Pushing Up Rhubarb (A Millsferry Mystery Book 1)

by Diana Saco

  “That’s the consensus given his symptoms. But they won’t know for certain until his blood tests come back on Monday. I’ve asked Ota for an extension so that we can figure out what all of this means. Loyal agreed. So we’ve pooled resources and have until Tuesday to figure this out.”

  “Have they found anything yet at the Munch house?”

  “No,” he said. “I take it you heard that Al’s there along with some deputies.”

  “Yes, Bruno told me. But what does this mean for Chloe’s case?” I asked, looking at Chloe who was about to take another bite of her sandwich.

  She pulled back and replied with a smirk. “Mason doesn’t think I’m off the hook yet. But if you ask me, I think it proves that blue-ribbon harpy did it!”

  “Hey, don’t call her that,” I protested, surprising even myself.

  Chloe looked at me curiously. “Have you gone soft on that woman?”

  “No, but I spoke with Maxi, and I think I got some real insight into both of them.”

  “Did Dr. Moffit open up to you then?” Mason asked.

  “A little. I think the reason she’s been pushing so hard is because she feels guilty. She’s aware that her sister wouldn’t be dead right now if she’d had two kidneys.”

  “Do you think you can get her to unlock the tablet?” Mason asked.

  “I was just about to ask her again this morning when Bruno came in with the news about Marvin.”

  “Sounds like you’ve established a small truce, at least. Why don’t you go to the hospital and see if you can find out anything more from Marvin about what he was eating?” Mason suggested.

  I had just bitten into the sandwich Alice had made—which was amazing—and went wide-eyed at the prospect that Mason wanted me to stop eating and go interview Munch now. He read my thoughts and took pity on me.

  “Yes, you can finish lunch first. Since your license was suspended, you can go as my paralegal.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be your Erin Brockovich.”

  He chuckled. “Yes. And while you’re at it, be sure to uncover evidence that will blow this case wide open.”

  A piece of arugula was slipping from my sandwich. I tucked it back in as I considered pressing my luck.

  “Mason,” I began, “about my huge lapse in judgment, I want you to know how sorry I am. Nothing like that will ever happen again.”

  “It can’t, Nina,” Mason agreed. “Not if you want to keep your license.”

  “Have you talked to Al yet?” Chloe asked.

  “No, I’ve only had a chance to listen to him. He spent a few minutes yelling at me yesterday after taking me to Bruno’s office to serve my jail time. He left without giving me a chance to apologize. I’m hoping a good night’s sleep will have softened him up.”

  “Good luck with that,” Chloe said, sounding doubtful.

  “Well, you forgave me. And you could still go to prison!” I argued.

  Chloe froze. Mason coughed. And I slapped my forehead realizing what I had just said.

  “Don’t push it, Braco,” Chloe said at last. “I haven’t actually forgiven you yet. I’m just willing to talk to you because you’re still working on my case.”

  I responded to that the only way I knew how.

  “Would you like my muffin, Chloe?”

  She looked at me sternly. And then both she and Mason started cracking up.

  I sighed in relief. Food bribes were my go-to strategy, and they hadn’t failed me yet. The best part was that Chloe wasn’t going to hold me to the bargain. She gave me back half my muffin.

  *****

  I drove over to Park General shortly afterward. Marvin hadn’t been admitted yet, so I headed to the emergency room. There I was confronted with the first evidence that a six-month suspension of my license was going to make things difficult for me. I couldn’t flash my ID in any official capacity, which means that the only way I would be allowed anywhere near Marvin was to pretend to be family. And here was my next conundrum. Since I was in trouble for stepping outside the rules, did I really want to begin my sojourn back into everyone’s good graces by telling a lie? This was going to be harder than I thought. And then I got an idea.

  I went back out to my car and drove to what the locals called “the lower part of Upper Park Avenue,” which dipped down below the upper part of Lower Park Avenue. It was only confusing when viewed on a map. Basically, the name changed at Union Street, which was a major intersection. The place I was headed to was just before the intersection. It was Annie Rubia’s shop—The Flower Box. I pulled into a spot in front of the store and went in. My plan was to try to get in to see Marvin on the pretext of delivering flowers to him. Since he was allergic to life itself, however, I needed advice and asked Annie if she knew Marvin.

  “Yes, in fact I did the flowers for his wife’s funeral. Very sad,” she said.

  “He has allergies. Do you know which flowers might be safe to get him?”

  “He does all right with low pollen flora,” Annie said. “But why are you getting him flowers?”

  “He’s in the hospital,” I explained.

  “Again?” she asked.

  I bit my lip to keep from chuckling. “Yes, unfortunately. Anyway, I wanted to get him a big Get-Well bouquet. Maybe something with balloons.”

  “No balloons. They make him nervous when they pop,” she said.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  She laughed. “I can set up something good for you. When do you want them delivered?”

  “Actually, I was hoping to take them with me. Do you have anything ready?”

  “I have some begonias over there that I can spruce up for you. Just give me a few minutes.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I wandered around the shop and spotted an arrangement of tall purple and yellow flowers that made me think of Chloe for some reason. I knew I still wasn’t off the hook. Flowers might help. I asked Annie to fix those up for me, too, and gave her Chloe’s address for an evening delivery. I wrote something that I hoped would come off as equal parts sweet and sorry.

  I walked out fifteen minutes later feeling good about my gesture toward Chloe. I also had a beautiful bouquet for Marvin that I was planning to use as my ticket in to see him. Moments later, I was back at the hospital a short distance away from the nurses’ station in the ER I waited a few minutes until there was only one nurse left. She looked busy but not so harried that she’d be inclined to say “no” to everything just to save herself the trouble of having to make another decision. Perfect.

  “Excuse me. I have a flower delivery for Marvin Munch.”

  “We don’t usually get flower deliveries in the ER area,” she said distractedly. “Can’t this wait until he’s admitted.”

  “Well, it’s just that this is my only delivery,” I said, bending the truth but only a little.

  “All right, you can leave them there. I’ll take them to him shortly.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I went with one of my “slant” approaches, as Chloe called them, and chatted her up to see if I could wheedle my way inside.

  “That’s awfully nice of you. Thank you so much. I really appreciate it because the client was very concerned about Mr. Munch and wanted him to get these flowers right away. He’s a recent widower, you know. It’s really sad.”

  That caught her attention.

  “Oh, that Munch! His wife was the one poisoned at the Millsferry Bake-Off?” she asked.

  “Yes, isn’t that terrible? And now the poor husband is sick and in the hospital. Do you think these will raise his spirits a bit? I really hope they will.”

  “They might. Look, it isn’t exactly protocol, but I guess he could use some cheering up. He’s in room ten. I’ll buzz you through.”

  I mentally fist pumped, congratulating myself for my lawful and only slightly truth-bendy entrance. Outwardly, I tried not to look too eager.

  “Oh, okay. If you think it’ll be all right.”

  “Just knock
first,” she said.

  “I will. Thank you.”

  I couldn’t stop the stupid grin on my face. I had gotten in to see Marvin without needing my PI credentials. I had also managed to avoid an outright lie since I never said I worked in a flower shop. If asked, I was simply delivering my own flowers. I knocked on the door to room ten and waited for permission to enter. It was Maxi’s voice that gave me leave to come in.

  “Hi,” I said. Not the best opening, but I needed to test the waters.

  “What are you doing here?” Marvin asked distastefully.

  “I brought you flowers.”

  “They make me sneeze.”

  “No, not these. I checked. Consider them a goodwill gesture.”

  “We don’t need your goodwill, Ms. Braco,” Maxi said. “Please leave.”

  I have to admit. I had been hoping for a less frosty reception from her. I turned up the warmth.

  “I want to help. I’m so sorry this happened to you, Marvin. And I certainly don’t mean to disturb you. We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this before more people get hurt.”

  “You can help by figuring out how Chloe Owens got into my house,” Marvin spat. “Did she break in with you? Did you poison me for her?”

  I was surprised by his accusation. It never occurred to me that he might think I had something to do with his being poisoned. I was even more surprised when Maxi weighed in.

  “He’s got a point, Ms. Braco. How do we know you didn’t do this? You were in the house, unsupervised. We were so focused on checking to see if you had taken anything that it never occurred to us to see whether you left anything behind.”

  I realized my mouth was hanging open and decided to put it to use. “I didn’t! I wouldn’t!”

  “Not even to protect Chloe?” Marvin asked. “I bet that’s what happened,” he continued, addressing Maxi as he worked out the conspiracy. “She probably did it to deflect attention away from Chloe. Now that I’ve been poisoned, people will think that the killer is someone else entirely. Maybe a serial killer.”

  I was impressed with his story, even if I was his prime suspect. But I had to put the brakes on this runaway train of thought—a tired metaphor, to be sure, but I was in PI mode at the moment, not writer mode. I felt myself getting angry, and I decided righteous indignation was more believable than nervous defensiveness.

  “You know what, Marvin?” I began, “I’ve had it with your accusations. You’ve been screwing up this investigation from the beginning with your finger-pointing, and it needs to stop.” I directed my next comment at Maxi. “I was honest with you when I said that my only objective is to find out why Monica is dead. I need to ask some questions to get to the bottom of this, and I would like you to put aside your crazy theories long enough to just give me the facts. Can you do that?”

  They didn’t respond immediately. After a few seconds, I began to worry that they weren’t going to take me seriously. I watched as Maxi handed Marvin a cup of tea. It was in one of those reusable hard plastic cups with a saucer. And I noticed that she had wrapped the string of the tea bag around the handle to keep the tag from slipping into the cup. It was neat and tidy, a perfect analogy for how Maxi liked to organize the things in her life—anchored down, in her control. Before our jailhouse détente, I would have meant that observation as a criticism. Now, it just felt cautious. She needed stability, a fixed point of reference. Like Marvin. She needed him secured for both of their sakes. I softened my demeanor and appealed to that need for security.

  “Look, I know I didn’t bring anything into your house. Which means that the poison is still there. It’s a danger to you. Both of you. If you care as much about each other as I know you do, please help me figure out what made you sick. So that you can both be safe.”

  Maxi was the first to relent. “Tell her, Marv. You’ve been sick for so long, and now the hospital. I don’t want this thing to kill you like it killed Monica. I couldn’t bear that.”

  “I just don’t believe it’s anything that was already at the house,” he told Maxi, shaking his head. He turned to me before continuing. “I had breakfast, okay? Like I do every morning.”

  “Can I record this? The police are at your house now looking for the source of the poison. My associate is there, too. I’d like to send them this as soon as we’re done.”

  “Go ahead,” Marvin said.

  I started a recording and added an introduction.

  “This is Nina Braco interviewing Marvin Munch and Maxine Moffit at Park General ER, following Mr. Munch’s apparent poisoning from oxalic acid. Marvin, please tell me what you ate?”

  “I had orange juice, coffee, a few sausages, and oatmeal. The sausages were from a box of frozen links that I bought a week ago. And I just bought the oatmeal yesterday evening, so it can’t be either of those if the poison is in something I’ve been eating awhile.”

  “What did you put in the oatmeal?”

  “Cinnamon, vanilla extract, raisins, walnuts. Oh, and almond milk. But I just bought that, too.”

  “Where did you get the vanilla?”

  “From a bottle in the pantry. Monica made her own.”

  “We’ll have to check that.” I texted the information to Al so he could have the bottle pulled immediately. “Nothing to sweeten the oatmeal?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah, some sugar.”

  I got a creepy feeling along the back of my neck. It was so palpable that I actually turned around to see if someone had come up behind me. Then I turned back and said, “Tell me about the sugar. Is it from the container Monica was keeping in her bakery refrigerator?”

  “How’d you know about that?” Marvin asked. And then I saw the comprehension on his face. “Oh, yeah, you were eavesdropping the day you broke in.” He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Where the heck were you hiding, anyway?”

  “I was one of the sacks of flour under the blanket by the fridge.”

  “You’re kidding? I’ve never heard of anyone imitating a sack of flour before,” he mused.

  “And you never will again. Now can we get back to the sugar, please?”

  “Yes, it was the sugar from Mon’s fridge.”

  “Maxi, is that the sugar you gave me that night?” I asked.

  “Yes, it is. So that couldn’t be it, right? Otherwise, you would have been poisoned, too. Unless you didn’t have any of it.”

  “I did. But not until yesterday morning before trial. I had coffee at Chloe’s with sugar from that container. And I was sick all day yesterday after I drank it.”

  “What kind of sick?” Marvin asked.

  “Nausea, upset stomach, vomiting. And a slight burning sensation at the back of my throat.”

  “Hey, those are my symptoms,” he said.

  I detected a hint of possessiveness in Marvin’s comment. As I dialed Al’s cell, I decided he was right about Marvin—the man was a couillon.

  “Dupree,” Al said when he answered.

  “It’s Nina. We may have something on what poisoned Marvin.”

  “Not the vanilla?” he asked.

  “No, but you should probably still take that in for testing. I’m also sending you a recording of my interview with him so that you can find and test the other things he ate. But he’s been using sugar from a stash that Monica was keeping in her second fridge, and I think that might be the source.”

  “The fridge that had the lock on it?” he asked.

  “Yes, that one.”

  “Hang on,” he said.

  I heard him walking. From the clunking steps and heavy breathing, I figured he’d been upstairs.

  “You’re out of shape, Big Guy,” I teased.

  “Don’tcha worry. I’ll be gettin’ plenty of legwork with you in the cabine for six months, Pich’. Yeah, yabetcha.”

  A cabine was an outhouse, which is worse than being in the doghouse. And Pich’ was short for pichouette, which means “runt.” Al used to call me that when we first met. He hadn’t meant anything bad by it. But when
we started working together, I felt it might lead clients to treat me like his assistant rather than his partner. So I asked him one day to stop using the diminutive nickname, at least in public. He was fine with that. At the moment, however, he was still upset with me. Calling me a runt in an outhouse was Al’s way of putting me in my place. I sighed.

  “Okay, I see the sugar. Deputy Cutter is baggin’ it now and will take it to the lab.”

  “Al, one more thing. When I broke into the Munch house and pretended I was there to borrow a cup of sugar, Maxi gave me some of that sugar. I think it’s contaminated because I used some in my coffee yesterday morning and got sick.”

  “Sick from the sugar you got breakin’ in? Taught you a lesson then, Pich’, that’s for sure.”

  “Yes, it serves me right,” I said impatiently.

  I saw Maxi and Marvin nodding. “And you’ll be happy to know the Munchies agree with you.” They frowned at the nickname, so I just crossed my eyes at them before continuing.

  “My point is that some of that sugar is still at Chloe’s house, and I don’t want her getting poisoned, too. Can you run across the yard and get it? It’s in the sugar bowl on the breakfast nook table.”

  “I don’t go breakin’ into people’s homes like some, Pich’. How’s about I call her first?” Al suggested over the phone.

  “Fine. Call her for permission. Just please make sure she knows not to use it.”

  “Will do.”

  He hung up, and I returned my attention to Maxi and Marvin.

  “The police have the sugar from your house now,” I said.

  “What happens next?” Marvin asked.

  “They’ll test it, of course.”

  “And if there’s no poison in it?” he continued.

  “Then we’ll have to go back and look some more.”

  “What if it’s not the only poisoned item in there?” Maxi asked gravely.

  “Just say the word, and I’ll ask the sheriff to have all food items carted away as evidence. You’ll have to restock, but it’s the only way to be sure.”

  “Sounds expensive,” Marvin said. “Will I be compensated for what the police take with them?”

  “Um, no,” I replied, unable to keep myself from looking at him like he had two heads with only half a brain between them. “It’s not like they’re going to eat your food. They’d be taking it as possible evidence in a criminal investigation and as suspected hazardous materials that could pose a risk. And now that I hear myself saying that, I realize it’s the prudent thing to do. Everything has to go.”