Sit for a Spell (The Kitchen Witch, Book 3): (Witch Cozy Mystery series) (7 page)

Chapter 13

It was still a beautiful evening when I reached Glinda’s only a few minutes later. I reached out my hand to knock on the door, but it opened in front of me. At first I thought it was magic, but then I saw Thyme standing there. Her face was white and drawn. I immediately felt guilty for being sad that I had left Alder.

“What’s happened?” I asked her. “How bad is it?”

Thyme pursed her lips. “Pretty bad, I think. Anyway, I just got here, so I haven’t heard all the details yet.”

I followed her into the back room of the store. Ruprecht and Mint were there, as was Camino. “They think I did it,” she said.

“Come on now, Camino,” Ruprecht said. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? Did they actually say they might charge you with murder?”

“Not as such,” Camino said, wringing her hands. She jumped to her feet and commenced pacing up and down the room.

“Then what makes you think they suspect you?” Thyme asked.

“It was all their questions,” Camino wailed. “They made me tell them every single thing I had done that day. They must have asked me eight or ten times. I went over everything I did that day, again and again, and then some. It’s a wonder that I didn’t have to tell them how many times I went to the bathroom and when. They also wanted to know exactly what Sue did from the moment she arrived. They asked if she was short of breath or had a dry mouth, and a whole bunch of other questions.”

“But surely that means that they don’t suspect you,” I said. “If they suspected you, then they wouldn’t have asked you what Sue was doing.”

Ruprecht poured tea into a cup in front of Camino. “Drink this. It’s chamomile and lavender with a touch of valerian. It will soothe your nerves.”

“I think we all need some to soothe our nerves,” Mint said.

Ruprecht raised his eyebrows and poured us each a cup of tea. The heavenly scent of the lavender was soothing, but my mind kept wandering back to Alder. “This is what I took from what Camino has told me of the police questioning,” Ruprecht said. “I deduce that Sue was indeed poisoned, and that it must have been a poison that took a few hours to work. That is why the police wanted to know Sue’s movements on the day of her murder.”

“But that does mean that the police suspect me.” Camino dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

I made to protest again, but one look at Ruprecht’s face silenced me.

“Ruprecht, do you still think we should leave it to the police?” Thyme asked him.

All our faces turned to Ruprecht, and he rubbed his chin. It seemed to me he was choosing his words carefully. “Alas,” he said, “I must admit to doing a divination, and I do think that the police are looking in the wrong direction.” He held up his hands. “I also have the impression that the answer is staring the police right in their faces, but they do not see it.”

“If only the answer was staring
us
right in the face,” Camino said dryly. I was glad to see she was no longer crying, and that a little color had returned to her cheeks.

“As much as I regret saying this,” Ruprecht said, “I do feel we might have to look into doing some of our own investigations.”

I placed my teacup down on the table. “Well,” I said, “if it was a poison that takes anywhere from a few hours to a day to work, then that surely narrows it down. At least we know she wasn’t poisoned over a long period of time, such as with arsenic or thallium.”

Everyone nodded. “True,” Ruprecht said. “Amelia has a good point. Now, let us remember. What was the interval of time between when Sue arrived at Camino’s and when she died?”

“It couldn’t have been more than two hours,” Thyme said.

Camino nodded. “That’s right. So she was poisoned sometime that day. What if the murderer knew she was coming to my house that night to play Clue, and decided to frame me, to make it look as if I had poisoned her?” Her voice rose an octave.

“Now, now, Camino, don’t go jumping to conclusions,” Ruprecht said. “It might well be the case that someone did know she was going to your house that night, but simply wanted her to be in a public place when she died, to throw suspicion on many people.”

I myself thought that what Ruprecht had just said didn’t really make sense. I figured he was only saying that to placate Camino. “What poisons do we know that take a few hours to work?” I asked. “Surely there can’t be many. Surely most poisons work immediately.”

Ruprecht agreed. “Let’s go to my office,” he said, “and we will see what poisons do in fact to take a while to work.”

We followed Ruprecht into his office and crowded around his desktop computer. “There’s one that takes a few hours to work,” he said, stabbing his finger at the screen. “Methylated spirits.”

“But that says methanol,” Thyme protested.

“Same thing, different names in different countries,” Ruprecht said. “It’s also known as denatured alcohol.”

I leaned over and peered at the screen. “It says that someone can drink it and not have any symptoms for twelve to twenty-four hours. The symptoms include headache, nausea, abdominal pain, dizziness, blindness, vomiting, fatigue, and back pain. It says that by the time the symptoms appear, that it’s too late to save them.”

“Well, did Sue have any of those symptoms?” Thyme asked. “She did clear her throat a lot, and she said her throat was dry. I remember her asking for a glass of water, but she didn’t say she had a headache or any pain.”

I had to agree. “Let’s keep looking,”

Camino stabbed at the screen with her finger. “Look at this,” she said excitedly. “It says that cyanide can take a few hours to work if the victim had a full stomach. Perhaps that’s why the police were asking what Sue did that day. If she had a big meal with someone, then that person could be the poisoner.”

“Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Ruprecht said. “Let’s look at the symptoms of cyanide poisoning.” He typed, ‘Symptoms cyanide poisoning’. We all peered at the signs and symptoms, which included headache, seizures, difficulty breathing, nausea, weakness, confusion, and cardiac arrest.

“Amelia,” Ruprecht said, “can you make a list of any poisons that seem likely and we’ll look at the list later? Put cyanide on the list. Now let’s look for other poisons that take a while to work. Okay. It says here that the large dose of arsenic can take several hours to take effect, but don’t put it on the list, Amelia. The symptoms are extreme and nothing like Sue’s symptoms.”

“Should we put it on the list anyway, just to be on the safe side?” Thyme asked.

Ruprecht nodded. “Okay, make a note next to that entry to check the symptoms.”

“Look, here’s one,” Thyme said. “Ricin. It’s made from castor oil. It says that as little as a pinch of it will kill an adult. Oh okay, it says it’s made from the castor oil bean and is the part that’s left behind after the oil has been extracted. Look at the last paragraph. It says that both Russia and the USA stockpiled it as a chemical weapon in the Cold War, and that the KGB and Saddam Hussein used it. Amelia, put that on your list.”

“But what are the symptoms?” Mint asked.

“No idea,” Ruprecht said, “but we can cross check it against symptoms later. The next one on our list is botulism. It says here that it’s the most poisonous substance known to humankind. It says a single teaspoon would kill over one billion people. Lots of people have been killed by botulism—you know, food poisoning from contaminated food. It also says that there is a form of it from infected wounds, and that it’s now available cosmetically in the form of Botox to treat wrinkles, excessive sweating, and migraines.”

“I’d hardly call a migraine headache a cosmetic issue,” Mint said.

“I’d certainly agree with that,” I said, “but it doesn’t say what the symptoms are, either.”

Ruprecht shook his head. “I think we’ll need to search symptoms, and the time it takes the various poisons to kill, separately. I can’t see here where it says how long botulism takes to be fatal, either. This is not going to be as easy as we thought.”

“It says here that strychnine can take two to three hours to work,” Thyme said.

“No, it wasn’t strychnine. Look at the symptoms,” I said with a shudder. “Horrible convulsions and all. We wouldn’t have overlooked those symptoms.”

Ruprecht agreed. “It couldn’t have been strychnine. How about colchicine? It says it’s fatal within seven to thirty-six hours, and death is by paralysis of the respiratory system.”

“I’ve never heard of it, but I’ll add it to the list,” I said.

“Aha, poison mushrooms,” Ruprecht said. “Now we’re getting somewhere! Right here, and it says no symptoms for twelve hours. The deadly mushrooms include Death Cap, Destroying Angel, and Fly Agaric.” He turned to us. “Whatever the poison was, we now know something valuable. Sue had come into contact with the murderer that very day. We will have to find out exactly what she did that day and who she was with, and Camino, I don’t want to upset you, but there remains the possibility that Madison was the poisoner. We’re wasting our time looking for poisons that took a while to kill, if Madison slipped something into her drink or food that night. I know you don’t want to hear that, but nevertheless it is an avenue that we must pursue.”

Camino held up her hands in surrender. “I appreciate that, Ruprecht, and I understand you would want to look into it, but I’m telling you that Madison is not the murderer.”

Ruprecht rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get organized. We’ll make a spreadsheet of all the possible poisons and then crosscheck them with Sue’s symptoms and the time they take to work. Then we’ll make a list of suspects. We also need to know who Sue was with that day.”

“But won’t the police be doing these very same things?” I asked him. I was still surprised that Ruprecht had changed his mind about leaving it up to the police. Perhaps his divinations had revealed more to him than he was letting on.

“Speaking of suspects,” Camino said, “Barbara, Sue’s sister, will arrive in town tomorrow morning for the funeral. I’ve offered to let her stay at my place so I can keep an eye on her.”

Ruprecht looked aghast. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? After all, she is a suspect—at least to us, if not to the police.”

Camino smiled, the first genuine smile I had seen on her face since that night. “Yes, and that’s exactly why I want to keep an eye on her. I’ll be in no danger, because if she did murder Sue, it was to get the inheritance. It’s not as if she’s a serial killer going on a killing spree, if she even was the murderer in the first place. I’ve met her before, over the years, when she came to visit Sue, but I don’t know her very well. Nevertheless, having her under my nose will give me a good idea of what she’s up to—if she’s up to anything, that is.”

Ruprecht shook his head. “All right, Camino. I can’t tell you what to do and I would never presume to do so. But I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Chapter 14

Early the next morning, I staggered, pre-caffeine, out to the street to collect my two trash cans. I dragged them down past my house into my backyard. I noticed that my gardenias looked a little droopy, so I filled the watering can and gave them a thorough watering. I returned to the house, ready to have a lovely cup of coffee after feeding Willow and Hawthorn. Both cats were already quite put out that I hadn’t fed them before bringing in the trash cans.

When I got back to the front door, I saw that it was open. Surely I hadn’t left it open? I usually remembered to shut it behind me due to the persistent summer flies. I shrugged and walked inside. As soon as I set foot inside the house, I heard a noise from the living room and saw that the door was shut. I never shut that door, so with some trepidation, I crossed to it and opened it.

“Argh!” I screamed as I jumped back. There was a strange woman in my living room.

“Thank goodness you’re here!” She said. “The door shut behind me and I couldn’t open it.”

“Who are you?” I said. The woman didn’t look dangerous, and she wasn’t carrying a weapon. Apart from that, the house had not attacked her, so I supposed she was harmless. I crossed the room to turn off the television. Once again, the house had the cooking channel on. I think the house had a thing for Jamie Oliver.

“I’m Barbara,” she said. “Where’s Camino? I thought she was expecting me.”

“Camino?” I said. “Yes, she is expecting you, but I think you have the wrong house. Camino’s house is next door.”

The woman clutched at her throat. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. “Camino said she was just popping down to the grocery store, and she’d leave the door unlocked for me if she wasn’t home. I must have got the number wrong. Silly me. I’m so sorry. The door was unlocked, so I came straight in.”

The woman’s distress appeared to be genuine, and I had no reason not to believe her, apart from the fact she was a suspect. However, the one thing that did concern me was that Camino would leave a murder suspect alone in her own home.

“It’s no problem at all,” I lied. “I’ll take you to Camino’s now.”
And stay with you until Camino comes home
, I added silently. I was not about to let a murder suspect snoop around Camino’s house.

“Is something wrong with your television?” Barbara asked me. “The television got louder and louder. I tried to turn it down, but it didn’t work. It kept getting louder and louder and then it kept flipping back to the cooking channel.”

“It’s just the wiring,” I said. I wanted to glare at the house, but I had no idea in which direction to do so. “I’ve been meaning to get it fixed for ages.”

“The wiring?” Barbara asked. “Does the house wiring affect the television?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I mean the television wiring. It’s an old TV. I need to get a new one.”

I took Barbara the long way—that is, not over the hedge—to Camino’s house and knocked on the door. To my relief, Camino was home after all. I explained what had happened. I wiggled my eyebrows at Camino in an attempt to tell her to be careful.

“Is something wrong with your eyebrows?” Camino said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t wear so much make-up, dear. You wouldn’t want your eyebrows to fall off.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not wearing any make-up,” I said through gritted teeth. Barbara had her back to me, and was bent over admiring a particularly grotesque antique. I caught Camino’s eye and jerked my head in Barbara’s direction a few times.

“Would you like some Advil?” Camino asked me. “With a sore neck like that, you obviously need some.”

I threw my hands into the air and left.

Two cups of coffee and two happily fed cats later, and the world seemed good again. I still managed to get to the cake store early. Thyme was happily baking away. She was surprised when I told her that I had found Barbara in my house.

“But she showed no ill effects from being in your house?” Thyme asked me.

No,” I said. “But don’t forget, the house might have done that for a reason.”

Thyme shrugged. “Anyway, Amelia, could you do the frosting on those turtle cupcakes?”

“Sure,” I said.

“You’re getting to be a very good cake decorator,” Thyme said. “You’re certainly consistent.”

“And I’m consistent when I bake cakes, too,” I pointed out. “I consistently set them on fire. Consistency is not always a good thing.”

Thyme chuckled. “Consistency is good for decorating cakes, however. And I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh no!” I said in mock horror.

Thyme glared at me. “You haven’t even heard what I’m going to say yet.”

“I don’t need to,” I said. “Every time you think of something it ends in disaster.”

“Name one time,” she said. “Just one!”

I groaned. “Can anyone ever think of something when they’re put on the spot?” I asked. “But just you wait. I’ll think of all the times later and let you know.”

“You do that,” Thyme said, laughing. “Anyway, back to what I was going to say when I was so rudely interrupted by a certain person—I’ve been thinking about the murderer.”

“Haven’t we all?”

Thyme straightened up and removed her apron. “You know, we could make spreadsheets and lists, and compare poison times and types of poisons, and find out where Sue was all that day, or we could just get the murderer to reveal who he or she is.”

I was perplexed. “How on earth are we going to do that?”

“Well, do you remember when we talked about putting a hen’s egg in each of the victim’s hands and burying the victim like that?” she asked.

“Yes, but…” My voice trailed away as the implication set in. “Thyme, surely you’re not suggesting we do that?”

“Why not?” she said with a big smile. “I think it’s a genius idea! All we have to do is put two eggs into Sue’s hands and make sure she’s buried with the eggs.”

My mouth fell open. “You’re joking, right?
All
we have to do?”

“It’s a brilliant idea,” Thyme said with a frown. “It’s an old hoodoo working to reveal a murderer, a time-honored way.”

“But how on earth are we going to do that?” I asked. “Do we tell the funeral director that they’re the eggs from her favorite pet hen?”

“Oh, what a good idea!” Thyme gleefully rubbed her hands together. “Amelia, you have the best ideas.”

“I was joking,” I said in horror. “Surely you’re not seriously suggesting we go to a viewing and put eggs in Sue’s hands?”

Thyme looked somewhat offended. “Well, it’s either that or waste time with spreadsheets and the like. Do you have a better idea?”

I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “If you want to do it, then you can do it,” I said. “Just don’t expect me to put the eggs into her hands.”

A strange expression crossed Thyme’s face. “Of course not.” Her tone was less than convincing. “I’ll do that if you can create a diversion.”

I groaned. “No, get someone else to create a diversion. What kind of diversion were you thinking of anyway?”

Thyme smiled. I could tell she was enjoying this. “I don’t know. Perhaps you could pretend to faint? Or choke? I’m sure you could think of something, and while you’re doing that and everyone’s looking at you, I’ll sneak over to the coffin and put the eggs in her hands.”

“I’m not going to create a diversion,” I said firmly. Then I thought of one of those movies in which someone firmly says that they refuse to do something, and in the next scene they’re doing it. I was determined that it wouldn’t happen to me. “Anyway,” I continued, “the funeral home staff will know that there are eggs in the coffin and they’ll remove them.”

“That’s so true,” Thyme said thoughtfully. “You’re really very good at this, Amelia. Yes, it will have to be at the funeral, not a viewing. In fact, it will have to be just before she’s buried. Do you know if she’s going to be cremated?”

I shrugged. “No, I don’t have a clue.”

“That would be better,” Thyme said, “because she’ll disappear behind a curtain and I don’t think anyone opens the coffin after that time. If you can create a diversion I could sneak in at that moment and put the eggs in the coffin. No one will ever know.”

“Never know what?” a voice behind me said.