“I didn’t think that would stick,” she said. “Not as evidence. I just wanted to make sure the police hadn’t missed what kind of relationship they had and what kind of man he really was. I mean, for a day or two after our confrontation, he avoided me. But I followed him. It’s like I had to know who he was. To see what happened after the shock wore off.”
“But there was no change?”
She clutched her arms in front of her chest as if she were cold, or if the memory were. “He couldn’t even keep his pants zipped up.” She snorted. “And I mean that figuratively, since there are no zippers allowed here, of course.”
“Of course,” I simply echoed. One does not argue priorities with the certifiable.
“At the beginning I was jealous of his son, that poor Melvin kid. I figured Brooks had nothing for me because he was already doting on his son. So when I first thought of the monkshood, I was considering dosing the whole wedding party. But then I saw how he treated his son, as if he were an idiot. And his daughter-in-law even worse. I couldn’t be jealous of them if I tried. Even that elaborate wedding he planned for them was really all about him. They deserved some happiness.”
“That’s when you decided to kill just Brooks?”
“I remembered seeing the monkshood in the book, and then a clump of it growing in the forest. Only I messed up and didn’t know you needed gloves.”
“Which is why you made a point of touching it while helping me search for it in the woods—or at least pretending to touch it. To explain the rash already on your hand.”
“I couldn’t believe how quickly you figured out it was monkshood. And here I was hoping that his death would be ruled as natural causes, or at least an accident. I knew I needed to help in the search, to keep track of what you were finding out. You’re pretty good.”
Normally I’m a sucker for flattery, but I determined not to let it sway my opinion of Carol, which had already been swayed from nice girl to diabolical murderer, and then back again to poor, unfortunate soul. “So you needed to cook the monkshood first.”
“Not hard. Last year I’d worked for one of the food vendors.”
“Strickland? Was he your accomplice?”
“Him? Oh, please.” She started to laugh, but then sobered back up. “Yeah, who figured him for a fugitive? I thought he was just a quirky little fellow, but . . . Anyway, I sneaked into his place the night before the wedding and cooked a little of it up. I almost chickened out, but when I saw Brooks prancing around in the dark knight getup . . .”
“I still don’t understand how you managed to get the poison only in Brooks’s food and not anyone else’s.”
“That turned out to be the easiest part of it, almost. I figured I could slip it to him during the feast, but I was still watching him before the wedding when he demanded to sample the stew. Sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t know the cook was your boyfriend at the time, and I’d just met you. But I watched as Nick spooned him out a bit onto a trencher and handed it to him. And then I called, ‘Mr. Brooks! Mr. Brooks!’ all nice and sweet.” She laughed. “Well, he’d been avoiding me like the Black Death, so when he heard me, he set his sample back on the counter and ducked behind the side of Nick’s stall. I just strolled past, still calling for him, but making sure I was always looking in the other direction. When I passed the booth, I palmed the monkshood off into his stew. Then, when he thought the coast was clear, he came back and ate it.”
“You watched him?”
“From a safe distance, but yes.”
“You weren’t worried he’d share it with somebody?”
“What? Him? Share?”
“Oh, right.”
“Look, Audrey. I’ve been honest with you for a reason. The only thing I regret at all is conking you over the head and locking you up in those stocks. But when I saw you snooping around the place where I’d cooked the monkshood, I was worried you were getting too close. I was trying to scare you off, I guess.”
I squinted at her. “And you were the one who told me you’d heard people talking, specifically Raylene.”
“Not one of my finest moments,” she said.
“Murder isn’t a fine moment, either, you know.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I came to you because, of anyone else here, you would know how I feel, why I did what I did.”
“And I do.”
“Then help me.”
“I will, Carol. I’ll go with you to Bixby. It will help if you turn yourself in. And I know Opie’s father is a really good lawyer—”
“That’s not what I meant. Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to help me kill someone. I just want you to be quiet about what you know.” She took one step toward me. “Can you do that? Will you?”
I intuitively took one step back. I wish I could say I wasn’t tempted by Carol’s argument, but I did all too well know the sting of loneliness and the pain of rejection. And Brooks had caused a good deal of my pain as well, really. He was the one who had sent my father packing. With all the suffering that Brooks had caused, was it really that important that his killer be behind bars? Especially when it meant that this girl’s painful childhood would be rewarded by spending much of her adult life in prison. “Carol,” I said at last. “I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”
She shook her head. “In a world of moral ambiguities, I bare my soul to an idealist.”
“Come with me and turn yourself in.”
“Fine!” She stormed over to the corral gate, but instead of opening it, she grabbed a lance that had been sitting next to it. She whirled around and pointed it at me.
“Help!” I called. And then did my best horror-movie-impression scream. Only the cheers and the jeers of the crowd overwhelmed the sound I’d made and the attention of the audience was focused on the joust.
She pressed the tip of the lance closer. “Quiet! I don’t want to hurt you.”
I quieted down, but put my hands up. Perhaps someone would turn our way and see what was happening.
Carol took a couple of fake jabs at me. Not that this lance was fake. This was the real deal, not one of the balsa models the knights had taken into the tournament.
“What are you doing?” I asked as she took one last fake jab.
“These idiots have been staging fake fights all week. What’s one more?”
Brilliant. Anybody glancing over here would figure we were playacting. “You can’t get away.”
“Yes, I can. And here’s why. Unless you let me go, I’m going to name you as my accomplice.”
“What?”
Before I could even process that, she was across the corral, had swung herself up onto a horse, and was riding off into the sunset.
I cast a glance toward the tournament ground. Even if Bixby was there, with his allergies, I doubt he could chase her on a horse, either. I pulled the cell phone out of my bag, but it wouldn’t turn on. The rice had dried it, but the battery had run down, and with the storm and power failure, I’d had no chance to recharge it. Isn’t technology wonderful?
“I’m such an idiot,” I told myself, and swung up on another of the saddled and dressed horses and headed down the path after her. Only she was a better horseman and had such a head start she was nowhere in sight. After all, she had multiple lessons compared to my one.
The camp was almost deserted. Many of the tents were gone, probably people who packed up after the storm, or had the insight (or weather alert) to leave ahead of it. Those residents who had remained were at the tournament.
But finally I saw the back of her horse stopped at the edge of camp.
I dismounted quickly, well as quickly as I could get my foot untangled from the stirrup. I figured I could be quieter approaching on foot than the horse could. I tied the reins to a post, just like I’d seen on
old Gunsmoke episodes, and inched forward. She could be lying in wait just around that corner. Then again, she could have deserted her horse and taken off running through the woods.
But when I did see her, she was digging up more monkshood roots using the blade of the lance, pulling the roots out of the ground with her bare hands again. Her cheeks were smeared with dirt and tears.
“What are you doing?” I said. “Who are you killing now?”
She looked up, shook her head, and chomped down on one of the roots like she was eating a carrot.
“Please,” she said. “My mother doesn’t deserve this. We had a good life together. I should have been satisfied with that, instead of dreaming about my father. Let her think I ate the wrong plant in the woods, or even some big scary bogeyman got me. It will kill her to know the truth.”
She took another bite. I inched closer.
“Stop!” she said, picking up the lance and pointing it at me again. “Won’t you help me at all?”
“I’m trying to help you.” One more step closer. “Do you think your mother would honestly want you dead, rather than find out what you did? Because it’s going to come out anyway.”
“How will she know?”
“She’ll know if I have to tell her myself.”
“Why? What good would it do? Have you no pity at all?”
I had plenty of pity. What I didn’t have was time.
Already the roots she had eaten were on the way down her esophagus. When they hit her stomach, the acid would start breaking them down, releasing the aconite into her intestines, where it would enter the bloodstream.
I inched closer. “I’m going to tell her all about you, about how you killed your own father and then were afraid to own up to it. She’ll have to come to identify and claim your body anyway. I’ll speak slowly. She must be an idiot, too, to take up with Brooks in the first place.”
Okay, I was laying it on pretty thick, but I didn’t have a lot of time to work.
“You wouldn’t dare. My mother is a brilliant woman.” Confusion was coursing across Carol’s face. She couldn’t figure out my motives or where I was coming from, and the lack of context was making her scramble to think rather than act. She’d made no more moves with the monkshood or with the lance.
Now, if I could just get closer while she was discombobulated . . .
I took one more step. “I’ll tell her that she must have been an awful mother to bring up someone like you. I’ll bet she never loved you.”
Only I’d gone too far, because Carol’s face went from wounded puppy to charging tigress in the matter of milliseconds. She began racing toward me with the lance poised like a javelin.
I was able to duck, just enough. The lance pierced my tunic, but missed me and jammed in the tree behind me. I ripped the tunic to extricate myself.
Carol tugged at the lance, but it was stuck fast in the tree. Her grunts showed her anger and frustration and her tears fell in huge drops onto the dust.
She either didn’t notice me circle around and come up behind her, or she didn’t care, but I was able to get my arms around her abdomen, just under her rib cage. I tugged hard, swinging her away from the jammed lance with as much force as I could muster. Yes, I guess you could call it a modified Heimlich maneuver.
Carol dropped to her knees, her eyes bulging. Then came the coughing and the choking. And soon the monkshood root came up in a puddle of saliva and landed in the dust.
“I hate you,” she said in heaves of gagging and sobbing and struggling to catch her breath. “You did that on purpose. I hate you, Audrey Bloom.”
I kneeled next to her and pulled her hair back from her face while she vomited up a bit of her lunch as well. “That’s the problem. You really don’t.”
Carol was still sobbing with her face in my lap when Bixby came charging down the path.
“What’s going on?” he said. “Your father said you needed help.”
My father, back in that ridiculous friar’s costume, came rushing up right after him. “What happened?”
I looked at Bixby. “Carol here killed Barry Brooks. She . . . uh . . . gave herself up voluntarily.”
Carol glared at me, then shook her head. “Whatever.”
“But we need to get her to medical attention quickly. She might have aconite still in her system.”
My father took a sideways glance at the lance still stuck in the tree. “Just how voluntary was it?”
I shrugged. “Enough to suit my purposes. But how did you know I was in trouble?”
“Are you kidding? I saw you ride off on a horse.”
Chapter 21
Monday was a series of meetings with men. Since Amber Lee had called me, right after I got my cell charged, both for a recap of what happened and to assure me that she had the shop covered for Monday, I was free. But before she could hang up the phone, I could hear Opie and Melanie nearby, asking to talk with me.
“That’s okay,” I told her, “put them on.”
“Audrey,” Opie said, “I don’t know what to say. I feel like it’s all my fault for sending you that note in the book. But I really didn’t know what it meant at that time. Now, I guess it’s crystal, but—”
“You couldn’t have had any idea. I mean, I saw the note and didn’t put it together, either. Maybe it’s because we didn’t want to.”
“Carol seemed so nice,” Melanie said.
“I should have known,” Opie said. “It’s always the good girls you have to watch out for.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Melanie said. “Just because she was a total nutjob—”
“Now listen,” I interrupted. “There will be no blaming. And let’s leave Carol’s mental evaluation to the professionals. I’d like to think that she somehow wasn’t responsible for her actions, but I’m not sure. There’s not really that much difference between hatred and insanity. But it will be up to the doctors and the courts to decide that.”
But there was no answer to my comment. “Hello?”
Some kind of kerfuffle was taking place in the background at the shop. I heard the sound of breaking glass, and then could make out Amber Lee’s schoolteacher voice, “Hand them over. Now!”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Sorry,” Opie said. “Darnell and Shelby came in to work today, too, since you’re off and Liv is on maternity leave.”
“Only they brought their swords with them,” Melanie said.
I rubbed my temple. “Do I need to come in?”
But then one of the girls handed the phone to Amber Lee. “You stay where you are, boss,” she said. “All under control here.” And then a little more muffled. “You’ll get your swords back at the end of the day, and not ever again in the shop, do you hear. And that vase is coming out of your pay, mind you.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Yep,” she said, “the new red one from that glass blower fellow. The most expensive one in the shop. Murphy’s Law.”
I could just make out the muffled apologies as Amber Lee said, “Trust me. I got this. You deserve the day off. I’ll take care of everything.”
And I did trust her. I wasn’t leaving my cottage for the day. Chester and Luna needed some attention, my front yard was still littered with shingles and other debris from the storm, and I needed a break as well.
Eric was the first to arrive. He brought a box of Nick’s scones and then proceeded to roll over himself thanking me for taking care of Liv, without even a hint of recrimination for her being at the camp in the first place. I guess he’d come to realize that trying to keep Liv from doing something she was determined to do was not only impossible, but sometimes the surest way of impelling her to do it.
But after Eric showed me a dozen or more baby pictures from his cell phone camera, it became evident he also had another mission.
“I al
so have to apologize for the tarp. I really had that sucker on there tight.”
“What do you mean apologize?” I asked. “It held up for the entire storm.” It was true. Not one shingle in the yard had been mine.
“That’s just it. I was just checking out Mrs. June’s roof, and she lost so much that it’s a total redo.”
“Ouch,” I said. Since Eric had been quoting me prices for a roof redo, I could feel her pain.
“But that’s my point. Her insurance company is covering everything. Even the new gutters she’s been needing for a while. Oh, Audrey, if I hadn’t tied that stupid tarp down quite as tightly . . .”
“You were trying to protect me,” I told Eric. “Protect us. And considering what was happening in this place at the time, that’s a good thing.”
“But if you’re not particular about the color, I’ll do your roof for you.” I tried to wave him off, but he wouldn’t be persuaded. “After all, you saved me some dough, too. Do you have any idea what the copay was on that fancy birthing center Liv wanted? Huh?” He winked and was out the door.
Brad was the next to arrive—I’d scheduled them at two-hour intervals. This was one I’d wanted to get over. Brad had wanted to talk to me during the encampment, and I certainly hoped that he wasn’t intending to propose, because I’d decided that I needed to end things with him. Not our friendship—that I hoped I could keep for some time, maybe the rest of my life. But trying to rekindle any hopes of a long-term relationship with him was bad for both of us. It was time to make a clean break of the flirtatious conversations and move on as friends. This time with no Brad-the-Cad dartboards.
Of course, he arrived with flowers. But potted ones. Two whole flats of perennials. “I thought you might like something cheery to put in your garden.”
I busied myself looking at the labels to see what I was getting into. The fall was a good time to plant perennials, and Brad had probably gotten a deal on these.
“I hope they’re all right.”
I nodded and kept reading labels. There were a few ivy plants in there. Perhaps I could plant those along the ugly side wall. They’d certainly cover the dingy siding, and might even help hold the house together. And ivy represented friendship. It was almost a tangible message that I was headed in the right direction to keep Brad as a friend. Maybe it was a sign. I only hoped Brad got the message.
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