by Judith Mehl
The others seemed mystified. Kat quickly explained that two members of his team had confessed to the paint vandalism, under duress from another team member, Terry, and were suspended from play for one year.
The men nodded in understanding. To be suspended from tennis for a year, a student would feel his life was ruined. They sympathized with the students, and with Nettle as coach for having to recoup a couple of weeks before fall play.
Meanwhile, Maddy remained perplexed. “When we analyzed your handwriting sample it left me very confused. It didn’t match your personality. Flamboyant, almost feminine, the words were open, the spacing light. Nothing there led us to believe you’re dealing with any of these problems.”
Nettle in turn looked puzzled. “What sample?”
“Last week. When asked for something you’d written, your grad student handed us a couple of paragraphs about the tennis team.”
“Did you specifically say ‘handwriting sample?’”
“Well no.”
I wrote those paragraphs in the sense that I composed them. I dictated them to her and she wrote them down.”
Chagrined, Kat retrieved a pad and pen from her voluminous bag. “Okay, give us a new sample now.” If she’d gone to the police station to check Nettle’s sample she might have allayed her fears earlier, but she enjoyed Nick’s pampering too much to ignore his request that she come home straight from work yesterday.
Nettle snatched the pad, eager to prove his innocence. “I’ll write anything you want as long as it’ll prove I’m not a liar and all I wanted was my article back before the police saw it.”
The new sample, though exhibiting a degree of guilelessness, formed straightforward letters and words. His writing was honest and true, with a touch of anger thrown in, but not violence or murderous intent.
Kat relented and told how she’d grabbed a few magazines from the office to examine later, and promptly forgot about them when other concerns arose. She promised she’d look them over and return the Tennis Mandate if it was included in the pile.
As the relieved man rose to leave, G. L. graciously offered, “Do you and the blond bomb want to join us?”
“God no, you’d shoot me for sure. I couldn’t get out of tonight’s date but her chatter would defile your peaceful dinner.”
Though they all laughed, Kat mentally crossed him off her rapidly dwindling suspect list.
The food arrived and halted conversation temporarily. Kat submerged her hunger in a plate of breadsticks, sprinkled herbed salt on her salad, nibbled and talked while the others dug in.
“Charlemagne, Holy Roman emperor in the 9th century A.D., was an admirer of herbs. He even decreed what herbs should be raised in gardens throughout the land. G. L. mumbled something with his mouth full and sighed. Kat gave him a chance to swallow to see what so enticed him about fennel, but when he was able to talk she realized he was praising the duck.
Unstoppable, Kat continued, “Dorie Byers in Herbal Remedy Gardens, said, ‘The Emperor Charlemagne had fennel planted on his imperial farms. In medieval times, fennel was one of nine sacred herbs believed to have the power to cure certain diseases. The plant symbolizes protection, healing, and purification.’”
When at least Nick exhibited an interest in her tale, Kat added, “Today, most of us know fennel as the seeds that stick in our teeth from eating Italian sausage.”
Nick smiled winningly at his wife. She couldn’t tell he plotted secretly to spread fennel around the house, even in a circle around Kat, if she’d stay still long enough. But she knew he worried constantly over her involvement with this investigation. It seemed to bother him more than past situations, probably because this time the killer seemed to be targeting her.
Chapter 26
When the top stroke of an opening letter extends over the word, it shows protection. Kat served as a virtual umbrella for her friends. Did this cause endearing comrades, or stifled foes?
Various Sources
Today began the lull before the storm. One week till the students swarmed back. The newsroom sweltered as the ancient air conditioning conked out again, but Kat enjoyed the quiet. Dennis tapped his pencil incessantly against the desktop between keying in sports information. Football preceded classes. For him, fall was well underway.
“My God, she killed it,” Tom roared from his office. The shout halted all activity. He marched out of the room into Kat’s. The storm had apparently blown in early.
She kept her smile, despite spying the title of the news article in his hand. She was in trouble. Trying the innocence ploy, she asked, “Something wrong?”
“Who rewrote this story on the budget?”
“Cheri did. Remember, you wanted a student viewpoint. She volunteered.”
“I said student, not infantile. Thank God this didn’t get in print!” He slapped it onto her desk. “Fix it!”
Kat sighed. Admittedly Cheri had gotten carried away. She’d glimpsed it earlier, but her mind had wandered and she’d forgotten to tone it down. A few minutes with a sharp pencil and she had the changes she needed. A quick edit on the screen and she sent it over to Tom, hoping he’d calmed down enough to accept it.
Her cell phone screeched loud in her ears. She’d promised Glinna she’d carry it with her constantly, but she’d never carry it in her top jacket pocket again—not turned on anyway.
A minute later she sailed out the door. A barely whispered “He’s here!” from Glinna spurred her into a five-minute drive that normally took longer. Deciding a frontal attack held the most panache she traipsed in the Apothecary door hoping her friendly attitude would cool things down or cause the stalker to fumble. Glinna hadn’t been clear what was happening. She merely mumbled, “He’s here!” and Kat came running. She’d promised.
She found Glinna in the back row, still alive and talking. The stalker, as they’d been calling him, had her cornered. Kat could only guess at his identity. Who else would he be after Glinna’s frantic call? She couldn’t see her friend’s face and couldn’t glean any telegraphic expressions. This way, she gathered only mixed signals. Should she sneak around and come up behind Glinna? Maybe she should have something in her pocket besides a cell phone. What in a health food store would serve as a weapon? Next time they cooked up a plan like this they’d have to think beyond the talking stage. Words were normally her weapon in the journalism trade, but their bite lacked the immediate threat she needed now.
Neither had noticed her. Kat toed off her Christian Louboutin shoes with little regard to scuffing them despite the sky high price. Her friend was in danger. Her mind signaled stealth. She tiptoed down the bottled herb aisle and grabbed a container of cayenne. Damn the seals! She always needed a knife to puncture them. This time she ripped into it successfully with her fingernails—adrenaline induced might. Armed, she approached the stalker from behind. She hoped Glinna’s surprise at seeing her would startle the man into turning enough to spew it in his face if needed. Fortunately, Glinna was stunned, but quick. She shouted, “Kat! No!” before the hot powder went flying into his eyes.
That did alarm him, bringing him to face Kat. Confused, she halted. His congenial smile did a swift change to puzzled frown. Glinna ignored both perplexed expressions and made a friendly introduction, as if she hadn’t called her friend in fear a few minutes earlier.
“Kat, this is John from the new health food deli on Broad Street. He’s been telling me how much he admired the atmosphere in my store. He’s been studying it to see how he can provide the same ambience in his deli.”
Kat, clutching the open cayenne in one hand and the cap in the other, didn’t offer to shake hands. John, eyeing both, turned a still bewildered look back to Glinna. She blushed furiously, not knowing how to explain they thought he was a stalker. Kat swiftly twisted the cap back on the bottle and shoved it onto the nearest shelf. Then she realized there was no way they could pull off the concept that nothing untoward had happened.
Glinna giggled. Kat stumbled over an apology. Af
ter all it was her idea. Now good manners mandated she explain, but how? Eventually John understood the threat they feared, though he’d never seen himself as a dark and brooding stalker. He picked up the cayenne bottle, eyes sparkling and couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling out.
“This the best weapon you could find?”
“You’d be surprised at the damage that could temporarily do to your eyes.”
He glanced at it with more respect and handed it to the store owner. Then he turned to shake hands with Kat. “It’s nice to know Glinna’s friends are so resourceful.”
She smiled, appreciating the rosy glow from Glinna. This guy was a keeper. Hopefully, the herbal deli would blend well with the Apothecary for a lasting relationship. She watched Glinna offer John the cayenne as a memento of their first meeting and left her friend to her own resources.
“My God, I forgot! Tom may still be looking for my head. I’d better get back.”
Kat couldn’t believe how circumstances could have done such an about face. They’d been so worried about the man, the stalker, or at the very least, the business entrepreneur out to steal Glinna’s shop secrets. And yet John turned out to be a friendly, humorous person who didn’t mind their suspicions, even admired them. Things weren’t always what they seemed. Keeping that in mind could prove essential some day. Kat needed to remember it. That and a few other lost thoughts were niggling at her mind but she’d have to plumb the depths later.
She entered her office to the drone of keyboards and realized those in the office suite hadn’t even missed her. She’d almost slayed a dragon, but the newsroom clattered on, oblivious. Fortunately Tom just nodded as she passed his door. Apparently the fixed article soothed the beast in him and he’d moved to the next battle on his agenda.
With any luck it would keep him occupied while she called Detective Burrows. Her investigation had hit one dead end after another. Of course, according to Burrows she was out of the business altogether, but maybe he’d settle into a friendly chat and provide her with another lead.
If only she could remember what she needed to ask him.
In the end, Burrows touched on many subjects, all fanning out around the mysterious death without striking away any of the extraneous. Too much led nowhere but in circles.
She asked Burrows if they’d found any connection to the underworld through the tennis association, or through the tennis center, or just through Ambrose’s past. Burrow’s answers were clear.
“No to everything!” He emphasized that they investigated each avenue thoroughly and she should stay away from organized crime. Kat would have acted more affronted at his attitude if she hadn’t been paging through the phone book looking for the name of the restaurant she’d heard was connected. She’d already searched for the hair salon that served as a front for money laundering but the name had changed and she couldn’t find it.
Just maybe, Burrows had a point. She should stay out of the investigation. She could ask all about perms and poufs but once it came to shampooing the green stuff she was out of her league. Besides, Ambrose hadn’t reeked either the macho or the fear of someone connected to organized crime.
She felt justified in asking the detective about Matthew Hightower, however. The man ranked tops in her professor of the year category and she was worried about him and his reputation. The detective assured her that the professor passed a lie detector test and was off the suspect list.
He did tell her more about Cindy Wolfert. Even though Ambrose kept her a secret from Lauri and the college crowd, plenty of others knew of Cynthia’s fascination with the tournament manager. They were young and thoughtless, and not so loyal they’d hinder a murder investigation to protect her. Once Kat had passed on the information from Rita Mae, the police found her quickly enough. Betty knew a friend, who knew where Cindy holed up after Ambrose died.
She was an aging tennis groupie whose curves had lost to gravity and who settled for the crumbs from the manager when the stars looked for sleeker models, and found them in abundance. Cindy, with her artfully “sun-streaked” hair and Vogue clothes, exuded boredom, more disgruntled at Ambrose’s death, then disturbed. Her toy disappeared. Now, she not only had to answer distasteful questions but find something new to add excitement to her life.
Cindy lived off her inheritance, supplemented by the men she attached herself to. Apparently, she accidentally allowed herself to become involved with someone broke once in a while, like Ambrose. He’d played her in the beginning and she’d followed, only to later realize his charm was as flea bitten as the hotel room.
She hadn’t been with Ambrose the night he was murdered. Her grumbling at being cast off by him at the last minute was endured by enough acquaintances to prove her alibi.
According to Cindy he claimed he’d received a phone call from a past friend and he had to cancel their scheduled rendezvous. He didn’t say who or where, but it was very clear he wouldn’t meet with her that evening.
Kat inquired if Cynthia’s canceled plans with the man included a secluded picnic in the woods. Burrows barely suppressed a laugh. “You should have heard her! This was no country girl. Her idea of roughing it was a hotel room without a hot tub.”
She grasped the picture but felt defeated.
“Did she know anything?”
“She hadn’t a clue what a tulip was let alone a kalmia latifolia (Latin name of laurel). Her idea of a fine drink is scotch, not tea.”
Didn’t anyone know who the mysterious friend was that lured Ambrose virtually to his death? Hadn’t the blanket, or thermos, or the ground around the site provided any leads?
Kat felt defeated but returned her thoughts to work for the rest of the day. Fortunately she was on shortened hours because of her accident and she left early for another chiropractic appointment. As she relaxed during the final heat treatment, her mind focused back to the scene in the woods. Her eyes drifted closed, her muscles mellowed and her thoughts went deeper. The plastic container near the blanket. It was identical to the one in the tennis manager’s office. A black notch on the cover served as a distinguishing mark. Kat’s containers carried similar ones all the time. What this meant she didn’t know, but Lauri practically admitted to providing him that fruit the day in his office. Wouldn’t that place her in the woods?
She dialed Burrows. His secretary would have hung up if they also weren’t close friends. Even her patience unraveled slightly as she recognized Kat’s voice, again.
“If ya ain’t got the answer to the murder in yer pocket Kat, yer might want to leave him alone for a while. He’s pretty tied up on a hit and run over by the Willowby place.”
Kat knew when to back off and left a message for him to call when he was free. She settled for a soothing walk through her garden until Nick appeared with a ready–made dinner fit for a queen. Kat’s guilt came to the fore as she realized how often her husband provided the meals lately. She hadn’t lost her appetite but her sense of equality, the sharing of housework had disappeared when the bruises dominated. She praised him for his nurturing and vowed to take on more of the responsibility. They shared light-hearted banter about his day at work but nothing compared in shear craziness with the carpet caper. As he returned for the evening shift, Detective Burrows called and Kat revealed her concerns about how the thermos, tea, plastic container and fruit, all led to Lauri. For once he agreed with her, but he did so out of fear for her.
He even admitted the thermos held poisoned tea. He didn’t rattle off the chemical characteristics, but they couldn’t place an identical chemical in Lauri’s home, or elsewhere. Kat stressed the feasibility of using the laurel leaves to concoct the poisonous brew, even bringing up the toxicity levels she’d determined from her research. She avoided mention of the information from Dennis’s search of the computer.
“Katharine, we have no proof. You have to stay away from her. I’ll tell you this because I think you’re in danger. We have someone keeping an eye on Lauri. There’s not much we can find out after the
fact until we unearth more evidence. So you watch yourself, okay?”
And for once, Kat paid attention. She promised to stay away from Lauri, not pursue any more leads, and move back into her peaceful journalistic life. Her bruises and fears spoke as loud as her friend did today and she listened to them all.
Chapter 27
Post-placed t-bars. A quick mind or a sign of temper? Add to it some heavy downward strokes mixed among light pressured ones and the temper wins.
“Handwriting Analysis Self-Taught” by Joel Engel
She was thrilled. She’d pulled off the sleekest coup. “I’m Priscilla Wentworth, you know, of the Jacob Wentworths. I need your services immediately. This is Nick Donnelly, right? Well, it must be you that helps me. I must have the best. Please meet me at the entrance to Southbay Park in half an hour.”
Oh, what a snooty accent. Just like prissy old Priscilla if she did say so herself. Donnelly couldn’t have been more conciliatory. She could almost see him bow over the phone. The most difficult part had been finding a quiet pay phone in the mall. But she went to the corner by the Botanical Scissors. Only a few people were having their hair cut this time of the evening. Too late for moms and too early for teens. She knew better than to leave signs of a call from her own home though.
There’d been no background noise to reveal that her location wasn’t the silver-lawned and precisely manicured acreage of the elite. Thus, the nosy miss’s husband-cum-bodyguard was on a goose chase, temporarily.
She’d already taken care of her “tail.” What a silly word. And such a witless man. He should have known better than to turn at her gasp as if someone was behind him. He was dead. It hadn’t been as easy as she’d hoped. Those pruning shears were always kept sharp. They sliced through the thickest of laurel wood, one of the hardest woods around. Why they didn’t slice through him at the first thrust she wasn’t sure. She must have hit bone, but they did the job. Eventually.
