Kari Lee Townsend - Sunny Meadows 04 - Perish in the Palm (15 page)

“Noooooo,” I shouted, but it was too late.

Morty pounced, landing smack dab in the middle of the cake and bit the head off the fondant replica of my mother. He gave her an intense look as she gasped, and then he darted off into the woods.

My mother stared at her headless body. His paw prints were all over several people in attendance, and the cake was pretty much ruined. She let out a squeal, and then collapsed to the ground in a heap.

All heck broke loose.

Doc Wilcox ran over to her, conversations raised, people ran helter skelter, the police jumped into action, and I chased after the guilty culprit. When I caught up to him, it wasn’t going to be pretty. He thought he ruled the roost, and most of the time he did, but today he had crossed the line, big-time.

The question was, what kind of punishment did one give to an immortal cat?

S
unday morning at the Divinity Hotel Granny Gert and Fiona were moaning something fierce, sounding miserable. Morty was MIA, the little rascal. He probably knew if he showed his face, he would be in the dog house for sure. We were trying for a big breakfast while Fiona and Harry were still in town, but that wasn’t happening. My mother refused to step foot in my house, anywhere near Morty the Monster, so we’d opted for the hotel. But Fiona and Granny were so sick, that the thought of breakfast turned their stomachs even more.

“What do you think is wrong with them?” Mitch looked concerned and so adorably helpless.

Harry and my father just stared, scratching their jaws.

“I would almost guess it had to be food poisoning from the look of it.” My father tilted his head sideways and studied them in their bent over agonized forms.

“But no one else got sick from the food,” Harry reasoned.

“Maybe it was just the food at their table that got tainted,” my father replied.

“Then why didn’t Vivian get sick?” Harry asked, analyzing them as if he were still a judge.

“You know how picky she is,” my father pointed out. “She doesn’t eat half the things that are put out, while Granny Gert feels the need to sample everything.”

“That’s true,” I said, “but I’m still worried.”

“As we all should be,” my mother chimed in. “And I’m standing right here, by the way. I can hear everything you say.”

“Nothing was meant to be a secret, darling.” My father kissed her cheek.

“Just stating the facts, dear.” Harry patted her back.

“Come on, Mitch.” I grabbed his hand. “Let’s take the Not-So-Dynamic Duo to Doc Wilcox.”

“Your wish is my command.” He tagged along, letting me lead the way.

Ten minutes later, we were in Doc Wilcox’s office.

“I don’t usually keep Sunday hours, you know,” Dr. Wilcox said, his sandy blond hair looking like a perfect Ken doll, his face clean shaven, and his build as fit as ever.

“I know, and I appreciate you opening your office for me,” I responded. “So how is Nurse Doolittle?” Tina was a slightly chubby, rosy-cheeked brunette with curly hair who had been head-over-heels for him since forever. After going above and beyond the call of duty to help him, he had finally opened his eyes to the longtime crush she’d had on him. Ever since then, they had been inseparable.

“She’s great,” he said. “In fact, we’re engaged now. So you’re one of the first to know.” He actually seemed happy, especially after losing his long-time crush—our former librarian—to an unfortunate murder not long ago. She hadn’t returned his feelings, which was another blow. I was glad he had Tina to help him pick up the pieces.

“Awww, I’m so happy for you, Doc. I mean that sincerely.” I smiled.

“And that’s why I opened my shop today. We’ve been through a lot over this past year.” He nodded. “I haven’t forgotten the good word you put in for me at the police station when I had my own little mishap.”

“My pleasure.” I tipped my head in salute.

“So, Doc, what do you think the problem is?” Mitch asked. “Could it be food poisoning? We all know Granny Gert can’t see that well, hence the failing of her road test so many times. Maybe she used food beyond its expiration date.”

“Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of that,” I mused out loud. “She truly is blind as a bat. I’m still terrified every time she takes her caddy for a spin.”

“Little Miss Sunshine, I am sitting right here,” Granny Gert said weakly. “And my food is never spoiled.”

“So am I sitting right here,” Fiona chimed in on a whine. “Gerty wasn’t the only one who pulled this party off, and I can see just fine.”

“
See
yes,” Granny said, “but you can’t cook worth a lick. Maybe you put the wrong ingredients in my food.”

“Then the whole darn lot of them would have been sick, you numbskull. If you haven’t noticed, we are the only two in agony.”

They started to squabble, their old high school rivalry never completely forgotten, even though they truly were friends now. I was beginning to wonder if maybe frenemies was a more appropriate word.

My mother chimed in, “Oh, can it, you two. We’ve all had about enough of your shenanigans. You guys didn’t have ten years scared off your life when that evil cat tried to put me in an early grave.”

“I’m sorry about that, Mother.” I hoped my sincerity came through in my tone. “I don’t know what got into Morty. He’s never done anything like that before.”

“Well, then, he must really hate me,” she said on a sniffle. “He bit my head clean off. Do you know what it’s like to see a replica of yourself without a head? Why, I just might faint from simply thinking about it. I have nightmares, you know.”

“I know, and I truly do apologize. As soon as he shows his feline head again, I will let him know exactly how I feel about what he did. You have my word on that.”

She just harrumphed. Apparently my word didn’t mean much to her. Then again I often questioned if anything about me meant much to her. I sometimes caught fleeting glimpses of affection, but she certainly wouldn’t win any Mother-of-the-Year awards.

Doc Wilcox got a call and excused himself. Moments later, he returned. “I don’t think Granny’s eye sight or Fiona’s cooking skills are the problem,” he said gravely, holding a piece of paper that had come through his fax.

“Then what is?” Mitch asked, and all of us stopped making any noise, tuning in to the doctor’s every word.

“Granny Gert and Fiona were poisoned. And I’m not talking about food poisoning, I’m talking about antifreeze. Not enough to kill them, but just enough to make them violently sick. Small amounts are hard to detect. If given enough over time, it would do the trick for sure, though.”

“Oh my heavens to Betsy.” Granny Gert fanned her face.

My mother took her hand, and my father squeezed her shoulder in a unified show of support. Family was family, and we all loved each other no matter what.

“I don’t want to die,” Fiona wailed.

Harry rushed to her side.

“Who would want to kill Granny and Fiona?” I asked, still trying to process what we had just discovered and make sense of it all.

“I don’t think the culprit was after the Dynamic Duo,” Mitch said. “If I had to guess, I would wager they were after Vivian, or trying to set her up again. Lucky for you, she’s such a picky eater, but one thing is clear. The killer obviously has unfinished business.”

And this time my mother fainted for real.

***

Later Sunday afternoon Mitch and I went for a walk through the park. The sky was overcast, the air still as death, the temperature cold. Not the best day for a walk, but Mitch had insisted we get out, even though I was the outdoor, walk-in-the-park kind of person. Not him. But needing the escape, I’d gladly agreed.

Granny and Fiona were resting comfortably at my house with Harry watching over them, while my father had taken a distraught Vivian back to their hotel. Everything from the party had been taken down and hauled away as if nothing had taken place just one short day before. I tightened my hand around Mitch’s, having waves of uneasiness roll over me time and again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing my mood.

“I don’t know.” I looked around, spotting people I knew and many I didn’t. “I just keep having this strong feeling that someone is watching us.”

Mitch might not fully believe in my abilities, but he had learned to trust my gut. “It’s probably nothing, but I’m glad you’re staying alert. I don’t trust all these strangers in town now that I know our killer still has an agenda.”

“Me either. I don’t like it one bit, and for once I regret giving a reading.” Mitch smirked, and I nudged his arm with mine. “What I’m saying is that I never should have tried to decipher the meaning of Peirce’s reading. If I had left well enough alone, we wouldn’t have all of these new people in town. I fear no good is going to come from all this treasure hunting.”

“That map would have been found eventually. Linda isn’t Peirce. She probably would have rearranged the root cellar and found that secret passageway at some point. Or if she sold the inn, the new owner would have. It was only a matter of time.”

“I would have preferred later rather than sooner, instead of during a murder investigation involving my mother.”

“Agreed, so now we just have to make the best of it by trying to figure this case out before things get even crazier.”

We sat in the gazebo and stared at where the food had been. I curled my legs up under me, finally donning socks and sneakers with a pair of jeans and a sweater. I might be confused, but at least I was warm.

“I still can’t believe someone poisoned Granny and Fiona’s plates. I just don’t understand why.” I shook my head.

“Your mother was an easy target to take the fall for Peirce’s murder, given their arguments and her threats.” Mitch scrubbed a hand through his thick dark hair. He had on a pair of jeans as well with a T-shirt and his leather jacket. “Maybe the killer thinks your mother knows something and is worried about being discovered, so they want to keep making her look guilty. She was sitting right beside Granny and Fiona, so she had easy access to their plates if she felt like tampering with them.”

“Ron Durkin is also an easy target in wanting revenge on Cole. The same with Theresa McFarland in wanting to get back at Jo. So how come they aren’t still being made targets by the killer?”

“Maybe because one of them
is
the killer,” Mitch speculated. “Or maybe because framing your mother is more believable.”

“Maybe,” I mused. “Ron and Amy just don’t seem the type, but something about Theresa seems off to me.”

“Me too,” he said. “You’re getting good, Tink.” He winked, and I warmed with pleasure over his compliment. “That’s why I brought you here this afternoon,” he went on. “I’ve been watching Theresa for a while now. She likes to jog in the park every day around this time. I had a hunch we would run into her right about now.” He glanced at his watch, and sure enough, a few minutes later she rounded the bend and jogged straight for us. “Just like clockwork,” he said with satisfaction.

“Theresa McFarland,” I hollered. “Can we have a word with you?”

Mitch raised a brow with me. I gave him a look that said,
Relax, I’ve got this.
He had just said I was getting good. Now he needed to start letting me prove that.

Theresa eyed us warily, glanced at her watch, took her pulse and then joined us with a frown. “I’ve already talked to the police.” She looked at Mitch dryly. “I really don’t see the need to talk anymore.”

“I know you talked to Detective Stone, but you didn’t talk to me,” I said carefully. “Unless you have something to hide.”

She hesitated only for a second, but I noticed. “You’ve got five minutes.” She sat down under the gazebo across from us.

“Fair enough,” I responded.

Mitch leaned back and crossed his arms, letting me take the lead.

“I heard you crashed the West wedding reception,” I started the conversation. The wind picked up, swirling leaves around our feet. I looked at the darkening sky and wondered if the still air a moment ago had been a calm before a storm.

“Which the police already know,” she pointed out, taking a swig of water from a bottle attached to her running belt.

“Do they also know you cut the ropes on the tent, trying to make Ron Durkin look guilty?”

She spit her water out everywhere and sputtered, “I did no such thing.” Then she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her dry-fit running shirt.

“Ah, but you could have. You were angry at Joanne for firing you. Maybe you were trying to make the tent fall and ruin her day.”

“She didn’t just fire me, she destroyed my reputation. I heard Ron wasn’t happy with Cole either after he stole his venue. Ever think maybe Ron cut his own tent? If I were going to ruin her party, I can think of better ways than that.”

“Like tampering with the punch?”

Theresa didn’t have to say anything. Her guilty expression said it all.

“I saw you at the Fall Harvest Party. Did you have a good time?” I asked, and Mitch’s other brow raised to join his first. Ignoring him, I focused on Theresa.

“What are you getting at?”

“Divinity’s a small town, Ms. McFarland.” I leaned forward and narrowed my eyes. “I’m sure you heard Granny and Fiona were poisoned.”

“Are you implying I had something to do with that?” she asked with an incredulous tone and an expression that said I was out of my ever-loving-mind.

“I don’t know, did you?” I pressed on.

“No, I most certainly did not.” She set her jaw. “I was at the Fall Harvest Party, hoping to land some new clients. I still have to make a living, you know. As far as the punch at the West reception, I didn’t poison it, that’s for certain. I simply poured vinegar into it. That was all, I can promise you that.”

I shuddered, remember the large sip I had taken just before the cutting of the cake. “That was plenty,” I said. “You’re running out of excuses, Ms. McFarland.”

“And you’re out of time.” She checked her watch and stood. “I hope we’re finished here. Don’t you have a treasure to find or something? I suggest you focus on that and your real job instead of trying to play cop which is obviously out of your league.” She hoisted her chin a notch and then jogged off in the direction she’d come.

“Vinegar in the punch?” Mitch shook his head on a wince. “What has this town come to?”

“Not sure.” I sighed. “And I’m also not sure she’s the one who killed Peirce. She’s right. We are literally running out of time.”

“Don’t give up,” Mitch said, stroking his hand over my short cropped hair and then massaging the back of my neck with his wide palm. “We haven’t ruled out Ron Durkin or Theresa McFarland completely,” he went on. “They both had access as well as motive with a grudge against Jo and Cole. We also still haven’t ruled out Linda Theodore or Brice Benedict, either. They certainly had access and motive for wanting Peirce dead.”

“And my mother had access and motive as well. She most of all despised Peirce Theodore. Everyone knows that. But I know she isn’t capable of murder, yet she is the one who was standing over his corpse when the tent was raised.”