Seeds of Revenge

by Wendy Tyson

  Merry waved her hand. “It’s not Bonnie.”

  Megan sat. “What is it?”

  Megan waited while Merry composed herself. She’d never seen Merry this emotional. In fact righteous indignation was generally the extent of Merry’s outbursts. Something tugged at Megan. Who did Merry really have to confide in? Her own fault or not, Megan figured Bibi was as close to a confidant as Merry had.

  “It’s Becca,” Merry said. “She’s not herself, Megan. The other day she disappeared for hours. And she’s been surly. That’s not like her.” Merry sniffled. Megan handed her a tissue and she blew her nose daintily. “And then there’s the man.”

  “The man?”

  Merry nodded emphatically, skewing her glasses. “I don’t know who he is, but I’ve seen him around a few times. I’m worried.” She bit her lip.

  “Worried about what?”

  Merry sighed. “Worried it’s another one of Becca’s flings.”

  Megan recalled Becca’s stance that the pheromones weren’t for her. That she didn’t like people and wasn’t looking for male attention. “I didn’t think Becca was into dating.”

  “She’s not, exactly.” Merry rubbed her temples. She suddenly looked very tired. And old. “It started when Blanche died. Becca would hook up with these men who weren’t nice to her. She’d stay with them for a few days, then dump them. But she flaunted her affairs. I think she did it to anger her father.” Merry blew her nose again. “It worked.”

  “Becca made it sound like she was focused on work, not men.”

  “Oh, she’s not into boyfriends, if that’s what you mean. These could hardly be called relationships, and most of the men were well beneath her, if you ask me. She’d sleep with them a few times, and then the rest would be drama. Stalking, threats.” Merry’s skin turned a hot shade of pink. “Horrible.”

  Megan considered this. She had trouble reconciling the Becca she’d met with a woman who’d casually pick up the wrong kind of men—and then stalk them. Or put up with them stalking her.

  “I’m sorry to hear this, Merry.”

  Merry nodded. “Thank you.” She looked up, the tears welling in her eyes again. “Maybe you could talk to her? She seems to like you.”

  “I don’t think that’s my place. I don’t know her that well.” Megan glanced toward the door. She could see Clay milling about, probably waiting to come in and talk to her about some issue on the farm. “Why don’t you have Luke talk with her?”

  Merry’s thin lips pressed into a smirk. “Pot and kettle, those two. I don’t think so.”

  “He has relationship issues too?”

  “Luke prefers bimbos. Loose women who are only after his money.”

  Loose women? Megan didn’t think anyone used that term anymore. Again, Megan flashed back to her conversation with Becca. She’d described her brother’s girlfriends as intellectual types—not “hot” enough for his father’s liking. Perhaps with such a messed up relationship with their own father, both Fox children had issues bonding. Or maybe they didn’t share much with their aunt.

  In any case, this wasn’t a conversation she had any right to have with Becca. Megan stood. Merry took the hint and stood as well. “Let me get those eggs.”

  “Thank you,” Merry said.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You’re a good listener.” Merry sniffled again. “It’s a rare quality in a person these days.”

  Megan forgot about her conversation with Merry until later that day. She left the farm at eleven to help Alvaro at the café. While Bibi was feeling well enough to fend for herself around the house, she wasn’t quite up to cooking at the café and being on her feet all day, so Megan was bouncing back and forth. She was grateful for Clover and Emily—both of whom had been stalwarts all week.

  When she arrived at the café, there was already a queue at the store register, which had Clover busy. And Megan could see that the back section of the store, where the café was, looked crowded as well.

  Megan walked through the property toward the restaurant portion, taking notice of the store shelves and making mental notes about what needed replenishing. Almost everything.

  The scent of stewing meat and cloves wafted from the back of the building. Megan’s mouth watered. Today’s lunch menu—which changed daily based on what was available at the farm and what Alvaro felt like cooking—was a rich Mexican stew served with pozole, homemade corn tortillas, and a simple salad. Based on the empty plates in front of her customers, it was a hit.

  “Morning,” she said to her chef.

  He grunted. “Nearly nighttime now.”

  Megan smiled. It wouldn’t be Alvaro if he didn’t have a surly remark. “Emily show up?”

  “She called. Said she would be here by noon. She was spending some time with the babe. She’s teething.” Alvaro’s voice softened, as it normally did when talking about Emily—or babies.

  He nodded toward the large pot simmering on the stove. “I am only serving two dishes today. The stew. And a cheese Panini for vegetarians.”

  He spit the word “vegetarians” out as though he’d eaten a piece of rotten meat. “Panini is just a fancy word for grilled cheese.” He shrugged. “But if these hipsters want to pay $12 for a grilled cheese, who am I to complain?”

  Megan wasn’t sure hipsters were hanging about in Winsome, nor was she convinced Alvaro’s hefty grilled sandwich was quite the same as a typical grilled cheese, but she let it go.

  “Alvaro,” she said. “Have you seen Becca Fox in the café?”

  “The girl with the crazy hair and the silly perfumes?”

  “That’s the one.”

  He frowned, thinking. “Yesterday or the day before. She was hawking those perfumes of hers to anyone who would listen. I told her to talk to you. That she could not solicit in the store.”

  He stood taller, puffing up his bulky chest. “She didn’t like my answer.”

  “Did she leave?”

  “She ordered a pastry and coffee and sulked at me. I remember that.”

  “Was she with anyone?”

  “No. She was alone.” Alvaro squinted. “Well, she was alone in here. But I saw a man outside the store. He seemed to be waiting for her. I remember because he was smoking and you don’t like anyone smoking near the store.”

  “Do you remember what he looked like?”

  Alvaro shrugged. “Like a man. Dark hair. Couldn’t see much from here.”

  “A beard?”

  “No beard. Why do you ask so many questions?”

  “No reason.”

  Megan thanked him and walked to the back of the kitchen to place her bag in the office. No beard. That meant it wasn’t Luke. So maybe Becca did have a lover in Winsome. That in and of itself meant nothing.

  But a stranger in town might mean something when it came to a murder investigation.

  Fourteen

  Megan still had the package of pheromones she’d bought for Emily sitting on her dresser in her bedroom. She decided to run it over to Emily before dinner in the hopes of convincing her to join them. Time with the baby would lift Bibi’s spirits and help her feel useful. And Lily adored Bibi. It was fun to see them together.

  Only Emily wasn’t home when Megan swung by her house. Alvaro said she’d left the restaurant at four to pick up Lily. Maybe they were running errands? Megan dialed Emily’s cell. She answered right away.

  Megan told her why she was calling.

  “Oh, I’d love to join you tonight, but I’m kind of tied up right now.” There was a pause, and when Emily came back on, her voice was lower. “I’m at my grandmother’s Cape. With Chief King.”

  Megan’s gut tightened. “Everything okay?”

  “He has some questions about the house. Oh, hold on.”

  Megan heard the shuffling, and then the sound of Lily cooing.
The next thing she knew, Bobby King was on the line.

  “Megan, can you stop by here?”

  “I guess. Why?”

  “I thought you might be able to answer a few questions for me.” King sounded tense, a little brusque. “I promise it won’t take long.”

  Megan agreed. She didn’t like the sound of Bobby’s voice. He was clearly under pressure now that Paul’s death had been ruled suspicious. But the fact that he had Emily at the house meant he was reexamining the scene. New information? Or had something else happened since Paul died?

  The sun had already dipped below the horizon by the time Megan arrived at Emily’s grandmother’s property. She saw Bobby’s car, and Emily’s sedan parked next to it. One police car had been pulled haphazardly onto a snow mound, half off the road. All of the lights in the house appeared to be on.

  Megan didn’t need to knock. King opened the door as though he’d been waiting for her. No one wore masks, and the baby was there, so Megan assumed the house had been declared free of phosgene or other chemicals. Still, Megan paused by the door, looking questioningly at the chief.

  “It’s fine. We had the house cleared. Again. Come in.” He stepped back to make room. “We’re headed outside in a moment anyway. But first, follow me.”

  Megan followed King into the kitchen, where Emily was already standing by the counter looking down at a set of photographs. She smiled gratefully when Megan entered, and then looked at King as though asking permission to speak. He nodded his consent.

  “Paul’s death is being considered a homicide,” Emily said.

  King put up a hand. “It’s been deemed suspicious. I don’t want to fuel the gossip fire even more. We still need to completely rule out an accidental poisoning. That’s why you’re here, Megan.”

  “Okay, suspicious.” Emily’s hand was shaking. She glanced down at it, frowned, and then tucked it by her side, out of sight. “The police wanted to know who had keys, who had been in the building, things like that.” She pointed to a piece of lined paper. “All of the contractors and their numbers.”

  “Which brings me to the reason I asked you to come down, Megan. We’ve requested an expert, a chemist who consults with the Philadelphia Police Department, to come up tomorrow afternoon. I know you did some work on a case involving the chemical in question. I was hoping—unofficially, of course—you could tell me more.” King glanced at Emily. “I did my own research, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

  “I don’t know that I can add much, Bobby, but I’m happy to help if I can.” Megan’s gaze strayed to the back of the kitchen where a rectangular table sat surrounded by four chairs. Beyond the table, and awkward to reach, was a door that led to the backyard. “How do you think the killer, if there was one, got in? Was the back door locked?”

  “The son says it was.” King walked back and turned the knob on the door. “We didn’t pick up any prints, including Paul’s or the son’s.” His attention turned toward Emily. “Only Emily’s.”

  “Which makes sense,” Emily said. “No one would have reason to enter through the kitchen door. The back patio isn’t shoveled, and the door doesn’t really lead to anywhere.”

  “How about the front door? Signs of a break in?”

  Bobby shook his head. “None.”

  Emily said, “And like I told you before, Chief, only Merry, Paul, and Luke had keys.”

  “Along with you and your contractors.”

  Emily’s eyes darkened. “Correct.”

  King seemed to mull something. “Megan, can you come with me? Emily, why don’t you stay here with Officer Brown and Lily?”

  Emily hesitated, then agreed.

  Megan touched Emily’s arm lightly. “When we’re done, we can head to the farm for dinner. Sound good?”

  “I think some time at the farm would be great. How about if I go home and get Lily’s things and meet you at your house?” Emily glanced at Bobby King hopefully. “Would that be okay? I’ve given you everything I have.”

  Bobby looked about to say no, but Lily whimpered and he nodded. “Keep your phone on in case we have more questions. And if you think of anyone else who had access to the house, please call me right away.”

  While Emily packed up the baby’s things, Megan followed King out the front door. He paused on the outside stoop. Glancing down at Megan’s feet, he said, “You’re wearing boots. Good. Where we’re headed, you’ll need them.”

  King led Megan on a trampled path of snow around to the back of the house, where a set of Bilco doors marked the entrance to the basement. The doors and the surrounding area had been cleared of snow. Faint footprints marred the adjacent backyard, but even as they spoke the prints were being swept away by wind and a gentle falling snow.

  “This is how I think someone may have gained entrance,” King said. “There’s a set of steps that leads from the basement into the hall on the first floor. We found these Bilco doors unlocked and mostly free of snow. Emily says she never thought to lock them, so they were probably open from day one.”

  “How about the door at the top of the steps?”

  King shook his head. “Handle is broken and the lock doesn’t work. Emily said she never bothered to have it fixed because the contractors were in and out of the basement. It was on her to-do list.”

  It wasn’t that unusual for folks in Winsome to leave their doors unlocked. Many had dogs or alarms, but even those who didn’t trusted their fellow townspeople. Megan stared at the Bilco doors. Like the house, they were a little aged, frayed around the edges. One handle was gone, the other mottled with rust.

  “The lack of a second handle was probably why she didn’t bother locking it. What would she have attached a lock to?”

  King waved his hand toward the yard and the trailer beyond. “And as you can see, the backyard doesn’t get much use.”

  Megan hopped up and down on her toes. It was cold out, and standing here made her feel even chillier. Eyeing the trampled lawn, she said, “So there could have been footprints. Were there?”

  “There were definitely marks, but it snowed the night he died, if you recall. So any footprints had been filled in.”

  “And Luke didn’t notice anything? A sound inside the house, noise in the basement?”

  “Luke says he didn’t go back to the house that night. He ran some errands, went to scope out a piece of property up north, and then had a beer at the brewery. Stayed at Merry’s house, which she and Becca corroborated. As for the time he was scoping out property?” King shrugged. “No one can confirm that.”

  “And the others in that household? Alibis?”

  “Together by the end of the evening, but everyone—even Merry—had gaps. Periods when they hadn’t actually seen one another.”

  King finally seemed to notice that Megan was cold. With some effort, he opened one of the Bilco doors. He shined a flashlight into the basement’s depths. “Come on.”

  “I don’t know that my civic duty includes creepy basements, Bobby.”

  King’s laugh sounded forced. His face looked ghostly in the glow of the artificial light. “I know this is above and beyond, but I want you to take a look at something. I’d appreciate hearing your thoughts.”

  King was looking at her with something akin to warmth. After the traumas of last fall they’d developed a bond. She’d come to respect his abilities and toughness as a new police chief, and he seemed to appreciate her insights. It was a relationship that worked, and so Megan descended the dark steps that led into the house. A house in which someone had been poisoned.

  The basement felt damp and chilly. The first thing that hit her were the smells: a lingering scent of gasoline, moth balls, dust, and a healthy dose of mildew. As her eyes adjusted to the glow from the flashlight, she could make out a hoarder’s haven of stuff. Broken chairs. An old workbench, now covered with moving boxes and what looked like a
bowling ball. Broken lamps, crates full of decorations, even what appeared to be a pile of rocks. It was a basement that had not seen serious use or a cleaning crew for some time, probably since Emily’s grandmother had died

  “Can you turn on the overhead light?” Megan asked.

  “Bulb is shattered.” King shined the light on a fixture hanging by a bunch of wires from the low ceiling. Jagged shards of glass hung down. He shined the beam toward the back of the basement. “What I want to show you is over here.”

  King stepped over a dissembled picnic table. “Watch your step.” At the far end of the room, he paused next to a freezer. Like most things in the basement, the appliance had seen better days. But it wasn’t the freezer King was after—it was the shelf of solvents and paints that stood next to it. This area had been recently disturbed. Fresh cans of paint—clearly marked with color and date—sat next to rusty cans and milky bottles containing older chemicals.

  A standing fire hazard.

  “We went through this basement thoroughly. Dusted for prints—nothing’s turned up so far. Everything checks out in terms of the work Emily’s had done to the house.” He swept the beam back and forth across the chemicals. “Still. I need to rule out that this wasn’t an accident. And this shelf has been bothering me.”

  Megan got closer so she could take a better look. She had to wipe cobwebs away from a coffee can of nails—it had obviously been there a while. In addition to the paint, she saw two plastic containers of pesticides, mouse traps, paint thinner, some weed killer, and what looked like another solvent, but the label had long since faded.

  “You’re concerned that someone accidentally made phosgene with these chemicals?”

  “Or ones like them.” Bobby picked up the pesticide. “It could happen.”

  “You’re right, it could.” Based on the research she had done, Megan recalled that certain chemicals, when mixed, produced phosgene.

  “When you were working on that case, you said phosgene was released at a pesticide plant. That’s what got me thinking. What if one of the contractors did something to create the poison. He could have had no idea.” King ran the light over the chemicals on the shelf. “It could have been one of these, or maybe something he brought with him.”