Case of the Muffin Murders

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  It was too late. Even though Vance hadn’t completed his sentence, both corgis began barking excitedly. Sherlock started running laps around my legs while Watson added her high-pitched yips every four or five seconds. I glanced over at Vance and scowled.

  “Nice going. Don’t you own a dog? Have you ever asked Anubis if he wants to go outside?”

  “All the time, pal. And not once does he act like that.”

  Vance unlocked the glass patio door and slid it open. Both corgis bolted outside. Almost immediately, two corgi butts were forcefully shoved back into the kitchen as each dog failed to see that there was a screen door in place.

  “Nice going,” I grinned, as I slid the screen door open, too. “What do you two do for an encore?”

  Watson paid the insult no heed. Sherlock, however, gave me a look which wiped the smile off my face. It was a look that promised some type of retaliation.

  Dogs.

  The backyard was small and completely fenced, so I didn’t have to worry about the dogs running into something that they shouldn’t. The first thing I noticed was that there was a small 10’x20’ grass lawn. Bordering the lawn were several narrow flower beds, filled with petunias, marigolds, and a variety of other colorful flowers. Behind the small lawn was an even smaller garden, complete with rows of tiny green plants that were just starting to emerge from several dirt rows. Finally, up against the wooden fence, was a row of dense evergreen shrubs with large, leathery leaves.

  “This is nice,” I decided. “All that’s missing is a good barbecue.”

  “I can buy that,” Vance agreed. “Thanks to those trees on the right, and the two on the other side of the fence, I’d say it was pretty private back here. Well, aside from the simple wooden fence here which separates these two units.”

  A uniformed policeman suddenly poked his head out of the house and gave a loud cough. Seeing how the next door neighbor could be home, and I didn’t want the dogs to disturb them in any fashion, I hurriedly checked on Sherlock and Watson. To their credit, neither corgi had freaked out at the intrusion. Both had glanced up at the newcomer, blinked their eyes a few times, and then returned to sniffing around the flower beds. I wasn’t sure if I should be miffed or not. Shouldn’t they be barking? What if it had been a burglar?

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Detective, but a news crew just pulled up. They’re looking to talk to the person in charge. Oh, hello, Mr. Anderson. I should’ve known you’d be here. And of course, there’s Sherlock and Watson. Hey, you two. It’s nice to see you again!”

  All of a sudden, it felt like I was trying to rein in two Clydesdales who were now intent on pulling me back to the house. At some point, the dogs must have met this particular policeman before. No wonder they hadn’t barked. Why couldn’t I remember his name?

  “I’ll handle this. Zack, you’re okay out here?”

  “We’re fine. Go. Do your thing.”

  Once Vance and the officer left, Sherlock started tugging on his leash. I could only presume he wanted to continue exploring the flower beds. I felt a tug on my right arm. Watson had decided she wanted to sniff along the flower bed, but on the opposite side of the lawn. Yep, Sherlock was on the left while Watson was on the right. Plus, they were almost level with each other as they progressed down the small lawn. As a result, my arms were stretched uncomfortably apart as neither dog was willing to give up their position for the other.

  “Yep. This is fun. Can we speed this up, guys?”

  Sherlock almost immediately abandoned his flower bed and looked over at the garden. He pulled on his leash, anxious to check out the four neat rows of raised earth with little green plants poking out here and there. When he noticed his packmate hadn’t joined him, Sherlock shook his collar. Watson glanced over, saw that she was being watched, and immediately abandoned her own search. Then, as one, they walked over to the garden.

  Bemused, I trailed off after them.

  Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t a farmer, but even I could recognize some of the plants that Megan had been growing. Half of the first row looked like it was corn. The other half was perhaps potatoes? Then I could see what I thought was carrots. And those? With the huge leaves forming on the tiny plant stems? I think they were some kind of squash. In back of the third row was a haphazard line of bright green shrubs.

  The dogs took their sweet time as they walked – slowly – up and down each row, stopping to sniff every single plant they passed. I must have taken at least two dozen different pictures of the garden, from about every vantage point imaginable. I was truly hoping that Sherlock would linger longer than a few seconds at one of the plants, but nope. Instead, he lifted his nose and looked at the back fence.

  I felt another tug. Looks like he wanted to check those shrubs out, too. Whatever.

  “There’s nothing here, pal. Come on, let’s go. I think we’re done here.”

  Sherlock hesitated at the shrubs just long enough for me to groan, pull out my cell, and snap a few pics. At this rate, I was going to have to transfer those pictures off my phone by the end of the week. It didn’t have a lot of extra storage, and since I’d been taking pictures of anything Sherlock so much as looked at, my phone was filling up fast.

  Suddenly, Sherlock’s ears perked up. His head cocked to one side, as though he had heard a strange sound, and then promptly pulled me up next to the cedar fence. Watson seemed content to tag along, as though she was curious to see what Sherlock had up his sleeve. I stared down at the line of knee-high shrubs that were growing along the base of the fence and turned to Sherlock.

  “What about ‘em? What am I looking for?”

  In response, Sherlock immediate started digging, prairie dog style. For such a small, squat dog, I will say that he was perfectly built for digging. Sherlock was flinging dirt back nearly ten feet as he furiously dug into the soft earth. In just a few moments, Watson had joined him, only she had picked a completely different spot to dig. Five seconds later, I had two dirt-covered dogs digging as though their very lives depended on it.

  “Will you two knock it off? What are you trying to do? Get us kicked out of here? Leave that be. Off!”

  “Wait,” Vance told me as he strode forward to watch the dogs dig. “I’ll take the heat for this. What if one of them finds a skull or something?”

  “And I thought I watched too much television,” I grumbled. “Besides, they’re making a helluva mess.”

  “I want to see what’s set Sherlock off,” Vance argued. “I know your dog well, buddy. Something has sparked his attention. I want to know what.”

  After a few more minutes of relentless digging, Sherlock finally stopped, gave himself a thorough shaking to dislodge as much dirt as possible, then promptly sat down. Watson continued to dig, oblivious to the fact that her packmate seemed to be finished. Sherlock glanced over at his roommate and deliberately shook his head, giving his collar a good jingling.

  Watson finally paused and looked over. She saw that we were all watching her once more and immediately sat in the dirt she had dug out of her hole. I cringed when I saw that her beautiful red and white fur was now almost uniformly brown.

  Sherlock continued to stare at me as Vance tentatively reached into the hole Sherlock had dug. I watched my detective friend feel around the confines of the hole for a few moments before his eyebrows suddenly shot straight up. He yanked his hand out of the hole as though he had been bitten by a snake.

  “What is it?” I asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  Vance held out his hand. I could see a few drops of blood trickling down his thumb. He was bleeding! How did that happen? What was in the hole? And for that matter, was Sherlock okay?

  I pulled my multi-tool off my belt, unfolded the needle-nose pliers, and handed them to Vance. The detective slowly reached into the hole and then carefully pulled his arm back up. Eager to see what was there, I leaned forward. With hands that were starting to shake, Vance warily held up a syringe.

  FOUR


  “Dude, we need to get you to the hospital,” I declared. I gathered up both leashes, wrapped them around my left hand, and pointed back at the house with my right. “As in, right now.”

  “Relax. We really don’t know what’s in this thing.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. We’re at a crime scene, pal. Someone was poisoned in that house. You told me that she died from arsenic poisoning and now, you’ve been pricked by a syringe? I saw your face. You were worried. You still are. Come on. We need to get you checked out.

  “Fine. No, I can drive. We can…”

  I physically pushed Vance toward the house, stopping only long enough to retrieve the syringe from where Vance had dropped it. I used my pliers to pick the thing up by the needle, maneuvered it so that the needle part was inside the plier’s jaws, and then locked them closed. Only then did we head toward our cars.

  “Vance, get in the damn Jeep. I’m driving. Sherlock, Watson, back seat. Now.”

  Apparently, I was using my seldom-heard daddy voice. The dogs didn’t brook any arguments, not that they typically did. Once everyone was inside, I took off. I pulled out my cell and waggled it in the air.

  “Shouldn’t you be calling this in?”

  I think the seriousness of the situation was starting to hit him. Vance’s face had gone pale and the trembling in his fingers worsened. He nodded, pulled out his own cell, but fumbled it so badly that he dropped it down between the seat and the console.

  “Don’t worry about it, pal,” I told him. “I’ve got this.”

  I pressed the red emergency button on my stereo and instantly heard the sophisticated machine dial three numbers on my cell.

  “911. Please state the nature of your emergency.”

  “Possible medical emergency. I have Detective Vance Samuelson here with me. He was jabbed with a needle that could have been exposed to arsenic. I’m on my way to the hospital right now.”

  There was a pause on the phone. I had to check the stereo’s display to confirm the call was still connected. Since when do emergency dispatchers fall silent?

  “Still with me? This is no joke. I’ll be at the hospital in a couple of minutes. I want someone to meet us outside.”

  “Zack, is he okay?”

  I knew that voice. It was my friend Harry’s wife, Julie. I had forgotten that she works for the police department and part of her job responsibilities was to sometimes man the emergency line.

  “He’s okay for now, Julie. We’re just not taking any chances.”

  “Good. Do you have the needle with you?”

  “Yes, I have the syringe. I picked it up, figuring it’d have to be tested.”

  “Good thinking. I’ve just placed the hospital on alert. They should be waiting for you.”

  “Fantastic. Thanks, Julie.”

  Sure enough, two doctors and four nurses were waiting for us at the emergency entrance. They pulled Vance out of my Jeep even before I had set the brake. Then the entire group hurried inside, with one nurse staying behind. She smiled fleetingly at the dogs before looking back at me with a grave expression on her face.

  “They tell me he was accidentally poked with a syringe, and that it may have had arsenic in it. By any chance, do you have that syringe?”

  I nodded and pointed at the cup holder by my gear shift lever. My pliers were visible, with the needle clamped securely in its jaws. The nurse produced a little baggie and held it open. I released the lock and allowed the syringe to drop into the clear plastic bag.

  “How soon before you’ll know anything?” I asked, before the nurse could rush inside the hospital.

  “As soon as we know, you’ll know, Mr. Anderson.”

  “Thank you,” I called after the nurse as she turned on her heel and hurried into the hospital.

  Wait. I hadn’t introduced myself. How had she known my name? This was definitely a small town. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, only I was still the newcomer here. Oh, well.

  I parked my Jeep, walked inside to let them know I’d be waiting outside in my car, with my dogs, and asked them to let me know if anything happened. Fifteen minutes later, a silver PT Cruiser came tearing around the corner and practically skidded the last ten feet into place next to my Jeep. Tori, Vance’s wife, hurried out of her car and threw her arms around me just as soon as I stepped out of mine.

  “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “For what? Taking him to the hospital? He’d have done the same for me.”

  Tori shook her head, “No, this was for forcing him to come here. I know full well how difficult that man can be when it comes to taking care of himself. He must have really been scared to agree to let you bring him here.”

  “I really didn’t phrase it in such a way where I was looking for his input,” I explained. “I told him we were not going to take any chances. We were at a crime scene. The confirmed COD was death by arsenic, and we just so happened to locate a syringe? And Vance jabs the damn thing into his finger? Hell no. We’ll let the doctors assure us that everything will be okay. In the off-chance that it isn’t, well, this is the place to be.”

  “Did you want to wait inside?” Tori asked.

  I could see that her eyes were red. Worry lines were etched all over her face. This was a lady that needed desperately needed to hear some good news. I heard a whine come from my Jeep. I smiled at her and pointed at the back seat.

  “I’ve got the dogs with me. Did you want to wait in here with me? I already told the nurses at the counter that I was out here and to let me know if anything changes.”

  Tori wordlessly opened the passenger door and took the seat next to me.

  “What happened, Zack? Did you see him poke himself with this syringe?”

  I sighed and shook my head, “No, I didn’t see it happen, but I was there. We were checking out the backyard when Sherlock gets a bee up his bonnet and decides to start digging a hole near the fence. I wanted to make him stop, only Vance decided we should let him finish, just to see if he could find anything. Well, I’m sorry to say, he found something.”

  “Sherlock was the one who found the syringe? He didn’t hurt himself, did he?”

  “I wondered about that, too. I checked his paws just as soon as I saw that Vance had been pricked by that needle. Sherlock didn’t yelp, or cringe, or do anything else which would indicate he was in pain. To tell the truth, I’ve kept a watchful eye on him for the past twenty minutes. He doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong. Nevertheless, once I’m done here, I’m going to swing by Harry’s clinic. I just texted him. He said he’ll be waiting for us. I want Sherlock checked out from head to toe.”

  “That’s smart thinking, Zack. Oh, what if that syringe is the murder weapon? What if something happens to Vance? I don’t know what I’ll do. I… I… I think I’m going to kill him myself.”

  Frowning, I turned to the tall redhead and stared at her.

  “What was that?”

  Tori pointed wordlessly at the hospital’s emergency entrance. She exited my Jeep and started walking toward Vance, who was heading straight for us with a lop-sided grin on his face. Husband and wife met up nearly a dozen feet from my Jeep. I couldn’t quite hear what they said to each other, only that whatever was in that syringe hadn’t been lethal.

  “Are you okay, pal?” I asked as I stepped out of my car.

  “Perfectly fine. You’re never going to believe what was in that syringe.”

  “I’m just hoping it wasn’t some type of narcotic,” I replied.

  “I’ll second that notion,” Tori echoed.

  “Peanut extract.”

  “Say what?” I asked, confused. “Why the hell would peanut oil be in a syringe? And how did they find out so fast?”

  “The contents were obvious,” Vance explained, “once the needle was removed and the doctors sniffed the syringe. And it was peanut extract, not oil.”

  “What’s the difference?” I wanted to know.

  Vance’s mouth opened, the
n closed. He looked at Tori, who shrugged.

  “We’d need Jillian here to answer that,” Tori decided. “You can’t own a cookbook store and not know about things like that.”

  “What the hell was peanut extract doing in a syringe?” I reiterated. “I mean, at least we know how Sherlock found it. He must have smelled it.”

  Vance shrugged, “What difference does it make? It was a false alarm. There was no arsenic in that thing, and that’s all I care about.”

  “Shouldn’t you be asking yourself why a syringe would be found in a dead woman’s backyard?” Tori asked as she turned to her husband.

  Vance nodded, “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ll have the lab boys process that syringe just as soon as they’re done processing all of the other samples. There’s always a chance there could have been something else in there besides peanut extract, and if so, I want to know. To be frank, I’ve never seen our crime scene crew so busy. Or so happy. And we all have Zack to thank for that.”

  “What?” Tori asked, puzzled. She looked over at me and frowned. “What does Zack have to do with busy crime scene techs? What did he do?”

  “He moved here,” Vance answered, with a grin.

  I shook my head, “Kiss my ass, amigo.”

  “Play nice,” Tori ordered, as she gave Vance a smack on his shoulder.

  “Well, it’s true,” Vance chortled.

  “I’m going home,” Tori decided. “I need to let the girls know you’re okay. They were both pretty worried. When will you be home?”

  “Well, I still need to check in with the department. I need to let them know I’m okay. In fact, I can do that now.” Vance punched some numbers on his cell and waited. “This is Detective Samuelson. What? No, I’m fine, Jules. Thanks for asking. Hmm? No, it had peanut extract in it. Go figure, right? So, for the time being, I’m gonna smell like… what? What?? Would you say that again?”

  Vance tapped the display on his phone, switching the call to the speakerphone.

  “I said,” Julie was slowly saying, “we just received another 10-55 call.”

  I didn’t need to ask about that particular code. Hell, I just heard it earlier today. There was another dead body, not just a potential one? Here in Pomme Valley? What were the odds of that happening? What was going on around here, anyway?