Heaven Preserve Us: A Home Crafting Mystery (A Home Crafting Mystery)

by Cricket McRae

  I liked what I saw, but his enthusiasm at seeing his mother seemed a tad exaggerated. His expression betrayed a certain amount of strain as he smiled at Betsy. He nodded at Tootie, who smiled and greeted him with a murmur, and then he turned to me.

  "Hello ... wait a minute. Aren't you Ambrose's ... ?"

  I nodded. "You've probably seen me at the police station a few times. I'm Sophie Mae Reynolds."

  He blinked. For some reason the strain on his face became a little more pronounced. With what seemed like great care, he turned back to his mother, who so far hadn't uttered a word.

  "How are you?" he asked again, with somewhat less enthusiasm.

  "I'm fine, thank you, Andy. Peachy. Full of vinegar. And how have you been this week?"

  He pressed his lips together. "I'm well."

  "And how has Sophie Mae's dear detective been doing?"

  Chief Maher sighed. "Not so well."

   

  "That's what I heard. So? What the heck is going on? Is Cadyville suffering from a botulism epidemic these days? Do we need to alert the media?"

  "Good Lord, no, Mother. Don't even joke about such a thing."

  She narrowed her eyes.

  He managed to withstand her glare for almost twenty seconds. Then he sighed again and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Sparing me a bleary glance, he pulled the small needlepoint-covered ottoman away from Betsy's chair and sat down. His knees ended up by his ears, and if he hadn't looked so patently miserable, I might have laughed out loud.

  "Are you the one who told the hospital staff Philip Heaven might have died from botulism?"

  I nodded.

  He looked unhappy. "Well, it turns out you were right, though how you knew I can't imagine. And I'm sure the doctors would have put it together on their own."

  I made a noncommittal noise. "And? Where did he come into contact with it?"

  He shifted and looked uncomfortable. "Ms. Reynolds, I know you're concerned about Detective Ambrose, and that's the only reason I'm saying any of this in front of you. Please don't spread it around."

  "I'll try to control myself," I said, not pointing out that he didn't appear to have many qualms about talking in front of his mother and her friend about things that weren't any of their business. After all, his indiscretion benefited me. If I'd been a betting woman, I'd have taken odds that he underestimated both his mother and her friends simply because they were old and female.

   

  If only he knew.

  The Chief continued to look unhappy. "I understand there was an event at Heaven House where the volunteers exchanged home canned food? Someone's preserves must have gone bad, and Heaven and Ambrose ate the spoiled food."

  I shook my head. "I don't think so. For one thing, the exchange didn't happen until after Philip had collapsed. In fact, we were at the exchange when we learned that he'd died." I remembered the surprise on the volunteers' faces when Barr announced Philip's death the evening before.

  The creases in his considerable forehead deepened as he listened. "That's odd timing," he admitted. "Perhaps Heaven got his hands on some of the goodies ahead of time."

  Maybe. Especially if Maryjake's corn was the culprit. She obviously had had a bit of thing for her boss, and no doubt would have given him a little extra on the side, so to speak.

  "In any case, the M.E. said it didn't help that Heaven was a heavy smoker," the Chief continued. "Botulism depresses the respiratory system, and his lungs were already compromised by his nicotine habit."

  I thought of Philip's frequent forays into the alley, red and white pack in hand. Everyone who smokes is aware of the dangers, but I doubted anyone considered that it could make them more susceptible to botulism poisoning.

  "Oh, my soul. What a terrible way to go," Betsy said.

  Tootie smiled and examined the floor, and the Chief looked wry. Until that statement his mother had faded into the background as my own questions became more insistent. Now her face brightened again-at least until he said, "I only have time for a brief visit this time, Mother. I'm sorry."

   

  "Oh, Andy. You just got here."

  "I'll try to stay longer next time."

  "All right. I understand."

  I could tell she was hurt, that she wanted him to spend more time with her. Betsy Maher might have been a gossip and a tad morbid, but she was also smart and fun, and I hated to see her discounted by her own son.

  He said goodbye to Tootie and me, kissed his mother on the cheek, and turned to leave.

  "Chief?" I began.

  He sighed and turned be to me, a look of tired warning on his face. "Yes?" Meaning, what now, and make it quick.

  "With Barr, er, out of commission, who's investigating this whole thing? Are you handling it?"

  "Of course not. I can't drop my duties as Chief of Police to investigate a case of botulism."

  I cocked my head and frowned.

  He continued. "The Health Department has jurisdiction, and I brought in someone from the state patrol to take over Barr's other cases while he's recovering. Anything the Health Department needs they can liaison with her. Don't worry, Ms. Reynolds. It's all being handled." He nodded toward the two older women. "Goodbye, Mother. Mrs. Hanover." Then he turned around and left without another word.

  I grimaced at Betsy. "I'm sorry. He would have stayed longer if I hadn't quizzed him so much. I'm sure he fled to get away from me."

   

  She shook her head. "No. He never stays long. He always promises to next time, but there's always something he needs to go do." She set her jaw and looked me full in the eye. "My boy has grown into an important man. I'm very proud of him. And I'm glad for any time that I get to spend with him."

  I opened my mouth, but she continued, effectively cutting me off. "At least you had a chance to find out what happened to Philip and your boyfriend."

  I knew more than I had before, but it only served to raise more questions. "It was very helpful, Betsy."

  She smiled. "Knowledge is power. Or at least it is to me-power over my own mind. If I don't have enough facts, I tend to fill in the details myself, and sometimes my imagination can be a frightening thing."

  I looked at her in surprise. "I know exactly what you mean."

  On the way home, driving the sedate twenty-five miles an hour required within the city limits of Cadyville, I thought about what the Chief had said. Even if Philip had sampled some of the preserves before the actual exchange, I still didn't understand how Barr had happened into the botulism.

  As for the state patrol investigator, I wondered what she was like, whether she was as smart as Barr, as able to deal with what sounded like a pretty complicated caseload. I couldn't imagine anyone doing Barr's job better than he did.

  And I guessed he wouldn't like the idea of someone else doing his job at all.

   

  TEN

  THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED, and I stepped out feeling guilty. I should have come to see Barr before going over to Caladia Acres. How would he feel about being bumped aside in my schedule by Chief Maher? Should I even tell him? It might be a bad idea to pile more stress on him right now. That man seemed to worry an inordinate amount about me.

  As I walked down the hospital hallway, a stunningly gorgeous, auburn-haired woman exited room 513.

  Room 513? Wait a minute. What the heck was she doing in Barr's room, with her peaches-and-cream skin and big brown eyes and cheekbones to die for? I tried to smile as she passed, but she looked right through me, and it slid off my face like warm butter. I found myself turning to watch her walk away. The view from that side wasn't very encouraging, either.

  Barr sat propped up against a pillow and stabbed at the food on the tray in front of him. Tubes were still strapped to his face, but they were open-ended against his nostrils, providing a little extra boost of oxygen. Nothing to panic about. He shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth just as I walked in, necessitating a wave rather than a v
erbal greeting on his part.

   

  "You look much better," I said.

  He nodded and swallowed. "Feel better, too. Not a hundred percent, but not like hammered rat shit, either. Still don't have much wind. Did you see that red-haired woman leave just now?"

  "Uh huh."

  "That's my replacement. Detective Robin Lane, from Seattle. Not very happy to be here. It won't be for long though. I'll be back at work in a few days, and she can go back where she came from."

  Right. Even though Barr had contracted a relatively mild case of botulism, it was still a wicked poison with long-lasting effects. It'd be at least a couple of weeks before he'd feel well enough to go back to work. Maybe more.

  I smiled, suddenly quite cheerful after learning who the mystery woman was. "I'm sure you have enough sick and vacation time to take several weeks off, if you want to. Let someone else deal with your workload for a while."

  He looked at me as if I'd suggested he eat a live frog. His pasty complexion and the slight tremor in the hand that held the fork belied the stoic face he seemed determined to wear. I wanted to take the fork and feed him the mashed potatoes and meatloaf myself. Except, frankly, it looked pretty gross.

  And I didn't think Barr would appreciate being treated like a child. So I kept my hands to myself and sat down in the chair next to the bed. "You know about the botulism?" I asked.

  "Yes." His voice was curiously quiet. His previous energy seemed to have leaked away.

   

  "Do you know how you could have been exposed?"

  "The Health Department was here asking me that earlier. They're really jumping on this."

  "And?"

  "Apparently that's what killed Heaven. They think I must have been exposed when I ate at his apartment the other day."

  "His apartment? When were you there?"

  "Day before yesterday. In the afternoon"

  "What on earth for?"

  "We had a meeting."

  "About what?"

  He pressed his lips together.

  "Barr, he's dead."

  After a few more moments hesitation, he capitulated. "He wanted to find out what he'd need to do to get a restraining order. Didn't want to make it official yet, so he asked me to stop by as a favor."

  I felt my eyebrows rise. "He told me someone had threatened him. A few people, in fact, but one person in particular."

  "That's what he told me, too," Barr said.

  Threat. Meant it. Only a whisper.

  "Did he tell you who it was?" I asked.

  "He refused. Said he had to know more before he'd communicate anything officially. Wanted to make sure no one got in trouble if they didn't have to."

  "It sounds like he was ambivalent about whomever he was afraid of. Like maybe he wasn't sure whether he should be or not."

  Barr agreed.

   

  I told him what Philip had said to me. As far as I knew, his last words.

  We stared at each other for a few moments, wheels turning in perfect unison. Finally, I voiced what I'd been wondering all along.

  "What if the botulism poisoning wasn't an accident?"

  Barr cocked his head to one side. "The Health Department is looking into it."

  "The police aren't involved at all? Not even your Detective Lane?"

  "She's not my Detective Lane. And no, she's not at all interested in following up on anything so mundane."

  "But it's her job!"

  "Treating botulism poisoning as murder? Try to convince her of that. Or Zahn. Or the Chief, for that matter."

  I knew he was right. "Do you think it's suspicious?"

  He blinked, suddenly looking as if he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Suspicious? Sure. Murder? Well, that's pretty wacky, but not impossible."

  That was enough for me.

  "What did you eat when you were at Philip's?"

  "He'd made a big salad, you know with ham and turkey and cheese and a bunch of different vegetables."

  "You're not much of a salad eater."

  "I hadn't eaten since early in the day, and wanted to be polite. Didn't end up eating very much of it, so I guess that makes me lucky."

  "I'll say."

  He yawned.

  "You seem to be winding down," I said.

   

  "I am feeling kind of tired, now that you mention it."

  "Okay. Let me move this." I swung the tray arm away from the bed. He hadn't eaten much. "Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?"

  "Nuh uh. Tha's okay..."

  I stayed anyway, all of a minute and a half, until he was breathing regularly, and, I was happy to see, deeply.

  On the way home I swung by HH to see if Maryjake was back at her desk. If anyone would know what the Health Department had found out, she would.

  Rather than Maryjake, I found Ruth Black knitting furiously on something large and orange and very, very fluffy. She didn't look up when I walked in, and her fingers never stopped moving.

  I sat down across from her. "What're you working on?"

  The muscles in her jaw worked, and when she finally raised her head I saw she was crying.

  She sniffed and held up the orange fluff. "It's an afghan, a wedding present for my niece."

  "It's beautiful." I hoped her niece liked bright colors. Really bright colors. "Is everything all right?"

  She shook her head and tears spilled onto her cheeks. "No. Philip is dead."

  "I'm so sorry, Ruth. I had no idea you two were close."

  Her hand disappeared into a desk drawer and returned with a tissue which she blew into with a wet honk. "We weren't. I hardly knew him, really. Maryjake was the one who organized the volunteers."

   

  "Oh. Well, it's a real shame. Did you hear what they say he died of?"

  The sudden fire in her eyes made me sit back in my chair. "I did not kill him. I don't care what those fools say," she said.

  "Kill ... ? What are you talking about?"

  She slammed her knitting down on the desktop and leaned forward. "Those idiots over at the Health Department have decided my beets are what killed Philip. They found a pint jar of beets in his apartment, and it tested positive for botulism. So they find out I brought beets to the preserves exchange and make the assumption that the beets they found had to have come from my kitchen. My kitchen!" Her voice broke on the last word.

  I frowned. It wasn't the craziest conclusion.

  She waved her knitting needle at me. "I know what you're thinking. You're wrong. Not only did Philip die before I brought any of my canned goods to Heaven House, but I saw the jar they found up there in his apartment." She paused for effect, and I dutifully waited. "They were sliced." She nodded with satisfaction at this pronouncement.

  I blinked. "Sliced?"

  "Yes! I never slice my beets into rounds, and I don't can the standard round beets. I always use heirloom fingerling beets, about two or three inches long, from my own garden, and I leave them whole." She started knitting again, jabbing the needles into the yarn.

  "And the jar of beets with the botulism were sliced. So they couldn't have been yours. Right?"

   

  "Exactly. Plus, I don't use the brand of jar those nasty beets were in."

  "What did the Health Department people say when you explained it all to them?"

  "They ... I couldn't make them ... they just didn't listen to me. They acted like I was trying to get out of something. If he ate something I gave him and then died, my denying it wouldn't change anything, would it? I'd feel terrible, but it would still be an accident, right? Why would I make up such a story? And now they're taking all my lovely preserves away to be destroyed. It makes me sick."

  I believed her. She didn't like the idea of people thinking she wasn't careful with her home canning, but if it had indeed been her fault, she wasn't the kind of person to try and blame someone else.

  "So where did the bad beets come from?" I asked.

&n
bsp; The needles slowed again, then stopped. "Oh, Sophie Mae. I was so upset about them thinking that I'd killed Philip I didn't even think about where those other beets could have come from."

  Not good news at all. There was still a possible deadly risk out there, and the state Health Department thought they had the culprit.

  "Do you think you could find out?" Ruth asked.

  My attention snapped back to her. "What?"

  "Can you find out where Philip got the beets? After all, someone needs to, and you were so clever last year when Walter died."

  I sighed. Sometimes it seemed too many people in Cadyville knew I'd investigated when Walter Hanover, our erstwhile neighborhood handyman, died after drinking a glass of lye. But this was the first time anyone had suggested I should try such a thing again.

   

  "That was pretty personal. He died in my workroom," I said.

  "Well, darn it, this is personal for me. I didn't poison Philip, and you know it. And there's someone out there canning beets who doesn't know what the heck they're doing. They must be stopped."

  I almost laughed at her last statement, thinking it melodramatic. But was it, really?

  The image of Barr lying in that hospital bed with tubes up his nose rose in my mind. The beets must have been in Philip's chef salad. Whether the botulism was an accident or murder, if there was any way I could keep someone else from getting sick, I needed to do it. And if I happened to salvage Ruth Black's kitchen reputation at the same time, so much the better.

  As soon as I got home, I went into the pantry. Something about the neat rows of beautifully canned food calmed me. Perhaps it was related to the primitive safety of having a fully stocked larder. After rooting around, I found two jars of Ruth's beets from the exchange.

  Not round. Not sliced.

  Cylindrical and whole, just as she'd said.

  I hesitated, then returned one jar to the shelf. The other one I took upstairs and hid in the back of my closet.

  Then I began making phone calls. Bette took a break from working with her clay to talk with me, but didn't have any ideas about how Philip could have obtained any beets, Ruth's or anyone else's. As far as she knew, there would have been no reason for him to have any of the preserves ahead of time. Mavis Gray was next, and she said much the same thing.