block from Mrs. Hurst’s. Their house was just as impressive, but not quite as large. It featured an indoor swimming pool, which set it apart in our town. It was the only one, not counting the public wading pool open in the summer for Moms & Tots.
I’d have thought that a pair of families which rivaled the Hatfields and McCoys back in the day would live at opposite ends of town, but that was incorrect. The history between the founding families included a gold mine dispute that had never been settled, and a parcel of land with an iffy title. But this generation had mostly put it to rest. Other than a war of words on a few occasions, things had gone smoothly. And here was Christine actually checking on Mrs. Hurst to see if she was faring well. And why don’t I believe that?
I scrambled out of Thor and hurried down the walk to the steps. The knocker on the front door was impressive. A lion with a huge mane. I gave it a couple of loud wacks and waited.
Chapter Fourteen
“What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Christine’s mouth, puffy from all the filler injections, turned down at the corners before she gave me the tiniest smile. She had that high-class trailer-trash look down to a T, in tight, tight black suede pants and a matching low-necked black lace top. She’d had so much work done that her expression was invisible. Seven years older than Boyd, she worked hard to appear the same age. Worked as if she was striving for a plastic doll look with an unmovable face. She was very pretty in an exotic way, though, her deep mahogany-colored hair styled into a mass of long wavy curls. Her ample money bought her a lifestyle I didn’t envy—which might have surprised her, if truth were told—one of constant doubt.
