by Linda Lovely
“No. The ambulance is hiding my Prius. I met Mollye here.”
“Okay. We’ll come back for your car later. Where do you want to go?”
For a second, the serious look on Andy’s face lightened. “Your eyebrows are doing that meet-in-the-middle, what-the-heck number. Just a guess, but you have no idea what to do next.”
“Right you are. I’m confused. Hey, didn’t I just call and ask you to stop by Udderly to see Eva? How did you get here so fast? Udderly’s at least half an hour away even if you speed.”
“A lucky coincidence. I was at the feed store when you called. Eva walked in a minute after you hung up. Said she’d call one of the temps to help Gerri with evening chores. Ordered me to locate you, and—okay, these are her words—‘pull Brie’s fanny out of whatever fire is scorching her bottom’.”
“Ah, yes, Aunt Eva doesn’t pull punches. Unfortunately her analysis is spot on. Harriett’s mother’s convinced I murdered her daughter, and she suspects I had a hand in Karen Vincent’s death, too. She’d like to burn me at the stake.”
“Karen wasn’t at your luncheon and Mollye told me the two of you discovered her naked body. Why on earth would she think you had anything to do with her death?” Andy asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe she thinks the goats told me to kill Harriett and murder Karen after stealing all her clothes. When we ran Susan Young, Mrs. Quinn, and Karen off Udderly yesterday, they were mighty steamed.”
“Say what?” Andy shook his head. “Boy, do I miss out on news when it’s not my designated boyfriend week. Who did you run off Udderly? No wait. Tell me all about it after we escape. I’ll let Mollye know we’re taking off. Should I tell her where we’re headed?”
I nodded. “Dad’s bringing Mom home from the hospital so I’d like to make my folks’ house our first stop. Tell Mollye she’s welcome to join us. Not that she ever needs an invite. It would kill her to miss out on the latest news.”
A bit unsteady, I walked to Andy’s truck and climbed inside the cab. I had no trouble keeping Andy’s six-foot-four frame in sight. He was a head taller than most of the crowd. He looked like a nimble giraffe as he loped along the sidewalk, dodging oblivious curiosity seekers. He buttonholed Mollye. She looked my way and put her hands on an imaginary wheel to pantomime driving. Her way of confirming she’d be on our tail.
Ten minutes later we arrived at my parents’ house. A slight breeze ruffled the blooming Bradford pear trees and teased their blossoms free, creating a virtual snowstorm of white petals. Dad’s SUV sat in the driveway—a good sign he’d brought Mom home.
I gave the front door a “we’re coming in” warning knock before rushing inside. The door was unlocked as usual. Oh, no. They needed to start locking their door. Any illusions I had about small-town safety were fast disappearing.
I couldn’t wait to see Mom with my own eyes. Despite the advantage provided by his long legs, Andy barely kept up.
My heart seized when I spotted Mom huddled at one end of the living room couch. Her dainty feet encased in pink slippers peeked out from under the blanket tucked around her tiny body. A size two who could shop in the children’s section, Mom’s petite build served as effective camouflage when unknown opponents faced her in court. They never seemed prepared for her towering intellect or powers of persuasion. Today, however, she looked pale and oh so fragile. Still she managed a welcoming smile.
“I’m so sorry about your tasting, Brie. I know how terrible you must feel.”
“You’re sorry?” I exclaimed. “Harriett’s dead and you, Ursula, and Bert are ill. I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s all my fault. How’s Ursula doing? Can she have company?”
“Ursula’s much better,” Dad answered as he walked in from the kitchen. “She’ll be released from the hospital tomorrow morning. She isn’t blaming you, Brie.”
“She doesn’t have to,” I said. “I’m blaming myself. Something I served did in poor Harriett and made everyone else sick.”
“Not everyone,” Dad interrupted. “Dr. Swihart didn’t have a single symptom, and Della’s reaction was quite mild. Are you sure Dr. Swihart and Della ate everything you served?”
“Absolutely,” Mollye chimed in. She’d barged into the living room out of breath before Andy closed the front door.
“We served the same size helpings to everyone and when I took the plates away they were empty. Since Cashew wasn’t around to beg for scraps under the table, Della and the professor must have eaten their desserts.”
I nodded. “No other way to make the food disappear. Impossible to stash that much fruit and gooey chocolate under a napkin unnoticed.”
I glanced over at Mom as she took a sip of water. She didn’t need a crowd in her living room. “You need your rest, Mom. We should leave.”
“Don’t be silly,” she replied. “I’m happy to see you, and Andy and Mollye, too. Sit down. With Harriett dead, there’ll be an investigation. Maybe we can help the authorities figure out what ingredient might be tainted. Whatever it is, it needs to come off the shelves before more people get sick. You’ve narrowed it down to the desserts, right?”
I sat next to Andy on a loveseat, while Mollye settled on the opposite side of the couch from Mom. Dad, as usual, claimed the room’s large leather recliner.
“It has to have been in the fruit pie or chocolate mousse,” I answered. “Mollye and I ate everything else and neither of us got sick.”
Andy cleared his throat. “But, as Howard pointed out, Dr. Swihart didn’t get sick either. Maybe the three of you have immune systems that can handle whatever germ, toxin, or bug is at fault.”
Dad’s eyebrows bunched together. “Good point. Whatever caused the illness appears to affect individuals differently. Maybe Harriett died because she had a compromised immune system. Any possibility she was HIV positive?”
Mollye sputtered. “Man, if she was, Mrs. Quinn will have a conniption fit. According to her church, HIV is God’s way of punishing people for sins of the flesh.”
“You’re talking about the Temple of True Believers?” Mom’s eyebrows shot up.
Mollye nodded. “Yep. Didn’t Brie tell you that Mrs. Quinn was a member of the religious vigilante party at Udderly Kidding yesterday? Three idiots spouting nonsense about evil goats.”
Mom’s and Dad’s blank looks provided Mollye with an answer.
Andy rubbed his hands together. “Okay, Brie. What’s Mollye talking about? I’ve been dying to hear the rest of this story. What gives?”
I filled Mom, Dad, and Andy in on the appearance of Susan Young and her posse as well as her vow to prevent us from luring Ardon County residents into goat worship and putting them on a fast track to hell. I also described Aunt Eva’s goat-milk, Baa-phooey baptism of Susan.
Andy and Dad howled with laughter. Mom didn’t crack a smile.
“The ‘true believer’ portion of that cult’s name should tell you something.” Mom scowled. “They truly believe God has anointed them to do whatever they happen to decide is His bidding. The laws of mortal men don’t apply. Fanatics of any stripe are downright dangerous. Remember that sex toy store that got torched on Highway 33, killing the cleaning woman trapped inside? Scuttlebutt around the courthouse said the arsonists belonged to that temple’s congregation. There simply wasn’t enough evidence to bring anyone to trial.”
“Was Harriett a member of that church?” I asked.
Andy nodded. “She was. I know the Quinns. Whole family attends the Temple.”
“Given the congregation’s apparent belief that goats are the devil, or at least his surrogates, why did Harriett accept my luncheon invitation? Maybe she didn’t know I was one of the Hookers living at Udderly Kidding Dairy.”
Mollye chuckled. “Nah, Harriett knew. What with all the fall media frenzy about you and Rita the Mule playing dodgeball with hired killers, every living soul within five hundred miles of
Ardon knows who you are and where you live.”
She paused to suck in a breath. “Hey, it’s simple. Harriett saw your tasting as a free lunch. Sorry. Mama would wash my mouth out for speaking ill of the dead. But it’s true. Harriett used her farm-to-table blog to snag all the freebies she could. Guess she was of a mind to separate church gospel from her pocketbook.”
I glanced at Mom. Her eyelids fluttered and her head dropped. She looked exhausted. I walked over and kissed her forehead. It felt cold and clammy.
“We need to leave so you can rest, Mom. I’ll make a list of every ingredient in those desserts, and I’ll bag samples of every morsel still in my kitchen.”
“Good idea, dear.” Mom’s voice had turned soft and breathy. “That’ll show you’re conscientious and eager to help determine if there’s a continuing threat to community health.”
FIFTEEN
Andy drove me to Summer Place; Mollye followed in her car. Though Daylight Savings Time was still a month away, the days were lengthening. It was still light when Andy pulled his truck in the driveway.
As he made the turn, the curtains twitched in my across-the-street neighbors’ house. One of the Miss Medleys was on alert, cataloguing the comings and goings at my future B&B. My cell phone beeped right after I switched on the kitchen lights.
“Brie, there are lights on in Summer Place but I don’t see your car, just a truck and that flashy van Mollye Camp drives. Since she’s there, I assume your visitors have permission. But better safe than sorry.”
I assured Miss Medley I was among Summer Place’s current occupants and thanked her profusely for keeping tabs on my property.
Andy smiled. “Wow. If she’s going to report every vehicle that comes and goes, the woman’s going to have her work cut out for her once you open your B&B.”
“She’s harmless and I’m glad she keeps an eye on Summer Place while it’s vacant,” I said. “I’ve worried teens might decide it’s a great place for a clandestine hook up. But it’s a construction hazard zone. Lots of accidents waiting to happen to anyone sneaking about in the dark.”
I frowned as I suddenly recalled Miss Medley’s suspected intruder report from last night. An unknown truck had pulled into my driveway after Mollye and I left, and it had lingered for maybe half an hour. Then there’d been the clean bowl. The one I hadn’t remembered washing.
Rotten ribeyes! Could a visitor have broken in, used the bowl to add poison to my chocolate mousse, then washed it so I wouldn’t notice?
Andy and Mollye looked skeptical as I formulated my theory of a poisoner intruder. I’d settled on the chocolate mousse as the carrier since its dark, rich taste would camouflage any additive stirred into the mix.
Andy rocked back on the porch chair he’d claimed. His crossed arms signaled doubt. “What’s the motive? Someone wanted your tasting to be a big failure and didn’t care if the little prank cost someone her life?”
Mollye jumped in. “Maybe Brie’s not off base. Maybe someone purposely poisoned Harriett because she was blackmailing them. Perhaps the killer researched Harriett’s medical condition and knew whatever he added would make her croak. Could be he thought it would only make the others embrace their toilets.”
Andy shook his head. “You have such a way with words.”
Mollye held up a finger. “Wait. Here’s another idea. If there really was an intruder maybe he—or she—only intended to embarrass Brie, and Harriett’s death was, oops, a surprise. The goal might have been to make everyone puke, and no one was supposed to kick the bucket.”
I shivered. “Geesh, of your two motives, I have to say I prefer Harriett being the intended victim. I’d hate to think someone despises me enough that they’re willing to poison innocent bystanders. I’ve lived in Ardon County less than a year. Hard to imagine I’ve stirred up that much animosity.”
Mollye harrumphed. “You’ve been pretty quick to inspire both love…” She paused to batt her eyelashes at Andy. “And hate. For the most part, the hate’s sort of a side effect of your role in catching murderous scumbags. While said scumbags are now either dead or in jail, they have plenty of relatives in Ardon County.”
Andy uncrossed his arms and rocked forward to lean his elbows on the table. His green eyes darkened as he studied my face. “Moll has a point. We should make a list of potential enemies—yours and Harriett’s. I’d put Susan Young and Mrs. Quinn of the True Believers on your side of the list, but I can’t believe they’d risk harming Harriett, one of their own.”
“Harriett posted she’d be at the luncheon, but that doesn’t mean the church folk read her blog,” I added. “Maybe none of the True Believers knew Harriett was coming.”
“How ironic would that be?” Moll asked. “Religious whackos poisoning one of their own. Nope. Doesn’t compute. Anyone who tampered with the food had to know Harriett was coming. Her blog was the only way people who weren’t invited knew there was a tasting. It wasn’t advertised.”
I held up a hand. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves—and reality. Time to quit fantasizing and do what we came to do—get samples of all the ingredients in both desserts. Contaminated fruit might be to blame. Avocadoes are what make the mousse so smooth and creamy. Let’s make two sets of ingredients. One for Dr. Swihart, one for Sheriff Mason.”
I checked the internet to see what steps someone was supposed to take if food poisoning was suspected. South Carolina’s Department of Health and Environmental Control—DHEC—offered explicit directions for bagging and labeling foodstuffs.
It took us half an hour to gather the ingredients. The fruit pie’s crust was made from dates and nuts, while smashed bananas served as a creamy binder for strawberries, raspberries, and mandarin oranges. We bagged dual samples of everything except the berries. Since I’d used every berry I’d bought, my only recourse was to retrieve packaging from my trash bin to indicate the source. If the berries were contaminated, there’d be other reports.
The chocolate mousse recipe had fewer ingredients: pulverized avocadoes, raw cocoa powder, cashew milk, stevia, and vanilla. I added unpeeled avocados to my inventory and labeled plastic baggies holding tablespoons of the dry ingredients. I poured some of the cashew milk in two small containers and put them in the refrigerator.
“Dr. Swihart’s going to analyze one batch of samples, right?” Mollye asked. “Who do you suppose Sheriff Mason will get to test the other set?”
I frowned. “If there’s a suspicion of contaminated food, I think it’s a special epidemiology team from DHEC but sometimes they call in specialists from the Centers for Disease Control.”
Andy looked thoughtful. “They’ll screen for things like E. coli, salmonella, listeria, the bacteria commonly introduced during food harvesting or processing. But I’m not sure routine tests would pick up the type of toxins someone might have deliberately introduced to harm folks.”
I shivered. “Surely they’ll keep testing if the initial ones prove negative. As a toxicologist maybe Dr. Swihart can devise a testing protocol right off the bat to look for more exotic possibilities.”
I stashed the samples for the “official” inquiry in Summer Place’s commercial size refrigerator. We packed the rest in a cooler for Dr. Swihart.
Moll got up from her chair. “I’m starving. Don’t take this personally, but I think I’ll pass on any item in your refrigerator. For once, I’d rather raid my own fridge.”
I sighed. “I’m afraid that’s how everyone will feel once word of Harriett’s death circulates. I sure hope the cause doesn’t remain a mystery. If it does, I might as well put Summer Place on the market. No one will want to visit a B&B with a to-die-for kitchen.”
Andy walked around the table and hugged me.
“Hey, is that allowed?” Mollye tsk-tsked. “Isn’t it Paint’s week as the boyfriend?”
Andy grinned, his emerald eyes twinkling. “This is a hug from a friend. If i
t were my week, I’d ask you to leave the room. But I do plan to call Paint tonight. He’s goofing off in Charleston when he should be on Brie duty. If he plans to spend more time at the coast, we need to amend our original agreement with an ‘alternate’ clause—e.g., if boyfriend of the week is absent more than twenty-four hours, the alternate has approved access to Brie Hooker’s lips.”
Mollye snorted. “What if you’re tied up more than twenty-four hours birthing colts or operating on cats?”
“That’s different,” Andy replied straight-faced. “Brie has the option to tool over and visit me, wipe the sweat from my brow as I bravely coax a breech colt to enter the world.”
My nose wrinkled. “Sorry Andy, but given a choice between playing scrub nurse in a barn or buzzing off to Charleston to dine with prospective investors, Paint would have the edge. He did invite me, you know? Now I wish I’d gone instead of staying for this wonderful tasting.”
“I’m crushed,” Andy replied. “Guess it’s time to drive my friend, Brie, back to pick up her car. Wonder if anyone from the sheriff’s department is still at Harriett’s house.”
I locked the sunporch door as we left. Andy reached behind me and rattled the knob. “Doesn’t hurt to double check,” he said.
SIXTEEN
We stuck the cooler with Dr. Swihart’s samples in the cab of Andy’s truck and drove to Harriett’s. Sheriff Kyle Mason was climbing inside one of the two cruisers sitting at the curb ready to leave.
I hopped out of Andy’s truck to buttonhole Mason. I held on to a slim hope he’d share information that would clear me of even a peripheral role in Harriett’s death.
“Hi, Sheriff. Guess you heard Harriett was one of my guests at a tasting today.”
Mason nodded, and I hurried on before he could deliver the lines he’d spoken so often last fall: “Can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
“Since some of my other guests have taken ill, a contaminated ingredient in one of my desserts may be to blame. I just left Summer Place where we put together samples of all the ingredients for testing. I’m as eager as anyone to find out what happened.”
