Death Drops

by Chrystle Fiedler

  I reached over to the dressing table, grabbed my iPhone, and called Jackson Spade, intending to leave a message, but he picked up.

  “It’s Willow. Did I wake you? I was just going to leave a message.”

  “I was just dozing. The muse struck last night, and I was up late painting.”

  My, my, Jackson was a man of surprises. First, the organic gardening, then the rescued dachshunds, and now this. “I didn’t know you were a painter. What are you painting?”

  “A table.”

  “A table? A painting of a table?”

  “Nope,” he said, and chuckled. “I hand paint furniture I find at yard sales and on the side of the road. I sell them in Annie’s Antiques on the North Road. It doesn’t add up to much, but it keeps me busy.”

  “What about your back?”

  “I can’t explain it, but I lose myself in the process. Time just zooms by. It’s good therapy.”

  “You are a true Renaissance man,” I said, liking him more and more by the minute.

  “Thanks for noticing, McQuade. So what’s going on?” His voice sounded husky. Sexy.

  Stop it, Willow. Focus. I told him about the anonymous phone call, Sue Polumbo’s e-mails and texts, and Simon’s incident. He listened and then went quiet.

  “Jackson?”

  “Just thinking,” he said.

  The world rotated on its axis. Moments moved by at a glacial pace. Finally, I said, “And?”

  “What are you planning to do today?”

  “Speaking of yard sales, Allie and Hector need some furniture, so we’re hitting a bunch. They want to open next week. You’ll be their first client.”

  He grunted. His way of saying thank you, I guessed.

  “I’ll do some checking,” he said finally. “Call me later. And, McQuade?”

  “Yes, Jackson?”

  “Watch your back. I’d miss you if you were gone.” He hung up.

  Gulp. So he did like me. After that, it was difficult to focus, but I reached over to grab the Suffolk Times from the night stand and turned to the yard sale section. Concentrate, Willow. I’d circled the ones that looked most promising in Orient, East Marion, Greenport, Southold, New Suffolk, and Cutchogue. We had a lot of ground to cover. If you wanted to get the best bargains, you had to be an early bird. We’d agreed to be out the door by no later than 8 a.m.

  I got out of bed, which disturbed Ginger, Ginkgo, and Qigong. Although initially the cats were skittish around Qigong, once they realized he wasn’t a threat, they’d warmed to him. Now they were best buddies. Ginger and Ginkgo jumped off the bed, and I helped Qigong down. The three of them immediately began to play, the cats rolling over on their backs while Qigong tried to give them little kisses.

  I went to the window and looked out at the harbor. Over the water, the sun glinted from behind a tumble of white, fluffy clouds. Usually the clouds would clear, but they could also mean rain. You never really knew on the East End. I opened the door, padded across the hall to my old room, and knocked gently. Allie mumbled, “We’re up.” I told them I’d meet them downstairs.

  We ate a breakfast of organic apple pancakes with lots of butter and turkey bacon on the porch. Eating right doesn’t mean it can’t be yummy. It was also comfort food, which I needed because my grief was still painfully fresh.

  As we were finishing up, Viv Colletto, the owner of the Good Green Earth, waved to us from the street and headed up the path. “I’ve got that list you wanted. I was just going to leave it in the mailbox, but since you’re up . . .”

  I went down the stairs to meet her. “We were going to hit some yard sales,” I said. But that might change now, depending on what she told me. “What did you find?”

  She unfolded the piece of paper and pointed to the three names. “They all have local addresses. But they could be summer people or weekenders, I’m not sure.”

  I glanced at the list, feeling my heart go pit-a-pat. Was Aunt Claire’s murderer’s name there? I quickly read the names: Walt Scott, Timothy Milton, and curiously, Sean Nichols, Claire’s lawn man, all from Greenport. I had to call Jackson right away, especially about Nichols. It’s possible that his T-shirt ripped while he was working here, but what if he was the one who broke in and stole the formula, not to mention hit me on the head and set the fire? He may have used the ruse of taking care of her landscaping to learn where she stored the formula.

  Before I called Jackson, though, I thanked Viv and walked her inside to the herbal supplement shelf. I found a bottle of thunder god vine pills and plucked it off the shelf.

  “Thank you so much, Viv. I really appreciate it.”

  She took the bottle, then looked at me, a serious expression on her face. “Tell me you aren’t going to do anything dangerous with that list.”

  I patted her on the arm. “Don’t worry. I’ve got people for that.” We said our good-byes and she headed out the door. As she did, I grabbed the office phone and quickly called Jackson. When he answered, I told him I had three new possibilities, based on a piece of orange T-shirt fabric I’d found. “I’m particularly interested in Nichols, because he did some lawn work for Aunt Claire just last week.”

  He whistled. “Wow, McQuade, you are something. Talk about playing a long shot. But give me all the names. I’ll check them out this a.m.”

  I rattled off the names and said, “I want to go with you.”

  “You have yard sales to attend to.”

  “This is more important.” I needed answers.

  “Yes, McQuade,” he said, “but it’s also more dangerous. Let me handle it. I’ll call you later.”

  “Jackson . . .”

  “Later.” He hung up.

  Allie, Hector, Qigong, and I headed out for our yard sale/treasure hunt. We picked up the fixed Cruiser and Allie drove, since I still was incapacitated by my severely sprained left wrist. We decided to start in Orient and work our way west. The first yard sale was being held at a house on Navy Street owned by an artist who had advertised household goods, furniture, canvases, and artist’s tools. Most of the action was out back in a big, rustic-looking red barn.

  After putting Qigong on a harness that Merrily had thoughtfully purchased and that didn’t touch his still sore neck, we followed the signs there, dodging a man on a ride-on mower. The smell of the freshly cut grass was fantastic. We poked our noses into the barn, the aroma dusty and damp.

  Allie immediately spotted a cupboard she liked, and Hector a small table. They bargained with the owner, a man with paint smudges on his clothes and in his hair and a bad cough that sounded like bronchitis. He sipped on a glass of juice, but I knew he could do better.

  I pointed to the glass. “Is that helping with the bronchitis?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. I’m hoping the antibiotics I’m taking will kick in soon.”

  “You know, a great way to coat and soothe mucous membranes and ease inflammation and congestion is by sipping warm licorice tea. Licorice is a powerful herbal demulcent. And cherry-bark tea can help with that cough.”

  Hector smiled. “Dr. McQuade is a natural doctor. She knows these things.”

  The man arched an eyebrow. “A natural doctor? You mean a naturopath?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He smiled. “I used to see an ND in New York. He was very helpful. Thanks for the tip. I’ll have to try that.”

  As a thank-you, he let Allie and Hector have the two pieces for thirty bucks. Used to city prices, they were elated, both feeling as if they’d struck it rich. We told him we’d pick up the cupboard and table that afternoon.

  We carried that good momentum (and karma) to three more sales in East Marion and Greenport, finding a desk/hutch for Hector, a small love seat for Allie, and two lamps. By ten o’clock, we’d reached yet another sale in New Suffolk, an area just south of the Main Road with an interesting mix of year-round and summer residences. We stopped at a quaint yellow cottage on 1st Street that looked promising even at this late—for yard sales—hour. The four of us
crossed the street and started the hunt.

  It wasn’t long before Hector found two big glass vases for flowers, one for himself and one for Allie, and she, in turn, scored two colorful area rugs. This was shaping up to be one heck of a yard sale cache.

  Qigong and I followed them over to the front of the house to pay the owner, a trim brunette with a severe chin-length haircut, dressed in capris and a bright white sleeveless blouse.

  As we waited, I noticed the name on the mailbox next door: D. Polumbo. Pointing to the disheveled house, with a rotting roof and front porch, I asked, “Is your neighbor related to Sue Polumbo?”

  She gave me a quizzical look and then nodded. “Yes, it’s her ex-husband, Dan. They divorced after all that business with their son, Tad. Him being sick and all.”

  I cocked my head, gave her a questioning and concerned gaze, and played dumb. “Sick?”

  “He almost died,” she said impatiently, like I didn’t get it. “He had asthma and developed pneumonia. Sue went to see Claire Hagan at that natural food store. She gave them some bad advice. He ended up in the emergency room.”

  I wanted to say that Aunt Claire was unaware of Tad’s asthma but instead said, “Where does Sue live?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You ask a lot of questions.” Allie shoved some money at her, but she ignored it. “And you are?”

  Allie looked at me and shook her head. The “don’t tell her who you are, we won’t get a good deal” look.

  “Willow McQuade.” Since my last name was different from Claire’s, she didn’t make the connection. But at that moment, a dented, ancient red Chevy crunched into the Polumbo’s driveway. A big, muscled, angry-looking man wearing a Powerhouse Gym T-shirt cut off at the sleeves clambered out. I remembered that Gavin Milton had been wearing a shirt just like it and immediately wondered about the connection. Were they workout buddies? Or partners in crime?

  I worried that if this woman told Dan I’d been asking about him, things might change, and fast. Especially after what had happened with Simon last night.

  Knowing all of that, Allie quickly handed twenty-five dollars to the woman and gave her a smile. “Will this cover it?”

  The woman’s narrowed eyes swiveled between me and Dan. Allie, Hector, and I held our collective breath. This could get ugly. Finally, Dan entered the house and closed the door. Making her decision, the woman took the money, and the four of us scuttled off to the car with our booty.

  “Don’t look at her,” Allie said as she shoved the rugs in the back and put the vases on top of them, then closed the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. “She’s still checking you out.”

  I climbed into the passenger seat and put Qigong on my lap.

  “She does not seem very happy,” Hector observed.

  “No, she sure doesn’t,” Allie said as she put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

  We were halfway back to Greenport when my iPhone buzzed. I pushed Answer and said hello.

  “It’s Helen, from Helen’s Organics. I’m calling about that bill.”

  Oh, boy. “Sorry about that. Things have been hectic here.” I rolled my eyes at Allie.

  “I’m sure they are, but can you drop off payment today?”

  Gulp. I mentally calculated how much I had left in my checking account after paying Betty at the bakery, the glass man, the locksmith, Mike the roofer, and to have the PT Cruiser and the kitchen repaired. Luckily the store had been busy enough for me to cover the staff’s salaries and even a little extra. I figured I could give her just under 20 percent of what she was owed. After that, I might have to cash in a CD I’d saved for an emergency. When I told her how much I could pay her, she harrumphed and said, “Better than nothing. But I’ll expect the rest soon. I’m on the North Road, just past the light in Mattituck, on the right.” She ended the call.

  “See, aren’t you glad you took care of that?” Allie looked at me.

  “Thrilled,” I said. “You’ll need to turn around.”

  Allie pulled into the IGA parking lot, went around back, took a right at the light, and headed west. Ten minutes later, we pulled into the dirt driveway of Helen’s Organics. The spread was impressive, with several acres of cultivated land and four greenhouses, along with abundant flower beds and fruit trees. Several day laborers were busy moving plants and watering.

  A ramshackle white farmhouse perched on a small hill next to the greenhouses. Several fat-bellied cats sunned themselves on the porch. Allie tucked the PT Cruiser between two trucks and turned off the ignition. I quickly wrote out a check for a thousand dollars, put Qigong on Allie’s lap, and hopped out of the car. “I’ll be right back,” I told them, and strode toward the back of the house. I knocked but received no reply, so I headed toward the greenhouses. Now that I was ready to pay, I wanted to get it over with.

  I walked across the grounds and came to a collection of what looked like new beehives. Opposite that was the third greenhouse. Helen was potting plants inside. The smell of moist loam and budding plants was intoxicating. The space was also crammed with equipment, gardening materials, and lots of bottles of yummy-looking organic honey.

  I pointed to the bottles. “Is the honey something new? I thought you just sold herbs.”

  “I just started making it this week. People like it.”

  “I’d love to carry it in the store.”

  “When you pay your tab, we can talk.” She continued potting plants.

  Although I didn’t care for her attitude, I wanted to keep this nonconfrontational. I had enough stress in my life right now. I pointed to the plants she was working with. “What will these be when they grow up?”

  Without looking up, she said, “Organic peppers.” I noticed she wore jeans and a green Life is good T-shirt with a flowerpot on it, although her attitude seemed anything but good. Maybe part of the reason was the bad sunburn she had on her face, neck, and arms.

  “Looks like the sun got the better of you.”

  She potted another pepper plant. “Forgot sunscreen. Today, I pay.”

  “Have you tried aloe on it?” Aloe is one of the best natural remedies because it’s an anti-inflammatory plant that contains compounds similar to aspirin. This means it helps ease the pain and redness of sunburn. Aloe also stimulates blood flow, improving healing time.

  “It looked worse before I used the aloe.”

  A cat jumped up onto the table and nudged Helen’s face. She picked it up and put it back on the ground. I spotted three more at the end of the greenhouse and more milling outside.

  “You’ve got a lot of cats,” I said.

  “Barn cats. A new one shows up every day.”

  I thought about the cat overpopulation problem on the East End. “Are they spayed and neutered? If not, you could call SAVES.” SAVES stood for Spay, Alter, Vaccinate Every Stray.

  “Yes,” she said, exasperated. “Your aunt Claire told me about them more than once. But I let nature take its course.” She potted another plant.

  That was a backward attitude, but I didn’t want to get into a big thing with her. Better to call SAVES myself and alert them that there were a lot of cats in this area that needed to be trapped, spayed or neutered, and hopefully found homes.

  I turned my attention to the large assortment of colorful herbs in the greenhouse, hot-pink echinacea, red yarrow, and several different types of lovely smelling lavender. The latter prompted a thought. “You can also make a compress with lavender for sunburn. Have you tried that?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it,” she said absently.

  On Helen’s worktable were pouches of dried herbs and herbal essences in glass bottles with toppers. I thought about the Mimulus Claire had taken. Could Helen have swapped it with a potion that included cyanide? But killing Aunt Claire would prevent her from getting paid. Still, maybe there was something going on here that I didn’t know about.

  “Did Aunt Claire buy fresh herbs from you as well?” I hadn’t noticed any in the store.

&nb
sp; “She used to. But she wanted better, more exotic, herbs for that formula she was making,” she said bitterly. “That I helped her with.”

  “You helped her with the Fresh Face formula?” I smelled Motive with a capital M. The same one that Dr. Neville had.

  She frowned. “Yes, in the beginning. She consulted me. But then, when it looked like it was really going to happen . . .” She rubbed her face with her hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on her cheek.

  I prompted her: “What?”

  She put the seedling in a row with a dozen others. “I just didn’t hear from her.”

  “Did she mention any problems she was having with it? Did she ever mention a Dr. Neville?”

  She considered me and my questions, grabbed another handful of potting soil, and put it into a new container. “I just know that she was under a tremendous amount of pressure from New York. From that guy McCarty. He’d call her every day, sometimes two or three times. E-mails and texts, too, sometimes a dozen a day.”

  I thought about Aunt Claire’s iPhone and the fact that there were no texts from McCarty. She’d probably cleaned them out because there were so many. Still, they could be helpful now.

  Helen continued. “She was working as fast as she could, but she wanted it to be just right. I told her that she needed to cool it with the stress, but she didn’t listen to me. About anything.” She put the seedling in the pot and, it seemed to me, angrily pressed earth around it.

  Yes, definitely some bad blood here. I hadn’t realized how much. Before a seedling bought the farm, I handed her the check. “Thanks for the info and your patience. I’ll get you more as soon as I can.”

  “See that you do,” she said, not looking up as she shoved potting soil into a new container. “I’m not waiting forever for what is mine.”

  chapter eighteen