Never Say Dye (A Sibyl Potts Cozy Mystery, Book 3)

by Morgana Best

  “Nicotine?” Mr. Buttons repeated. “Like the stuff in cigarettes?”

  “Precisely,” the voice said. “It’s far more harmful than the general public realizes, especially when absorbed through the dermis.”

  “Oh, I see. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You will receive an official report of the findings in the mail within ten business days.”

  Mr. Buttons ended the call on his phone and looked at me. “Have you heard of nicotine being poisonous when absorbed through the skin?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I don’t know anything about it. I’ll get my laptop.”

  I returned with my laptop and opened it on the table between us.

  “Who would put nicotine in hair dye?” Mr. Buttons asked me, clearly perplexed.

  “Someone who knows a little more about science than the rest of the world,” I said. The search proved easier than I had expected. I read aloud. “It says here that nicotine is rapidly absorbed, and is one of the most deadly poisons known to humankind.”

  Mr. Buttons peered over at the screen. “That’s amazing. I never would’ve thought that nicotine could be fatal.”

  “Well, according to this, it definitely is. It says that just thirty milligrams – what’s that? A third of a teaspoon? - absorbed into the skin can be fatal.” I hit the back button and went back to the google list of sites.

  Mr. Buttons reached across and pointed to the third one down. “Try that one,” he said.

  “Okay.” I clicked the link entitled, Unflavored Nicotine Liquid Vapers.

  “What is a vaper?” he asked me.

  I shrugged. “No idea. I know as much as you do. Wow, look at that!” I pointed to an image of a bottle on the screen. “Anyone can buy it; those ten milligram bottles are only twelve dollars each, and they are 99.9% pure liquid nicotine. It would take less than half a teaspoon of the stuff to kill someone.”

  “A dime shaped drop,” Mr. Buttons said.

  “Okay, let’s find out more about these vapers.”

  Mr. Buttons tapped the screen. “There.”

  I clicked the link and pulled up an article about the topic. “Okay, it says that vapers is the term for people who use e-cigarettes, personal vaporizers, or electronic nicotine delivery systems. Have you ever heard of electronic cigarettes?”

  Mr. Buttons looked bewildered. “No, I haven’t, have you?”

  “I did hear something about it a while back on the car radio, but I didn’t know what it was. It says here that all three methods of delivery avoid tobacco and use nicotine as their base, along with substances such as propylene glycol, glycerin, and flavorings. This e-liquid is referred to as juice, and the consumer chooses their own level of nicotine.”

  “Well, we found the poison,” Mr. Buttons said, “and it’s readily available for anyone to buy. If one of the ghost hunters, or Dorothy, or her son, Frank, are one of these vaper people, then they had the weapon of choice in their hands, so to speak. What do we do now?”

  My head hurt from information overload. “Well, if Blake sent the sample to be tested, then the detectives should have the same information by now. I’ll call Blake and tell him what we found out, just in case the detectives don’t share it with him.”

  Mr. Buttons shook his head. “How do you know the detectives had the sample tested? Blake had to go to Sydney, and the detectives could well have put it on hold – who knows? I really think you need to call the detectives direct, Sibyl.”

  I was about to protest, when I saw that Mr. Buttons had turned pale. I sighed and reached for my phone.

  The call was answered immediately. “Hello, you’ve reached Detective Roberts,” an irritated voice declared.

  “Hi, this is Sibyl Potts, from Cressida Upthorpe’s boarding house.”

  “Oh, yes. Is there something I can do for you, Miss?”

  “Actually, yes. Mr. Buttons and I think that both of the bottles of hair dye that hurt Cressida and killed Sue were injected with liquid nicotine.”

  “Nicotine?” the voice parroted, with more than a note of incredulity.

  I pressed on. “Mr. Buttons had the bottle of hair dye that Cressida used tested, and they found a high concentration of nicotine. Pure nicotine absorbed through the skin is fatal.” I took a deep breath. “There is even a syndrome named Green Leaf Tobacco Sickness, which workers get by harvesting wet tobacco leaves without skin protection. Nicotine is harmful to the touch. It’s cheap, easily obtainable, and deadly in the smallest of drops.”

  “I understand your concern, ma’am, but that just seems highly unlikely and rare, if anything. Hold on one moment, please.” A few moments of silence followed, and then there was a shuffling sound. “Hey, Henderson. This lady thinks the natural death at the boarding house and the other woman’s skin reactions were both intentionally caused by someone using nicotine as a poison.”

  Laughter erupted in the background. “Like the stuff in cigarettes? I highly doubt it. The doctor even said it was allergies.”

  “They just won’t leave it be. It’s bad enough they got that Sergeant to make us investigate.”

  “It’s your call, Roberts, but I just don’t think that’s likely. Even if nicotine is fatal like they claim, who would know that? I didn’t; did you? They don’t have any scientists or surgeon generals renting any rooms, so who are we looking at as a suspect if there actually was a crime?”

  “That’s what I don’t know.” More shuffling sound assaulted my ears. “Hello?”

  “Yes. I’m still here,” I said, unable to keep the irritation caused by overhearing their conversation out of my voice.

  “Ma’am, do you have a perpetrator in mind?”

  “A perpetrator?”

  “Yes. If you’re so certain that someone is intentionally doing this, it would help to know who you suspect.”

  “Oh. I don’t have a clue.”

  “That’s the problem, ma’am. If there is any actual evidence that can both help us find a suspect and prove that a crime has in fact happened, please do make sure we know about it. Then, and only then, can we take steps to solve this case. I’m sorry.”

  “Sure you are,” I said under my breath, as I ended the call.

  Mr. Buttons patted my shoulder. “Didn’t go too well, did it?”

  I sighed. “You could say that. I’ll call Blake now. He’s likely in court, but I’ll leave a message.” I found Blake in my contact list. Actually, he was on my Favorites list, so I held the phone at an angle so Mr. Buttons couldn’t see - I didn’t want to be teased. I pressed the green phone icon next to Blake’s name.

  To my surprise, Blake answered at once.

  “Blake, it’s Sibyl. I thought you’d be in court.”

  “I’m on a short break. How’s everything going? Is Tiny okay?”

  I rushed to reassure him. “Yes, yes, Tiny is fine – he’s having a good time. Blake, I’m here with Mr. Buttons. Mr. Buttons took a sample from the hair dye Cressida used, and sent it into a lab for testing, and we’ve just got the results.” I ignored the choking sound on the other end of the line, and continued speaking. “The results showed that pure nicotine was injected into the hair dye. Apparently nicotine is deadly in small amounts when put on the skin, so that’s what poisoned Sue and Cressida.” Blake’s silence worried me, so I added, “About half a teaspoon of the stuff could be fatal, because it’s absorbed in such high concentrations through the layers of the skin.”

  I waited for Blake to speak, and when he did, his tone was none too happy. “So, you and Mr. Buttons sent off some hair dye sample to a lab, and found it had high concentrations of nicotine?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I just phoned the detectives, but they didn’t believe me.”

  Blake sighed. “Sibyl, you should’ve contacted me before you contacted the detectives.”

  “But -” I began, but Blake cut me off.

  “Sibyl, do me a favor. You and Mr. Buttons, stay out of this from here on out.”

  “But -” I said
again.

  “I know you want to help and figure out what’s going on, but let the professionals handle it. I’ll talk to the detectives myself and make sure they start looking into this. Don’t worry, Sibyl. I’ll make sure we find out what’s going on and what happened to Cressida and Sue.”

  I was frustrated, but he was talking sense.

  “Sibyl, I did send the hair dye to the police lab, so I’ll call them and get them to send the results straight to those detectives. Just make sure that no one else dyes their hair, and if you find any bottles of hair color, call Constable Andrews at once.”

  “Okay, thanks, Blake. I’ll tell Mr. Buttons what you’ve said.”

  “Please do. And Sibyl, I have to make sure it will hold up in court once we do figure it all out. If it eases your mind, I’ve been dealing with criminals for a long time; they always make a mistake. Before, during, or afterward, they all make a mistake.”

  “You can't be suspicious of a tree, or accuse a bird or a squirrel of subversion or challenge the ideology of a violet.”

  (Hal Borland)

  Chapter Nine .

  I drove my van to dog training. Mr. Buttons was sitting in the passenger seat, and the two dogs were sitting in the back. The dogs were excited to be going to dog training – Mr. Buttons – not so much.

  “Sibyl, I don’t want to participate,” he said again for the umpteenth time. “I just like watching you and Sandy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Buttons, Blake will be ever so appreciative of you taking Tiny to his class. Besides, Tiny is very well behaved, not like Sandy.”

  As if on cue, Sandy stuck her muzzle forward, and a pile of slobber flew through the air. Mr. Buttons whipped out his embroidered linen handkerchief, and I made a mental note to tighten her car harness.

  For such a small dog, Tiny’s excited breathing was loud. I smiled as I thought once again how strange it was for a big, tall, muscled cop to have a chihuahua. I had enjoyed having Blake’s dog with me for a week, and so had Sandy. The dog might have been tiny, but he was as sweet as could be, and tolerated Sandy launching herself on him in glee and playing too rough. He was a tough, little dog. However, all this playing happy families had me thinking how nice it would be to have Blake and Tiny with me permanently.

  I gave myself a mental slap. What was I thinking? My divorce was new, so new, in fact, that the property settlement was still ongoing. I had an appalling track record with men – after all, my ex-husband had not only tried to kill me, but was delaying the property settlement on the grounds that he was in jail, awaiting trial for the murder of his girlfriend’s boyfriend – not to mention my attempted murder of course. I figured alone and single was the place I needed to be.

  I parked the van, clipped the leashes on the dogs, and walked over to the grounds with Mr. Buttons. I nodded to the advanced class. “There you go. Tiny knows what to do.”

  “But I don’t,” Mr. Buttons muttered as he walked away, with Tiny trotting politely beside him.

  I led Sandy to the beginners’ class, and she jumped up and down in her excitement. The instructor made us line up. “Now,” she said, “make your dogs sit quietly for a few minutes, please.” She gave me a long, hard look as she said it. “The advanced class is about to start training on the new obstacle course for the Agility Training competition dogs, and I thought it would benefit you all to watch the first few dogs go through their paces. This is what your dogs will eventually be able to achieve if you work hard enough.” She waved her arm expansively.

  The advanced class always trained next to us, and I ran my eye over some jumps, some poles, and a big tube. I could see Mr. Buttons’ face was white and drawn. I gave him a thumbs up, and he smiled weakly.

  Mr. Buttons’ instructor was even louder than mine. “You!” she yelled at Mr. Buttons. “You’re first. Remember, your dog hasn’t done this before, so you need to show your dog what to do first. And remember, this is off leash.”

  Mr. Buttons unclipped Tiny’s leash, and took a step forward.

  “Stop!” the instructor yelled. “This course is timed; you have to run.”

  Mr. Buttons took off at a decent pace, but to my horror, actually jumped the first jump. Tiny simply ran behind him, but did not jump. My horror increased when I realized that Mr. Buttons intended to do the entire course, as if he were a dog. I stood in silence when Mr. Buttons ran up and down the steep ramp, and then weaved expertly through a row of poles.

  Tiny, so far, had avoided every obstacle. People in my class were chuckling softly, but when people in the advanced class broke into helpless laughter, their instructor, to her credit, silenced them. My own instructor was doubled over, shaking and clutching at her stomach.

  Mr. Buttons had a little trouble jumping through the hanging tire, and even more trouble on the teeter board. Mr. Buttons must have been getting tired, as he crashed through the next jump. He righted himself, and then set up the jump again, making sure it was level before he proceeded at speed to the bright blue tube.

  I gasped when Mr. Buttons disappeared into the tunnel. I gasped again when he got stuck in the bend. “Help him!” I said to my instructor, but she was in no fit state to do anything. Finally the bulge in the tunnel inched forward, ever so slightly, and after what seemed an age, Mr. Buttons emerged triumphantly from the tunnel.

  He jogged back to the instructor, who had the presence of mind to congratulate him and act as if nothing untoward had happened. Members of her class, however, did not have such self constraint. Several wiped tears of laughter from their eyes, and quite a few of them had their hands over their mouths.

  “Okay, show is over – back to class,” my instructor managed to say through her giggles.

  I had my cell phone in my pocket set to vibrate. I usually left it in the van during class, but had been a bit flustered with Mr. Buttons complaining at length about taking Tiny into class. We were doing the Stay, when my phone vibrated. I resisted the urge to pull it from my pocket as the instructor was staring at me, as she usually did, albeit this time, she chuckled every few moments.

  The phone continued to vibrate on and off throughout the class, which was both irritating and frustrating. The second the class was over, I retrieved my phone from my pocket. I did not recognize the Caller I.D., but answered anyway.

  “Sibyl,” a scratchy voice said.

  “Cressida,” I exclaimed, before looking up at Mr. Buttons, who was hurrying toward me. “It’s Cressida,” I said to him. “By the way, congratulations on the class.”

  Mr. Buttons beamed.

  “Who’s with you?” Cressida asked.

  “Mr. Buttons.”

  “Well, I’m coming home, and I wanted to know if you could come get me.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Let me take the dogs to my place, then we’ll be right there. Sorry I didn’t answer first off – we’re at dog training.”

  “All right, but hurry up, will you? I need a cheeseburger. This hospital food is awful.”

  “Sure,” I said. I hung up and slid the phone into my pocket. “Cressida is being released; do want to come and pick her up with me?”

  “Yes, and I need a stiff drink after that,” Mr. Buttons said.

  “What, a scotch or something?”

  Mr. Buttons shook his head. “A milkshake,” he said, in all seriousness.

  I laughed as I climbed behind the wheel. I drove to my cottage, and Mr. Buttons stayed in the van while I put the dogs in the yard. Then I jogged back to the vehicle and climbed in, a smile on my face the whole time. I was eager to get Cressida back home.

  As soon as we walked into the hospital lobby, we saw Cressida and a nurse. Cressida was sitting in a wheelchair, and I figured she wasn’t too pleased about that.

  “There they are; can I stand up now?” Cressida asked.

  The nurse smiled, a strained smile that told me she was tired of dealing with Cressida, and shook her head. “Not yet, let’s get you out through the doors.”

  “Hurry up then, plea
se,” Cressida said through clenched teeth, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back in the chair. The nurse pushed Cressida forward and I held the door open for them. When they were on the sidewalk, Cressida stood and the nurse turned and pushed the wheelchair back inside.

  “Good riddance to this place,” Cressida said. She then held her arms open and I hugged her, and to my surprise, so did Mr. Buttons. Cressida then hurried to the van. “Let’s go get that burger; I’m starving.”

  Cressida sat in the passenger seat while I drove, leaving Mr. Buttons to sit in the back of the van. We went to the McDonalds drive through, and I ordered a cheeseburger and fries for everyone, and a chocolate milkshake each for Cressida and me, and a Diet Coke for Mr. Buttons. As we waited for the food, Cressida leaned toward us. “I remembered something about that day, when someone tried to kill me,” she said.

  “What?” I asked, while accepting the food through the window of my van.

  “I saw that ghost boy, Frank?”

  “James,” Mr. Buttons said. “Frank is Dorothy’s son.”

  “Right. I saw James and Dorothy arguing.”

  “About what?” Mr. Buttons asked as I handed him his Diet Coke, before driving off.

  Cressida took a long drink of her milkshake before answering. “I don’t know. I don’t think Dorothy much cares for talk of ghosts; she seemed mad that James was there. She told him something - I think I’m remembering it right, but she told him there were real things to fear in life, and not to waste his time looking for fake things.”

  I shook my head. “Real things to fear? That sounds ominous.”

  “I know,” Cressida said, nodding. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  Mr. Buttons stuck his head into the front seat. “Anything else?”

  “It’s hazy, to be honest.” Cressida shook her head, clearly trying to remember. “Anyway, tell me what’s been going on without me.”

  Mr. Buttons and I had visited Cressida in the hospital only the day before, and had told her about the nicotine. Of course, Blake had already informed the doctors. “There’s not much to tell,” I said. “We brought you up to speed yesterday.”