by Sonia Parin
“I guess this is where you warn me to stay away from the case.”
“Are you sensible and likely to heed my advice?” He brushed his chin. “I suspect you’re not.”
Abby sighed. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I’m a lifestyle reporter. Anything else makes me run a mile in the opposite direction.”
“Bad experience?”
“Let’s just say some people are not cut out for gruesome details.”
“Or taking unnecessary risks,” he remarked testily.
“You just saw me cross the street carrying Doyle because I didn’t want to risk him being run over.”
He looked up and down the empty street. “Right, because traffic is so heavy.” He smiled. “Okay. I believe you’re not going to snoop around and get yourself poisoned. Which reminds me. Are you a tea drinker?”
“I’m strictly a coffee drinker.”
“Good. Keep it that way. And don’t accept drinks from strangers, or anyone you’ve recently become acquainted with.”
She hugged Doyle against her. “Right. Trust no one, except Joyce. I can’t stop drinking her coffee now and I blame you.”
When he laughed, his eyes lit up. “So, what’s your theory about the case?” he asked.
“You want to compare notes with me?” Abby could not have sounded more surprised.
“If I had to guess, I’d say you were actually headed to the library to talk to June Laurie because you found out she’s the cleaning lady in town and she might have noticed something, or someone.”
“Now that you mention it, I’m told she always finished up at nine. That must have helped you determine the time of death.”
“We put it at half an hour before you called for help.”
“I called when I arrived and found him, and I’m sure Thelma Harrison can verify the time I arrived since she’s the neighbor who saw me going in.”
The detective crossed his arms. “Covering your tracks and making sure you have a solid alibi. Interesting.”
“I’m only saying. Clearly you don’t suspect me. Otherwise, I’m sure you would have hauled me in for questioning.”
“Maybe we’re still looking into you and waiting to receive some background information from Interpol.”
Abby and Doyle huffed out a breath. “You could save me the trouble of going inside the library and tell me if June Laurie remembered anything else.”
“Where’s the fun in that. You might find out something I haven’t been able to get out of her.”
“A moment ago, you suggested I should keep out of your investigation. Are you now encouraging me to snoop around?”
“No. I’m not. However, I don’t see the harm in you asking questions, but if you happen to walk into a perilous situation, I’d have to come down hard on you. By all means, have a chat with June. It won’t hurt.”
Because he didn’t expect her to find anything new? What sort of reverse psychology was he trying out on her?
“What’s that smile about?” he asked.
“I was just entertaining a few stray thoughts. Running through what I already know. June used to sit down to have a cup of tea with Dermot. Everyone knows that. What if she prepared the tea but, seeing how busy Dermot was, she left him to it? It would make a perfect alibi.”
The detective appeared to think about it for a moment. “Are you suggesting she poisoned the tea and made up an excuse about Dermot being busy?”
“Isn’t it strange that the neighbor, Thelma Harrison, saw me arriving but she didn’t notice anyone else?” She waited for him to ask about motives. Luckily, he didn’t.
He held her gaze for a moment and then looked over his shoulder toward the library.
Had she given the detective a lead? “Wait, there’s more.” She smiled. “What if the poisoned tea had been there all along?” Anyone who visited Dermot could have poisoned the tea leaves. She needed to find out if June Laurie had drunk some of the tea.
Chapter Eight
CYANIDE. “HOW ON EARTH WOULD I get my hands on it? Walk up to the drugstore counter and say... I’ll take some Advil and... oh, yes... some cyanide, please.”
“Can I help you?”
Abby stepped back. She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t seen the sales clerk approaching her. “I’m... I’m new in town and getting acquainted with what’s what and where.”
She hadn’t been able to catch up with June because she’d already left. So Abby had headed back to the pub but along the way, she’d been wondering how one went about procuring such a toxic poison. When she’d reached the drugstore, she’d stopped at the door. She really needed to get a leash for Doyle. Even if he didn’t wander off, she’d feel better about leaving him outside.
Abby pointed at Doyle. “I’d love to come in and have a look around but I can’t leave him outside.”
The sales clerk looked fresh out of high school and possibly a little suspicious of someone acting strangely.
Before Abby could figure out a way to ask about the sale of poisons, the girl beat a hasty retreat saying, “If there’s anything you need, just holler.”
As Abby turned away, she caught sight of Joshua driving by. He waved to her and kept going. She didn’t think she’d given him a real lead. Where would June Laurie get cyanide? A quick search online had been fruitless. Although...
“If I collect enough apple seeds and follow instructions, I might be able to extract enough cyanide to make someone sick. How about we find out if there’s an apple orchard nearby?” Doyle didn’t answer. In fact, he looked ready for a nap. “Come on. Let’s go see if we can find you a leash.” Although, with Joshua Ryan off chasing down his next suspect, the way was clear for her to have a chat with June Laurie. She lived near Dermot’s place. Before she could decide if she should beat a path to her front door, she’d arrived at the vet’s clinic.
“The one place in town where we can stroll in without any hassles.”
Doyle whimpered slightly.
“Don’t worry. We’re only here to get a leash.” Katherine was with a client so Abby had a look around the shelves. “See anything you like?” she asked Doyle.
“Do you expect him to answer?”
Abby turned. “Um... No. But there’s always a first time. Hi, I’m Abby.”
“I’m Pete Cummings, the vet.” He stooped down. “And I remember this little guy. How’s he doing?”
“I think he’s still getting used to me.”
Pete Cummings had an easy smile and the sort of hair that needed constant brushing back.
“You might want to try the little body harness. It’ll sit comfortably on him without being restrictive.” He took one off the shelf and tried it on for size.
“That looks good and Doyle doesn’t seem to mind it. We’ll take it. Oh, and we might try this little coat on too. I hear it gets cold around here in winter.” She selected a red tartan coat and slipped it on. “Perfect.” She watched Doyle exchange a look with Pete Cummings that spoke of male tolerance in the face of adversity. “Thanks, you’ve been very helpful.” She turned away to pay for the items when it occurred to ask, “Is cyanide used in vet clinics?” And if so, did he have some handy? His stunned expression told her she should have eased into the question. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself properly, I’m actually the new reporter at the Eden Rise Gazette and I’m researching an article I want to write.”
Pete gave a cautious nod “Cyanide is used for animal pest control such as possums.”
“How effective is it?”
“Animals are unconscious within a few minutes. The poison works through their system quickly so it doesn’t affect other predators.”
“Does it work on people?”
He frowned. “Yes, but... the person would have to be willing. Cyanide has a strong flavor and you’re talking about animal pest control products, so they come in pellets.” His frown deepened. “Did you say you were writing an article?”
“I know, it sounds suspicious. I promise I’m not looking
for ways to kill someone.”
“Oh, my goodness...” a woman behind her exclaimed.
“I think you frightened Mrs. Bailey.”
Abby turned and offered a small smile. “Maybe I should just pay for my purchases and get going. Thanks for your help.”
She spent the next half hour walking around town, trying to get the lay of the land and maybe come up with some ideas about Dermot’s death. Finally they came to a stop in what looked like a town square at the end of the main street. It had a playground at one end and some sort of memorial sculpture at the centre surrounded by a copse of trees.
“Every town has its hero,” she murmured as she came up to a memorial to fallen soldiers. She read the plaque and, looking at the modern looking sculpture, tried to make sense of it. A mound of sharp edged rectangles formed a nest. A fisted hand emerged from within it, with another hand pointed at the sky palm up, its symbolism lost on her.
Doyle and Abby stood there looking at it, their heads tilting from one side to the other. “I guess this is open to interpretation. What do you think, Doyle? Personally, I like the color.” She’d seen that blue-green tint on statues that had been exposed to the elements, but the sculpture was only a recent addition. “Trick of the trade?”
* * *
“OKAY, DOYLE. HERE’S THE DEAL. After I sneak us in, you can have a nap while I get something to eat.” Once again, she made it to her apartment undetected. Inside, she changed his drinking water. “Hey, you didn’t touch your food. What’s up with that? Not hungry?”
Doyle proved her wrong by nearly falling into his bowl and munching most of the food in one go.
“I’ll see you soon. Try not to snore too loudly. Remember, you don’t want to attract attention.”
Downstairs, she found a table by a window and worked on a plan of action for the next day. In hindsight, she was glad she hadn’t gone to June’s house as that might have triggered alarm bells with the cleaning lady so soon after Joshua Ryan had gone in to talk with her for a second time.
“Getting an early start on dinner or are you just after a drink?” Mitch asked as he gave the table a brisk wipe.
“Some food, please.”
“How’s your day been? Caught the killer yet?”
“What makes you think...” she stopped and shook her head. “If news spreads like wild fire in this town, why is it no one knows who the killer is? Are you all covering up for one of your own?” She held her hand up. “I take it back.”
“Glad to hear it. We’re happy to joke around, but when it comes to something as serious as Dermot’s death...” Something flickered in Mitch Faydon’s eyes—a reminder that everyone had been touched by Dermot’s death.
“It must be tough knowing one of your own might be responsible.” She glanced through the menu. “Will I be happy with a burger?”
Mitch gave a small nod. “You’ll probably want to write an article about it.”
While she waited for her order, she got her cell phone out and researched cyanide.
“That’s one mystery solved and... You learn something new every day,” she murmured. She’d had no idea cyanide could be used to achieve the blue color on cast bronze sculptures.
Mitch set a glass in front of her. “Here’s a drink on the house.”
“Water?” She took a sip only to stop.
“Where’s your trust?”
“Said the spider to the fly.” Abby lifted the glass in a salute and drank deeply. “Are there any artists in the area?”
“Bartholomew Carr,” Mitch said. “He has a studio on the outskirts of town. Why do you ask?”
“Is he, by any chance, responsible for the sculpture in the town square?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. The memorial went up last year. Dermot organized an art competition to select the most appropriate piece.”
“I guess that means Bartholomew won. Was he the popular choice?”
“Not mine or Dermot’s. I mean... come on. Have you seen it?” Mitch chuckled. “This is a small town. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who’s ever set foot inside an art gallery. Regular people, and yeah, that includes me, want to know what something means.”
Abby made a mental note to chase this up.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Cyanide is used to get the blue color on bronze sculptures.” She gestured for him to lean down. “Cyanide was the killer’s weapon of choice. You didn’t hear that from me.”
Mitch laughed. “So now you’re going to suspect our local artist? I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you confront him about it.”
“I’m going to have a chat with him. There’s only so much information I can find online about cyanide. He might be able to help me.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I don’t like the sound of your tone. Should I be worried?”
“He’s a temperamental character,” Mitch explained.
“That goes hand in hand with his profession so I guess I’ll be fine.” When her burger arrived, Abby sank her teeth into it and nearly fainted. “Oh, this is heavenly.”
“Prime beef. Can’t do any better. Although, our vegetarian burger is a big seller too. Not that anyone will actually own up to liking it.”
Taking another bite, she entertained thoughts of staying on at the pub forever.
“How about a beer to wash it down?” Mitch suggested.
She managed a nod and went right back to enjoying her gourmet feast. As she wafted back down from her trip to cattle country heaven, she noticed the photographs covering the walls. She’d actually seen them the first day she’d arrived, but she hadn’t stopped to take a closer look.
“A.C. Faydon. June 1830.” The man in the photo wore a suit and sported a beard. Behind him, a sign read Grand Opening. The next photo showed three men and a woman standing in front of The Gloriana, all dressed in modern clothes. She recognized Mitch Faydon and guessed the others were his brothers and sister. The photo should have been in color. Instead, it looked like the 1830 sepia picture next to it.
As she continued to study the photos, conversation wafted around her. A country tune played in the background. Customers came and went.
Abby guessed everyone in town would have similar images linking them to a distant past. Deep roots ran here. As a newcomer, she could only skim the surface but she would never really know how everyone really felt about what had happened.
She spent some time doing more research, which included looking up the artist, Bartholomew Carr. Another local with links to the town, she thought as she studied the photos on his blog. Taking note of his studio address, she finished her meal and decided to pay him a visit. But first she had to check on Doyle... and sneak him out of the apartment.
She found him snuggled up in a corner of the couch. “Should I be making up rules about you and the couch? I don’t want to think you’re taking advantage of me because you sense I know nothing about pet discipline.”
He opened one eye and raised his brows at her.
“Are you suggesting we share? That depends. Do you shed?” She brushed her hand along the couch. “Yeah, you do. Okay, we’ll compromise. I’ll get a blanket but you must promise to stick to your side of the couch.” She grabbed a jacket from her suitcase. As she turned, she noticed his food bowl was half full. “I told you there’s plenty more food. No need to ration it. Come on, we’re going for a drive. I’d like to make an inroad into my list of suspects, which now includes a new name.” Doyle had a leisurely stretch and yawn and then hopped off the couch.
Along the way, she got a call from Sebastian Cavendish asking for a progress report.
“Nothing so far,” Abby said. “I’m focusing on getting an idea of how people go about getting their hands on cyanide. Also, I wouldn’t mind having a wander around Dermot’s house.”
“I’m staying there at the moment,” Sebastian said. “Drop by tonight.”
“Whatever you do, don’t offer me anything to drink... or to eat. You�
��re not off the hook yet.” Abby didn’t wait to hear the response from her prospective new employer. “Talk to you later. Another call’s coming through.” She checked the caller ID. “Faith. How are you holding up?”
“Puzzled you haven’t contacted me with news,” Faith complained.
“That’s because I don’t have anything yet. Hey, what can you tell me about Bartholomew Carr?”
“He’s grumpy most of the time. Walks around with a perpetual scowl and a sneer.”
“Is there anything I should know about him winning the commission for the memorial in the park?”
“Have you seen the sculpture?” Faith asked. “It’s horrible and no one gets it. We would have preferred something abstract. That way, we could have justified not understanding it. You’ve got these two hands jutting out of a violent looking nest. What’s that all about?”
Abby grimaced. “Knowing how touchy artists can be, I guess I’ll be risking life and limb if I ask.”
“If you want anything from him,” Faith said, “I suggest you play it safe. Compliment his art first and then shoot from the hip.”
“Does he have any admirers?”
“None that I can think of.”
“So how did Bartholomew end up winning the commission?” Abby asked.
“You can blame the selection committee for making the unanimous decision. They came from the city.”
“I’m surprised I’m not investigating Bartholomew’s death. He doesn’t sound like a popular guy.”
Faith’s tone lost all its chirpiness. “I’ll let you form your own opinions.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that, I’m already biased. If you don’t hear from me again, you’ll know where to start looking.”
“In your place, I wouldn’t disconnect the call,” Faith suggested. “You never know.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got Doyle with me.” Right on cue, Doyle produced a gruff bark. “Good boy, Doyle.”
Chapter Nine
DRIVING UNDER THE SPEED LIMIT made her a sitting target. In the short drive out to Bartholomew’s studio, Abby must have encountered every driver in the area speeding past her. “Where’s the police when you need them?” She glanced out the driver’s window in time to catch a series of hand gestures she had no way of interpreting without blurting out a few expletives.
