Book Club Killer (3 page)

Chapter 5

Once Detective Ford had introduced
himself to everyone in the living room, he briefly explained that he would be
conducting the official investigation. Then he dropped a bombshell that left me
feeling numb and speechless.

“There’s one more thing I need to
tell you,” the detective said in a calm, steady tone. “This is now a murder
case. I’m very sorry to share such distressing news with you, but the emergency
team at the hospital was unable to revive your friend.”

My heart shuddered in my chest as
Vanessa gasped and covered her face.

“This is horrible!” Susie draped
one arm around Dora’s shoulders for support. “Why would anyone want to kill
such a wonderful person?”

The room plunged into silence as we
contemplated the terrible news. I’d known Rosemary for years, and the cruel twist
of fate seemed incomprehensible. She’d been so alive and vivacious; always
telling a joke, offering help to anyone in need, volunteering each week at one
of the city’s soup kitchens.

Detective Ford stood quietly,
respectfully giving us time to process the upsetting announcement. After a few
minutes, he cleared his throat and stepped into the middle of the room.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” he
said. “And I hope you’ll understand that I’m simply doing my job by asking a
few questions.”

Dora blinked at him. “Why are you
questioning us?” she asked in a delicate voice.

“It’s standard procedure,” Ford
said. “Your friend Rosemary was coming to Mrs. Sullivan’s house today for your
book club. We suspect the dip she ate here may have been poisoned, so it’s customary
to interview anyone who was a witness or may have been known to the deceased.”

“Did you say she was poisoned?” I
asked.

The detective nodded. “That’s what
the medical examiner suspects, based on the symptoms that Mrs. Swanson was
experiencing before she succumbed in the ambulance.”

“What happened?” Susie asked.

“Respiratory failure,” Ford said.
“The EMTs were able to revive her once, but the spasms became increasingly
violent as she struggled to breathe.”

The news left us stunned into silence
again. I glanced around the room, but the others were deep in thought. Dora was
shaking her head as tears streamed down her face. Eve stared blankly at her
fingers as they fiddled nervously in her lap. Susie leaned forward, dropping
her head into her hands. And Vanessa was mindlessly flipping through the book
we’d gathered to discuss.

“When was the last time any of you
spoke with Rosemary?” Detective Ford asked. “I mean, besides you, Jana.”

“Last night,” Susie said. “I called
to ask if she wanted a ride to book club, but she told me she had an
appointment before this so she’d drive herself.”

Vanessa sniffled and shook her
head. “We exchanged emails a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t actually talked
to her since the last time our group met.”

Ford nodded. “What about you, Miss
Anderson?” he said, turning to Dora. “Have you talked with Rosemary recently?”

Dora smiled at the handsome
detective. “I haven’t talked to Rosemary since the last book club meeting.” She
lowered her chin and fluttered her lashes. “And you can call me Dora,” she
added. “I’m not one to stand on formality or tradition.”

Vanessa scoffed. “Or common
decency,” she said. “This isn’t the time or place to flirt,
Miss
Anderson.”

Despite the obvious tension between
Vanessa and Dora, Detective Ford nodded and moved on to Eve.

“Mrs. Walker?”

“I had lunch with Rosemary
yesterday,” she said.

“Did she seem troubled by
anything?” Ford asked. “Did she mention any disagreements with friends, family
members or coworkers?”

Eve shot a quick glance at Dora
before looking back at the detective. “Not at lunch,” she said. “But someone
had been sending her strange letters.” She frowned and shuddered. “You know—like
to intimidate her or scare her into paying some money.”

Dora narrowed her eyes and glared
at Eve. “Well, it wasn’t
me
,” she snapped.

“I didn’t say that it was,” said
Eve. “Rosemary thought it might have been related to something that happened
with a man who was painting their house.”

“What did she tell you?” Ford
asked.

Eve shrugged. “Not much more than
that,” she said. “I guess some money went missing one day when the man was
working at Rosemary’s. Since no one else had been there, she asked the painter
if he’d taken it. I guess the man got really angry and aggressive, so Rosemary
told him to pack up his things and go. Her husband followed up with a phone
call later, but the man still denied taking the money and threatened to cause
trouble if they didn’t pay him for the full job.”

Dora smirked. “That sounds like
her,” she said. “Always blaming other people for her own shortcomings.”

I took a deep breath and squared my
shoulders. “Dora?”

“Yes?” Her eyes flashed with anger.
“What is it, Jana?”

“Could you please be more
respectful?” I said slowly. “Rosemary just died. I know that we all react to
upsetting news in different ways, but I think—”

“You’re right,” Dora said, slumping
against the back of the sofa. “I’m so…” She put one hand over her mouth. “I’m
just so embarrassed,” she continued after a brief pause. “Rosemary and I didn’t
get along all that well, but I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Vanessa reached over and patted her
arm. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. It’s like Jana said—we all handle things
like this differently. You’re in shock.” She glanced at the detective. “We’re
all in shock, Mr. Ford. Do you think that maybe we could talk to you some other
time?”

The detective’s jaw tightened. “Of
course,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I’ll give you my card. I know the
officers who arrived with the ambulance got contact information for all of you,
so I’ll be in touch to schedule follow-up conversations. In the meantime, if
you think of anything that might be helpful, please call me as soon as you
can.”

Chapter 6

After the detective left and the
girls helped me put away the snacks and sweets, everyone agreed to meet again
the next day when the shock had softened. Dora suggested that we go to
Rosemary’s house as a group to pay our respects and offer to help her husband
with the difficult road ahead. I was curled up under a blanket on the living
room sofa when my husband called a couple of hours later.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked
excitedly.

“As okay as I can be,” I said.

“We just got out of the movie,” he
said. “I’m so sorry that my phone was off when you tried to reach me. How’s
Rosemary doing?”

I sighed and pressed back against
the cushions. “She didn’t make it,” I said in a hushed tone.

The line was silent for a few
seconds as my husband processed the news.

“That’s horrible,” he said. “Do you
know what…” He paused and I heard our sons in the background. “Listen,
sweetie,” Ben continued. “I’m dropping the boys at the Kincaid’s. I’ll be home
in ten minutes, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “I forgot they were
having a sleepover tonight. Do they have everything they need?”

“Don’t worry about them,” said my
husband. “Just sit tight and I’ll see you in a few.”

I kept the phone in my hand and
pulled the blanket to my shoulders. The initial shock of the day’s bizarre
events had melted into a dull ache at the base of my neck. I couldn’t believe
that Rosemary was dead. I couldn’t believe that it had happened in our house.
And I couldn’t stop thinking about the detective’s comment before he left:
“We
suspect the dip she ate here may have been poisoned...”

As his voice echoed in my mind, I
retraced my steps from earlier in the day for the one millionth time. I
remembered Rosemary’s arrival, our brief conversation at the front door and her
remark that she was thirsty. I guessed that during the time it had taken me to
finish getting ready, Rosemary had opened the refrigerator, spotted the spinach
dip and decided to help herself to a taste. She probably assumed it was for the
book club group and wanted a little sample before the others arrived. When I’d
shared that information with the police officers, they’d confiscated the box of
crackers that Rosemary had opened as well as the dip from Olive Street Café.
They didn’t take the pitcher of water because I told them that I’d had some of
it earlier without becoming ill.

I was sifting through everything
again from the beginning when my husband rushed into the house.

“Hey, sweetheart!” He dropped to
his knees beside the sofa and gave me a big hug. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t
here.” He kissed my cheek and brushed a few strands of hair from my eyes. “And
I’m so,
so
sorry about your friend.”

“I just can’t believe it happened,”
I said. “The police think she was poisoned.”

Ben’s face went blank. “Poisoned?
Are you kidding me?”

“A detective came by after the
ambulance left,” I said. “He told us about Rosemary. And he said they suspected
she ingested some kind of toxic substance.”

Ben leaned back and frowned. “Here?”
he said. “In our house?”

I pushed against the sofa and sat
up. “I don’t know. I mean, they took the dip that the guy from Olive Street
Café delivered. And they—”

Ben held up one hand to interrupt
me. “Olive Street Café?”

“Yeah, I figured it was for your
dinner party.”

My husband shook his head. “But I
canceled the order earlier,” he explained. “After the boys and I left for the
movie, I got a call from my boss. It turns out that Truscott changed his mind
at the last minute. Instead of staying here for the rest of the weekend, he’s
flying to New York for some other contract he’s been working on.”

“Does that mean your deal fell
through?”

Ben shook his head. “Not at all. Truscott’s
divesting himself of three separate companies, the one we’re buying plus a
couple of others back east. I guess it’s all somehow related to his divorce.”

“How many businesses does he own?”

My husband smirked. “Too many. The
guy’s a royal pain in the butt. When we first started negotiating the acquisition,
I heard rumors about him. I figured that somebody as successful as Truscott
probably made a few enemies along the way. But I never imagined just how many
people can’t stand the guy’s guts.”

“In that case, I’m glad he’s not
coming to dinner,” I said. “After the shock of what happened with Rosemary, I’m
afraid I might’ve lost my temper if he was pompous and arrogant.”

Ben smiled. “That’s a kind
description of the guy. Truscott actually let it slip that he’s been receiving death
threats.”

The remark sent shivers down my
back. “What did you just say?”

“We were talking about a movie that
one of the other guys saw last week on a flight,” Ben explained. “It had
something to do with a family that gets a bunch of anonymous threats in the
mail. When Truscott heard us talking about it, he just casually mentioned that
he’s been down that road a time or two in his life.”

“What road—getting death threats?”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, but I figured
it was probably just another one of his self-important stories, like it was a
badge of honor somehow to be so rich and powerful that someone would want to put
out a hit on you.”

I pulled in a deep breath and
closed my eyes. Then I turned to Ben and took his hand. “Can you do me a
favor?”

He nodded. “Anything at all,
sugar.”

“Can we not talk about death and
dying tonight? I’d really love to just take a hot shower, order a pizza and
watch
Pretty Woman
again.”

Ben lifted one eyebrow. “Didn’t we
watch that last year?”

“Yes, but you know it’s one of my
favorites. It always puts me in a better mood.”

He wrapped me in a hug and kissed
my ear. “You got it,” he whispered. “Anything for my sweetheart.”

Chapter 7

The clock on my bedside table
glowed in the darkness. It was half past two, and I’d been tossing and turning
since midnight. After a slice of deep dish from our favorite pizzeria and
watching Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, Ben and I had climbed into bed shortly
after eleven. I was so exhausted from the stress of the day that I fell into a
deep sleep almost immediately. But something woke me an hour later, and I
started to obsess about Rosemary and the horrific events of the previous day.

I couldn’t shake the images of her
stretched out on our kitchen floor. Her legs had been rigid, her breathing had
been labored and her eyes had been fixed and unblinking. When the EMTs first
started working on her, I heard one mutter something about poison. But I was so
distressed by what was happening that I hadn’t thought much more about it. I
was too worried about my friend to concentrate on the offhand comment. I’d also
never been in a situation like that before, so I figured that maybe the first
responders made an initial assessment based on previous cases they’d handled.

As Ben continued sleeping soundly,
I slipped out of bed, grabbed my robe and walked down the hall toward the
kitchen. I stopped to check on the boys before remembering that they were
spending the night at a friend’s house. Normally, I encouraged them to accept
invitations for sleepovers because I thought it would be good for them to build
friendships and experience the dynamics of other family homes. But walking
through the dark hallway with thoughts of Rosemary crowding my mind, I wished
they were sleeping in their own beds. I always felt better when we were all
together at times that were difficult or stressful.

I flipped on the kitchen light,
rummaged in the refrigerator for a few moments and then sat down at the table.
An owl hooted in the distance and the limbs of an oak tree brushed against the
side of the house. I felt a chill run down my spine and pulled my robe tighter.

“Take a breath,” I whispered to the
empty room. “Those are all totally normal nighttime sounds.”

When my heartbeat had calmed and
the owl stopped yelping, I opened my laptop to check my email. There were a few
announcements for sales at my favorite stores along with a note from my mother
about my sister’s impending wedding. After I drafted a careful response
encouraging mom to let Becky make the decisions about her nuptials, I clicked
on a note from Sonja:

Jana:

I can’t believe the news about
Rosemary. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to help you. Something came up at
the last minute with my brother. He’s been spiraling downhill lately and I
think he may have done something really stupid. I was trying to find him before
it was too late. I started to call you, but figured you probably had enough on
your mind.

Maybe we can get together soon?

Thanks for being a friend,

Sonja

There was something cryptic about
the note that I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I knew that Sonja had a
brother who lived in California, but she rarely mentioned him. I stared at her
note for a long time before deciding how to respond:

Sonja:

It’s the middle of the night. I
can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Rosemary. Shock is putting it mildly. The
detective that came to the house mentioned that they suspect she was poisoned.
I just can’t wrap my brain around that idea. Who would want to hurt someone so
sweet?

I know you and she had some
squabbles over the years. And I know you were joking when we talked at the
store on Friday night. But I just keep asking myself the same things: Why
Rosemary? What did she do to deserve such a terrible fate? Who could have done
something so awful?

Everyone from book club is going
to see her husband and offer assistance with meals, housework, etc. Do you want
to go? I’ll call you tomorrow or maybe just stop by your house.

I’m going to try and get some
sleep now. Or maybe I’ll watch TV for a while.

J.

After I sent the note, I started to
close my laptop. But then I decided to do a quick search for
Death by Poison
.
There were more than seventy-six million results, beginning with “Poisons Used
to Kill People.” When I clicked on the link, an article appeared that featured
ten different substances. Some were familiar from the mysteries that I’d
read—hemlock, arsenic and belladonna. I’d heard about some in news reports
involving the death of spies and government officials—polonium, cyanide and
mercury. And the rest were new to me, including aconite, dimethylmercury,
botulinum toxin and tetrodotoxin.

When I did a little digging, I
discovered that aconite, also known as wolfsbane, was derived from the monkshood
plant. It is so toxic that you can be poisoned just by touching the leaves of
the plant. Once absorbed into your body, aconite causes arrhythmic heart
function and then suffocation.

I’d never heard of tetrodotoxin by
name, but I was familiar with one of its sources: the puffer fish. It’s also
found in the blue-ringed octopus, which carries enough of the nasty stuff to
kill twenty-six adults.

Botulinum toxin sounded familiar,
and I learned why in the first paragraph of the article’s description. It’s the
same thing used for Botox injections, although it’s only fatal if it enters a
person’s body through an open wound or when they eat contaminated food.

As I read that last bit over and
over, my heart began racing. Of course! Someone must’ve put botulinum toxin—or
some other deadly substance—in the spinach dip that was delivered yesterday
shortly before Rosemary arrived.

I studied the article again
carefully, making a list of the ten poisons along with a set of questions:

Was poison in dip?

Who was the man in the
Olive
Street
Café cap that delivered the dip?

Why would he want to harm Rosemary?

Did Rosemary have some
association with the café? Maybe a feud with the owners or an employee?

How did they know she would be
at our house on Saturday afternoon?

Maybe Rosemary wasn’t the
target?

I stopped and read through the list
a few times. If Rosemary wasn’t the killer’s intended victim, then it was
someone else:

Is someone out to harm Ben? Our
family?

Could the dip have been intended
for Mr. Truscott, owner of the company that Ben’s firm was acquiring?

Who is Truscott? Criminal past?
Legal trouble?

By the time I finished making my
notes and doing more research into toxic substances and murder by poison, the
sky was beginning to glow with hazy streaks of pink and gold. It was nearly
six, and I’d been going for hours. I saved my notes, closed the laptop and
started a pot of coffee.

It was going to be a very long day.
After attending church with Ben, I would send him to pickup the boys while I
headed over to Sonja’s. I needed to talk with her about Rosemary. After the
puzzling note she’d sent the night before, I wanted to make sure she was doing
okay.

As I poured my first cup of coffee,
Ben shuffled into the kitchen.

“How long have you been up?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t ask,” I
said, stifling a yawn. “I got maybe an hour of sleep before my brain clicked
on.”

He rubbed my neck and kissed the
tip of my nose. “I’m not surprised, sweetheart. I know how much you liked
Rosemary.”

“Yeah, in a lot of ways she was
like the sister I never had.”

“Are you and the other girls going
to see her husband?”

I nodded. “We talked about dropping
by this afternoon. But there’s something else I need to do first.”

“What’s that?”

I told him about the email from
Sonja. I explained that there was something odd about it that I couldn’t quite
put into words.

“Just a gut feeling?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “She’s never
really talked about her brother all that much. And she mentioned in her email
that he’s spiraling out of control and maybe did something stupid. I want to go
over and make sure she’s okay.”

Ben folded his brawny arms around
me and pulled me in for a tight hug. “That’s my Jana,” he murmured in my ear.
“Always taking care of everyone. Always watching out.”

“Well, that’s easy to do,” I said,
giving him a kiss. “Because I’ve got
you
to take care of
me
.”