by Linda Lovely
Mason’s eyebrow lifted. “I think Mrs. Quinn may be a little more eager. She’s leveled some serious accusations. Namely that you poisoned her daughter to get back at her for protesting—do I have this right?—goat yoga devil worship.”
Andy interrupted. “Brie’s own mother ate the same food as Harriett. Surely that proves Brie wasn’t trying to kill anyone.”
The sheriff closed the open cruiser door and leaned against it.
“Mrs. Quinn and Reverend Nickles have an answer for that. They say Brie dusted the other folks’ dishes with just a touch of poison to make it look like Harriett’s death was accidental. The reverend made sure I knew about Professor Howard Hooker’s poison expertise. His theory? Professor Hooker told his daughter exactly how much poison to apply to make people sick versus dead.”
My fingernails bit into the palms of my hands. A distraction to control my anger. “We went through this malarkey about Dad’s poison plants when another Ardon native ate a fatal brownie. Since that happened before your time, here are the facts: Dad grows poisonous plants for Medical University of South Carolina researchers to test as potential cancer treatments. None of his plants are poisonous enough to kill adults unless they consume humongous quantities in a single sitting or over time. Harriett couldn’t have died from any plants in Dad’s garden.”
Sheriff Mason shrugged. “We’ve spoken to Mollye Camp and all the other luncheon guests,” he added. “Not everyone took sick.”
“That’s not unusual,” Andy interjected. “Bacteria can cause violent reactions in some people and mild or no symptoms in others.”
“I’ll leave the medical opinions to the professionals,” Mason said. “Brie, I want you to meet me at Summer Place at nine a.m. tomorrow. Don’t go back inside until I arrive.” He rubbed his jaw. “Sure wish you hadn’t returned tonight. Now no matter what a lab finds Mrs. Quinn will claim you scurried back to get rid of evidence that could prove it was murder. Members of DHEC’s epidemiology team will meet us there.”
Andy trailed my car back to Udderly Kidding. Aunt Eva flung the cabin door open while we were walking up the steps.
“’Bout time you got home.” Eva’s scolding tone said she’d been worried. “Andy, glad to see you escorted our wayward chef. Now what’s all this about you making your lunch guests sick and killing Harriett?”
The three of us sat at our cabin’s kitchen table, and I walked Eva through the day’s high and low spots, ending with my troubling conversation with Sheriff Mason.
“Maybe Mrs. Quinn has a point,” Eva said, holding up her hand to halt my sputtering retort. “Could be someone wanted to kill Harriett and spiked all the food to make it look like accidental food poisoning.”
“Tell Eva about Miss Medley’s sighting,” Andy interrupted. “There’s a possibility someone slipped into Brie’s kitchen the night before the tasting.”
I told Eva about the truck loitering in the Summer Place driveway and the clean bowl conundrum. “If someone really did sneak in to poison a dessert, how could he be certain only Harriett would die?”
Andy tapped his spoon against his cup. “Maybe he didn’t care if everyone died. Maybe he was willing to chance multiple deaths to kill Harriett.”
I slumped in my chair. “All I know is that I dished out the desserts, and Mollye delivered them at random. Mollye and I were the only ones who could have given Harriett a pre-determined portion. Despite Mrs. Quinn’s ravings, neither of us had any desire to kill the blogger—or Karen. But she didn’t want to hear me.”
Eva leaned back in her chair. Her eyes looked unfocused. Then she suddenly leaned forward and slapped the table.
“Sometimes those cobwebs have a way of trapping thoughts for a time,” she said. “There is a way to use poison and specifically target one person at a table for six. Talk with your friend Mimi, the pharmacist, about drug interactions. Maybe the killer knew Harriett took a medicine that would interact with whatever he added to your dish.”
Andy nodded. “Possible. I constantly read about new drug interactions. They concern veterinarians as well as MDs. Still it isn’t a very efficient murder method.”
“It leaves a lot to chance,” I agreed. “Maybe Harriett passes on tasting the dish that’s poisoned. Maybe she quits taking the medicine that interacts with the poison. The killer would have to know Harriett very well to know her medical history.”
“Maybe not.” Eva rose from the table, retrieved her purse, and pulled out a CVS sales slip like a crackerjack prize. “If I throw this slip away, a would-be killer can sort through my garbage and puzzle out every prescription and over-the-counter med I take. Simple as pie.”
“Okay, I’ll mention the possibility to Sheriff Mason, though I’m sure he’ll blow it off. Just fanciful thinking for someone in dire need of an alibi.”
My stomach growled. Despite all the talk of food poisoning, my tummy was reminding me I hadn’t eaten supper.
“Andy, Eva, are you willing to eat something I cook?” I walked to our cabin’s refrigerator to check on leftovers. “I need to eat something or I’ll have a headache.”
Eva shook her head. “I didn’t wait for you to dawdle home from your escapades. Already had me a nice juicy hamburger covered with lots of melted cheese. Yum.”
Andy smiled. “Have to admit that burger sounds good, but I’m a nondenominational kind of eater. I’ll pretty much snarf up anything you put in front of me, Brie. I have no fear of eating whatever you cook.”
I rummaged through the shelves and found leftovers from a vegetarian enchilada casserole. I dished out servings for Andy and me and nuked them in the microwave. “Choose whichever dish you want,” I said. “Think I’ll make that offer from now on so folks will think I’m at least willing to play Russian roulette if I’ve poisoned one of the plates.”
We’d just started eating when the cabin phone rang. Eva answered. She muttered “un huh” responses to whoever was on the other end of the line.
“That was Governor Strong,” she said. “Nice to have friends in high places. Carol says rumors about Harriett’s suspicious death have already found their way to Columbia. Apparently the Reverend Guy Nickles is stirring up the right-wing fringe, backing Mrs. Quinn’s contention that Brie Hooker, devil goat worshipper, has murdered one of his congregation’s true believers. He’s calling for an all-out investigation. Says he and his flock won’t let authorities bury the matter.”
“Wonderful.”
Suddenly the enchilada casserole lost all flavor. I pushed my plate away.
“Don’t worry.” Andy reached over and squeezed my hand. “Your flock of friends is just as determined. I’ll call Paint soon as I get home. We may need to put our every-other-week boyfriend routine on hold so we’re both around.”
“Thanks, Andy,” I said. “I’ll keep you and Paint up to date. Maybe the three of us should attend church together Sunday. Usually I go to Methodist services. I’ve never visited the Temple of True Believers. I’d love to show the reverend he can’t intimidate me. I could hand out flyers advertising our goat yoga classes as people leave the sanctuary.”
Eva frowned. “Whoa. I know you’re angry, and I admire your spunk, Brie. But you’d better not be serious. I’m not known for discretion, but lying low until this nonsense blows over makes a whole lot of sense.”
Eva had one thing right. I was angry. The idea that a bunch of lunatics were saying I’d poisoned someone on purpose was totally unfair. These people were murdering my reputation, killing my dream.
SEVENTEEN
After Andy left, I called Dad for a bedtime check on Mom and Ursula. Mom had eaten a little chicken noodle soup before retiring, and Ursula was determined to check out of the hospital come morning.
“I hope Ursula isn’t planning to move into the cottage out back of Summer Place when she checks out,” I said. “She shouldn’t be alone right now, even if she’s feeling
better.”
“She’s agreed to stay with us for at least one more night,” Dad replied. “However, Ursula still wants to move into your cottage as soon as Amber arrives.”
Hmm. Amber was a police detective. Maybe she could help us brainstorm.
Knowing Mom and Ursula were on the mend improved my mood—a touch.
Since I hadn’t helped Eva with evening chores, I set my alarm even earlier than usual. I wanted to finish all my tasks well before my nine a.m. meeting with the sheriff.
Just two weeks ago my kitchen had passed the required inspection for preparing food for public consumption. Now it was designated a potential crime scene.
Goosebumps slowly meandered up my arms. I definitely wanted to observe while the authorities snooped. Mom was my usual companion if it appeared I was in any legal jeopardy. But since she was under the weather, Dad had insisted he’d pinch-hit.
I arrived at my folks’ house at eight-fifteen. Dad gave me a hug and led me to the kitchen, where the Hooker clan always tended to gravitate. Mom hoisted a coffee cup in my direction as a welcome. Though smiling, Mom looked pale, and she was wearing a bathrobe, unheard of attire for Iris Hooker, Esquire, at this time of day. On most weekdays, Mom would have been at her law office for an hour already. She liked to tidy up paperwork before any private clients or city officials called.
“I think Eva would declare you look a might puny,” I said.
Mom smiled. “Yeah, a little weak. I wanted to go to Summer Place with you and your dad, but Howard didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“Agreed. It’s your job to get well fast in case I need a legal defense.”
Mom’s smile vanished. “Don’t worry about the empty threats Bert left on your voicemail. People can’t sue for accidents unless there’s neglect, and you didn’t leave food sitting out or fail to wash anything—lettuce, dishes, or your hands. The Greenville paper never published the review Bert claimed he wrote. Legal counsel probably advised against a personal diatribe loaded with unsubstantiated accusations. Don’t worry. Sit, have a cup of coffee with me. You have time.”
Dad poured me a cup of his stand-a-spoon-up brew, a close cousin to espresso. Since leaving home, I’d migrated to lighter coffee roasts but given the upcoming ordeal I welcomed the added caffeine to stay alert.
“Have you heard from Ursula this morning?” I asked, happy to change the subject.
“Yes,” Dad answered. “I promised we’d pick her up at the hospital as soon as we’re finished at Summer Place. Ursula seems confident she can arrange a jail break by then.”
We chatted a few minutes before Mom waved her hand at me. “You keep glancing at your watch. I know you want to get over to Summer Place. So go. No need to keep me company. Howard, you’re taking a notebook, right? Notes can be helpful if Brie ever has to deal with a nuisance lawsuit.”
I wished she hadn’t reminded me about a possible legal battle. Mrs. Quinn and the Reverend Nickles, a man I’d yet to have the pleasure of meeting, gave me enough problems to think about.
Dad drove. As we turned into my driveway, I spotted Janice Medley walking her poodle. Since the law officers had yet to show and we couldn’t go inside until they arrived, I strolled over to chat with Miss Medley. I hoped a proactive approach would stave off neighborhood alarm and wild rumors.
“Hi, Miss Medley.” I knelt, gave her poodle a quick pat, and explained that the officials were searching for a source of accidental food poisoning. “If they can ID the source, they can prevent others in the community from buying the same item and falling ill.”
As sharp as she was nosy, Miss Medley quizzed me about the dishes I’d served. She seemed determined to make certain no potential threats hid in her pantry or refrigerator. Her white dentures flashed a big smile once I finished my ingredient list. Our menu choices had zero intersections.
She pulled a plastic bag from her sleeve to pick up the doo-doo her poodle had deposited near the curb. “Do your friends still plan to stay out back at Summer Place?” she asked.
“Yes. But they may not move in for a day or two.”
When Sheriff Mason’s cruiser arrived, I bid my neighbor goodbye. An unmarked white panel van pulled in right behind him. Good thing I had a long driveway.
As I hustled across the street, Sheriff Mason and Deputy Danny exited the cruiser and walked over to Dad, who’d been leaning against his SUV, browsing on his smart phone. Unlike his sister, Aunt Eva, Dad was a cell phone addict, though he still subscribed to ban-the-phone etiquette at any meal.
Before I reached the group, two men emerged from the panel van carrying what looked like large satchels.
“I have the key,” I said. “Ready to go in?”
“Yes.” Mason’s curt reply made me think he’d had a bad night. Had the True Believers been hassling him? He made no attempt to introduce Dad or me to the techs.
I led the way to the sunporch entrance where the tasting was held. I put my palm on the door as I prepared to slide my skeleton key into the lock on the antique door I’d refinished. The unlatched door swung open.
“Holy Havarti. I locked this door last night.”
Then I saw the sunporch’s overturned chairs. I started to rush inside, but Sheriff Mason grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
“I’ll go first. Danny, follow me. The rest of you wait until we make certain it’s safe.”
My stomach clenched. Someone had broken in last night. I choked back tears. Were they the same visitors who snuck in before my tasting?
Mason and Danny appeared in the doorway. “You can come in but don’t touch anything,” the sheriff said. “It’s a mess.”
My body trembled. Dad slipped an arm around my shoulder and hugged me to him. The kitchen I’d spent so much time renovating was a disaster. I gasped when I saw the gleaming commercial oven I was buying on an installment plan desecrated with red spray paint. In all caps, the graffiti delivered a succinct message: BURN IN HELL.
With a steely squint, Sheriff Mason did a slow 360 to catalogue the mayhem. “You sure you locked up when you left last night?”
“I’m absolutely certain.” I fought to keep my voice calm. I wanted to scream. “Ask Andy Green. He and Mollye were with me. Andy even checked the door after I turned the key. He wanted to make certain it was locked.”
Mason, unblinking, leveled one of his confess-now stares at me. “Did you come back later? Alone?”
I shook my head so violently I could almost feel my brain sloshing from side to side. “No. After we put the samples together, Andy followed me back to Udderly, where we had a bite to eat. When he left, Aunt Eva and I went to bed. I didn’t return to Summer Place until I drove over with Dad a few minutes ago.”
The sheriff scanned the kitchen. “Where are those samples?”
Uh, oh. Dread mingled with my anger. I turned toward the counter where we’d lined up our little plastic baggies of dry ingredients. Andy, who had the tidiest printing, had neatly labeled each one. The counter was bare.
Braunshweiger on a bun.
I inclined my head toward the empty stretch of counter. “We put samples of dry ingredients and items like bananas that didn’t need refrigeration on that counter.” I paused. “They’re gone.”
Mason slipped on a plastic glove. “Guess we ought to see what’s in the refrigerator.”
I held my breath as he opened the door, afraid of who knew what—a horse’s head…a coiled snake…a bomb?
My breath came out in a large whoosh as I peered inside. Empty.
Well, not totally. They’d missed a shriveled lemon wedged at the back of the refrigerator’s middle shelf. Everything else was gone—including plenty of items I hadn’t used in preparing the tasting selections. The filched foods even included the baby carrots and hummus I kept to snack on during breaks from renovation tasks like sanding woodwork and peeling faded wallpaper.
Mason looked over at Deputy Danny McCoy and the unintroduced techs. “Glove up and open the cupboards. Let’s see if there’s anything left here to test.”
Dad clamped me to his side as we stood in the kitchen doorway and watched the men fling open door after door to reveal cupboards empty of any foodstuff.
“This makes absolutely no sense,” I whispered to Dad. “Why would someone strip the kitchen of everything? If the burglars were the same people who poisoned the food I served, they had to know which dessert they’d doctored. Why would they make a clean sweep and take stuff like my stash of peanut butter?”
The sheriff spun toward me. Apparently Mason had excellent hearing or my whisper wasn’t quite as quiet as I thought. “Good question. That is if there really was a break-in last night.”
What? Limburger and Liverwurst. Was the sheriff insinuating I’d stolen my own food to hide evidence?
“Surely you’re not implying Brie snuck back last night to clean out her own kitchen?” Dad’s voice rose in volume with his disbelief.
Mason didn’t look a bit cowed by my father’s ire.
“I’m sure that will be Mrs. Quinn’s theory,” he calmly replied.
He turned toward the unnamed techs. “Given there’s no food to test is there anything you can do?”
“Not really,” the taller tech answered. “We can swab the sink drain but can’t imagine how it will help. Maybe after the medical examiner autopsies the deceased we’ll have a better idea what to test for.”
The vandalism felt like a punch in the gut, and my brain acted like a merry-go-round with the same questions circling around and around. When I finally shook off the daze, I spoke to Mason.
“I can still provide samples for testing. We put together a second set for one of my luncheon guests, Dr. Swihart, a toxicologist. She was intrigued that some folks fell quite ill while she had no symptoms so she volunteered to do some testing of her own.”
