Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) (24 page)

I
GLANCED
AT
Tigger, who was crouching beneath the kitchen table. He had trapped the sponge ball between his forepaws and was holding on with all his might. The poor ball was never escaping if he could help it, but then he lost control of it. The ball squirted away and rolled under the Ching cabinet. Out of sight. Tigger raced to the cabinet, hunkered down, and stared.

Seeing him in deep concentration made me recall a moment during Tito’s magic act. The redheaded girl from the audience had crouched down so she could focus hard on the rock and the cups.
Sticks and stones may break my bones . . .

“The stone!” I leaped up from the table. Yes, the method of poison mattered, but so did the missing Thorntonite. Someone had stolen it. Why? When?

“Storyboard this, Jenna,” I said. “Start with the moment of finding Pearl dead.” Storyboarding, first developed by the Walt Disney Studio during the 1930s, was a graphic way of organizing a sequence of events, frame by frame. I had used the technique often in my advertising career. The drawings weren’t detailed, more like freehand cartoons.

I grabbed a piece of blank white paper and a pen and did a quick sketch of Pearl sprawled across the fire pit, arm extended, palm up.

Below that frame, I drew a second picture with a wider point of view. It encompassed the patio, the lounge chairs, and the garden. Pearl remained in the picture, across the fire pit.

Next, I roughed out a picture of Aunt Vera and all the others who visited the crime scene that first morning: Bingo, Maya, the police, Trisha, and the housekeeper.

Isolating Mrs. Davies, I drafted one picture of her talking to my aunt and me, not the morning when we found Pearl’s body but a few days later, right after she discovered that a portion of Thorntonite was missing. She insinuated that Trisha had taken it. If Trisha hadn’t taken the Thorntonite, then who did and why?

I glanced at my artwork. What if the sequence was out of order? What if the crimes happened in reverse? What if the killer stole the rock prior to Pearl’s demise? What if Pearl found out about the theft and accused the thief? We only thought the two crimes were related because we found Pearl and then noticed the missing sapphire. For a brief moment, we all believed Pearl had been killed so someone could get his or her hands on the rock. The sapphire was worth millions. But then the sapphire was recovered. No harm, no foul. Had the killer put the sapphire in Trisha’s backpack not only to frame her but also to divert attention from the missing Thorntonite?

I stood up and stretched. Did the order of the crimes matter at all? Were the two crimes related or just coincidental?

According to Trisha, Pearl wouldn’t break up or sell her husband’s mineral collection. Also, per Trisha, the collection was evil. She might have been right about that, if coveting a part of the collection had provoked murder. I thought of Maya’s claim that Trisha was into alchemy. In addition to experimenting with acids and bases, Maya’s friend said Trisha ground down stones and buffed them. Trisha said she was doing nothing of the kind. Truth or lie? Was she curious about gemology, or was there something more to her activities? Perhaps she’d lied about doing experiments with rocks because she had wanted to keep her interest in them a secret.

I began adding new graphic drawings to my storyboard. When Rhett and I went hiking, Edward picked up a raw garnet. He said he was taking it for Emma, claiming she collected the stones in honor of her mother. So why, when I asked him about it, did he drop it like a hot potato? Guilt by association? I went a step further. Edward was a caver. He intended to visit all the caves in the world. Maybe, instead of continuing his career as a dentist, he craved a future as a geologist or as a collector. Perhaps he was amassing his own collection of rocks and gemstones. Was it a wild stab in the dark to think that he might be on the hunt for the original site where Dr. Thornton found his specimen of Thorntonite?

What was so special about Thorntonite other than its rareness? Per Emma, some people would pay handsomely to get their hands on shavings of sapphire; the stone had exquisite healing properties. Did Thorntonite have healing properties, as well? Could that make the Thorntonite much more valuable in the long run than the sapphire? I recalled Mrs. Davies saying that the
missus
claimed Thorntonite was packed with
sele-
something. Was that a mineral used in healing? Would owning an abundance of the mineral make someone like Edward Wright a fortune?

I opened my computer and entered
Thorntonite
into the browser. A number of articles emerged. The one that caught my eye, about sixth in the list, was written by a research scientist at UC Santa Cruz. Dr. Thomas Thornton had lent his Thorntonite specimen to the school the very week he had made the discovery. The scientist was surprised to find, in addition to quartz, silver, and copper, an entirely new mineral within Thorntonite, a mineral akin to selenium.

Selenium.
That was the sele-something Mrs. Davies had been going for. According to the researcher, selenium was a trace mineral that aided in the healing of cancer. When used in conjunction with vitamins C and E, selenium could protect cells against the effects of free radicals. It could also prevent tumors from developing. The research scientist claimed that the new mineral found in Thorntonite would help treat cancer better than selenium, with very few side effects. Selenium in large doses was toxic.

I wondered again about Pearl’s health. Had she been sicker than she’d let on? Cinnamon said Pearl’s doctor confirmed that Pearl was suffering from type 2 diabetes. I had asked whether Pearl had cancer. Reflecting back, Cinnamon hadn’t responded. Had Trisha, a budding chemist, learned about the special properties of Thorntonite and told her mother? Had Pearl taken the Thorntonite and ground down a portion so she could use it as a curative?

No, the more I pondered the idea, the more I was convinced Pearl didn’t have cancer. She had none of the symptoms. Up until her death, she had vibrant skin and buoyant energy. My mother had grown so weak at the end due to the coughing and weight loss; her skin had turned jaundiced, her humor lackluster.

I resumed pacing, knowing I was on the wrong track. I stopped at the kitchen table and viewed my sketches again.

Pearl > rock; rock > Pearl.

Pearl > sedated > injected.

Who had Emma heard lurking in the house when she was there? Edward? Trisha? Mrs. Davies? Someone else?

I glanced at the second drawing of my storyboard and eyed Aunt Vera. Poor thing. Stress over the loss of her friend had weakened her immunities and saddled her with a miserable cold. Curiosity had nearly gotten her killed in that accident.

I halted and stared harder at the picture. I zeroed in on Maya. She had caught a cold, too. Hers was lingering. It was so bad that she had conjured up a potion to ward off colds and flus. What if she didn’t have a cold? What if she had something much worse? Earlier in the week, she claimed her voice was hoarse from calling for her missing cat, but she was raspy days later. Cats ran from their owners when they were sick. Did they disappear for hours on end if the owner was dying? At the Winsome Witches luncheon, Emma had kidded Maya about using more makeup. Maya laughed and said she was considering becoming a cougar—a woman on the hunt for younger men. Later on in the ladies’ lounge, I caught a sneak peek of Maya’s pallid skin when she was reapplying makeup after rubbing it off with tissues for her cold. I didn’t pay attention to her skin tone at the time because she smelled of marijuana. We chatted about her illegal crop. Was she using marijuana to ease the pain of a deadly illness—an illness that a dose of Thorntonite might heal?

I flashed on the note containing the holistic doctor’s information that had fallen out of Maya’s pocket. Singh was the name. Was the doctor using ground-down Thorntonite to treat her? I tried to visualize the telephone number. Was the last digit a nine or a six?

I glanced at the clock: 8:00
P.M.
Would a doctor’s office still be open? I dialed a telephone number, using a nine at the end, and reached a nursery school. Closed. I dialed the second number, using a six at the end.

A woman with an Indian-tinged accent answered. “Integrative Medicine. How may I help you?”

“You’re open?”

“Only to schedule appointments.”

“Is Dr. Singh there?”

“No. He’s gone for the day. Might I take a message?”

“Can you tell me what integrative medicine is?”

The woman said, “We take the whole-person approach. IM, as we call it, is designed to treat not just the disease but the mind, body, and spirit. All of our products are herbal and naturopathic medicine.”

“Does Dr. Singh use minerals in his healing?”

“Trace minerals.”

“No other kinds?”

The woman cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what you are asking.”

“Does the doctor grind down minerals like quartz or agate?”

The woman sputtered. “I’m sorry. What is the nature of this call? Do you wish an appointment?”

“Is your patient Maya Adaire suffering from cancer?” I blurted.

“What? How dare you.” The woman couldn’t have sounded more righteous if she were the queen of England. “Our patients’ privacy is of utmost importance to us. Who is this? Are you an agent for an insurance company?”

I hung up, hoping she didn’t have the recall feature on her phone so she could trace my number and hand it over to the police. Cinnamon would have my head. On the other hand, I didn’t care if Cinnamon felt I was butting in. I wanted the truth. Pearl Thornton deserved justice. As my aunt, my father, and Rhett had advised me, perhaps it was my destiny to help those who couldn’t help themselves. Maybe that was why I had returned to Crystal Cove.

While pacing the cottage, I considered Maya’s motive for killing Pearl. If she was suffering from cancer or something equally horrific, at some point, she might have revealed her illness to Pearl, perhaps at a therapy session, if indeed she was a patient. Pearl, aware of the findings by the research scientist, would have mentioned the healing properties of Thorntonite. Maya, scared out of her wits to have the fatal disease, needed that mineral and set about getting her hands on a portion.

As friendly as Maya had acted throughout the evening of the haunted tour, I assumed she did not steal the rock before killing Pearl. Did she lie in wait until all the guests were gone? Emma thought she was alone with Pearl, and Trisha didn’t mention seeing Maya, so Maya must have been hiding, or she had left and returned. The killer had come prepared with zolpidem and a syringe filled with digitoxin, which meant Pearl’s murder wasn’t done in the heat of the moment.

I envisioned the setup. Maya sneaked into the house, intent on stealing the rock. She overheard Emma professing her devotion and gleefully realized she had something to lord over Pearl. She wouldn’t have to filch the rock after all; she would coerce Pearl to hand it over by threatening to expose Emma’s secret. Pearl was too professional to allow a patient’s secret to come to light. Maya waited until Emma left, and moments later, she appeared with drinks in hand, one of them laced with zolpidem. She toasted to a successful night. During the conversation, Maya told Pearl that her new holistic doctor could grind minerals into a curative potion. She appealed to Pearl’s humanity and asked for a portion. I only knew Pearl to be a wonderful giving woman, but Trisha claimed her mother exhibited a cruel side. In the past week, Pearl’s life had shifted drastically. She had been diagnosed with a life-changing disease. Did the ailment affect her personality? The night of the haunted tour, Pearl argued with Bingo and then quarreled with her daughter in front of all her friends. Did her anger carry over to Maya? When Maya explained her plight, did Pearl heartlessly deny her?

The scenario made sense, but I needed proof. Was there foxglove on the premises at The Enchanted Garden? If the police found it among the plants, would that give them enough evidence to prove Maya was the killer? I had toured the shop enough times to know that foxglove wasn’t out in the open. Where might she hide it?

A notion niggled the edges of my mind, something that Rhett said to me last night about going out the door I came in. I thought back to the night of the haunted tour. A couple of teens were heading toward a door at the garden shop that looked like an exit. Maya raced to stop them and guided all of us out the same door we had come in. She said leaving that way was a Southern superstition. I hadn’t thought anything odd about her request at the time, believing she was steering us away from that door because it led to her precious, temperature-controlled hothouse. Had she been adamant about us not going through that door to keep us from seeing what was inside? What if, along with her illegal marijuana and prized mushrooms, she was growing the lethal foxglove?

I
CALLED
THE
precinct and learned Cinnamon was still dealing with the breaking-and-entering case. According to the front desk clerk, masks and costumes were involved. Having no desire to go head-to-head with Deputy Appleby again, I decided that consulting my aunt was the best course of action. I hurried to her house and found her making candy. She loved handing out homemade goodies to the neighborhood trick-or-treaters. Most parents in Crystal Cove allowed their kids to bring home a treat that hadn’t been store-bought.

I told Aunt Vera my theory about Maya.

Her eyes widened as I laid out every detail. “How could she have drugged me at Aunt Teek’s? Bingo made the tea.”

“But Maya admitted to starting to help Bingo before heading to the restroom.”

“Why, then, would she follow me and try to get my attention by honking?”

“To make you drive erratically. She wanted you to crash.”

Aunt Vera’s voice dropped dramatically. “She wanted me to die.”

“I’m afraid so. At the luncheon, you mentioned you were going to find Pearl’s killer. The next day, Maya realized when the three of them arrived at Aunt Teek’s that you were keeping true to your word. You were nosing around. Soon—”

“She felt certain I would remember something,” my aunt said, finishing my thought. “I did happen to see inside her purse that night. She was pulling out a business card for one of the guests. Perhaps she believed I saw the hypodermic. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“The Enchanted Garden is open late for the Halloween Eve sale.” Aunt Vera spun around, looking for something. “I’ll distract her while you find that foxglove.”

“Me?”

“You’re spryer than I am. You can slink around the place without getting caught. We’ll need a sample of the plant to convince Cinnamon to take us seriously.”

I shook my head. “Cinnamon will be furious if we confront Maya.”

“Nonsense. She’ll thank us.”

I highly doubted that. I envisioned a future with my aunt and me sharing a cell with only water and bread as our diet. No more cupcakes or soup à la Katie. No more hugs from Tigger. “Aunt Vera, let’s talk about this a bit longer.”

“Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

Aunt Vera stopped moving and placed her hands on her hips. “Silly me. Of course.”

“Of course
what
?”

“I have no car keys. My car is in the shop. We’ll take your car.” She propelled me out of the house while adding, “As if you’d let me drive anyway.”

My resolve melted away. Had she worked a spell on me? No matter what, I knew there would be no arguing with her.

*   *   *

THE ENCHANTED GARDEN
was bustling with customers, many in Halloween costumes. Fairies seemed to be this year’s favorite little-girl costume; bloody monsters for the boys. The scent of pumpkin pie–spiced candles and freshly popped popcorn filled the air. Usually, I loved the aromas of autumn. Not tonight. Every fiber in me was tense. I could barely breathe, let alone smell.

Maya, in a long black satin gown and the witch hat with white flowers that she had worn all week, was near the cash register chatting with Pepper and a few of her beading friends, all of whom were wearing witch hats.

I gripped my aunt’s arm to hold her back. “Pepper,” I whispered, then diverted my aunt to the right. We waited until Pepper and her friends exited the shop, and then Aunt Vera approached Maya.

A consummate entertainer, my aunt pasted on a smile and reached forward with both hands. “Maya, don’t you look glorious?”

“As do you, Vera. You must be on the mend.”

Aunt Vera tapped her temple. “The brain is fully functioning, and the sensory perception is intact. What a crowd. Business looks good.”

“Indeed. Many of them were at The Cookbook Nook earlier today. They loved my potions demonstration. Between you and me, some of the children look dead on their feet. It’s way past their bedtime. But far be it for me to tell a parent how to raise a child. Besides, it’s always good to expand one’s clientele.” Maya winked. “Feel free to put your business cards at the sales counter, and anything you find, tell the clerk to give you an extra ten percent off.”

Maya started to leave, but Aunt Vera firmly grasped one of Maya’s hands. “Darling, wait. I wanted to tell you about a new man in town.” With her other hand, she waved me to get a move on.

My insides started fluttering wildly. My mind raced for an excuse to explain why I wasn’t staying and chatting with them. “Uh, I’m going to take a look at the gift items. I wanted to offer a prize at tomorrow’s Halloween party. Maya, you have pumpkin vases, don’t you?” I had seen them yesterday when I came in to ask about the identity of the secret admirer.

“We do. Small, medium, and large.” She pointed.

As I headed away, I heard Aunt Vera say, “He came to me today for a reading. He’s a bachelor. Just your type. A vegetarian. He has his own herb garden.”

I stole to the door that Maya had steered us away from the other day. It was closed. Locked. I glanced at Maya and my aunt. They were turned away, their backs toward me. By the bobbing of her head, I could tell Aunt Vera was still talking. I ran my fingers along the top edge of the door, but I didn’t find a key. I didn’t spy a ring of keys hanging on the pegboard behind the counter, either. Dang. I swiveled toward the door and noticed a wrought-iron étagère to the right. Dozens of pots of herbs filled the upper and lower shelves. On the middle shelf stood a number of decorative bird feeders. One had a blue dome and a single drawer at the base. I recalled Maya whistling while fiddling with that drawer when I came to buy herbs last month. I slid open the drawer and found a single key. I slotted the key into the door’s lock and twisted. The door opened.

My pulse kicked up a notch as I slipped inside.

The hothouse was expansive, about forty feet by twenty feet. The walls were opaque. Serrated-edged bushes—marijuana, planted in clay pots—were thriving along the left length of the hothouse. Down the middle were beds of tomatoes and mushrooms, the mushrooms blossoming blissfully out of chunks of wood. Along the right side of the hothouse, wooden shelving held dozens of pots of orchids, bromeliads, tropical vines, and African violets. At the far end stood a huge potting table fitted with two wide drawers. Pots, soil, garden tools, and a few vases of flowers sat on top of the table.

I tiptoed through the garden looking behind plants, but I didn’t see foxglove. Maya wasn’t growing any. Was I wrong? Was she innocent? Did I need to reconsider theories about Emma, Trisha, or Edward being the killer?

As I was passing a section of orchids, I noticed a grouping of small dainty white flowers arranged along one side of a stalk. A marker named them:
Onvallaria majallis.
I drew up short. Weren’t they commonly known as lily of the valley? I remembered doing an ad for Lily of the Valley perfume. One woman working on the campaign, a loudmouth with no inside voice, joked that the perfume should really be called Love Potion #9 because lily of the valley was poisonous. Was lily of the valley in the genus of flowers that could produce digitoxin or, as Deputy Appleby advised me, cardiac glucosides?

I flashed on Maya’s satin witch hat, adorned with lily of the valley. Her business cards had a lily of the valley design on them as well. She was fixated with the flower because her mother had named her Maya Lily:
Maya
for May, when she was born, and
Lily
for her mother’s favorite flower, lily of the valley, which bloomed in May. Growing the flowers indoors was the only way to cultivate them in October.

Pivoting, I surveyed the potting table holding garden tools and more. A beautiful blue porcelain vase, filled with stalks of lily of the valley, was perched on the far corner. Had Maya crushed the petals of the flower to create the poison, or were all parts of the plant poisonous? Would the water they stood in work as a poison?

I took a quick picture with my iPhone and started for the door, ready to relay my findings to the police, but I hesitated as I was passing the wild mushrooms. No, I didn’t pause so I could admire them. I was recalling an occasion when I had flipped through a cookbook at the shop, on the hunt for a wild mushroom puff pastry recipe made with cream and Parmesan, heavy on the garlic. In the introduction, the author provided all sorts of photographs and instructions on how to grow wild mushrooms. Using a hypodermic needle, she had injected chunks of wood with mushroom spores.

Did Maya have syringes lying around? Did she fill a mushroom syringe with deadly lily of the valley poison and inject Pearl after she sedated her with zolpidem?

If I could find the syringe, I would have more than enough evidence to take to Cinnamon. I hurried back to the potting table and scoured through the top drawer. I found plant tags, bags of seeds, green bamboo stakes, and bendable ties, but no syringe. I slid open the second drawer and gasped when I spotted an open package of cubensis syringes. Only three of the four were left, each with a clear pump and silver needle.

A waft of air cut up the back of my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the door to the main shop opening. I bumped the drawer with my hip to close it and faced front.

Pepper rushed in. I tensed. What in the heck was she doing here?

“Aha,” she said, full voice.

I whispered, “Shh.”

“I knew it. You’re up to something. I’m calling my daughter.” She pulled a phone from her purse.

“I thought you left with your friends,” I rasped.

“That was my intention. I saw you and your aunt slink into the shop, and all the hackles on my neck stood on end. I knew you were up to no good.”

“Pepper, be quiet. Maya—”

“I will not be quiet. What are you doing back here anyway?” She scanned the hothouse. When her gaze landed on the marijuana, she gulped. “Is that what I think it is?”

I nodded.

“That’s illegal.” She started stabbing numbers on her cell phone.

Before she pressed four digits, Maya pushed through the marijuana plants wielding a machete, looking for all intents and purposes like a big-game hunter.

“Pepper,” I yelled and pointed. Too late.

Swiftly, Maya slung an arm around Pepper’s throat and said, “Jenna, don’t move or I’ll hurt her. Pepper, give me your phone.”

Pepper handed over the cell phone. Maya flung it behind the marijuana. My heart sank. If only Pepper had been able to connect with Cinnamon.

Think, Jenna. What can you do?
Throwing a pot wasn’t going to disarm Maya, and I might clock Pepper in the process.

“How did you get in here?” I said, while glancing around the hothouse for some other weapon. Plants, stakes, wire, bags of dirt.

Maya grinned, but her gaze was feral. “Every building requires a second exit, sugar. Didn’t you know that? Fire safety regulations. This one is hiding behind my stash. What are you doing in here, Jenna? Snooping?”

“What? No.” I didn’t sound very convincing. I peeked at the tools on the table. The garden spade looked snub-nosed and not hefty enough to battle a machete.

“Maya,” Pepper said, her voice trembling with fear. “Why are you holding me captive?”

“Hush,” Maya ordered and clucked her tongue. “Ah, Jenna, you and your aunt. Two peas in a pod.”

“Where is she?”

“Looking for you. In the ladies’ room. At least, that’s where I told her you went. Then I locked her inside.”

Swell. Aunt Vera was going to be heartsick that she hadn’t foreseen where I really was. She was also going to be ticked off that she was trapped. Maybe she would pound on the door like she had when she’d gotten trapped in the bathroom at the back of The Cookbook Nook. What a load of noise she’d made.

“By the way, Jenna, you left the drawer of the bird feeder open an inch,” Maya clucked her tongue. “Sloppy detective work, sugar. If you’re going to keep up the practice of sleuthing, you’ve got to learn that’s a dead giveaway of your intentions.”

“Maya,” Pepper tried again. “Let me go. Whatever your beef is with Jenna—”

“Maya killed Pearl,” I cried. “She poisoned her with lily of the valley.”

Maya smirked. “So you figured it out.”

“Lily of the valley is your signature.” I eyed the strand of vegetables down the middle of the hothouse. One of the logs holding the mushrooms might make a good weapon, unless it was rotten from the moisture. “The flower,” I said, vamping. “Is it in the foxglove family? I imagine it has cardiac glucosides.”

“Good guess,” Maya said. “But why did I do it?”

“Because you’re suffering from cancer. You needed the Thorntonite because it has similar properties to selenium.”

Maya looked impressed. “Well, you are cleverer than I imagined.”

“But Pearl said
no
. You couldn’t have it.”

“She was so selfish. I had a private conversation with her that night. After her argument with her daughter. She told me she didn’t like being mean. I said, ‘Prove it,’ and I asked her for the rock. ‘It’s magical,’ I said. ‘It can save my life.’” Maya’s face twisted with hate. “I trusted she would hand it over because she treasured being Pearl the Beneficent. She needed everyone to adore her. I told her with my miraculous recovery, she would get the credit for what her husband had discovered. After all, she was the one who told me what supernatural properties it possessed.”