Mindy smiled like a cat who’d caught a canary, but said nothing.
I wasn’t surprised to have my suspicions confirmed. “So Pastor Matheson was the mysterious boyfriend?”
She glanced nervously toward where Bryce had disappeared.
“Does Bryce know?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “And I don’t want to tell him. But do you think his dad’s the one who killed Krystal?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you know if his wife knew about them?”
“She found out,” Brittany said. “That’s why he had to break it off with her.”
“Ouch,” I said. “Just in time for Christmas.”
“Krystal was devastated,” she said. “Just before Thanksgiving, he told her he wanted to marry her.”
“He’s the one who bought her the sapphire necklace, then?”
She nodded.
“Did she say anything about a sudden windfall?”
Brittany looked puzzled. “Windfall? No.”
“She didn’t find buried treasure with her uncle?”
“Not that I know of,” she said. “Of course, he was always over there digging around. It’s possible he found something, I guess, but I always thought he was half-crazy.”
“How did Mrs. Matheson find out?” Mindy asked, bringing us back to the topic of the affair.
“She got a letter that made her suspicious, and then she followed them,” Brittany said. “She tracked them to Krystal’s house.”
“Her name was on the list of people your mom gave friendship bread to,” I told her. “Do you think she would be jealous enough to kill Krystal?”
“That’s awful,” she said. “I don’t know. I guess it’s possible.”
“Is there anyone else in the church who might have had it in for Krystal?”
“Most of the women in the church didn’t like her,” she said. “Everyone knew Pastor Matheson was sweet on Krystal.”
“Did anyone in particular seem to have an issue with it?”
“Ethel and Wanda seemed upset about it. I used to call them his admiration society. I think half the women there had the hots for him, though, to be honest.”
“Ethel’s dead,” I told her.
Her hand leaped to her mouth. “No. Poor thing. She was so broken up about Krystal.”
“She was poisoned, just like Krystal.” I didn’t tell her she was the one who had sent Brittany the nasty letter.
Brittany’s eyes widened. Just then there was a thump from the back of the house, and I was reminded of Bryce. “How are things going between you and Bryce?”
She grimaced. “Not great, honestly. The problem is, I don’t know what to do. It was a stupid thing to do, but now I’ve missed my finals, and my parents are going to kill me.”
“We’ll get that worked out,” I said. “I think they mainly want to know you’re safe. How’s Bryce feeling about things?”
She glanced back toward the hallway. She looked very tired and worried. “I think we’re both ready to go home. I need to make sure my mom is okay.”
“I think she’s fine,” I said.
“She won’t be if she spends the rest of her life in jail,” Brittany pointed out.
“Do you want us to talk to Bryce?”
“No,” she said decisively. “Let me talk to him.”
As Mindy and I waited in the run-down living room, she disappeared down the hallway. There was an urgent-sounding exchange of words, then silence. A few minutes later, Brittany reappeared, trailed by Bryce, who looked like a sullen twelve-year-old. They weren’t holding hands anymore, I couldn’t help but notice.
“We’re ready,” she said.
Alfie was beside himself with relief when Mindy and I rolled up the driveway with Brittany in tow a while later. Bryce had taken the Range Rover home. I had some qualms about sending him home to a suspected murderer, but I figured the odds were low that the Mathesons would do in their own child.
As Brittany stepped out of the SUV, Alfie rushed out of the house and pulled his daughter into a hug that lasted longer than any hug I’d ever seen. Then he stepped back and took her by the shoulders, peering into her eyes. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“And you’re not married?”
“No,” she said. “We’re not married. And nothing happened, don’t worry.” She gave a little shrug. “It was a dumb idea. Is Mom okay?”
“She’s been better,” he said, “but she’ll be happy as a hog in mud now that you’re back.” He hugged her again. “Head in and give her a hug.”
“She’s not in jail?”
“Out on bail,” he said with a grimace. As Brittany headed into the house, he turned to us. “Thank you, Lucy . . . and Mindy? Is that right?”
Mindy nodded.
“How on earth did you find her?”
“Mindy realized there was a squatter in one of the properties she and Faith were looking at, and scouted around. She found the Range Rover and figured out whose it was.”
“I can’t thank you enough, ma’am.”
“My pleasure,” Mindy said.
“And we found out something that might help Molly. It turns out the good pastor was having an affair with Krystal,” I told Alfie. “Brittany told us about it when we found her. Pastor Matheson broke up with Krystal a few days before she died.”
His eyebrows rose. “Do you think he killed her?”
“It’s possible,” I said. “Or more likely his wife did.”
“Lucy’s right. I get the impression he wouldn’t know how to turn on an oven, much less bake something in it,” Mindy said. “Since Brittany said the missus found out about her husband and Krystal, it’s worth looking into.” She paused for a moment. “If she did kill Krystal, though, why burn the place down later?”
“Maybe she wanted to make sure she was dead before destroying any evidence she might have left behind—poison isn’t immediate. Or maybe her husband found out about what she’d done and went back to cover her tracks,” I suggested. “The necklace was gone, too.”
“What’s up with the necklace, anyway?”
“Krystal got it from her boyfriend—the pastor. I think whoever burned the house down took it off of her after she died. But it still doesn’t explain the dog.”
“Molly did give the Mathesons a loaf of bread, so they would have had the card and a batch of starter,” Alfie said. “I told Molly she was crazy to bake bread for them. She said she was just being Christian.”
“So we have means, motive . . . and opportunity. I wish there were some way to find out if Phoebe Matheson ordered Jimsonweed seeds, though,” I said. “Oleander’s everywhere, but Jimsonweed is harder to come by.”
“The sheriff should be able to look into that, shouldn’t he?” Mindy asked.
“You’ve met Rooster?” I said with a sigh, and looked at her. “Although you might be able to charm him into it. And there’s always Opal, thank goodness.”
“So what do we do first?”
“I’ll go check out the Red and White—I’ve been meaning to, anyway,” I said. “It may be a long shot, but maybe Edna remembers someone buying seeds.”
“What about Buster?” Alfie said.
“He may be doing illegal things, but I’m not convinced he’s the one who did in his niece.”
“And who killed that woman who was writing poison-pen letters?” Mindy asked.
“I figure she knew something she shouldn’t have,” I said. “She wrote a letter to the Mathesons; maybe one of them did her in so she wouldn’t tell Mindy what the pastor had been up to. And since both Ethel and Krystal were poisoned, I’m betting the same person killed both of them. I know Ethel was friends with Wanda Karp; maybe she’ll know something.”
“I was planning to do a bit of digging on the connection between pastor and O’Neill today,” Mindy said. “But is there anything I can do to help you out?”
“Yes, actually,” I said. “The
re was a big deposit in Krystal’s account recently. Opal was going to try to figure out where it came from.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” she told me. As we exchanged cell phone numbers and parted ways, I found myself feeling hopeful for the first time in days.
“How are things going out at Dewberry Farm?” Edna Orzak asked as I walked into the Red and White Grocery a half hour later.
“Just added goats to the menagerie,” I said.
“I noticed,” she said, eyes twinkling. “They’re regular party animals, just like your cow. And big fans of Quinn’s vánočka, too.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said, blushing as I remembered their Christmas Market outing. “Hopefully I’ve got them under control now.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said as I drifted over to the seed rack. “What can I help you with?”
“I was wondering if you remembered anyone buying Angel’s Trumpet seeds,” I said, inspecting the rack. Sure enough, the slot was empty.
“Are we out?” she asked.
“Looks like it. Do you remember who bought it?”
“I don’t think I was here when it sold,” she said. “I can ask Milt, though.” She gave me a curious look. “Why are you so interested?”
“Angel’s Trumpet is also known as datura.”
“That’s what killed that girl, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Exactly. If you can remember who bought it . . .”
Her eyes grew rounder. “You think the murderer bought them here?”
“You plant Angel’s Trumpet in the warm season, not the cool season—it wouldn’t be the time of year to buy seeds.” I looked at the rack again. “But it’s the only thing that’s sold out.”
“When Milt comes to spell me at lunch, I’ll ask,” she said. “Is that what killed Ethel, too?”
“Apparently not,” I said. “Oleander was the culprit in that case.”
“Do you think Molly Kramer really did them both in?” Edna asked.
“No,” I told her. “I think someone set her up.”
“That’s mighty un-Christian of them,” she said.
“So’s murder,” I pointed out.
“Of course,” she said, with a shiver. “I just got back from a cookie exchange at the Lutheran church, and now I’m nervous about eating any of the cookies. What if we’ve got a lunatic in town? Like that awful man who filled those Pixy Stix with poison all those years ago? Or that Tylenol killer?”
“I don’t think this is random,” I told her, thinking of Phoebe and trying to imagine her baking datura seeds into bread for her husband’s mistress, “but I guess it can’t hurt to be extra careful.”
Edna shivered. “And here you moved from the big city to get away from all that. Lots of excitement in town lately,” she continued. “What with Buster finding Confederate gold after all these years.”
“I’d heard about that,” I said. “Did you talk to him?”
“Came in here and bought four cases of Shiner Bock,” she told me.
“When was this?” I asked.
“Day after you found his niece. He didn’t seem at all upset about what happened to the poor girl.” She paused, and her eyes widened. “You know what? I remember who bought those seeds.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. It was one of those women from that new church—I remember because I asked why she wanted so much Angel’s Trumpet. She told me it was for the church grounds; they were going for a Christian theme in the landscaping.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“That’s the thing. I know it was a woman, but she had on sunglasses and a hat, and a big coat. I thought it was kind of funny, like she didn’t know if it was gonna rain or shine, so she just got ready for both.”
“Anything else?”
“Not super young, but that’s all I remember. I didn’t know her; she’s not a regular. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”
Although I was pretty sure I knew who it was, I still had one more person to talk to, just to confirm my suspicions. “If you think of it, will you let me know?”
“Of course,” she said.
Still thinking, I said good-bye to Edna and headed out to the truck.
When I pulled up outside Wanda Karp’s house a few minutes later, I found myself thinking that it looked like something out of a storybook. Roses climbed over a trellis surrounding the front door; in season, I could tell they would be beautiful. Calendula bloomed along the front walk, interspersed with Johnny-jump-ups, and I recognized the gray-green leaves of poppy plants. The gardens were lush despite the winter weather; they looked like they’d been transported from England. There were a few dug-up spots here and there—she must have been working in the garden recently. I wished I had the time to make the front of my house look so beautiful, but between the livestock and the veggies, landscaping would have to wait.
I knocked on the door, hoping I’d find her home. I was in luck; a moment later, the sour-faced church secretary answered. Something about her reminded me of the witch in the gingerbread house in Hansel and Gretel.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a tone that sounded like she’d like to “help” me by directing me back to my truck at the end of a pitchfork.
“I was hoping to ask you a few questions about Ethel and the Mathesons,” I said. I was hoping she could confirm that Phoebe Matheson had taken the bread and the starter home with her. “And I have to say your garden is just gorgeous. I’m jealous!”
“Thank you,” she said, softening a bit.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk? I know you and Ethel were close.”
“I have an appointment soon,” she said, her eyes shifting to one side, “but I guess I have a minute.”
“Thanks,” I said. She opened the door enough to let me in, and I followed her through a dim, dusty-smelling front hallway into her Laura Ashley–esque kitchen. She sat down on a ruffled chair and gestured to one across the wooden table. Like the Mathesons’ house, one wall was adorned with crosses, but although homey lace curtains framed the windows and flower pots with herbs sat in the kitchen windowsill, there was little in the way of Christmas decor. An antique hutch displaying crystal vases stood at the end of the homey kitchen next to my chair; on the wall beside it was a framed picture of Wanda with the pastor. She had a smile on her face, and it made her look softer, somehow—younger.
“Why are you concerned about the Mathesons?” Wanda asked. She didn’t look particularly soft now, I noted, in her buttoned-up blouse, SAS shoes, and dark A-line skirt.
“Well, I was the one who found Ethel dead,” I said. “And I know the two of you were close. I wanted to ask you about her relationship with Mrs. Matheson.”
“We were close,” she admitted, and her mouth turned down. “I was sad to lose her. It must have been her heart . . . I know she was having trouble.”
“Actually, it’s looking like she was poisoned.”
Wanda swallowed hard, and after a tiny delay, her hand flew to her throat. “Poisoned? Who would want to kill poor Ethel? She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“I just found out she was writing poison-pen letters,” I said. “I was wondering if that had something to do with her death.”
Her lips thinned. “That’s a rumor,” she said.
“I found drafts of the letters in her house,” I said. “I think it’s more than a rumor.”
She sighed. “If people followed the Lord’s commandments, she wouldn’t have had to write them.”
That was one interpretation. “So you knew she was writing them?” I asked.
“She mentioned it to me,” she said. “I told her it was a bad idea; if someone found out who was writing them, she could be endangered.” Wanda sighed. “It looks like I was right, as usual.”
“Did she ever write one to you?” I asked.
“Of course not!” Wanda said. “I would recognize her handwriting—besides, I knew she was doing it. And this town may be a hotbed of sin, but I
assure you, I am not one of those . . . loose women. Plus,” she added as she arranged her long skirt, “we were friends.”
“There was also a piece of paper with the initials ‘BK’ inside a heart, and the number ‘1-2.’ Do you know what that’s about?”
Her eyes widened a fraction, but she shook her head firmly. “She never said a word about it.”
“Sorry,” I said, raising my hands. “I’m curious, though . . . how did she find out about all of those secrets?”
“It’s a small town,” she said. “Everybody knows everything, don’t they?” She stood up abruptly. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure,” I said. “I thought you were late for an appointment, though . . .”
“I realized it was later today,” she said. “I could use a cup of tea, anyway.”
“Was Ethel friendly with the pastor’s wife?” I asked as Wanda stood up and began bustling with tea things.
She gave me a sharp look. “Why?”
“It looked like she had a visitor before she passed.”
“Why do you think it might be Mrs. Matheson?”
“Pastoral duties?”
“I doubt that was it.” Wanda’s fingers played with a slender chain around her neck; the rest of the necklace was hidden under her blouse. “If she was there, it was probably because she found out about that little hussy her husband was seeing—and figured out Ethel knew about it.”
“What hussy? Do you mean Krystal Jenkins?”
“That’s the one,” she said as she filled the kettle. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Phoebe did Krystal in herself. In fact, she probably used that starter Molly Kramer dropped off at the pastor’s office to make the bread.”
“Did you ever see them together? The pastor and Krystal, I mean?”
“I saw them kissing once, in the bride’s room at the church. They didn’t know I saw, but I saw how she lured him in. He would never have done such a thing if she hadn’t seduced him.”
Remembering how he’d lit up at the sight of Mindy, I wasn’t sure I agreed with her assessment, but I suspected Wanda couldn’t bear to think of her pastor pursuing someone other than herself.
“I know Mrs. Matheson was jealous of that girl.” Wanda sniffed. “She did dress rather provocatively. And she practically threw herself at our pastor . . . but he’s too much of a man of God to be truly tempted by a slattern like that.” The vitriol made me want to scoot my chair back a little bit.
Fatal Frost (Dewberry Farm Mysteries Book 2) Page 21
