Laced with Poison

by Meg London

  “Do you have time to get a cold drink? Matt’s taken the kids riding. I need to talk to you.”

  She looked at Emma, her expression still grim.

  “You two go ahead. I’ll finish closing up.” Arabella shooed them out the door.

  They walked down to the Coffee Klatch in near silence, sticking to inane comments about the weather. Emma could tell something was wrong. She just didn’t know what it was.

  The Coffee Klatch was nearly empty, and the hostess immediately showed them to a table. Before Emma could open her mouth, Mabel came up to them and slid two menus onto the table. “What’ll it be?”

  “Just some sweet tea,” Liz and Emma said together.

  “How’s your boy doing?” Liz asked as Mabel continued to linger.

  “He’s growing like a weed.” Mabel’s face glowed with pride. “His teacher says he’s real smart, too. Takes after his daddy, I expect.” Mabel glanced around, but everyone was taken care of, and no new customers had entered. “Did you hear about that hit-and-run accident Tuesday night?” She nodded at Emma. “I know you like to keep your ear to the ground.”

  “Shame, wasn’t it?” Liz said in dismissive tones.

  Mabel didn’t take the hint. “It seems so strange. First that woman drops dead at that party, and now this.”

  “Mabel!” the chef shouted.

  “Hold your horses. I’ll be right there.” Mabel rolled her eyes but took off at a trot in the direction of the kitchen.

  Liz looked at Emma for a long moment. Emma found herself squirming in her seat. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Why was she feeling guilty?

  “I guess I’d better come right out with it.” Liz fiddled with the tassel on her purse. “I saw you in here the other day with that detective. You two looked pretty cozy. I could tell by the look on his face that he was interested in you.”

  Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Liz went on.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but Brian is my brother, and he means the world to me. And frankly, from what he’s told me, you mean the world to him. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

  Once again Emma opened her mouth, but before she could get out a word, Liz was continuing.

  “I know he’s not real good at showing it,” she said as she looked down at the table, “but he really cares for you. He’s just scared.” Liz looked at Emma, a pleading look in her eyes. “It’s all on account of that miserable Amy. She destroyed his confidence. He’s like a little boy looking over his shoulder all the time.”

  Emma reached out and took Liz’s hand in hers. “Liz! I feel the same way about Brian. Honest. I met with Detective Walker to discuss Jessica Scott’s death. Nothing more.”

  “Honest?”

  “Pinky swear,” Emma said, referring to their old childhood ritual.

  “Okay.” Liz’s face cleared momentarily, but then she frowned again. “I talked to Bitsy,” she said. “She’s going to have to close Sprinkles unless business picks up.” Liz twirled her napkin around and around. “I feel terrible. I know it wasn’t my fault, but somehow I keep thinking maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I did pick a foxglove flower by accident.” She ran a hand through her hair, leaving her blond bangs disheveled. “I’ve been so distracted lately.” She gave a rueful smile. “Did I tell you Brian offered me a job?”

  Emma managed to look surprised. “Really?”

  Liz nodded. “I’m really grateful. Besides, he needs all the help he can get. His books are in a complete mess.”

  “That’s great.” Emma gave a big smile. “Listen, Liz, I know that what happened to Jessica wasn’t your fault. We know someone went out to the garden and picked that flower on purpose. I’m willing to bet it was Crystal Davis.” Emma explained about Crystal, her compulsive stealing and how Jessica made her life miserable. “And then when she thought Gladys Smit was about to reveal the fact that she saw Crystal go out into Deirdre’s garden the night of the trunk show, she mowed the poor woman down.”

  Emma fell silent as Mabel slid two tall, frosted glasses of iced tea in front of them. She watched as Mabel retreated, and only when she reached the kitchen did Emma start talking again.

  “I went to Crystal’s place today to see if I could get a look at her car and check for any damage that might be consistent with hitting a…a body.” Emma choked a little on the word. “Unfortunately she’d already packed up and taken off.”

  “Taken off? Where?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, she might be going on vacation, but her neighbor said the car was awfully packed.”

  Liz groaned. “What next, then? Are the police making any progress at all?”

  “I know they’re checking body shops. Angel told us they’d been out to talk to Tom Mulligan already.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  “I’ve been planning to visit Gladys Smit’s neighbors. No one seems to know much of anything about her. I thought if we could prove she didn’t have any enemies…”

  “Why not go now?” Liz began reaching for her purse.

  “Let’s!” Emma pulled a few bills from her wallet and tossed them on the table. “It’s on me.”

  Mabel’s head nearly spun in a circle as Liz and Emma bolted from their table and beat a hasty retreat from the Coffee Klatch. They piled into Liz’s car.

  “Where to?”

  Emma gave the directions, and in a short time they were approaching Gladys Smit’s garden apartment complex.

  “There’s not much to recommend this place, is there?” Liz said as they pulled up in front of the door with the Easter egg wreath. “Is this where she lived?”

  Emma nodded.

  “We were so lucky to be able to take over my parents’ place and make it our own. Daddy was so generous.” Liz stifled a sob.

  Emma turned toward her in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m worried we won’t be able to keep up the mortgage. Matt still hasn’t heard about that contract, but that doesn’t stop the bills from coming in,” she said with a slightly bitter tone. “We can’t lose the place, we can’t. Grandma and Grandpa O’Connell bought that land when they moved here from Ireland. They built a little house for themselves, and then when Mom and Dad took it over, they added on. And now Matt and I have renovated it completely. I’m afraid we spent too much, and I feel so guilty. We never should have taken out that second mortgage. The house was fine the way it was for my parents and grandparents. Matt and I should have left it as it was.”

  “Everything will work out okay,” Emma said with more conviction than she felt.

  Liz pulled a tissue from her purse, dried her eyes and opened her door. She smiled at Emma. “Thanks for listening.”

  Emma opened her own door. “Let’s see if we can dig up any information on Gladys Smit.”

  They approached Gladys’s door although they knew that any knock would go unanswered.

  “That makes me feel so sad.” Liz pointed at the dilapidated wreath.

  “I know. I wonder what kind of a life she had.”

  “Pretty humdrum, I’d imagine. She probably worked hard, came home and watched her favorite television shows and then did it all over again the next day. If it weren’t for the fact that she saw someone go into Deirdre Porter’s garden that afternoon, she’d probably have lived to a ripe old age.”

  “You never know, though. Maybe there was another reason she was killed, and it’s not related to Jessica’s murder. Maybe it really was a random accident.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you?” Liz looked Emma straight in the face.

  “No,” Emma said in a subdued voice. “I don’t. Somehow this all does relate to Jessica Scott’s death. But we have to make sure that there wasn’t another reason for someone wanting Gladys dead.”

  Liz nodded her head. “And then we can spoon-feed it to the police.”

  Emma looked up and down the narrow street. One or two cars were parked along the curb, but no one was out and about—no dog walkers, joggers
or mothers with strollers. Not even a curtain twitching in any of the apartment windows. Emma bit her lip. “Do you suppose there’s a rental office somewhere?” She turned to Liz.

  “Bound to be.” Liz looked right and left then stopped and squinted at something in the distance. “What’s that over there?” She pointed toward a small clapboard building hardly bigger than a shack. “Can you read the sign?”

  Emma shook her head. “No, it’s too far away.”

  “Could it be an office of some kind?”

  “Could be. Or a place where they keep the garbage cans.”

  Liz laughed. “Well, let’s hope for the former.”

  As they got closer, Emma was able to read the sign. She grabbed Liz’s arm. “It is the rental office. Let’s just hope someone is there.”

  They pushed open the door.

  An older woman sat behind an old-fashioned metal desk. She looked up when she heard the door open. Her gray hair was sparse but neatly permed, and her cardigan had been visibly darned several times.

  “No vacancies. Best come back next month.” She bent her head over the book open on her desk.

  “We’re not interested in renting,” Emma said, looking around the small space. There was a leather love seat with black electrician’s tape mending a tear on one of the cushions and an automatic coffeemaker on a table with the dregs of what looked like days-old coffee in the bottom of the pot.

  The woman sighed, folded down the corner of the page in her book and closed it. “What are you doing here, then? This is the rental office. You have a problem with your bill, you’ve got to call corporate. Number’s on the back of your statement.”

  “Actually, we’re not here about that, either,” Emma said, searching her mind for a way to introduce the topic of Gladys Smit.

  “We’re looking for one of your residents,” Liz piped up. “Gladys Smit.”

  “I’m Emma Taylor.” Emma held out her hand and Liz quickly followed suit.

  “Liz Banning.”

  The woman smiled, and the way her face spasmed, it looked like smiling was something she hadn’t done in a long time. “Name’s Billy. Short for Wilhelmina. When Granny heard they’d named me that she accused Ma and Pa of getting way ahead of their station.”

  Emma and Liz laughed politely.

  “We were looking for Gladys Smit. Did you know her?”

  “Did I? Why? Something happened to her?”

  Emma explained about the hit-and-run.

  Billy put a trembling hand to her lips. “Oh dear. That’s just awful. Awful.” She fussed at the collar of her blouse.

  “We were wondering if Gladys had any enemies that you know of?” Emma said.

  “Someone who might have run her over on purpose,” Liz added.

  Billy shuddered. “It hardly bears thinking about.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm that poor girl—so quiet and polite. Always stopped in to say good morning and good afternoon and to see if there was anything I needed.” She shook her head again. “No. It must have been an accident. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt such a gentle creature.”

  “Well!” Liz said as they retreated back to her car. “That rather settles that, doesn’t it?”

  “I would think so. Gladys was hardly the type to go around collecting mortal enemies. That leaves only two choices: the accident was just that—an accident, or the person who put the poisonous flower on Jessica’s cupcake murdered poor, unsuspecting Gladys.”

  “That person most likely being Crystal Davis.”

  “We can’t rule out some of the other people at the trunk show,” Emma cautioned. “Lotte Fanning was apparently quite steamed at Jessica for getting that job at Sunny Days.”

  “That’s true.” Liz was thoughtful. “And who knows how many other people might have had a motive?”

  “I don’t think our detecting is nearly done.”

  “No. But I hope we figure this out before poor Bitsy goes under.”

  * * *

  EMMA was taking Saturday morning off. Arabella was going to handle the shop herself, and Emma was going to do a very different sort of volunteering stint at Sunny Days.

  To introduce the new administrator, they were holding a pancake breakfast for all the residents. Emma would be flipping flapjacks, but her main objective was to ask questions and eavesdrop. It had certainly proved fruitful in the past.

  Although the breakfast was slated to start at 9:00 a.m., residents were already lined up outside the dining hall at 8:30 a.m. when Emma arrived. Emma noticed Sylvia and Earl about three quarters of the way down the line.

  “How are you two this morning?”

  “Eh. The arthritis in my knees is kicking up a bit, but I can’t complain.” Sylvia put a hand on Emma’s arm. “Say, I heard this new administrator, Missy something-or-other, was one of the gals at our shape wear show.”

  “Yes, her mother is in the same crowd as Marjorie Porter.”

  Sylvia stuck her nose in the air. “Oh, la-di-da, indeed.”

  Earl gave a deep chuckle. “She still puts her pants on one leg at a time, like everyone else.”

  “And from what I hear, she definitely is the one wearing the pants.” Sylvia huffed. “Alfred Porter, her husband, is something of a milquetoast. His brother, Wyatt, got all the spirit.”

  “Or, the spirits,” Earl joked. “I heard he was arrested for drunk driving again.”

  Emma noticed someone waving at her out of the corner of her eye.

  “Looks like I’m needed behind the assembly line. I’ll see you two later.”

  Emma made her way through the increasingly restless crowd toward the long table at the front of the room. A handful of electric griddles were set out with pitchers of pancake batter next to them. Bacon sizzled in electric skillets, and aides were going around the room filling coffee cups and juice glasses.

  Emma poured her first batch of pancakes. Two of them ran together slightly, but the rest were okay. As soon as the tops were covered in tiny bubbles, she flipped them over and cooked the other side. By the time they were done, a gentleman was already standing in front of her with his plate out. He winked at Emma as she flipped the four pancakes onto his dish.

  Missy Fanning, the new administrator of Sunny Days, was wearing an apron, but as far as Emma could tell she was doing almost nothing to help. At the moment she was standing in the corner whispering with her mother, who looked as if she were dressed for afternoon tea as opposed to breakfast at a senior retirement community. Both of them sported the regulation strand of outsized pearls, diamond stud earrings and gold bangle bracelets.

  Emma blew a lock of hair off her forehead and poured another batch of pancakes. An endless stream of plates appeared in front of her, and after forty-five minutes she began to wonder which was longer—the line of residents waiting for their breakfast or the Great Wall of China. At the moment she was putting her money on the Sunny Days seniors.

  Finally the last plate had been filled. Emma looked around at the other limp volunteers standing behind their electric skillets. The woman next to her glanced over as Emma poured a fresh batch of batter.

  “We might as well make some for ourselves,” Emma said.

  Emma slid the spatula under the edge of one of the pancakes. It looked to be a perfect golden brown. She scooped the four of them onto her plate and headed toward the table where the bacon, sausage and maple syrup were set out.

  “There’s a spot at my table.” Eloise Montgomery breezed up behind Emma. She was wearing black slacks and a beige quilted satin jacket sashed at the waist. She was in great contrast to most of the other women, many of whom had come down in sweatshirts and jeans or even housecoats.

  Emma helped herself to some rashers of bacon and poured a modest amount of syrup over her pancakes, then followed Eloise to a small table for two in the corner. Eloise unfurled her napkin and draped it across her lap. She picked up her fork but stopped with it halfway to her mouth.

  “What do you think
of Missy, our new administrator?” she asked before popping a crisp bit of bacon into her mouth.

  Emma was slightly taken aback. “She seems nice enough. I understand she applied for the job before, but Jessica got it.”

  Eloise put her coffee cup down with a clang and rolled her eyes. “Jessica!” she said in dismissive tones. “That girl did nothing all day long but file her nails and take pleasure in making poor Crystal cater to her whims.” She raised a penciled eyebrow. “Of course, now we know why Crystal was so willing to bear the brunt of Jessica’s ill will.” She picked up her coffee cup. “There must have been something terribly wrong with her to take all those things and hoard them like that.”

  “It is very bizarre.” Emma tasted a bite of pancake. Not bad. “I heard that Jessica was the niece of the chairman of the board. I imagine that’s why they never got rid of her.”

  Eloise threw her head back and laughed deeply. A few heads at the nearby tables turned in their direction.

  Emma raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  “Is that what they’re saying?” Eloise dried her eyes with the edge of her napkin. “That Jessica was Jim Calhoun’s niece?”

  Emma nodded, confused.

  “She wasn’t his niece.”

  “Then how—”

  “She was his mistress. They were having an affair,” Eloise added when Emma continued to stare at her.

  “So that’s why—”

  Eloise nodded. “Jessica could do no wrong with Calhoun protecting her.”

  “No wonder Lotte Fanning was so mad when her daughter didn’t get the administrator job and Jessica did.”

  Eloise laughed again—a hearty guffaw that had the heads at the other tables turning again. “Not only that.” She sipped a bit of her ice water and dabbed at the end of her nose with a tissue she pulled from her sleeve. “Jessica stole Jim Calhoun right out from under Lotte Fanning’s nose.” She sat back in her chair with an air of triumph.

  “What?” was all Emma was able to squeak out. She swallowed a bit of pancake a little too hastily and began to cough. She reached for her water glass. “But isn’t Lotte married? I thought I noticed a wedding ring.”

  “Noticed? Honey, how could you miss that thing? There are enough stones in it to fill the Grand Canyon.”