by Morgana Best
Finally, Clara took the stage to give a normal, non-horrible speech. It was admittedly cheerless, but it was a nice relief from the things people had been saying. I never thought it was possible, but I was happy to hear a tragic eulogy. I hoped that would never be the case again.
Clara spoke of the usual things. She talked about how Nick was sweet, gentle, kind, and passionate. She was probably lying about all of it, but the crowd nodded and clapped politely. It was much more like a normal funeral than with any other speaker, even if it was sad. Selena was still visibly upset, though that was normal too, I thought.
Clara was the last speaker, and the service ended. Tea, biscuits, and a huge table of food were available for all as the guests mingled. Thyme and I took the spot we had before the speeches. I started to relax a bit. It seemed clear that Selena and Clara weren’t about to go for each other’s throats in the immediate future, though I thought it best to keep an eye on them.
“I just want to leave,” Thyme said with a sigh. “That was too much, even for me. I can’t imagine how Selena, or Nick’s family for that matter, must be feeling.”
“Not well,” I said. “Though that’s normal at a funeral, I guess. The sooner this spell wears off, the better. Still, we shouldn’t leave while Selena and Clara are both here. Who knows what could happen between them?”
Thyme agreed. “That’s true. What should we be doing, then? Do you think we can do some information gathering?”
I thought about it for a moment before I nodded at her. “That’s a good idea, so long as we don’t lose track of Selena. Somebody here must know more about Clara or Nick and might be able to shine light on something we’ve overlooked.”
Thyme and I decided to split up and mingle amongst the crowd. I tried my best to infiltrate groups that were talking and swing the conversation toward Nick and Clara’s relationship, which was easier than I thought it would be, almost certainly thanks to the spell. Unfortunately, none of the conversations were in any way enlightening. People were generally very polite and friendly. Still, either they weren’t telling me what they knew or they simply didn’t know anything useful.
I eventually gave up entirely and returned to the table to keep an eye on Selena. I busied myself by eating while I waited for Thyme to return, hopefully with better news. Happily, she did.
“Amelia,” she whispered to me, “big news.”
“What-ith-it?” I asked through a mouthful of carrot cake.
“Some people were talking about the lunch they had with Clara on Sunday, around the time that Nick was murdered.”
“So she has an alibi?” I asked.
“Well, sort of,” Thyme explained as she snatched a piece of carrot cake for herself. “Remember what Dawson said? Nick was poisoned. Whoever killed him had poisoned his antacid medication, rather than his food or by injection or anything.”
“Oh, of course,” I muttered, swallowing the last of my cake as I did so. “So it still could have been her. How is that big news?”
“Well, apparently she was out of town with them all morning,” Thyme explained. “It’s definitely possible that she found a way to poison the medication or even had someone else do it, but it does make her much less likely. Whoever poisoned the bottle probably did so not long before he was murdered, unless they didn’t care where he died.”
“How do you figure?” I asked. “It seems like the bottle could have been poisoned at any time.”
“That’s true, but don’t you think it would have been infinitely more suspicious to have him die at home, no matter who the murderer was? If it was Harrison, he’d want to protect Clara. Clara couldn’t have done it, because she would have had to poison the medication and risk Nick taking it at home, which would have made her an obvious suspect,” Thyme explained.
I looked around to make sure that neither Clara nor Harrison were in earshot and then nodded. “That makes sense. So whoever poisoned Nick would have already put it in the antacid bottle, as he was about to leave for the restaurant, or at the restaurant already, so as to avoid having him die at his home. It’s much harder to track when it happens in such a public space.” I sighed as I made myself an instant coffee. It was disgusting, but it was still coffee. Sort of. Barely. “Well then, I think Harrison is most likely.”
Thyme nodded in agreement. “Yes, I agree. He could have had access to the bottle easily, and since Clara couldn’t have done it herself, that makes the most sense.”
“Did Clara ask him to do it?” I wondered aloud.
“It’s hard to say,” Thyme said, “but she almost certainly wasn’t the poisoner either way, so before anything else, we need to figure out exactly who that was.”
I sighed and leaned against the table. “What a mess,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I wish this spell would hurry up and end. Maybe the police would uncover something if they weren’t being so nice.”
Thyme laughed. “It’s not all bad,” she said, as she looked directly at Dawson. “Though, yes, they’re not being especially efficient. The spell does seem to be shifting somewhat, so hopefully it’s nearly over.”
Before I could reply, my phone blared from my pocket. I gasped as I realized that I’d forgotten to switch it off, though I appreciated that whoever was calling had waited until the service was over. I checked the caller ID: Alder. I headed for somewhere quieter so I could hear him better.
“Alder!” I practically yelled into the phone. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”
“Hi, Amelia,” he replied, though the reception was poor and he was hard to understand. “Sorry I haven’t called, but a lot has happened.”
“What is it? Where are you?” I asked, desperate to know more.
“I’m…” The second half of his sentence was covered in static. I moved to try to find a better signal. “Listen, I...”
Before he could finish, a young woman’s voice chimed in. “That’s enough,” she said, before the phone went dead.
I felt like crying. He was with a woman! Was he having an affair? Had I caused it with the spell? This was all too much. The spell, the murder, Alder being with some strange woman. I needed answers, and fast.
Chapter 12
“Aconite.”
“What?” I looked up at Thyme. It was only hours after the funeral, and we were sitting in my living room, eating take-out while the house watched The Bachelor. Willow and Hawthorn were watching The Bachelor, too. I had no idea why, but it meant I had a whole couch all to myself, for once.
“That’s what the poison was, so if we find out more about it, it might give us a clue to the murderer.”
“Good idea. Do you want my laptop? It’s over there.”
Thyme enthusiastically hopped from her chair to retrieve my laptop. “I’ve heard of it, of course. It’s also called wolfsbane.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before,” I said, “apart from the fact that I think it was in Harry Potter. Didn’t it stop Professor Lupin turning dangerous when he was a werewolf?”
Thyme shot me a pitying look and then returned to her typing. “You probably know it as monkshood,” she said, without looking up.
“Nope. I don’t know it as anything. Have you found anything about it yet?”
Thyme nodded. “It’s fast acting as a poison. I’m trying to see what type of people have access to it. Oh, here we are. It’s used in Chinese herbal medicine.”
I tapped my chin. “I wonder if any of the suspects have been prescribed it for anything.”
“Not in a lethal dose, I’m sure,” Thyme said sarcastically.
Willow and Hawthorn abandoned watching The Bachelor on TV, and jumped on the couch, glaring at me until I had retired to a small corner of it. “Hang on a moment. Harrison was in the cosmetics business with Nick. He mentioned cosmeceuticals—aren’t they cosmetics that are supposed to have medicinal effects? I wonder if aconite is ever used in cosmeceuticals?”
Thyme looked up from tapping at the keyboard and smiled. “Good thinking! I
’ll see if I can find anything.” A few moments later, she looked up again. “I found something. One article says it has potent anti-aging activity. Oh, this article says it’s now banned in cosmetics.”
I sighed. “I suppose that was too easy. Can you search its availability?”
“So far we know that a Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner would have access to it. It’s used as an anti-inflammatory, for arthritis and stuff. Hey Amelia, come over here and look at the plant.”
I leaned over Thyme’s shoulder and looked at the screen. “That looks like any plant you could find in a garden.”
Thyme nodded. “It says here that people can make their own poison from these roots. I wonder if Clara has any growing at her place?”
I thought for a moment. “Even if she does, we still won’t know whether it’s her, her son, her brother, or the butler that made the poison.”
Thyme sighed. “True. Well, it says here that death is instantaneous if someone takes a large dose, and that five teaspoons of the tincture will be fatal. We pretty much knew that anyway, so that’s not much help. What are we going to do now? See if any of the suspects are trained herbalists or have a background in Traditional Chinese Medicine?”
Just then, the house trembled. “I have to put on another DVD,” I explained to Thyme. “Selena brought over the last three seasons of The Bachelor. The house is hooked.”
“It could be worse,” Thyme muttered. “Hey, this is weird. You can easily buy it in Australia. I wonder why you can freely buy a plant that’s poisonous if you brush up against it?”
I didn’t answer, being preoccupied with putting on the next episode of The Bachelor for the house.
Just then, my phone rang. I couldn’t find it, so scattered papers everywhere in my search. The cats swished their tails in disgust. By the time I found it down the back of the couch, it had stopped ringing. It was from Alder. I immediately called back, but it went straight to voicemail. I sat on the couch and tried to call back several times. When I finished, I looked up and saw Thyme standing there, hands on her hips.
“What’s wrong, Amelia?” She took a seat beside me.
“It’s Alder,” I admitted. “Something’s going on with him.”
Thyme frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t spoken with him since he left town the other day. He said he had to help the police with something in Melbourne, and since then, I haven’t really spoken with him.”
“That’s nothing to worry about,” Thyme said. “He’s on a case. Maybe he’s undercover.”
I tapped myself on the head. “Of course! I hadn’t even thought of that.” Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. I walked back to the TV and looked at the screen. “Oh no, my favorite girl is on a group date.”
“What does that matter?” Thyme said, returning to the laptop.
“I don’t think the bachelor’s into her. If he really liked her, she would go on a single date, and she hasn’t been on one yet.”
Thyme peered over the laptop. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“The Bachelor. I’m really getting into it now.”
Thyme shook her head. “You know, I’ve had a good look at these photos of wolfsbane on the net, and I’m sure that the butler has them growing in a big garden bed at the side of his apartment.”
I stopped watching The Bachelor and went back to the couch, and tried to move one of the cats a little aside so there would be room for me to sit down. The cats were not impressed, so I gave up and sat on the edge of the couch instead. “But you said it was freely available anywhere in Australia. So what does it matter if he has wolfsbane growing?”
“That would be way too much of a coincidence! We need to go back there and have a good look at those plants. If they’re wolfsbane, then he’s probably the murderer.”
I raised my arms in protest. “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? Lots of people in Bayberry Creek probably have wolfsbane growing. They can’t all be murderers.”
“You just want to lie around here all day and watch The Bachelor,” Thyme said accusingly.
She was right, but I didn’t want to admit it. “I just think it’s a bit of a stretch,” I said. “Circumstantial evidence at best.”
Thyme disagreed. “The police said Nick was murdered with wolfsbane, and the butler probably has wolfsbane growing at his apartment. I really think we need to check it out.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips.
I knew when I was defeated. “All right, you win.”
Minutes later, we were parked outside the pottery shop. Thyme hung out the window, taking photos with her phone. She spent a few moments editing the photos, and then showed me a photo. “What do you think that is?”
“You were too far away, Thyme,” I said. “That just looks like a purple blob. It could be Patterson’s Curse, or it could be irises. It just looks like any purple flower.”
“I’m going to go and take a photo close up,” Thyme said.
I was horrified. “What if he catches you? What if he’s looking out the window and sees you? If he’s the murderer, he’ll know you’re onto him, and he’ll come after you, too!”
Thyme rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Amelia. I’m just going to get a little bit closer and take photos.”
“What if Clara comes and catches you?” I said. “What if somebody sees you and tells him? I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Thyme simply winked at me and got out of the car. I watched helplessly as she walked over to the apartment. To my relief, she didn’t go as far as the apartment itself, but hung back along the wholly brick wall of the pottery store, and took photos from there. There were no windows on that wall of the pottery store. No one walked past, but anyone going past in a car could have seen her.
Thyme shoved her phone under my nose as soon as she was back in the car. “Told you so!” she said triumphantly. “Aconite, wolfsbane. I think we have the killer.”
And so, minutes later, I found myself at the local police station, waiting for Detectives Greene and Jones.
The desk sergeant was very happy, and Detective Greene seemed even happier, given the spring in his step as he walked toward us. “Hello, ladies. What brings you here on this fine day?”
Thyme elbowed me. I didn’t know if this was going to be pointless, but we had to try, so I said firmly, “Did you know that Clara Smith and her butler, Gilbert Lowe, were having an affair?”
“Good for them!” Jones said, appearing from a side door. “Young love. It’s so romantic.”
Greene agreed. “Thanks for coming to tell us. It’s brightened our day.”
“Actually,” I said wearily, “we came to tell you that the butler has aconite growing outside his apartment in town.”
“I didn’t know he was a gardener,” Greene said. “Isn’t that wonderful; he’s a butler as well as a gardener.”
“Aconite has such pretty purple flowers,” Jones said gleefully.
I had given up and was about to leave, but Thyme spoke up. “But don’t you see? This means that he might be the killer. Nick Smith was poisoned by aconite, and the butler has some growing at his house. Plus there’s the fact that he’s having an affair with the victim’s wife.”
“It’s not a crime to have an affair,” Greene said with a wide smile. “Plus, it probably brings happiness to Gilbert and Clara. After all, she’s a cougar.”
Jones laughed. “Good for her!” he said.
I put my hand under Thyme’s elbow. “This is no use at all. Let’s go to Ruprecht’s.”
As we left the police station, I looked back to see both detectives waving to us cheerily. I shook my head and followed Thyme back to my car.
Ruprecht’s store, Glinda’s, was still open when we arrived. He had several customers in there, some looking at his ancient books, and some perusing his antique furniture. Thyme and I lingered as we waited for him to speak to us. “Have there been any developments?” Ruprecht said b
y way of greeting.
“Yes, actually,” I said.
“Oh dear, excuse me a moment. I must attend to the people looking at the Walnut Wellington Chest Secrétaire.” Ruprecht hurried over to a middle-aged couple who were intently studying the item, whispering in an animated manner while searching, so I guessed, for secret compartments.
Thyme elbowed me in the ribs. “Look at that lady.” Said lady was reclining on a double-ended day bed, her poodle sprawled at the other end. Thyme giggled. “She looks like an eighteenth century mother reading to her child.”
Just then, the lady struggled to her feet. “I’m agonizing over a rare Duchesse en Bateau, such a rare find in Australia, and upholstered in this divine Chinoiserie fabric,” she announced to one and all. “What do you think, Tulipe, would you like me to take it home for you?” she asked her poodle.
Her friend, an older woman dressed in tweed from head to foot, announced just as loudly, “Oh, look at this Emile Gallé vase! I adore Art Nouveau glass vases, and the pâte-de-verre scene in amber shades is utterly captivating.”
At least, I think that’s what they said. I figured Ruprecht attracted eccentric clientele. When the people departed, Ruprecht crossed to the door, flipped the sign to closed, and then shut the door firmly. “What did you find out?”
“Thyme and I found out that the butler has aconite growing right by his front door.”
Ruprecht appeared to be pondering the information for a moment. “Have you told the police?”
I snorted rudely. “Yes, and a lot of good that did! We told them that Clara and Gilbert were having an affair, and that he had the aconite growing by his door, but they didn’t care less.”
Ruprecht tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, I’ve been afraid of that. It’s because of your spell, Amelia, although you mustn’t blame yourself.”
