A Mysterious Mix Up

by J. C. Kenney

  Everything fit. Again.

  “You don’t seem to be working very hard to prove your innocence.”

  He pointed the spade at me like a weapon. “What would you have me do? Parade up and down in front of the municipal building with a megaphone shouting at anyone who will listen I didn’t do it? I cared for Vicky. I wouldn’t want to hurt her.”

  His hands dropped to his sides as he shook his head. “I’ve told the chief I’m innocent and hired a lawyer. My kids believe me. I have faith in the legal system. Beyond that, it’s in God’s hands.”

  Porter returned to his work. With his back to me, the message was as clear as the building’s glass tiles. Our conversation was over.

  I thanked him for his time and made a quiet exit.

  On the walk home, I tried to make sense of the enigma that was Porter Rasmussen. One moment he was Henry Jekyll, and the next he was Edward Hyde. While the mood swings were unnerving, I could empathize with what he was going through. He’d lost the object of his affection and then was accused of committing the crime.

  That was a devastating one-two punch.

  Did it clear him of murder, though? While Ursi and I waited at a four-way stop, the answer was obvious.

  No.

  It was the pile of roots he covered with the tarp that bothered me. Porter hadn’t seemed to mind Ursi sniffing at other plants. Were those roots dangerous, like the azaleas and monkshood he mentioned? If so, how could a prosecutor prove the poison used to kill Vicky came from one of them? I needed to figure out a way to get my hands on some samples.

  As we crossed the street, an encouraging thought popped into my head. Maybe, in this case, the Occam’s razor theory did apply. Maybe Porter was the murderer and I wouldn’t have to go snooping around town, desperate to dig up clues, to build a case.

  I blew out a long tension-releasing breath. With everything else I had going on, a quick, simple investigation sounded pretty good. If only things were ever that easy.

  Chapter Ten

  Brent’s truck was nowhere to be seen when we reached my building. My heart swelled at the thought of how much my beau cared for the library and the community. And he wasn’t even a Rushing Creek resident.

  Yet.

  At the top of the stairs, I looked at my bike. A thin layer of dust covered the seat. Ursi sniffed at cobwebs that had formed between the spokes of the rear wheel. I hadn’t been out on my two-wheeled steed in over a week.

  “I’m slacking, girl. Where does the time go?”

  Ursi looked up and rubbed a cobweb from her nose. I laughed as I took a picture of her cleaning efforts. Life was never boring with her.

  I took a minute to wipe the dust off the seat, and the cat, and we headed into the apartment. I poured Ursi an extra serving of dry food. It had been a long walk, and I had to jump out of her way when she attacked the bowl.

  Pleased that we’d gotten home without getting rained on and that my kitty wasn’t going to die from malnutrition, I wrote down some observations of my chat with Porter. The big takeaway from my visit was a question. Did Porter’s knowledge of poisonous plants mean he was the murderer?

  The clock brought my musings to an end. It was half past four. The library closed at five, so Brent would be home soon. We hadn’t had nearly enough quality time since I returned from the conference. I could change that, though, and went to the kitchen.

  I lagged way behind Brent when it came to culinary skills. The man was an absolute wizard in the kitchen and could turn a can of chunk chicken, dry pasta, and frozen veggies into a gourmet feast.

  Me, not so much. It wasn’t that I couldn’t cook. To me, cooking for one was more trouble than it was worth. I usually ended up with more leftovers than I wanted, and I felt bad throwing out stuff I never got around to eating.

  During the last holiday season, I’d whined to Rachel how envious I was of her kitchen talents. After reminding me she spent countless hours around food because of her job, she agreed to give me cooking lessons.

  Now was a chance to put those lessons to the test.

  By the time Brent and Sammy arrived, I had a red sauce simmering in a pot, glazed chicken breasts and jasmine rice in the oven, and green beans grilling in a skillet.

  “Wow.” Brent hugged me from behind and kissed me on the neck. “Smells amazing. To what do I owe such a feast?”

  “I wanted to do something nice before you go.” I gave him a spoon to sample the sauce. “What do you think?”

  He dipped the spoon into the sauce then brought it to his nose. “Nice smoky aroma with a hint of chipotle seasoning.”

  “Yes.” I bounced up and down on my tiptoes. It made my day when he recognized the seasonings I’d used.

  He put the spoon in his mouth and closed his eyes. After a few moments, while my heart stopped beating, he put his hand over his heart. “That is the best sauce I’ve tasted in ages. Brava.”

  My heart soared. While I hadn’t discussed my cooking lessons with Brent, he was aware of them.

  He was also appreciative and encouraging without being condescending. When I got something right, he told me what he liked about it and why. When I missed the mark, he offered constructive criticism, discussing what I’d done that resulted in a less-than-satisfactory result. Then he’d offer suggestions to avoid those letdowns in the future.

  He didn’t offer false praise, which was fine in my book. I wanted to become a good cook, both for him as well as for myself. When he complimented my cooking, I’d earned it, which left me as euphoric as when Dorothy made it back home to Kansas.

  When he was finished sampling, Brent set the table and got drinks. I arranged our meals on stoneware plates I’d purchased from one of the artisans in town. Once I was satisfied with the meal’s presentation, I posted a picture on social media. My colleagues back in New York City wouldn’t believe it without proof.

  After giving Ursi and Sammy a few morsels of the chicken, I took a seat at the kitchen table with a satisfied sigh. During difficult times like these, I needed to enjoy the happy moments.

  As he poured the sauce over his chicken and rice, Brent filled me in on the latest at the library. Two of the employees were going to take on more hours so the library could maintain its regular schedule. While it was only a short-term solution, the goal was to ensure patrons saw as little change as possible.

  Also, a posting for a head librarian would go up at the end of the week. Evidently, the five library board members were unanimous in their belief that it would be inappropriate to open the job for applications without giving the town some time to mourn Vicky’s passing.

  “What’s that mean for you?” A twinge of regret dashed through me as I munched on some roasted green beans. My question might have seemed cold or calculating, but the fact was Brent was eminently qualified for the position, he knew the staff, and was well thought of in the community. If I couldn’t have my beloved Mrs. Napier back, I wanted Brent running the library.

  “I’ll have to submit my resume just like anyone else. The board knows about my interest in the position.” He shrugged as he chewed on a piece of chicken. “Hopefully, the past few days showed them what I can do. If it doesn’t help, that’s fine. Sticking around was the right thing to do.”

  My heart went out to him. Brent and Vicky had become friends. Losing her was hurting him, too. The composure he’d shown these past few days was inspiring. Hopefully, it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “Have you shared that Vicky told you she wanted you to take over for her?”

  “I brought it up with a couple of the board members today. They didn’t know anything. That confirms Vicky never said anything to them.”

  I sagged back into my chair. Brent had been so excited Vicky had wanted him to succeed her. Yet nobody but him knew of her wishes. Sure, he could tell people that’s what she wanted, but who would believe him?

 
And if he revealed the conversation, what would the community and, more importantly, the police think? At best, it seemed like an opportunistic gambit to get the inside track to a position he coveted. At worst, it could renew suspicions that perhaps Brent knew more about Vicky’s demise than he’d been letting on.

  I knew better, but other people didn’t.

  “What about Freddie? She’s the board president, after all. Seems like if Vicky was going to tell someone, Freddie would have been the first one.” I let a piece of chicken melt in my mouth. Between the excellent results of my cooking and the suggestion about Freddie, my adrenaline kicked in. I leaned forward and raised my eyebrows, confident I’d just provided the key to Brent’s dilemma.

  He shook his head. “She was at the restaurant all day. The other board members said they’d talk to her about it. I’m not hopeful, though.”

  I gave his hand a squeeze. “No big deal. I’ll see if I can get over to Marinara’s tomorrow and talk to her.”

  With that issue settled, Brent asked me about my visit with Porter. While we finished dinner, I gave him a detailed report, even checking my notes to make sure I didn’t miss anything. As we cleared the table, I asked him what he thought.

  “His knowledge of poisonous plants definitely makes him look more like the murderer.” He was silent while he loaded the plates and utensils into the dishwasher. “Do you think the police have a sample of those dead plants you mentioned? I can’t imagine he’d be dumb enough to keep his source materials around, but you never know, right?”

  “Right.” I pulled out my phone and called Matt, chuckling at the fact I had the Rushing Creek Police Chief on speed dial. What an odd history I’d had with my former brother-in-law over the past couple of years.

  He answered after the first ring. “What now, Allie?”

  “Brent needs to head home tonight.” I winked at my boyfriend. “He wants to talk to you before he goes. To make sure the two of you are on the same page.”

  Matt’s world-weary sigh seemed overly dramatic, but he promised he’d be there in ten minutes.

  Then again, I couldn’t criticize the man in good conscience since I was luring him to the apartment on false pretenses. I didn’t want him to blow us off when we brought up the plants in Porter’s greenhouse. It would be much tougher for him to do so in person.

  By the time Matt knocked on the door, we had a plan. First came the snickerdoodles I’d baked for dessert.

  I offered him some cookies while he and Brent got situated at the table. He raised an eyebrow but accepted them.

  “Thanks for coming by, Chief.” Brent inhaled a snickerdoodle. They were his favorite. “I wanted to make sure you were okay with me leaving town tonight.”

  Matt opened his trusty notebook. “I’ll need your phone number and a work address and phone number there.” He scribbled down the information Brent recited. “Oh, and next of kin in case I can’t reach you.”

  Brent blinked twice. “Is that really necessary? I mean, can’t Allie vouch for me that I won’t leave the country or anything.”

  “Until I can completely rule you out, yes, it’s necessary.” Matt rubbed his forehead. “Besides, it’s protocol and I don’t want to be accused of playing favorites.”

  “If you insist.” He gave Matt the contact information for his parents, who lived in Cincinnati. “You won’t call them unless you have to, right?”

  He nodded as he ate a bite of cookie. “What else do you want to tell me, Allie?”

  “Oh.” My cheeks got hot. The question was unexpected and had me on the defensive. “What makes you think there’s anything else?”

  Matt leaned back in his chair until the front two legs were off the ground. “Come on, guys. A little credit please? I am a cop, after all.”

  He eased the chair back so all four legs were touching the hardwood floor. “Brent could have given me all of this information over the phone. And while the cookies are good, I know when someone wants to talk in person. So, spill it so I can get out of here early enough to see the kids before they go to bed.”

  “I went to see Porter today.”

  Using my notebook once again, to make sure I didn’t miss anything, I recounted my visit. My goal was to have the narrative stick to the facts. Matt could draw his own conclusions. I had mine already.

  “We executed a search warrant at Porter’s property yesterday.” While he finished his cookie, Matt flipped through his notebook. “There wasn’t a pile of dead flowers in the greenhouse when my team searched it.”

  We were silent for a moment as the information sank in, the only sound coming from Sammy as he snored his way through a nap.

  “So, you’re saying he didn’t do it, then?” Brent drummed his fingers on his thigh. I sympathized with my boyfriend’s distress.

  “Take a deep breath before you hyperventilate, Brent. I’m not saying anything like that.” Matt bent over to scratch Ursi’s ears. “What I am saying is Porter’s knowledge of plants is relevant. Could he have used something he grew to poison Vicky? It’s possible.”

  “But the other day you said she was poisoned.” Brent removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead.

  “I did. And she was. Toxicology takes time, though. Until I get the test results, I won’t know what substance was used.”

  “What’s next, then?” With my hopes for a simple, open-and-shut case disappearing as fast as the plate of cookies, I wanted to know how Matt planned to proceed. I’d come up with my own plan, but knowledge was power. And knowing the chief’s course of action was very powerful.

  “Don’t worry. We’re not just going to sit back and wait for the test results. We have a few other leads we’re following up on.”

  “Great. Why don’t you tell me what they are, and I’ll help.” I flipped to a blank page in my notebook. It was white, with “The Cobb Literary Agency” and the website address inscribed in Kelly green. I’d given away dozens at the conference. Every time somebody took one, I gave myself an imaginary high five.

  Matt pushed back his chair. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” My protest carried an undercurrent of righteous indignation as I got to my feet.

  “The mayor has asked me, in the interest of keeping you safe, not to share information regarding any ongoing investigations with you.” He stood, using his entire twelve-inch height advantage over me to make his point clear. “Before you hunt her down and give her a piece of your mind, think for a second. She cares about you. She doesn’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt, either.”

  “Same here.” Brent looked me in the eyes and held my gaze until I looked out the window.

  Matt put his hand on my shoulder. “We all know you won’t stop looking into this. Be careful, okay?”

  I returned my gaze to him and nodded.

  He gave my shoulder a friendly punch, like when we were kids. “Tell you what. I’ll pay Porter a visit and see if I can get a look at those plants. I’ll have Jeanette investigate the flower breeds you mentioned. It can’t hurt getting up to speed in case they turn up in the toxicology report.”

  I walked Matt down the stairs and out of the building to have a word with him alone. Our conversation had, no doubt, frustrated Brent and I didn’t want him any more agitated with a three-hour drive ahead of him.

  “Level with me, Matt. What’s your gut tell you?”

  He removed his Rushing Creek Police Department baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair. Gray strands, each one a reminder of the pressures he lived under as a policeman and a father, shone in the light cast by the streetlamps.

  “My gut tells me Porter did it. My head tells me not to listen to my gut. Regardless, we’ll catch the killer. Fair enough?”

  “Yeah, fair enough.” I went back inside.

  I ascended the stairs at a languid pace so I had time to make sure I had a
big smile for Brent. He deserved a positive sendoff, not one to give him worry-filled, sleepless nights.

  Determined to exude a positive vibe, I put the rest of the cookies in a plastic bag and hummed an upbeat jazz tune Brent liked as I helped him gather his things. He was a light traveler, so the biggest challenge was breaking down Sammy’s crate while the doggo kept trying to get in the middle of our labor.

  “He doesn’t want to leave. I don’t want to, either.”

  I wrapped my arms around Brent and gave him a kiss. “I don’t want you to leave either. Everything’ll work out fine. Promise.”

  I refused to let him go until he gave me a genuine smile. When he was ready to go, I walked him to his truck. Sammy jumped into the cab the moment the driver’s door was opened, but Brent hesitated.

  “I’m going to hit you up on Skype every night at seven. If you don’t answer, I’m getting in the truck and driving here. You’re too—”

  I cut him off by grabbing his jacket and pulling him in to a long kiss.

  “I’ll be fine. You can help me out by having your resume ready to go when the job is posted.” I gave him a friendly pat on his backside. “Now get going. I want you home before it gets too late.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted, then gave me another kiss. As the truck rumbled to life, he lowered the window. “Seven o’clock. Every night. Be there or be square.”

  “Whatever, nerd.” I blew him a kiss as the truck pulled away.

  It was reassuring that Brent was more worried about my safety than I was.

  My footfalls echoed on the concrete as I walked back to the building’s front door. Ghostly images formed in the bookstore’s window, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Once inside, I leaned against the door and wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. Maybe I was more distressed than I wanted to admit. As I climbed the stairs, I hoped I was wrong about that.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day, the alarm clock rattled me out of bed at six. A new work week meant a jam-packed schedule, and then some. I started the day with a thirty-minute kickboxing session to sharpen my mind and get the blood flowing.