Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries)

by Chrystle Fiedler

  I went through a short yoga practice; then I got comfortable, closed my eyes, and allowed my breath to fall into a natural rhythm. Gradually, my mind began to quiet, and I settled my attention on my breath and meditated for twenty minutes or so. Sometimes when I meditate, things that are confusing become clear. I’d been hoping that this session would clarify something about the case, perhaps give me some perspective that I was missing. When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t any clearer about the case; there were still too many suspects with no clear line to the murderer. But I did feel calmer and ready to reenter my day.

  I joined Jackson and the animal menagerie in the bedroom. We had fun playing with the dogs and watching them wrestle with each other. Even the cats seemed a little more accepting. They didn’t flee the room, but watched all the canine activity from the top of a bookshelf. Afterward, Jackson headed home to get the dogs settled with the dog sitter and then head up to the estate. He took Qigong with him, since I was planning to make a stop and didn’t want to leave Qigong in the car. I quickly showered, got dressed in my Nature’s Way tee and a pair of black shorts, and went downstairs.

  I was relieved to find Merrily back at work. I found her taking free-range eggs and organic cheeses from the fridge. “Wallace just brought me orders for eight omelets,” she told me. “I am the Omelet Queen.”

  “It’s good to have you back. How did things go with Dr. Cooper?”

  Merrily put a pat of butter in a frying pan. “You were right. He said that my symptoms sounded like Lyme.” She cracked three eggs into the pan and mixed them with a fork. “He sent my blood work to that place you mentioned in California. He said we should have the results in ten days.”

  “Good, that’s the first step. Do you feel good enough to work? You can rest in my office anytime you need to.”

  Merrily picked up a grater and began to grate cheese. “Thanks, that should help. I’ll need to do some ordering and stuff anyway, so I can rest then. What are you up to?”

  “I’m headed to the library.”

  After our visit to the mansion last night and Simon’s comments about the age of the house and the possible uses of the equipment in the cabinet, and that secret tunnel, I wanted more information about Prohibition. Plus, when Koren had come to Nature’s Way, he had said that Roger’s murder was almost a copycat of Daniel Russell’s murder. Since Jackson was busy getting his doxies settled, I called Simon, told him what I wanted to research, and asked him to join me. It would be better for him than just sitting around the house worrying all day long.

  I got into my Prius and drove down First Street, past the Salamander Café and year-round residences, to the Floyd Memorial Library. The imposing building was covered with ivy and fronted by two stone lions.

  I parked and walked around to the front of the building, where I found Simon sitting on the stairs, wearing torn jeans, a PARALLEL LIVES T-shirt, and shades. He pushed his sunglasses up on his head, got up, and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for doing this, Willow. Carly said she thought it was a good idea, but I think she’s just humoring me.”

  “How is she holding up?”

  “Not so good this morning. The police are questioning her.”

  “Why are the police questioning Carly?”

  “Well, according to her lawyer, they always question the spouse. Especially if a divorce is pending and there’s money involved.” Simon rubbed his unshaven chin. “Carly should be okay, though. She was on conference calls with Galaxy execs almost all that night, working out the budget for this season’s shows. One of the guys in L.A. recorded the calls, so she’s covered. Besides”—he gave me a wry smile—“I’m still Koren’s favorite suspect. I think he’s just got to convince himself that she wasn’t my accomplice.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can get any help here.” I headed into the library.

  I went straight to one of the computers and punched in the word Prohibition. Nearly three dozen titles came up on the page.

  We wrote down a few of the call numbers, then found four shelves devoted to Prohibition. Simon grabbed as many books as he could carry, while I tried to be more selective and focused on Prohibition on Long Island and the East End. I snapped up Rum Row: A Long Island Retrospective; East End Rum Running; and Fishermen to Rum Runners.

  We settled in at a table in the corner under a window and started skimming. Simon started to flip through a book called Prohibition: A Lesson in Abstinence.

  “That looks like a page-turner.”

  “It isn’t,” Simon said as he quickly scanned the pages. “But it does say that Prohibition was declared on January sixteenth, 1920. It also says that rum came from the West Indies and the Caribbean, and whiskey from Canada and Europe.”

  I held up East End Rum Running. “It says here that large sailing ships carried the rum and whiskey to an area in the Atlantic Ocean three miles from the north shore of Long Island. Any closer and it was illegal to transport liquor. The ships anchored there, and then fishermen and whalers would go out and get the liquor and bring it back to shore on their boats. Sometimes they had to outrun the coast guard.”

  “Interesting,” Simon said. “But that’s not going to keep me out of jail. What else?”

  “Let’s see if we can find any references to the Bixbys or Daniel Russell or the estate.” I located the index and went to the B’s. I turned the book to show Simon. “There are plenty of references to the Bixbys.” I turned to the first one. “Okay, this is the introduction to the Bixby family.” I skimmed the pages and summarized the copy. “Max Bixby, a textile manufacturer, was said to be one of the most successful rum runners on the North Fork. Bixby never confirmed his side business, but it was widely known in the area.”

  “So it’s like I said. Max, or one of his guys, probably used the switches and the pipes in the cabinet to help them unload more safely and quickly. But what does this have to do with Roger’s murder?”

  “Be patient. Let’s see if we can find a reference to Daniel Russell.” I went back to the index and ran my finger down the page until I found a reference to Russell, Daniel.

  “ ‘Tragedy at the Bixby Estate,’ ” I read. “It says that Daniel Russell, the caretaker of the Bixby estate in Southold on the East End of Long Island, was murdered on April nineteenth, 1933, in the last days of Prohibition. ‘Russell, who was a fisherman and rumored to be the right hand to Bixby in his rum-running enterprise, was just thirty years old. Russell was discovered on the beach in the front of the estate and believed to have drowned.’ ”

  Simon pulled the book closer to his side of the table and continued reading. “ ‘However, the autopsy revealed that he had freshwater in his lungs. After an investigation, police determined that he had been drowned in the upstairs bathroom in lavender bathwater and carried to the beach. Max Bixby and Daniel were seen arguing hours before he turned up dead. Bixby was considered a suspect but was never charged. The case remains open to this day.’ ”

  Simon’s jaw dropped. “The two deaths are almost identical. Which means that whoever killed Roger knew exactly how Daniel Russell died.” He looked at me. “Do you think Roger’s death could have been revenge for Daniel’s, all those years ago?”

  “Possibly. Or maybe it was set up to look that way—to frame someone who knew Daniel.”

  Roger began to tick off names on his fingers. “That would be the caretaker, James Russell; his wife, Sheila; and maybe that scary-looking housekeeper, Mrs. what’s her name.”

  “Florrick. But she seemed very loyal to the Bixbys. She knew Roger and Tom when they were kids. She was very upset about Roger’s death. Plus his death may mean she’s out of a job.”

  “I guess you could say the same thing for the Russells,” Simon said reluctantly.

  I glanced at the stack of books and then at my watch. “I’ve got to get up to the estate, so I’ll have to do the rest of my reading at home. I’m going to check out some of these.”

  “I’ll get the rest.”

  We checked out the
books and left the library. When we reached the sidewalk, I said, “Aren’t you supposed to be writing a script?”

  Simon groaned. “I’m better at procrastination, but you’re right. I do need to get that first draft done.” He kissed me on the cheek and walked over to his red-and-black Mini Cooper. “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.” I got back into the Prius. I was about to pull out when I spotted Amanda, taking several books out of the back of her rented Jeep and heading up the steps to the library. It looked as if she was doing her research, too.

  I waited until Amanda left, then went back inside and asked if any books about Prohibition had been returned. The librarian seemed surprised but went to the shelf behind the desk and picked up three books. She pushed them across the counter to me. Not surprisingly, all of the books focused on the history of Prohibition on Long Island. I checked out the additional books and left.

  When I arrived at the estate, Qigong ran up to greet me. He and Jackson had just emerged from the production trailer closest to the mansion.

  “How are the doxies?” I asked Jackson.

  “Good. I’ve got Katie, the pet sitter, coming by at ten, two, and six to take them out into the yard and play with them. And I’ve decided to name them Rockford and Columbo, you know, detectives.”

  “Like you.” I reached into the Prius and grabbed a few of the books from the library.

  Jackson glanced at the books. “Doing your homework, McQuade?”

  “I told you I was going to the library to research Daniel Russell’s murder.”

  “That’s right, you did. Let’s have lunch and you can tell me about it.”

  I put Qigong on a leash and we headed inside the tent. Today we had our choice of a dozen gourmet pizzas and a salad bar offering everything from organic sprouts, sliced mushrooms, shredded carrots, peppers, and Parmesan cheese to a dozen types of organic dressing.

  I put the books down on a table and got in the food line. I chose a slice of pizza with organic, fresh mozzarella, basil, and plum-tomato sauce and a spinach salad. Jackson went for a plain slice, plain green salad, and grabbed two passion-fruit iced teas. On the opposite side of the tent I spotted Pierre eating with Tom. As usual, Tom seemed aggravated about something. Pierre listened but didn’t seem to be enjoying the conversation. Finally, he took his phone out, said something to Tom, got up, and left. Tom slammed his bottle of water on the table and looked sullen.

  Jackson was watching them, too. “Tom is just a little ray of sunshine,” he said as we sat down and started on our food. “I imagine the police will question him at some point.”

  I told him what Simon had said about the police questioning Carly.

  “The lawyer is right,” Jackson said. “They always question the spouse. And with this murder, they’ve probably already taken statements from most of the crew. So what did you and Simon find at the library?”

  “That Max was a suspect in Daniel Russell’s death.”

  Jackson stopped midchew. “That’s news. Did it say why?”

  “They had argued, just like Simon and Roger.” I speared a forkful of salad. “I also confirmed what Koren said, that Roger and Daniel were both killed the same way. Maybe the murderer copied the method to distract the police.”

  “Smoke and mirrors.”

  “And I saw Amanda there. She returned books about Prohibition on the East End.” I pointed to the stack on the table.

  “The fact that Amanda was there doing research kind of backs up my theory about them faking it, don’t you think, McQuade?”

  “Well, MJ said they always research a site whenever they go on location. So it makes sense that they would research Max Bixby and Daniel Russell. But that doesn’t mean MJ’s a fake. I wouldn’t discount her that easily.”

  Jackson gave me a skeptical look.

  “She heard the doxies crying when no one else did,” I reminded him.

  “Maybe she just has off-the-charts excellent hearing.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “You’re reaching, Spade.”

  He bit back a smile. “Okay, we’ll table the issue of MJ’s peculiar powers for now. What’s next?”

  “I want to talk to Lucas about Daniel Russell’s murder. It was his grandfather, after all. I figure his father, James, must have told him all about it. Maybe James will talk to me, too.”

  “I guess that’s a plan. Just watch your back, McQuade.”

  Jackson told me that Amanda had leased an extra golf cart for us, so Thursday afternoon I took that to the cottage where both Allie and Hector were in session. I found the schedule on the kitchen counter and it showed that I had appointments from three to six, and both Allie and Hector were booked from two to six. I put a note on the counter to tell them where I was going, took my cell phone and Qigong, and left. My mission was to get fresh lavender from the lavender field next to the cottage where Lucas, James, and Sheila lived. Hopefully I could get a few bouquets—and also some info from the family that would help me solve this mystery.

  I decided to walk to the lavender farm, which meant that I had to cross in front of the cottage where Rick and MJ were staying. MJ sat on the porch reading. She was wearing a light blue caftan with gold trim and flip-flops, a modest outfit by her standards.

  “Willow, hang on a minute,” she called out. “I was hoping I’d see you today. Tell me, what did you think of our show the other night?”

  I hesitated, then decided I had to know. “How much of it was real?”

  “All of it, of course. Why would you even ask such a thing?”

  Did MJ not know about Amanda and the special effects in the upstairs bathroom? If that was true, I didn’t want to be the one to break it to her.

  “Willow,” she said more carefully. “Do you think I’m a fake?”

  “No.” I realized it was true. “It’s just that . . . I’m not sure how these shows work, whether or not some of the things—like the book flying off the shelf and the lights dimming—are . . . enhanced.”

  MJ straightened her spine, and even with the crazy caftan, she looked dignified and formidable. “Pierre tapes my readings as they happen. I can tell you that, personally, I have never used a special effect. I’m surprised at you, Willow. I thought you were open to the spirit realm.” A phone rang from inside the house, and she sighed. “I have to get that. But it’s important to me that you understand that what I’m doing is genuine. Please, come tonight and see for yourself.” She opened the door and went inside.

  Feeling confused, I left MJ. Either she was an excellent liar or she was the real thing. If she was authentic, maybe they weren’t adding effects, unless they were doing it without her knowledge. That no dust was on the secret compartment behind the medicine cabinet implied that someone was using special effects. Could it have been Max?

  I followed the path that led from MJ’s cottage in a westerly direction through the woods, hoping it would put me in the general area of the lavender fields and Lucas’s house. I was using a leash with a long lead, so Qigong was able to run ahead of me. The path circled underneath overhanging trees, past saplings, and between tall bushes and field grasses.

  I reached the end of the path and saw the pond that I remembered from the day Simon and Roger had been fighting. Despite that, it seemed idyllic and peaceful. I spotted another path and headed north to try to find the caretaker’s cottage.

  In the distance I heard the sound of a revving engine and the whine of a blade cutting wood. Great, I thought, so much for enjoying the quiet. But the noise soon stopped, and it was quiet again. The two of us kept walking. Around the next turn, a large, open field was filled with chamomile flowers. Bees, butterflies, and birds hovered over the fragrant blossoms. I waded into the chamomile field and picked a bunch to use for tea later. I was so involved in my task that I didn’t notice that Qigong was missing.

  I looked around, sure that he was somewhere nearby. “Qigong?” I called. “Qigong, where are you? Come here, boy!”

  But there was no response.
No answering bark or eager little dog racing toward me. I called again and felt fear tightening around my chest. “Qigong!” I called again. Frantic, I dropped the flowers and ran down the path, shouting his name.

  The path dead-ended at a garden that was next to the Russells’ house. I did a quick scan of the neat rows of flowers and herbs. No Qigong. Then, at the edge of the garden, I noticed an old shed, its door ajar. I ran to it and peered into the dark interior. I felt a surge of relief as I heard Qigong’s familiar bark. It sounded as if it was coming from the direction of the house. But before I could even turn in that direction, someone shoved me hard. I stumbled into the dark shed, then heard the door slam behind me. I pushed back against it and then heard a sound that chilled me. A bolt sliding closed.

  “Let me out!” I shouted, pulling against the door. “Let me out of here now!” Through the door I could hear Qigong barking. “Someone help me, please!”

  The inside of the shed was dim and stifling hot. Thanks to a small, high window on the back wall, I could just make out some of the contents: a lawn mower, a gas can, a shovel, clippers, and gardening gloves. I wasn’t sure how, but one of these items was going to help me break out. I picked up the shovel and banged it against the door, but it didn’t budge.

  Okay, stop panicking! I told myself. Then I felt like a complete fool. Why on earth was I trying to pull off a jail break when I had a cell phone and could just call Jackson? Shaking my head in disgust, I pulled out my iPhone and hit the On button.

  I felt my heart sink as the screen showed a bright red battery. I hadn’t recharged my phone last night. And probably not the day before, either. It was dead.

  Somewhere outside, Qigong began to yelp, and I felt panic racing through me again. I jammed my uncooperative phone back in my pocket and picked up the shovel. If I had to take this shed apart, I would, but I was going to rescue my dog. I remembered the phone call I’d received at Nature’s Way on Monday night. The one in which the mechanized voice threatened my pets. Was that someone making good on that threat? I thrust the shovel against the door again and again until the muscles in my arms were trembling.