Poison at the Bake Sale

by Hollis Shiloh

  "Gracious! I wonder if Lenard was blackmailing him for something. Perhaps they were enemies of long standing." His imagination raced like wild horses breaking free of all restraint.

  "I told the police," said Mary. "I'm not one to hide evidence. But they didn't seem at all interested. So, I suppose it wasn't important?"

  "Well, I think it's important," said Abe. "I'm very glad you've said."

  Chapter fifteen

  Abe got home just as his phone rang. It was Hannibal Hughes. Abe answered cautiously. "Hello, Hannibal. Did you mean to call Gregory and got me instead?" He couldn't imagine the garden club president would have anything to say to him, but he might want to talk about aphids with Gregory. The last Abe had heard on the aphid saga, he was trying some new techniques and the results seemed favorable. No doubt Gregory would be interested to discuss it with him further, but Abe really wasn't interested.

  "Ah, no, I wanted to speak with you." Hannibal sounded unexpectedly self-conscious. He was usually the most confident person alive.

  Was it because he now knew Abe had been a battered spouse and didn't know how to talk to him anymore? Abe braced himself for further awkwardness. But even that would be better than probing questions or laughter. Well, Hannibal could be annoying, but he wasn't hateful or cruel. He'd never minded that Abe was gay, for instance, even though he was from an older generation. (Privately, Abe thought that was because he, like an aging rooster, preferred less competition. Hannibal was very fond of the ladies.)

  "It's a sensitive topic. Between one thing and another, ahem, the death, the police—we weren't able to attend to the silent auction until quite recently."

  "Oh," said Abe, mildly interested now. "Did I win the clock?"

  "What? No. Benton won the autographed book. For quite a sum, as well! It puts us in a rather awkward position. It would be nice to get that much for the library fund, especially if the book is actually worth so much. But I'm not at all sure it is. It's not a particularly wanted book, or in very good condition. Not one of his better-known works. It shouldn't be worth thousands of dollars.

  "As well, the man is dead—so perhaps it should go to the person with the next highest bid. But if Mr. Benton has an heir who would like to purchase it..." His voice trailed off awkwardly. "We thought you might know. I haven't been able to get in touch with anyone."

  Abe took a deep breath. "His heir is not at all interested. I've spoken with the man. In fact, he gave me some other books to dispose of for charitable purposes." Abe realized he sounded rather clipped and decided to modify his tone a bit. "Listen, if you'd like, I can take the book along to the expert and have it evaluated, and let you know the approximate value. Then you can decide how to handle it. This certainly is an unusual circumstance."

  "Yes," agreed Hannibal, sounding uncharacteristically relieved to be able to hand the problem off, at least temporarily. "If there's something about the book that gives it greater value than we can reasonably assume from current estimates, then I think it's perfectly reasonable to nullify the silent auction. Between that and the murder."

  "Yes," said Abe quietly. "Between that and the murder." He gulped, feeling a prickle of unease down his back. "Can I ask who had the second highest bid?"

  "I don't suppose there's any harm in you knowing. It's your new neighbor, that Rongst fellow. The art collector. I suppose he collects all sorts of things."

  AS SOON AS HE HAD RECOVERED from that bombshell, Abe finally had the courage and reason to call Detective Jeffries. He hadn't spoken to the man in some time, and that had been under friendlier circumstances, at a party where the detective had let his hair down. He'd been dating Ollie at the time. He was unlikely to be so friendly now, so Abe braced himself through the man's terse acknowledgement of his call.

  "Mr. Arnett," said Jeffries. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He didn't sound like it was a pleasure at all.

  "I know you don't exactly like me investigating things," Abe said tentatively. "But I wondered if you could possibly tell me what the poison was."

  "I'm afraid that's confidential. Sorry." He didn't sound sorry.

  Abe let out a soft sigh. "Okay. I also wondered if Rufus Rongst was a subject of inquiry. If he had any connection with the—the victim." He swallowed. "I've heard two things now that make me think there's some connection, although I can't make sense of it. It's not clear to me at all. I wondered if that's an angle that's being followed up, or if he's already been eliminated somehow."

  Jeffries was silent for a moment. Abe could hear him breathing. "I'll see it's checked into," he said at last, somewhat reluctantly. "Right. You'd better tell me what you know, so I'll have something concrete to go on."

  "That's just it, there's nothing concrete at all." He related what Mary had told him—along with the fact she'd already mentioned it to the police and they hadn't seemed interested. Then he shared what Hannibal had just told him, about the silent auction and the strangeness with the winning bid and the secondary bid.

  "Maybe they argued about the book," said Jeffries, sounding unimpressed. "It's hardly a reason to kill someone."

  "Even if it's worth a lot of money?"

  "Especially then. Rongst is a well-off man, the hard-driving, work hard, play hard type. Your ex was like that as well, from what we've seen. Arguing over a book wouldn't lead to murder. Maybe a feud, at most. Those sorts don't kill over money. They use it to keep score. If Rongst were the sort of person to kill someone over a silent auction, a possible loss of some kind, he'd have been on a killing spree for half his life already."

  "I see." Abe felt rather deflated. Did Jeffries have to talk down to him like this? It didn't really set him at ease to hear Lenard and Rufus Rongst compared to each other, though. He'd already been worried about Cecelia. Now he was more so.

  He decided to try one more time. "Are you sure you can't tell me what poisoned Lenard?"

  Jeffries was silent for a moment. "If information hasn't been made public yet, then you don't need to know."

  "Are you sure I don't? Please?"

  Jeffries made a sound that could've been halfway between a snort and a laugh. "You're not a detective, whatever you think, Mr. Arnett."

  "I suppose you think you've put me in my place, but I already knew that. I know my place—I just really want to know why he died. Did somebody hate him enough to kill him, or did they think they were just inconveniencing him, maybe making him sick?"

  "Your boyfriend and your friend have already been eliminated. You don't need to worry about anything else."

  "No, but I will anyway." He bit his tongue to keep from mentioning Edward's crush, Fred. He didn't want to cause trouble for the boys if there was no need to. But it would be nice to know that for sure, and not have to wonder if he was shielding a possible killer, even if it had been an accident. He really couldn't imagine either Edward or Fred killing anyone on purpose, even Lenard. But that didn't mean they hadn't been involved.

  Jeffries sighed. "The poison caused the accident, but it would have been unlikely to kill him on its own. It is readily and legally available. Anyone could have gotten it. It could also have been an accidental dosing by the victim, but we've ruled that out already."

  "Oh." So, he still knew nothing... "That was already in the papers, wasn't it?"

  "Then that's all you need to know."

  "I see. Not giving an inch, Officer. Well, thank you for your time." He hesitated. "And...I'm sorry about you and Ollie. That things didn't work out."

  "That doesn't matter," said Jeffries, but his voice sounded a little rougher now. He cleared his throat. "Do you have anything else? If not, I have work to do."

  "Okay," said Abe softly. "I'll let you know if the book turns out to be special and valuable in some way."

  "You do that." Jeffries hung up.

  Abe sighed.

  He sat for a moment, drumming his fingers on the kitchen table. Then he got out his tablet and began to doodle. Spirals and swirls, like the patterns of smoke, as he thought, and
thought, and let his mind wander.

  He couldn't solve this. Some part of him wasn't sure he even wanted to. Let the police do what they were paid for. He'd had enough of Lenard for this lifetime and the next. He just really needed to know, that was all.

  And he'd already used up his police informant on the topic, for all the good that had done him. Not that Jeffries was an informant, or a friend, but he'd been someone Abe felt he could speak to.

  Finally, he sighed and put away his art supplies. If doodling wasn't going to find him the answers, he'd just have to bake his worries away.

  "THIS IS A GREAT PIE," said Gregory.

  "Thank you."

  "You always make a good pie, but there's something special about this one. A little extra something." He moved in for another slice.

  "I got the idea from Mary. She's starting to use organic ingredients. This pie is mostly organic. I thought you'd like it." He regarded Gregory with pride, then moved to take his free hand, looking into his face. "I don't suppose you're sufficiently buttered up now?" he asked, using his eyes.

  "Probably," said Gregory. "What do you want help with?"

  "The investigation. Well, I want you to listen to what I know, and then—we'll see."

  Gregory chewed for a moment, seemed to brace himself, then nodded. "If you're in it, I'm in it."

  Abe grinned. "I like that. What changed your mind, the pie?" He smiled.

  Gregory shrugged. "I've been thinking about it. If this really matters to you—if it's worth it—then of course I should be involved. As a sounding board, or to help you investigate, or just a shoulder to cry on." He grinned. "I've got sturdy shoulders," he pointed out, helpfully nodding to one of them.

  "That you do," said Abe. "I appreciate them. Thank you, dear." He squeezed Gregory's hand and would have kissed him if he'd thought he had any chance of competing with the pie.

  Gregory was a fervent eater, and he loved pie. He could get away with eating almost anything he liked, because he took such good care of himself otherwise. But, aside from deserts, his favorite foods were homemade stir fries with fresh garden vegetables, and other healthy foods like that.

  "I'm all ears," said Gregory.

  You're all mine, thought Abe, rather smugly. "Well, let me tell you what I learned today, and then I'll get back to yesterday."

  "You seem really excited about it. Does that mean you think you've figured out the murderer?"

  "No, but I have a hunch, and I'd love to hear what you think."

  With Gregory's full attention (or almost full, as he was still finishing up some pie), Abe launched into recounting the things he'd found out today about their neighbor: the sketchy conversation, the possible bidding war between Lenard and Rufus, his offering to get the book assessed when he got Lenard's books assessed.

  "Wait, hold on. What about Lenard's books?"

  "Oh, sorry. That was yesterday. I kept forgetting to tell you." He went back to yesterday's events and recounted the visit, helping Edward, agreeing to take the books and get them assessed and sold with the money going to charity. He also told Gregory about Fred, and how both young men had acted.

  "That does sound fishy. So, do you think one of them did it?" asked Gregory.

  "I hope not," admitted Abe. "And, to be honest, neither one seems to have the right profile, psychologically speaking. It would have to be at least somewhat preplanned and malicious...as well as a pretty ballsy thing to do."

  "And you don't think Edward is ballsy enough, or that Fred is malicious enough?" guessed Gregory.

  "Something like that," said Abe. "It's more a gut feeling than anything else, I suppose."

  "Well, considering your gut was worried someone would get poisoned at the bake sale, maybe it's time we start paying attention to it."

  "Don't say that," said Abe. "You're supposed to be the sensible one who doesn't flutter around to flights of fancy."

  Gregory looked at him. "I quit my job to take up permaculture backyard farming. I don't think I have to be the sensible one anymore."

  Abe grinned. "Maybe neither one of us is sensible. Oh, well! Anyway, they still made good suspects, whatever my gut said. But now I think Rufus Rongst is a much better suspect, and we can focus our attentions there, don't you think?"

  "Even if the police have eliminated him, though?" Gregory asked cautiously. "They would certainly have more resources than we do. And they didn't seem to care about what Mary shared."

  "But is that because they know for certain it doesn't matter, or because she's a sweet little old lady whom no one takes seriously?" asked Abe. It was a rhetorical question, but at least worth considering. "She may not have made it sound very impressive. Maybe they weren't interested, but that doesn't mean it wasn't important."

  "I wish she'd heard some of what was actually said. Then we'd have something to go on."

  "It's almost certainly about the book, if they both bid quite a lot on it and were arguing at the table. But it's not supposed to be worth very much. It's not a particularly rare or desired edition."

  "Maybe it's got a secret gold map etched on the inside cover." Gregory grinned, regarded the pie, and with a "Don't mind if I do" expression, went in for his third slice. "This really is good," he commented.

  Abe made a note to follow in Mary's footsteps and bake more with organic ingredients. "Thank you, dear. So, what do you think? Will you come with me when I get the books assessed? I'd rather not be alone, especially if there is something about the book that makes it risky in some way."

  "Sure. Whenever you want. Well, preferably not when I'm working. But we can go any other time you want."

  Chapter sixteen

  Abe took the first appointment he could get at Walter's Books and Ephemera. It was a well-known and respected bookstore not too far from home that specialized in rare, collectible, and expensive books and maps. Abe didn't know Hezekiah Walter himself, but the man had a good reputation as a shrewd, fair dealer, if perhaps a little crusty and not one to suffer fools gladly. Abe hoped he wouldn't come across as too foolish. He didn't know anything much about collecting books, except that some of these items definitely had value.

  Gregory was kind enough to drive to the appointment. They stopped by Hannibal's home and picked up the Jack London book, which he'd had there for safekeeping. After promising to get in touch as soon as they knew something concrete, they headed off for the appointment. Abe was glad they had a strict timeline to keep so Hannibal couldn't wrangle Gregory into a gardening "discussion" (meaning argument).

  Abe and Gregory talked about Abe's work during the drive, and avoided the murder (or manslaughter). When they got there, they got right to business, carrying in the boxes of books and introducing themselves.

  "These are Len Benton's books," said Mr. Walter. He looked blank for a moment, then studied Abe's face with growing understanding.

  "Yes, er, his heir asked me to have them assessed. He's interested in selling them and giving the proceeds to charity. I'm a...friend."

  Abe had probably volunteered more than he absolutely had to, but the elderly man's gaze was so piercing...

  Finally, Mr. Walter looked back at the books. "I'll go through them," he said quietly. "He was one of my best customers. I'll try to give you a fair price." He touched the books like they were fragile old friends.

  Was Mr. Walter the first person whose grief over Lenard's death didn't seem tinged with relief? No doubt Lenard had been on his best behavior with a book dealer. Maybe they'd even been friends.

  Abe wondered if he should take the opportunity to ask the book dealer some questions, and if he might have insight into Lenard's death. But it didn't feel like the right time. Besides, he was unlikely to know all the details of Lenard's life if he only saw him on occasion and they mostly dealt with books.

  "I suspect that young boyfriend of his," said Mr. Walter. "He brought him here one time, and the boy couldn't wait to get in here." Mr. Walter's lip curled as if he found the very idea disgusting.

 
Abe probably shouldn't mention that the books' proceeds would be going to a gay charity, should he? But now he wanted to...

  Gregory had carried in most of the boxes, leaving the lighter ones for Abe, but then he'd wandered off, distracted by some older books. Abe was on his own in this conversation.

  It was true that Edward hadn't seemed at all interested in book collecting. He probably cared a lot more about how many Instagram followers he had than acquiring some old, rare volume. But he'd also been scared off by Lenard, to the point where he was afraid to look at or touch the collection. Abe could hardly say this to Walter.

  "Perhaps Edward isn't the biggest book fan, but..."

  "Edward?" He snorted. "No, this was Lyle. I'm fairly certain I remember that, young man. I have a good memory for names and faces." He peered at Abe as though trying to decide if he had a face worth remembering. His shrewd, piercing gaze looked much younger than the rest of him, which was stooped and rather frail.

  "Are you sure? Lyle?" said Abe. "Did you get a last name? Because Lenard was living with a young man named Edward up until just recently, and if he was seeing someone else on the side, I think the police should be aware of that."

  He wasn't shocked that Lenard had been cheating on Edward, as seemed likely, but he was somehow still disappointed. You'd think someone who demanded as much from his partners as Lenard did would hold himself to some small faithfulness standards as well. But then he never had.

  "No doubt you will tell them if I don't," observed Mr. Walter shrewdly. "Why are you so interested in this?"

  "I'm nosy, and I want the murder solved," said Abe. He was surprised to find he didn't mind being just as direct as the old man. "I used to be married to Lenard. I'd rather his death not go unsolved."

  It was a simplified explanation for a lot of complicated feelings and situations, but true enough. Mr. Walter stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "The one that got away. I see."