“That makes sense.” I took a deep breath. “By the way, I wanted to apologize to you and Alison. I didn’t realize Kurt hadn’t invited you to the party, or I would’ve insisted he include you.”
Brad shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. We understood. Between you and me, I think Kendrick is a little leery of inviting the authorities to his home, even as guests.”
“But you’ve been there before,” I said, and then cursed my stupidity. Yes, Brad had once attended a holiday party at Kurt’s home. But only because he’d been Sunny’s date.
Fortunately, Brad didn’t appear disconcerted by this remark. I guess he’s really, truly over Sunny. It was a thought that made me happy, for Alison Frye’s sake as well as Brad’s.
“You could be right,” I said, keeping my tone light. “By the way, is there any news on Mr. Selvaggio’s death? Any that you can share, I mean.”
Brad’s pleasant expression turned stony. “Unfortunately, yes. And I can tell you one thing, because it will be all over the evening news anyway—it wasn’t a natural death.”
“What?” The pitch of my voice made Mrs. Dinterman, one of our regular patrons, turn from the cookbook section to stare at me.
“Yes,” Brad said grimly. “He was killed.”
“But there wasn’t any blood …” I pressed my palms against my temples. Despite our vow to avoid such things, it looked like Richard and I had stumbled onto another murder.
“Because Mr. Selvaggio died from ingesting a poison.” Brad straightened the brim of his hat before placing it back on his head. “The coroner confirmed that easily enough. Aconitum. Even though it does occur naturally, it’s not something Selvaggio could’ve accidentally ingested, especially not in that concentration.”
“That’s from a plant, right?” I leaned into the desk to brace my wobbly legs.
“Yeah, aconite. Commonly called monkshood or wolfsbane or blue rocket.” Brad shrugged. “I’m no gardener, but I was told that it’s common enough and can be found in flower beds all over this region.”
“But how would Mr. Selvaggio have ingested it?”
“Someone obviously made a tincture out of the roots, which are the most poisonous part, according to our expert. It could’ve then been slipped into a drink, something with a strong enough taste to mask the poison, and Selvaggio wouldn’t have necessarily noticed.”
An image of Adele stirring a dark liquid in a glass flashed through my mind. And then there was my dad’s remark about Kurt handing his rival a snifter of cognac … I cut Brad off with a wave of my hand. “But regardless, why did Mr. Selvaggio end up out in that shed? You think he was lured there by his murderer?”
Brad’s frown deepened. “We aren’t sure, although Mr. Selvaggio’s assistant, a young woman called Honor Bryant, claims that he rushed outside after receiving a text. Unfortunately, Selvaggio’s phone is missing, so we have no way to verify that yet.”
“You think someone drew Oscar Selvaggio out to that shed and then gave him a drink laced with poison?”
“Not necessarily. He could’ve been poisoned a little earlier. Not long before, as aconite in that dosage tends to kill pretty quickly, but there could’ve been a short gap between him drinking the poison and collapsing in the shed. Long enough for him to stumble out there and die, anyway.” Brad pulled at his tight collar. “Our expert says the symptoms can be mistaken for a stomachache, or just a racing heart and difficulty breathing. Which wouldn’t have been that unusual in a man of his age and physical condition.”
“So, deliberately poisoned.” I traced a question mark across the surface of the desk with my finger. “But why?”
“Over a valuable artifact, maybe? Sorry, Amy, but from everything I’ve learned, Oscar Selvaggio appeared at that party uninvited and unannounced. In fact, at this point it seems unlikely that any of the guests would’ve known he had any plans to visit Highview, that day or any other.” Brad’s steely expression softened. “Which points to the one person who might’ve expected his arrival. Someone battling him for possession of what I understand is an extremely valuable book. A man who had a reason to want Selvaggio out of the way. Your host, and sadly, now our primary suspect.”
“Kurt Kendrick,” I said, my fingers clenching as Brad nodded.
Chapter Eight
I was doubly glad for my date at Richard’s house after work. It was one of the rare days in April when he didn’t have to stay late at Clarion University for an end-of-semester dance rehearsal, which meant I’d actually get to see him before ten or eleven in the evening. It allowed me to share Brad’s information with him face-to-face.
“The authorities really think Kurt is the most likely suspect?” Richard leaned back against the sofa cushions and stared up at the high ceiling of his living room. “It just doesn’t compute with me. Kurt’s too clever to murder someone on his own property. And he certainly wouldn’t do so at a party where any number of people could have seen something.”
I shot him a sidelong glance. “I notice you aren’t claiming he wouldn’t ever kill anyone.”
Richard met my raised-eyebrow expression with a wry smile. “Should I?”
“Probably not.” I stroked the sleek fur of the tortoiseshell cat curled up on my lap. “But I agree it seems out of character. Not the murder, perhaps, but the sloppy way it was handled.”
“What’s your opinion, Loie?” Richard asked, leaning in to pet the cat. She rolled over and stared up at him with her bright-green eyes. “No comment? A lot of good you are.”
Loie yawned, displaying her sharp white teeth.
“She finds our human concerns beneath her,” I said. “By the way, where’s Fosse? He’s usually looking for a lap the minute Loie finds one.”
“Basking in the sunshine on the porch, last time I looked.” Richard draped his arm around my shoulders. “They were both out there before you arrived, so I’m sure he’ll bound into the room as soon as he wakes up and realizes Loie has disappeared.”
“No doubt. By the way, there’s another thing I wanted to mention related to the party.” I tightened my lips as I considered my next words. I had to tread carefully. Adele Tourneau was someone Richard cared about deeply.
“What’s that?” Richard’s fingers caressed my shoulder. “Not something about my parents, I hope. I know they were being … well, I guess less than congenial is the nicest way to phrase it.”
“Nothing like that. It was something else that gave me pause.” I took a deep breath. “When I was in the kitchen, I saw Adele in the butler’s pantry, pouring a very stiff drink.”
Richard’s dark eyebrows arched. “You’re afraid she’s turned into a secret alcoholic? I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I know she likes a shot now and then, but she’s never been one to overdo it.”
“It wasn’t that. As far as I’m concerned, she can grab a drink whenever she wants. It’s just the way she was acting, like I had caught her doing something she didn’t want anyone to see.” I leaned closer to Richard and looked up at him from under my lowered eyelashes. “Like spiking a drink, maybe?”
Richard sat back and pulled his arm away. “With what? I hope you aren’t suggesting she poisoned Selvaggio.”
“Of course not,” I said, straightening until my back didn’t touch the cushions. Loie glared at me before making a disgruntled noise and leaping onto the coffee table. “But if someone else saw her, they might’ve wondered.”
“Did you mention this encounter to the authorities?”
“No, because frankly, I forgot all about it until Brad mentioned that Selvaggio had been poisoned.”
Richard’s gaze slid to the wall behind my shoulder. “I imagine they can figure out whether he had a particular liquor in his system. That will clarify things.”
“Which is why I still see no point in mentioning the incident. If I hear that it was whiskey or brandy or anything that color”—I crossed my arms over my chest—“I may have to say something. I couldn’t see any label on the decanter, b
ut the color was distinctive enough to know it wasn’t a clear liquid like gin or vodka.”
When Richard lowered his gaze, I could read the distress in his gray eyes. “I’ve never seen Adele drink whisky or brandy or any dark liquor.”
I reached out to clasp his hands. “Maybe she was making it for someone else. I mean, I got that impression, and it’s actually what she told me. Perhaps for Kurt. She could’ve just been looking out for him. You know how it is when you’re the host—sometimes you don’t have time to snag any food or drink for yourself.”
Richard tightened his grip. “Maybe. That would be something Adele would do. She’s always looked after others.”
“Right.” I gave his fingers a gentle squeeze before releasing his hands. “Anyway, my dad mentioned something about Kurt handing Selvaggio a cognac too, which I guess keeps him at the top of the suspect list.”
“Better him than Adele,” Richard said, meeting my inquiring gaze with a tight smile. “Let’s face it—if anyone could outwit a murder charge, it would be Kurt.”
“True, but let’s not worry about all that right now. Especially where Adele is concerned. I mean, what possible reason could she have to harm anyone?”
“None I can think of.” Richard exhaled a gusty breath that made Loie jump off the coffee table. “I just don’t like the thought of either Kurt or Adele being under suspicion.”
“I’m not too fond of that idea myself. But seriously, I’m sure neither one of them are involved.” I leaned in and gave Richard a swift kiss. “No reason to worry.”
“Are you trying to distract me?” he asked, taking hold of my shoulders.
“Is it working?”
“Always does,” he replied, before pulling me in for a more serious kiss.
After several minutes, a paw batting my bare foot made me pull away. “What do you want now?” I asked Loie, who stared up at me innocently before casually nipping my big toe.
I yanked my foot away, sharing a few choice words about Loie’s parentage.
Richard laughed. “That’s one way to get your attention.”
I made a face at him. “Oh yeah, very nice. Let her bite you and see how funny it is.”
“She’s done it plenty of times. Often while I’m dancing, which is even worse,” Richard said, his expression sobering. “Look, she has something wrapped around her tail. What is that?”
I leaned down and pulled a fragment of fabric from Loie’s fur. “Bit of ribbon,” I said, before a crash resounded from the back of the house. I jerked up my head to meet Richard’s horrified gaze.
“The gifts!” we shouted in unison as we both leapt to our feet.
Richard, with his longer stride, beat me to the small room located directly across the hall from the kitchen. Normally used as an office, it had been commandeered as storage space for the wedding gifts we’d already received. The gaily wrapped packages were piled on an old wooden desk that filled the center of the room.
Or they had been stacked on the desk. Now half of them lay in a jumble on the floor.
“Thank goodness there’s a thick rug,” I said, hoping none of the tumbled gifts held breakable items.
“Another reason I’m glad we didn’t request any formal china or crystal,” Richard said, scooping up one of the packages. He shook it near his ear. “Nothing rattling.”
“Except my nerves.” I grabbed a couple of smaller boxes. “How did the cats get in here? I thought you were keeping the door closed.”
“I was, but I swear that one”—Richard pointed toward an orange tabby crouched inside one bookcase shelf—“has opposable thumbs.”
The cat turned his golden-eyed gaze on me. “Fosse, did you really open the door?” I asked as I placed the gifts I held on the desk.
“It’s possible, especially if the door wasn’t tightly latched, which would’ve been my fault.” Richard sighed. “I’ve caught him before, sticking a paw under and wiggling it back and forth until the door popped open.”
“Naughty cat.” I picked up a small blue box with a tightly fitted lid. “Hold on, I don’t remember seeing this one before. Did someone just recently drop it off, or was it mailed?”
Richard deposited the last of the tumbled boxes on the desk before turning to look at the gift I held. “Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know. There isn’t a tag.” I turned the box over, but found nothing to indicate the sender.
“Maybe it’s inside.” Richard frowned as he moved closer. “That’s odd. I don’t remember receiving that box, and it isn’t even wrapped …”
“I know. Just a box without wrapping paper. And the box looks old too, doesn’t it?” I held the gift up to the light spilling in from the back window. “Like the color has faded over time.”
“Could’ve been stored for a while before it was used. But yeah, it’s a little unusual.” Richard tapped the box lid with his forefinger. “This doesn’t feel like the typical cardboard used in boxes today. It’s a much heavier material.”
“Should we open it? I think we should,” I said.
“I thought we were waiting a few weeks to unwrap everything. Hasn’t Lydia planned some sort of family dinner around that?”
“Yes, but”—I touched the lid with my fingertip—“for some reason, I feel we should open this one now. I mean, it’s one mystery we can easily solve, and I could use one of those.”
“Okay, why not.” Richard offered me a warm smile. “You do the honors.”
I smiled in return before popping off the lid to reveal a smaller hinged box covered in white velvet flocking. “Looks like a jeweler’s box.”
“Also looks old.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Well, here goes.” I lifted the lid. Nestled in a bed of sapphire blue silk lay an antique-looking pendant on a gold chain.
Richard leaned in to peer at the contents. “That’s different. Is there a card?”
I gently peeked under the lining, then glanced at the underside of the hinged lid, thinking it might be taped there. “No, I don’t see anything.”
“Strange,” Richard said. “Who’d send jewelry without a note? Especially since it looks like an antique.”
I lifted the pendant from the box. At first glance, I’d assumed that the decoration had been painted on a convex oval of ceramic or metal enclosed in a gold frame, but then I realized it was actually real flowers under glass. Dainty sky-blue petals and fragile gray-green stems and leaves were pressed against a feathery background of white milkweed floss.
“This must be old. It’s something they did in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century,” I said, setting the box on the desk as I handed the pendant to Richard. “Although I suppose it could be a modern reproduction.”
Richard held up the pendant by its chain. “From the look of the goldwork, I’d say it’s probably original. Mom has a lot of antique jewelry, and this chain and bezel are similar to her pieces.” He dropped the pendant into his palm and looked at it more closely. “What are the flowers?”
“I think they’re forget-me-nots.”
Looking up, Richard gave me a knowing look. “It’s something old and something blue.”
“What?” I crossed over to the bookshelf and pulled a protesting Fosse into my arms.
“You know, the old rhyme—something borrowed, something blue, something old, something new?”
“Oh, right.” As soon as I set the wriggling cat down on the floor, he dashed out the door and into the hall. “Someone obviously sent this for me to wear on our wedding day.” I took the necklace from Richard and held it up to my neck. “But who?”
“A mysterious benefactor, apparently.” Richard looked me over. “It does look good on you. But I don’t know how well it will go with your dress.”
“Quite well, I’d say. I might need to adjust the chain, but otherwise it will probably work.” I balanced the pendant in one palm, allowing the chain to drape over my hand. “Anyway, I think I’ll take this back to Aunt Lydia’s and keep it with my othe
r jewelry.”
“Are you going to show it to her? She might have some idea where it came from. Maybe one of her friends?”
“I’ll ask, for sure.” I grabbed the white box from the edge of the desk and carefully placed the necklace back inside before slipping it into the deep pocket of my cotton dress. “But what do you say we head into the kitchen? I don’t know what you’ve planned for dinner tonight, but whatever it is, I’m happy to help put it together.”
“No need,” Richard said, as he followed me out of the office. “I confess to cheating and buying premade dishes at a gourmet shop near Clarion. All that’s required is removing some packaging and microwaving.”
“Good, ’cause I’m suddenly starving.” I watched as Richard closed the office door and then double-checked that it was secure. “Cat-proofed now?”
“If anything can be,” he said with a grin.
We were greeted by both Loie and Fosse, who were sitting smack-dab in the middle of the archway that led into the kitchen. I slipped past them while Richard headed for the cabinet where he stored the dry cat food. “I know, I know,” he said. “I have to feed you two first. Or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“They have their priorities,” I said.
“Yeah, themselves,” Richard replied, in an indulgent tone that told me he didn’t really mind. He filled their bowls before turning back to me. “Sometimes I think we’re their pets, to be honest.”
I slipped my arms around him and looked up into his amused face. “You ever doubted that?”
“Not really,” Richard said, before kissing me.
Chapter Nine
My new library assistant, Samantha Green, had quickly learned that spotting the “The Nightingale” meant a dash into the stacks. This particular patron had earned her nickname by her habit of trying to “help” by shelving any books left out on tables or elsewhere. The only problem was that the Nightingale, who’d never learned the Dewey decimal system, tended to shove books anywhere. Adult fiction ended up in the auto repair section, while children’s picture books were interspersed among the cookbooks. Knowing this, the library staff and volunteers had learned to shadow the Nightingale as she made her rounds.
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