Marigolds for Malice

by Bailey Cattrell

Dylan Wong. Odell Radcliffe. Warren and Trixie Perez. Who else?

  Before Thea could ask for particulars, I said, “Ritter was a little loopy on the way to the clinic. He said some, er, interesting things.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Some really nice things,” I hedged. “But also something about a research project at Glacier National Park.”

  “Right. I’m surprised he hadn’t already told you about that. He was pretty excited. It has something to do with tracking the flora and fauna in the areas where the glaciers have been receding. It starts in July.”

  “Oh, Thea.”

  “What?” Alarm rang from the word.

  “He said he told them no.”

  “He said . . . no, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. That project is perfect for Ritter. He loves Glacier, and it taps into his botanical expertise and his passion for the environment.”

  “It sounds perfect for him! But he said he turned them down, so he could stay here with me.”

  Silence, then I heard her let out a disappointed whoosh of air.

  “I didn’t ask him to do that, Thea! I didn’t know anything about it until he was talking on the way to the clinic! I know how much he loves his work. Dang it!” I closed my eyes. “Why didn’t he talk to me about it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  I sighed. “I do. Because of Tanner Spence.”

  “Ah.”

  “Jeez, you, too? I’ve been true blue as could be while Ritter was gone, but he doesn’t trust me not to dump him if he leaves again.”

  “And you won’t?”

  “Of course not. Listen, your brother and I are figuring some things out, but we really care for each other. I’d never ask him to choose between me and his work—just as I know he’d never ask me to make that choice, either.” Anger surged through my next words. “He should have at least talked to me before turning down that project. It might be his decision, but it affects both of us, and that’s not fair.”

  “You’re right. Maybe he can call them back,” she said.

  “Maybe. He’s not in any shape to talk to anyone right now, though. I’ll have him call you in the morning, okay? I’m sure he’ll be feeling better then.”

  “Are you going to stay there all night, Ellie?”

  “I don’t want him to wake up alone, especially if he’s still feeling the effects of the jimsonweed.”

  “That makes me feel better,” she said. “I’m happy to come spell you, if you’d like.”

  “No need. Keep your phone nearby, and I’ll call if anything happens. But I’ve got this.”

  “All right. Thanks for letting me know. And, Ellie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re good for my big brother. I’m glad you two are together.”

  “Me, too, Thea. Me, too.”

  I called Astrid next. She was happy to go pick up Dash and keep him for the night. When I asked if she was home, she hedged.

  “Not at the moment, but I’m on my way, and I’ll just swing by your place. Don’t you worry about a thing, Ellie. And I’m so sorry to hear about Ritter. He’s in good hands, though.”

  “I know. Thanks. I’ll check in with you in the a.m.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE tranquilizer had done its work, and Ritter was deep asleep when I went back in. I stood by his bed for several minutes, watching his sleeping face and listening to his slow breath as his earlier words replayed in my mind.

  I waited for years and years and years to find someone that I love like I love you.

  My stomach was clenched with worry, my heart welled with tenderness, and beneath it all, a tight fury burned. I’d wanted to find justice for Eureka, and I’d wanted to learn more about the Xavier manuscript, but now someone had gone and hurt the man I loved. Come hell or high water, I was determined to find out who.

  And to see that they were punished.

  Dr. Scott brought me a blanket and said I was welcome to sleep on the sofa in the reception area if the chair by the bed became too uncomfortable.

  “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” She side-eyed Ritter and perched on the edge of the other chair in the room. “I have a cot in there for times like these when I want to stay close to a patient overnight. I’ll check on him every hour and a half or so.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Scott.”

  “Eliza,” she corrected. “Did you and Officer Danielson figure out what happened?”

  I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Eureka Sanford’s murder, though.”

  “And with you investigating it?”

  I made a face. “Does everyone in town think I’m doing that?”

  “Pretty much,” she said, not unkindly.

  “Well, of course I want her killer brought to justice,” I said, not elaborating on my earlier thoughts of punishment.

  She nodded and stepped to the bedside and looked down at Ritter, then longer at the monitor at the head of the bed. Finally, her gaze met mine. “There’s nothing you can do here. You sure you don’t want to go home?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’d rather stay.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  When she’d left, I called Lupe’s cell. She didn’t answer, so I left a message. “I told Officer Danielson what happened, but I wanted to let you know. I can’t say for sure that it has anything to do with Eureka’s murder, but, well, it probably does, don’t you think? Anyway, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

  CHAPTER 21

  A LITTLE before six the next morning Dr. Scott’s voice wended into my consciousness, and I struggled awake on the sofa in the reception area. It took me a few seconds to realize it was coming from the other room, where Ritter had slept through most of the night, only waking twice.

  The first time, he’d been disoriented and didn’t seem to know who we were for several seconds. The second time, he’d sighed and murmured my name before his breathing deepened and he drifted off again. That, along with his heartbeat and respiration returning to normal, had reassured me, and I’d abandoned the chair beside his bed to spend the rest of the night on the sofa in the reception area.

  I swung my feet to the floor and padded toward his room in my stocking feet. Dr. Scott stood over him, checking his vitals and murmuring into a recorder. Ritter was still out cold. She looked up and smiled when I came into the room.

  “He’s doing well. Did you get any sleep?” Her expression was kind.

  “More than I thought I would,” I admitted. “That couch is deceptively comfortable. How about you?”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve had to stay all night with a patient,” she said. “Most emergencies we treat and then ship off to the hospital in Silver Wells.”

  “But not Ritter.”

  “We had the drug to counteract the poison here. After that, he just needed some time. Still needs a bit more, actually. Go home, Ellie. I’ll call you if there’s any change.”

  Rubbing my eyes, I nodded. “Okay. I need to shower and get ready to open the shop.” Dropping my hand, I snagged her gaze. “Thank you, Dr. Scott. I was really scared last night.”

  She smiled. “I know. Getting him here so quickly was key. You did good, Ellie.”

  I kissed Ritter’s forehead. His skin was soft against my lips, not too cool and not too warm. I put my hand on his chest and felt his steady heartbeat beneath my palm.

  He was really going to be okay.

  Relief calming some of my angst, I said good-bye to Dr. Scott and walked out to Thea’s truck. The doctor’s words made me feel better for a few steps, but I couldn’t help thinking how close Ritter and I had both come to serious illness or even dying.

  And whoever had tried to kill me was still out there.

  * * *

  • • •

 
I GUIDED the Wrangler toward Astrid’s house. A few early risers were getting in their daily walks and runs in the thin dawn light, but it seemed most of Poppyville hadn’t woken up yet. I gambled that Astrid would be up and busily baking already, and when I pulled to the curb in front of her white craftsman-style house, sure enough, the lights were on.

  The small square lawn had been recently mowed, and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air around me as I hurried up the front sidewalk. Bright red tulips waited for the sun to touch them, a few of the blooms nibbled by rabbits during the night. Rubbing the back of my neck, I absently took in the fact that the hyacinths in the pot on the porch needed to be watered.

  Astrid called for me to come inside when I rang the bell, and the smells of sugar, chocolate, and melted butter about knocked me over when I pushed the door open. Dash ran out of the kitchen, greeting me by jumping up and putting his front paws on my leg. Stooping, I dug my fingers into the thick ruff around his neck.

  “Hey, buddy. How was spending the night with your favorite vet tech?”

  “It was great. We watched Lady and the Tramp,” Astrid said from the kitchen, where she was pulling out a baking sheet covered with cookies that were half light brown, half dark brown. Her apron read I COOK AS GOOD AS I LOOK.

  I laughed. “One of his favorite movies.”

  Astrid’s house was a one-bedroom, one-bath cottage with a small room toward the back that she used as an office for her pet-sitting business. The carpet needed to be replaced, but with the myriad of animals that came and went, she’d kept putting it off. A sprawling sofa dominated the living room, flanked by overflowing bookcases. Art prints of dogs and cats decorated the walls. Perhaps the most notable thing about the room, however, was the fact that there was no television.

  In the kitchen, I settled onto one of four vintage vinyl-and-chrome chairs arranged around the Formica table and gratefully accepted the mug of steaming coffee she offered.

  “How’s Ritter?” she asked.

  “Better,” I said.

  “You didn’t have a chance to tell me exactly what happened last night.”

  So, sipping coffee and sampling one of her half-cookie, half-brownie confections, I filled her in on the details.

  When I was finished, she slid onto the chair opposite and regarded me with concern. “Ellie, if that jimsonweed came from your greenhouse, then someone grabbed it during the memorial for Eureka.”

  I nodded. “I think you’re right. Of course, I don’t keep the greenhouse locked, so a customer could have sneaked out there anytime in the last few days, but why would they? I don’t feel like I’ve found out anything all that useful during my so-called investigation. And how did the poisoner get into my house? They’d have to go around to the back.”

  “That wouldn’t be that difficult. What have you found out?” Astrid asked.

  For a few seconds, I gathered my thoughts. Then I started ticking off items on my fingers. “One, Eureka’s nephew and niece-in-law inherited her house upon her death, and apparently they’re strapped for cash enough that Trixie is waitressing at the Roux Grill. They also may have broken into her house. Or not. Either way, they had a motive to kill her. If one or both did, they might have taken the Xavier manuscript thinking they could sell it for a chunk of money.”

  I held up a second finger and smiled apologetically. “Dylan Wong is supposedly here in Poppyville for estate sales, but there aren’t any listed in the paper, and he has a record of dealing in illegal antiquities—which would give him a motive for stealing the Xavier manuscript.”

  Astrid rolled her eyes and made a derisive noise. “Ellie, Dylan already admitted to making a mistake about those Indian artifacts,” she said. “And for the record, he’s been using Poppyville as a base in order to attend several estate sales in the area. He’s going to one in Silver Wells this morning, and then to one over by Placerville tomorrow.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. And your little show in the Roux Grill did convince me that he’s not a killer, so there’s that.” I held up another finger. “Odell Radcliffe said he came for the time capsule ceremony, and to see his former teaching colleague, but I think there might be more to it than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “I think he might have still had a crush on Eureka. They were actually a couple over a decade ago.”

  Astrid whistled, which brought Dash running from the other room. She absently gave him a treat from the endless supply in her pocket as she asked, “No kidding? But what’s his motive for killing her?”

  “I don’t know. Something to do with the book she was writing? He seems to bring it up a lot. Or maybe he killed her in a fit of passion after she turned down his advances.”

  She frowned. “He and Eureka did talk for quite a while in the park after you left that afternoon.”

  I leaned forward. “Did you hear what they were saying?”

  “Nah. They were off by themselves. Probably chatting about old times. They seemed friendly enough.”

  I sat back. “Yeah, he certainly appeared upset about Eureka’s death. Besides, Lupe told me he has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “It’s his daughter I feel bad for,” Astrid said. “She seems so lonely. Did you see her sitting all by herself at the memorial?”

  “Yeah. It was nice of you to go talk to her. I think she’d be okay if her father would cut the apron strings, so to speak. She’s smart, but needs to make a life away from Odell.”

  “If Odell has an alibi, why does he get a finger?” my friend asked, looking pointedly at my hand.

  I dropped it and picked up my coffee mug. “He shouldn’t, I guess. But there’s something about him . . .”

  “Like there’s something about Dylan?” Luckily, she seemed to be teasing.

  “There is something about Dylan,” I said in all seriousness. “Please be careful.”

  She started to wave that away, then paused. Nodded. “Okay. I know you’re just looking out for me.”

  Gratified, I went back to thinking about murder suspects.

  “What about the chief’s idea that someone wanted to steal the gold nugget, ended up with that old palimpsest, as Dylan called it, and then had to kill Eureka to cover their tracks?” she asked.

  I gave a facial shrug. “It’s not impossible. And that could have been anyone in town. Even someone who left right after the ceremony and then came back in the dead of night. The police are following up with everyone who was staying at the Hotel California during that time.”

  “What about bed-and-breakfasts or the Holiday Inn on the edge of town?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. But Astrid, if the killer was one of those people, why would they try to poison me?”

  “Maybe the jimsonweed is unrelated to the murder.”

  Now I stared. “Great. That’s a big help. Now someone wants to poison me out of the blue?”

  She grimaced. “Sorry.”

  Taking a deep breath, I checked the time. “Listen, I’m going to run over to the stables. I’ve got an aromatherapy blend for Gessie’s skittish horse.”

  And while I’m there, I might as well ask whether Eureka talked to Gessie about her book research.

  “Here,” she said, rising. “Take her some brookies.”

  “Gladly. But don’t be surprised if I sneak another one.”

  * * *

  • • •

  NOW the streets were beginning to bustle with families heading out for Saturday morning breakfast. The bakery, Juke Diner, and Roux Grill would be packed soon, while the hotel guests filed into the Empire Room for more upscale fare. That made me think of their eggs Benedict, and I grumpily wondered for a moment if I was ever going to get a real dinner again. Then I thought of Ritter stuck in bed and felt bad. Not only had he missed dinner the night before, but also it had been my fault.

  I shuddered,
thinking what might have happened if I hadn’t smelled the Datura in the wine. Another shudder ran through me as I considered again that someone wanted to kill me.

  Still, the smell of the warm brookies filled Thea’s pickup, and I couldn’t help slipping one out of the container as I drove. Dash watched with avid eyes.

  “Sorry, buddy. These have too much chocolate in them for puppies to eat.”

  He huffed and lay down on the seat.

  I swung by Scents & Nonsense to pick up the chamomile, vetiver, and ylang-ylang combination for Gessie’s horse. Telling Dash to stay in the shop, I went out back and through the Enchanted Garden to the greenhouse. Expecting to find several leaves had been pinched off the Datura stramonium, I discovered instead that the whole plant was missing. Had the poisoner taken the whole thing, or did I have Officer Danielson to thank for its absence?

  I grabbed the spare key from under a pot of sprouting basil . . . and paused.

  What if someone found this and returned it after using it to get into my house?

  But wouldn’t I or someone else have seen them if it had been during the gathering for Eureka?

  Shaking my head, I let myself inside to change out of my wispy blue skirt, which was looking a bit worse for wear after I’d slept in it all night.

  However, before going upstairs to dig out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, I paused in my postage-stamp living room to survey the damage. The wine stain on the ottoman would never come out, and I didn’t want to be reminded of what had happened every time I used it. Grabbing it, I went to the back door to put it out on the deck. That’s when I saw the fine dusting of powder on the knob and doorframe.

  There wasn’t any police tape in or around the house, so I went ahead and carefully opened the door. After depositing the offending ottoman temporarily out of sight, I went back and saw the stain on the wood floor wouldn’t be so easy to dismiss. A dark splotch had soaked into the wood. I could scrub and scrub, but it would always look like blood to me. The boards would have to be replaced. In the meantime, I’d cover it with the throw rug from the kitchen.