by Shéa MacLeod
“Fine. Not in the sherry then.” I mulled it over. “She was diabetic. That could have been how the killer got her. Put the poison in her hypodermic. She administers it to herself. Dead a few hours later.”
“It’s a possibility,” the colonel said grimly. “We’ll have to find her latest needle. It may tell us something. But first I need to ring the police.”
“You think they can get through?” Lucas asked.
“I hope so, dear boy. Our situation is getting rather dire.”
Lucas offered his cell phone and the colonel put in a call to the local constabulary. Less than five minutes later he handed Lucas back the phone. “They’re still stuck. We’ll have to move the body into the refrigeration unit and lock up this room.”
Great. The bodies were piling up, we had a killer on the loose, and the police couldn’t get here until who knew when. I wandered over to the desk. Behind all the bottles and tubes was a red plastic bin with a snap top. It had the bio waste symbol in black on the side. I grabbed a tissue from a box on the vanity and used it to cover my hand while I popped open the top. I didn’t want to get my fingerprints all over it. Inside were eight discarded needles. About two days’ worth.
“I found her used needles.” The overhead light was dim, so I used my phone flashlight to better illuminate the box. They all looked normal, with a residue of clear liquid except for the one on the very top. The liquid residue had a blueish-green tinge. “Found it. Looks a lot like antifreeze.”
Lucas and the colonel walked over and peered in the box. “Excellent work,” the colonel said.
“Maybe.” I frowned. “Marilyn’s been a diabetic for years.”
The colonel appeared confused. “So?”
“She would have noticed if her insulin had changed color,” Lucas said. “She would never have injected herself.”
“Perhaps the killer injected her.” The colonel seemed proud of his deduction.
“Wouldn’t she have woken up?” I said.
“Maybe she did and it was too late,” the colonel said.
Lucas shook his head. “Antifreeze takes a while to act. As much as twenty-four hours, depending on size and health of the person. It had to have been administered much earlier. I’m guessing the killer administered it some other way. Once Marilyn was asleep, he or she slipped back in and left the empty syringe, hoping the police would think she’d done it to herself.”
“We need to figure out how she was poisoned,” I muttered.
“We can do that later,” the colonel said. “Right now we must remove the body for safe keeping.”
While Lucas roped Bill into helping him move the body, Colonel Frampton tracked down Rupert and asked him to herd everyone into the drawing room.
“I suggest the dining room instead,” Rupert said. “Everyone could use a hot cup of tea about now.”
The colonel let out an exasperated sigh. I could tell he was about to argue, so I blurted out, “Great idea, Bill.”
The colonel muttered a few choice words about interfering women. I ignored him.
With the body delivered to the refrigerator and the crime scene shut and locked, we marched into the dining room. We must have entered more noisily than I realized because all eyes swung toward us. The colonel cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please. I have some very bad news, I’m afraid.” He cleared his throat again.
“Don’t tell me I’m stuck in this hell hole another day,” Lavender said waspishly. “I have things to do.”
“You’re not the only one, dearie.” Professor Huxton-Barrington’s tone was equally acidic. “Some of us are tired of hearing you whine.”
Lavender glowered at her. “Oh, yeah—.”
“Ladies!” The colonel held up his hands placatingly. “Please. This is not about the weather or the roads. I’m afraid to say, last night...” he trailed off as if afraid of saying it out loud.
“Last night,” I continued for him, “Marilyn Toppenish was murdered.”
Chapter 14
Chocolate and Bacon
THERE WERE SEVERAL gasps and shocked cries of, “Oh, my god” and “What the devil?” Jez looked at me with wide eyes in a pale face, her pale pink mouth forming a perfect “o.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Dead sure.” I winced at my word choice. “I mean, yes. We’re sure.”
“How?” Martin Huxton-Barrington asked. “How was she...killed?”
“Poison,” the colonel offered.
The professor clutched at her proverbial pearls, her less-than-ample bosom heaving dramatically. “The sherry!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jez snapped at her. “We all drank the sherry. If it had been poisoned, it would look like Jonestown in here.”
I thought the professor might faint, but she was made of sterner stuff. She glared at Jez. “What an uncouth young woman you are.”
“At least I’m not a drama queen,” Jez snarled.
“It must have been something she ate,” I interrupted the babble. “Did anyone see what she had for dinner last night?”
“She was in the bar,” Rupert offered. “She had a shepherd’s pie, two glasses of wine, and berry crumble for dessert.”
“And don’t forget stuffed mushrooms for starters,” Lavender said. We all stared at her. She gave us a cool look, her thin lips slightly pursed. “What? I was sitting at the table next to her. And she didn’t have one serving of crumble, she had three.”
“Was it the food?” Monica asked, her pale face creased with worry. She was fiddling nervously with her collar again. The poor cardigan would never be the same again. Not that it was any loss. The thing looked like a mushroom.
“Let’s see. Were the pies indivually cooked?” I turned to Bill.
“No,” Bill said. “I made one large dish and served slices as it was ordered.”
“Did anyone else have shepherd’s pie last night?” I asked.
“I did.” James Carsley stood up. “So did my wife.” He laid his hand protectively on her shoulder.
“So did I,” said Colonel Frampton.
“So, we know it wasn’t the pie. Otherwise the rest of you would have been sick. Or worse.” I sat down and rubbed my temple. Monica let out a strangled sob, which I ignored. “Mushrooms? Anyone have those?”
“I ate three while cooking.” Bill flushed as Rupert shot him a glare. “I was hungry. Anka had them, too.”
“We had them, as well,” said Martin.
“Not the mushrooms then,” I said. “What about the wine?”
“It was a red cab,” Rupert offered. “I served it myself. Ms. Wu had a glass from the same bottle, as did Lucas.”
Lucas nodded. “That’s right. It was excellent wine.”
“What about her glass?” I asked.
“Her glass was pristine. And it’s unlikely anything was dropped in after I poured. The bar was quite busy for dinner service last night, but I took the glass straight out to her.”
“I guess that brings us to the dessert.” I glanced around. Everyone’s hands were raised.
“I only make one dessert per night,” Bill said. “It was served with custard.”
“Sorry I missed that,” I muttered. Lucas just looked smug, drat him.
“It clearly was not anything she ate at dinner,” the colonel pointed out needlessly.
I paced the floor, tapping my chin. “There had to be something she ate no one else did,” I insisted.
“Those stupid chocolates,” Jez muttered.
I stared at her. “What?”
She flushed. “Um, the chocolates. Remember she was eating them last night? And the night before. That was the third box since she’s been here. Or maybe it was the fourth. Anyway, she told me she gets them at Fortnum & Masons in London. She must spend a fortune on them.”
“Did she finish that box last night?” I asked, trying to remember.
“Nope.” Jez shook her head. “It was still about half full wh
en she went to bed for the night. She took it up with her.”
It hadn’t been in her room. I’d looked. “We need to find that box.”
“I’ll check the bins in the kitchen,” Bill offered.
“And I’ll check the ones outside,” said Rupert.
“Anywhere else they might have been tossed?” I asked.
Rupert gave me a helpless shrug. “One of the rooms, maybe? Or the hall bathroom.”
“I’ll check that,” said Lucas.
The three men strode off purposefully on their missions. I kept my fingers crossed they would find something. Meanwhile, I was going to turn the drawing room upside down.
THE FIRE IN THE DRAWING room had yet to be lit and the curtains hadn’t been drawn yet. The entire room was cast into dark shadows. It was actually kind of creepy.
“Perfect place for a ghostly presence to appear, don’t you think?” Jez’s voice nearly had me jumping out of my skin. I turned to see her standing in the doorway, nervously clutching the frame with one hand. She wore a dark colored hoodie with a Star Wars logo on the left breast.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed.
“Wanted to see what you’re up to,” she said. “Figured you were onto something when you hustled out of the dining room. Bacon?” She held up a crispy strip in one hand.
“Uh, no thanks.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She munched on the bacon letting out a little moan of bliss. “When I first got here all they had was that weird stuff the British call bacon. I had to convince Rupert to buy the real deal. Fortunately he managed to get in a shopping trip right before the storm hit.”
I tuned her out and focused on the drawing room. Marilyn had always sat in the armchair closest to the fire. And she’d always kept an open box of chocolates on the end table next to her. The only thing currently on the end table was a lamp, but that didn’t mean the chocolate box wasn’t nearby. I knelt down next to the chair and ran my hands between the cushion and the frame. Nothing. Not that I expected to find anything. Next, I lifted the chair and peered underneath. Still nothing.
Meanwhile, Jez was poking around under the couch. “Nothing here.” Her voice was muffled since she was half-buried under the sofa cushions.
“Keep looking. It can’t have just disappeared.”
She sat back on her heels, frown line between her brows. “What if the killer burned them? The box and whatever chocolates were left. If there were any.”
“Believe me, the thought had occurred. But I don’t see anything in the fireplace down here.” In fact, the thing had been swept clean. “I think we should talk to Anka. She’s clearly been a busy bee.”
“It’s her job.”
Still, suspicion rankled. “Let’s finish searching this room and then we’ll talk to Anka.”
“You vant talk to me?” The strident voice boomed from behind us.
We spun around to find Anka standing in the doorway to the drawing room, hands propped on hips. She had a disgusted look on her face, making her look more sour than usual. Great, she’d overheard me all but accusing her of destroying evidence.
“Um, you cleaned the fireplace this morning, yes? Swept out the ash and whatnot?”
“Yes. That my job.” She didn’t soften one bit.
“Was there anything in it?” I asked.
She gave me a look that spoke volumes on her thoughts about my intelligence. “Vot you say. Ash.”
“She means something else,” Jez said helpfully. “Like someone tried to burn a box or something.”
“No. Just ash. Some vood. Nothing more.”
Curses. There went my theory.
“Okay, thanks, Anka.” I offered her a conciliatory smile.
She snorted and muttered something in Polish. I don’t think it was very nice.
The minute she was out of the room, Jez let out a giggle. “She’s kind of scary. If I were writing a book, she’d definitely be the killer.”
“Good thing you’re not a novelist then,” I said tartly. That just made her laugh harder. I wasn’t sure why it was so funny. It was clear Anka wasn’t involved. She had no motive that I could see. And the woman, though obviously strong, was unlikely to have dragged a dead body all over the house. Blodgett had been at least one hundred and eighty pounds. That dead weight would require some muscle to move. “Back to work,” I said with false cheerfulness.
Fifteen minutes later we’d searched everywhere. Jez and I stood back by the fireplace and scanned the room.
“We looked everywhere. It’s not here.” She sounded disappointed.
My gaze lit on the side table next to Marilyn’s chair. It was one of those tables that doubles as a small bookshelf and magazine rack with shelves along the front and a vee shaped holder in the back. The shelves were neatly filled with paperbacks and the holder was overflowing with magazines and newspapers. But there was a small space between the front feet just wide enough... I marched over to the side table and removed the lamp.
“What are you doing?” Jez asked.
“There’s one place we haven’t looked,” I said and tilted the side table back just enough so I could peer underneath.
Beneath the table in a patch of dust sat a shiny, pink chocolate box. I smiled. “Gotcha.”
Chapter 15
Poking a Bee Hive
I SENT JEZ TO ROUND up the Colonel and Lucas while I used tissue to cover my hands and remove the chocolate box. Hopefully I wouldn’t mess up any fingerprints the killer might have left.
We met Lucas and Colonel Frampton in the kitchen. Bill was with them though Rupert had apparently shut himself in his office. I carefully placed the box in the middle of the butcher block. We all stared at it like it might bite.
“Bill,” Lucas said, “do you happen to have a new pair of kitchen gloves on hand?”
“Better than that,” Bill said. “I’ve got a box of surgical gloves. Use them for cutting up chilies.” He strode to the sink and grabbed a pair of gloves from a box on the shelf above it.
I snagged the gloves from Bill before he could hand them over to Lucas. “I found the box. I want to be the one to open it.”
The gloves were a little big, but they worked well enough. I lifted the lid from the box, careful to keep my fingers to the edges so as not to mess up fingerprints. Inside, about half a dozen uneaten chocolates lay nestled in their paper liners.
“They look fine,” the colonel said, peering through a pair of half-moon reading glasses.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I reminded him. I picked up one of the chocolates and held it to the light, carefully turning it over to examine every angle. “There.” I pointed to the bottom of the chocolate.
“I don’t see anything,” the colonel insisted.
Jez rolled her eyes. “That’s ‘cuz you’re old. I definitely see something. It’s like a tiny little pin prick.”
The colonel flushed crimson, though whether from anger or embarrassment it was hard to tell. “Well,” he harrumphed.
“It’s partially hidden by the hatch design on the bottom,” Lucas said graciously. “Very difficult to see.”
“But it’s definitely there,” I agreed. “I’m betting this is where the killer injected the chocolate with anti-freeze.” I put the chocolate back and picked up another. Sure enough, there was another minute hole in the bottom. One at a time I examined each of the chocolates. “They’ve all got holes.”
“Which means that likely all the chocolates in the box were injected with poison,” Lucas said.
“Or at least half of them were,” Jez interjected.
“What do you mean?” Lucas asked.
“I think this is Marilyn’s second box from yesterday,” Jez said. “Wednesday night she had half a box of chocolates left. It was a pale blue box. I saw her eating from it Thursday around lunch time. By dinner, she’d started in on a pink box.” She pointed to the one sitting on the butcher block. “Had to be that one.”
“All right, so she started on
this box before dinner. I’m betting those weren’t poisoned. Not based on when she died,” I said. “Otherwise she would have been feeling sick at dinner.”
“Definitely not,” Jez said. “She was packing it away as usual. I’ve never seen anyone who could eat like Marilyn. Well, except this guy I dated a couple years ago. Frank. Skinny as a rail, but he could down two pizzas in a sitting. Large pizzas. Plus a six pack of beer. Made me homicidal. I gain weight if I even look at a pizza.”
I totally felt her pain.
“All right,” Lucas said, “whoever poisoned the remaining chocolates did it in the evening after Marilyn went to dinner. Did she take the chocolates with her?”
Jez shook her head. “I don’t know. I was with Viola ghost hunting. But Marilyn always left them sitting on the lamp stand until she went up to bed.”
“So, they had to have been poisoned while she was at dinner,” Lucas said. “Who wasn’t in the dining room when Marilyn was?” He glanced over at Colonel Frampton who shrugged.
“I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it was, dear boy. Perhaps that’s a question best put to the rest of the guests. Unless Bill knows?” He turned to Bill, one bushy eyebrow lifted.
“When I’m in the kitchen, I’m in my own world. I could tell you what was ordered, but not who ordered it.”
“But you deliver the food, too,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “Yeah. Sometimes. And sometimes Rupert does.”
“What about last night?” I prodded. “Jez and I weren’t there, obviously. So, who was? Where did you deliver orders?”
He scrunched up his face in thought. “Shepherd’s pie near the fire. That was the colonel. That girl with the flower name had a salad in her room.” I could only assume he meant Lavender. “Shepherd’s pie for Lucas at the bar. The professor had pie but her husband had fish and chips. They sat near the colonel. Fish and chips for the Carsleys, but they came in later. Service was almost through.”
Which meant neither the Carsley’s nor Lavender Wu had cast iron alibis for poisoning the chocolates. Problem was, none of them had motives that I could see.
