by Vickie Fee
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “They plan to call him ‘Trey.’”
“That’s a cute name, anyway,” she said. In a moment she added, “Liv, I’ve been thinking about Lucinda. Nell and Sindhu may be crazy, but I think they may also be onto something.”
“Like what?”
“Like Lucinda and Pierce’s little lunch meeting. They may have been at Ole Miss at the same time, but there’s got to be more to it than two old college chums reminiscing. And their most obvious connection is Morgan. Pierce was sleeping with her, and Lucinda accepted Morgan’s invitation to speak at the retreat, seemingly out of the blue. Something about the whole setup stinks.”
“I agree,” I said. “But I have no idea how to discover Lucinda’s true motivations. We might turn up something if we searched her room, but I’m not inclined to try that, since Nell and Sindhu already got caught and since I agreed with Lucinda about how that was inappropriate behavior.”
“I was actually thinking about a more direct approach,” Di said. “Let’s tell Lucinda we happened to see her meeting Pierce and find out what she has to say.”
“Why would Lucinda even talk to us?”
“Seems to me she kind of owes you after dragging you into the whole Nell and Sindhu drama.”
“I think she owes me. But I’m not sure if Lucinda or her obnoxious assistant will see it that way.”
“Oh, by the way, I asked Dave about the phone call to Naomi,” Di said. “Besides the two businessmen and the old lady who obsessively checks her bank account, all of whom other bank employees confirmed talking to, the only person who called around that time was Morgan. And she calls the bank regularly to check in—and to talk to Daddy.”
“Did Dave confirm who Morgan talked to?”
“He didn’t say,” Di said. “But we know Morgan didn’t kill herself.”
“No, but if Morgan is the only person who could have made the prank call—and Naomi didn’t just make it up, which neither of us believes she did—it must mean Morgan didn’t want Naomi at the retreat for some reason. And that reason could be connected to why Morgan was murdered.”
Chapter 15
Monday morning Larry Joe left for work, leaving me alone with my coffee and my thoughts. No matter how hard I tried to occupy my mind with other matters, the idea that Morgan must have made that cruel prank call to Naomi kept insinuating itself into my thoughts.
Finally, another idea occurred to me. It was Monday, which meant the bank was closed and Naomi would be at home. As a small-town, family-owned bank, Dixie Savings and Loan still kept bankers hours, or at least a twenty-first-century version of them. It’s open nine AM to six PM during the week, plus a half day on Saturday and extended hours on Wednesday evenings. But it’s still closed on Mondays, as well as Sundays, except for the drive-through ATM. I seem to remember when I was a kid the bank actually closed at three o’clock in the afternoon on weekdays.
Dave might not be curious, but I certainly was. I decided to seize the opportunity to talk to Naomi privately. I’d drop by her house to see if I could find out what reason Morgan might have had to want her out of the way for the retreat. I thought it would look less suspicious if I didn’t come empty-handed, so I set about making some banana pudding to take with me. Using boxed vanilla pudding and overripe bananas, I whipped together the banana pudding in less than thirty minutes. I put it in the freezer to quickly chill while I showered and got dressed. I decided I’d use the pretext that PWAD needed to elect a new president and ask Naomi if she had any opinions on the matter. Since Naomi is never at a loss for words, it was a safe bet she’d have something to say about it.
* * *
With freshly made banana pudding in hand, I rang the doorbell. Naomi answered the door.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she said. “Please, come in.”
I stepped onto the white carpet in Naomi’s living room, which had shelves lined with Hummel figurines.
“I’ve been meaning to bring something by for you since you had that awful scare about your sister. And I also wanted to ask you about the appropriate time and procedure to replace Morgan as president of PWAD.”
“I thank you,” Naomi said. “That’s very kind of you. Come on through to the kitchen. I appreciate the dessert—and banana pudding is a favorite of mine.”
She offered and I accepted a cup of coffee. I could see there was still half a pot’s worth. I declined her offer of banana pudding, but she dished up a generous helping for herself.
“Mmm, this is wonderful,” she said.
“I’m glad you like it.”
I decided to ask Naomi about a new replacement for the PWAD president position—about which, as I’d suspected, she had plenty to say—before broaching the more delicate matter of the bogus phone call.
After we’d chatted for a bit and she seemed to be enjoying a sugar rush from the banana pudding, it was as good a time as any to delve into the Morgan question.
“Naomi, did you talk to Morgan at all the day she died?”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“You didn’t have any contact with her?”
“No,” Naomi said. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know if I should even tell you this, but . . .”
“What is it, Liv?”
“Well, I overheard Dave and Ted talking,” I lied. “And they checked all the phone records and confirmed who phoned the bank and who talked to whom around the time you received the prank call, and . . .”
“And?”
“Morgan is the one who made the call.”
“That’s not possible,” Naomi said, looking truly surprised. “I know there are plenty of people who had problems with Morgan, but I’ve never had anything but a good relationship with her. Known her virtually all her life.”
“I’m sorry, Naomi.”
“They really know this for certain?” Naomi said, misty-eyed.
“I’m afraid so,” I said. “There were only a handful of phone calls to the bank during that time.”
“I can’t even imagine why Morgan would want to do something so hurtful,” she said. “I’ve never given her any cause.”
“Naomi, what Morgan did to you was certainly hurtful,” I said. “But maybe that wasn’t why she did it. Maybe that was merely an unavoidable consequence.”
” What do you mean?”
“What if for some reason she wanted to keep you away from the retreat?” I said. “Because, other than hurting you, that would seem to be the most likely reason for her to make such a phone call. Your missing the retreat was certainly the outcome.”
Naomi looked puzzled.
“Is there anything you knew or heard or noticed recently about Morgan or bank business or one of Morgan’s boyfriends? Did you overhear Morgan making an appointment or having an angry conversation? Anything like that?”
Naomi sat silent for a long moment with a faraway look.
“Try to think, Naomi. If there is anything along those lines, anything at all, it could have something to do with Morgan’s murder.”
“I didn’t talk to Morgan on Friday,” Naomi said. “I guess the last words I heard her speak were on Friday, or maybe it was Thursday, I don’t know. Anyway, I was walking past her office and dropped some files. I bent down to pick them up and overheard Morgan talking on the phone. She said something about patents pending and they should be able to start manufacturing early next year. I have no idea what it was about. I assumed it was concerning some bank investment or personal investment of Morgan’s. But when she noticed me she walked over and closed the door.”
The mention of patents and manufacturing sounded a lot like what Nell had mentioned about Morgan’s proposal for Jasmine’s anti-aging cream. But since Jasmine wasn’t interested in Morgan’s plans, maybe Morgan was scheming to somehow circumvent her and sell or patent the formula without Jasmine’s consent. If that was true, it would have given Jasmine a strong motive for murder.
I knew I really needed to share this
information with Dave, even though it would seem to secure the noose around Jasmine’s neck. Nell and Sindhu would never forgive me.
* * *
I went to the office and tried to lose myself in work. After a phone call to straighten out a vendor who had sent me a bill for more than we’d originally agreed upon, I remembered I was supposed to try to set up a meeting with Lucinda about her rendezvous with Pierce Davenport. I wasn’t looking forward to talking to Mitzi, but I finally worked up the courage to call the hotel.
Naturally, my pal Mitzi answered the phone. She wasn’t eager to surrender her position as gatekeeper or set up a meeting with Lucinda without knowing all the particulars. But she eventually acquiesced when I strongly implied it would be to Lucinda’s advantage to do so.
Mitzi hung up in a huff. She called back a short time later to tell me Lucinda would give me a few minutes of her valuable time tomorrow afternoon. I was instructed to arrive at Lucinda’s suite promptly at four PM.
I texted Di to let her know the time.
I’d just about tied up the loose ends from the Dodds’ party and had prepared my final bill for them when I got a call from Dave. My first thought was that he’d heard about my visit to Naomi. But I was wrong.
“Liv, I’d like you to do me a favor,” he said.
“I always do my best to cooperate with the authorities.”
“Nell and Sindhu finally wore me down. I told them they could come visit Jasmine at the jail this afternoon about three-thirty,” he said. “The D.A. said he didn’t think it would do any harm. Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you tagged along for their visit.”
“I suppose I can sit in. Although I’m not sure why you need me there. I kinda doubt she’s going to make a confession about killing Morgan.”
“It’s not so much Jasmine I’m worried about,” he said. “I don’t want Nell and Sindhu hatching some crazy scheme.”
Why does everyone in town seem to think it’s my responsibility to keep an eye on Nell and Sindhu? I thought. Fortunately, I stopped myself from saying it out loud, since I didn’t really want to have to explain their stalking and room-searching activities to Dave.
I guess I was caught up in my thoughts for a bit, because Dave asked, “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. How do you want to play this? Should I just show up or should I call Nell?”
“I think it would look better if you called Nell and told her you heard about the visit and would like to go with them,” he said.
“Right. I’ll see you later,” I said before hanging up the phone.
Nell was agreeable to my coming along to visit Jasmine. She seems to think I have some magic powers of persuasion with the sheriff. As if.
I met Sindhu and Nell just outside the sheriff’s office. Nell was carrying a paper bag, and Sindhu held a covered plate.
“It seems I’m the only one who showed up empty-handed,” I said.
“I’ve just got some clean clothes that Dylan asked me to deliver,” Nell said.
“These are some chocolate chip cookies Darsha helped me to make for Jasmine,” Sindhu chimed in.
“Sheriff Dave said it would be okay to bring some sweet treats,” Nell said. “We figured cookies would be a safe bet. If we brought a cake, he’d probably search it to see if we’d hidden a file or a knife in it.”
Dave met us in the lobby and showed us to the interrogation room. We took a seat, and a moment later he brought in Jasmine. After hugs all around, we settled into chairs at the table in the center of the room. I didn’t know if Dave was listening in or watching through the two-way mirror, but I knew he could if he wanted to.
Nell was obviously aware of this fact, too. She apologized to Jasmine for not having visited sooner.
“It’s not that we didn’t want to come, hon,” she said. “The powers that be wouldn’t let us in until now,” she said, glaring at the two-way mirror for a moment.
“I know,” Jasmine said. “Dylan told me you two had been asking about me and bringing by casseroles and desserts for him. I really appreciate your looking after my guy—and worrying about me.”
“What’s going on with your case, Jasmine? Do you know what happens next?” I asked.
“At my preliminary hearing the case was bound over to the grand jury. If they return an indictment, I’ll have to go to court for the arraignment and enter a plea. After that, I’d go on trial for murder. I can’t believe I’m actually saying those words. It still seems so unreal,” she said.
“We have to hope it doesn’t come to that,” I said, trying to sound reassuring.
“It’s completely ridiculous that you got arrested to begin with,” Nell said.
“It must be very difficult being kept behind bars like this,” Sindhu said.
“I’d rather be at home, of course,” Jasmine said. “But everyone here has been really nice.”
“I can’t believe they’re keeping you locked up here without a snowball’s chance of making bail,” Nell said indignantly, casting an angry look toward the mirror again. “You haven’t been convicted of anything.”
“I’m sure if the sheriff continues his investigations, he will discover evidence that proves you are innocent,” Sindhu said in a confident voice.
Jasmine gave her a doubtful smile. Looking at Jasmine, I couldn’t help thinking that here was one of the most optimistic and upbeat women I’d ever met. But spending a week in jail, and facing the specter of a much longer prison term, had taken the shine off her sunny optimism.
“Jasmine,” I said. “The police know the poison that killed Morgan is from that plant, what’s it called?”
“Hemlock water-dropwort,” she said.
“Yeah, that,” I said. “But you use some of that in your anti-aging cream, and that cream is really popular. Women all over town use it. Could someone have put a little of that cream into Morgan’s tea to poison her?”
“No,” Jasmine said. “I’m afraid not.”
She explained that the cream contains only a tiny amount of the hemlock water-dropwort. Apparently, even if someone consumed a whole jar of the stuff it wouldn’t be deadly.
“Besides,” she added, “hemlock water drop-wort is naturally sweet-tasting, as are the other ingredients in the cream, so I add a bit of motherwort—a really bitter herb. It’s harmless, but it tastes so bad that if a child or a pet accidently ate some of it, they wouldn’t eat more than a bite. So Morgan couldn’t have eaten or drunk something with the cream in it without tasting it.”
“You hear that, Sheriff?” Nell stood and talked to the mirror once again. “Jasmine goes to great pains just to make sure nobody accidently gets a little sick. That really sounds like a cold-blooded killer, doesn’t it?”
“Nell, please calm yourself,” Sindhu said. “The sheriff might cut short our visit if you agitate him.”
Nell sat down, but continued to fume silently.
“Jasmine, tell me about this proposal Morgan made to you to have your face cream manufactured,” I said.
She told me what I’d basically already heard. Morgan wanted to finance the manufacture of the anti-aging cream in exchange for a fat cut, but Jasmine wasn’t interested. Jasmine’s idea of expansion was to extend her distribution network through a few other herbalists she knows personally.
“If that poison didn’t come from your cream and you didn’t make it from the plant at your place—which we know you didn’t,” Nell said, “it had to come from someone who could get hold of some of that poison. We know it’s not easy to come by here in the states, but it grows wild in parts of Europe, right?”
“That’s true,” Jasmine said. “In fact, I’ve read that some cattle have died from eating the roots of it growing along streams in Britain.”
“Well, what little globe-trotter do we know who’s recently filmed episodes of her show in England?” Nell said with a cat-that-ate-the-canary look on her face.
“Yes!” Sindhu said. “Lucinda could have obtained the poison plant on her trav
els.”
“I hate to place a damper on your enthusiasm,” I said. “But for Lucinda to choose this particular plant in order to frame Jasmine, she’d have to have known Jasmine had the plant. If Lucinda didn’t know and she chose this poison at random to kill Morgan, that would be an awfully big coincidence.”
Jasmine looked forlorn when we said our good-byes. Later that night, while I was lying under the covers in my comfy bed next to my snoring husband, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jasmine sleeping alone in a jail cell.
Chapter 16
Larry Joe took some time away from the office Tuesday morning to help me with a special project. We drove his truck to a metal fabrication shop just a few miles outside Dixie.
Mr. Goddard, the owner of the company, also happened to be an elder at Winette’s church. Nathan Sweet, my landlord and Winette’s boss; Winette’s son, Marcus; and I had cooked up a surprise for Winette. I was so excited, I could hardly wait to see it.
We parked in front of a metal building with two large bays connected to a windowed office area. Mr. Goddard waved us over to the first of the bays, open to the outside with its huge garage door raised.
“Howdy,” Mr. Goddard said, peeling the glove off his right hand before shaking hands with Larry Joe and me. “Come on back and take a look. I think y’all are going to be pleased. I’m pretty happy with it.”
We followed him into a small, carpeted room. He picked up a cloth-wrapped sign that was leaning against a wall and set it up on a long table. I felt butterflies in my stomach as he unwrapped it.
“Oh, Mr. Goddard,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. “It’s just beautiful.”
Larry Joe wrapped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.
“That’s mighty fine work, Mr. Goddard,” Larry Joe said.
“Thank you, kindly,” he said. “I admit I’m right proud of how it turned out.”
We stood for a moment admiring the custom-made sign, featuring the Residential Rehab logo in mirror-finish stainless steel lettering against a brushed steel background. Marcus, who’s an architecture major in his sophomore year at college, had designed the handsome logo, which is on all the stationery and promotional materials for RR. At my suggestion he designed the plans and consulted with Mr. Goddard on fabricating the sign. Mr. Goddard donated his time and equipment to make the sign, and Mr. Sweet paid for the materials.
