A Grid For Murder (13 page)

“I saw a lot of broccoli florets on the ground by the stone bench across the creek. Is it some kind of experiment in modern composting or something?”

He grinned. “Nothing so scientific. If I hadn’t been working in the creek nearby, I would have been baffled as well. One of our visual media arts students from the university wrote a script for her class, and she was filming it with her classmates.”

“What was it about, the power of broccoli?”

He laughed, and I loved the easiness in it. Jim sounded like a man completely comfortable in his own skin. “I suppose that’s exactly what it was, in its own way. Emily, that’s the student, showed me a final cut of the film to explain their insane behavior. It was a spoof on the old black-and-white horror movies. Her premise was that the only thing that would stop a zombie attack was broccoli, since nobody likes it. At least that was her punch line. I happen to love the stuff myself, but she had a point. It was all pretty hilarious.” He snipped a dead branch, and then stood back to examine the result before he spoke again. “But I’m sure you weren’t looking for Jay to answer the great broccoli question for you.”

“No, but it’s a delicate subject, and I’m not sure I should involve you in it.”

He scratched his chin. “Well, I’ll say this for you; you certainly know how to build suspense. Tell you what. Why don’t you ask your question, and I’ll decide if I want to answer it or not?”

“That sounds fair,” I said. “It involves a locally available plant or tree that has cyanogenic glycosides in its bark, leaves, or berries.”

He whistled. “That’s some serious poison you’re talking about there.”

“Then you won’t help me?”

“Why not? You can find that information in any library,” he said. “What you do with the knowledge is completely up to you. Let’s see, if I wanted high doses of cyanogenic glycosides, I’d probably use wild cherry or black cherry.”

“They’re really poisonous?”

He grinned as he said, “More than most folks know. In the wrong amounts, the seeds, leaves, twigs, and even bark contain quantities of amygdalin and prunasin.”

“But not cyanogenic glycosides?”

“That’s what they are,” he said, his enthusiasm for death and destruction filling him, for some reason, with great glee. “When they’re ingested, they transform into highly toxic hydrocyanic acid.”

“What would that do to you?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the outcome of the poisoning.

Jim thought about it, and then finally said, “Let’s see, you could have respiratory failure, spasms, go into a coma, or even die from it.”

“That’s pretty powerful,” I agreed. “Is there anything else that might have the same result?”

He nodded, and then pointed to a nearby harmless-looking plant. “You don’t want to eat any of these leaves,
especially if they’ve wilted or have been cut. The same thing could happen with them, and this plant is found nearly everywhere around here.”

“What’s it called?”

“One of the other symptoms I didn’t mention is losing your voice. That may be why they call it chokecherry.”

I
WAITED UNTIL I WAS BACK IN MY CAR TO PHONE ZACH. IT
just didn’t seem right talking about death among all that beauty. I’d known nature had a bite at times, but it was amazing how deadly a common-looking plant could be. Jim had studied them around the campus extensively, and was writing a paper on the many ways that flora could kill.

“Hey,” I said when Zach answered. “I got word from an expert that the most likely culprit is either wild cherry, black cherry, or chokecherry.”

“Would the dried leaves be dangerous?” he asked.

I remembered Jim’s lecture, and said, “Absolutely.”

“Good job, Savannah. That explains the delivery system. Someone slipped some powdered leaves into her tea. From the sound of it, just about every suspect on our list had access to the poison that killed her.”

“So, it’s a dead end,” I said, suddenly deflated by my news.

“Not necessarily. It took someone who knew what they were doing to even pick the right leaves.”

“That’s something, I guess,” I said as a feeling nagged at the back of my mind. I lost it just as quickly as I’d had it. I knew the worst thing to do was focus on the missing information until it came back to me. If I ignored it, I would most likely have my answer soon enough.

“Is that all?” I asked Zach. “Since I’m in Asheville, I’d be glad to investigate anything else for you.”

“No, that’s it for now. You can come back to Parson’s Valley anytime you’d like.”

“I’m on my way,” I said as I drove out of the parking lot. I tried my best to ignore my subconscious and the nagging feeling that something was hiding from me, hoping the information would pop back up, but I didn’t have any luck.

It would come to me; I was certain of that.

I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late to help our investigation.

I
NSTEAD OF GOING HOME, I PARKED BY THE COURTHOUSE
once I got back to Parson’s Valley, and I was trying to figure out what to do next when a voice startled me out of my thoughts.

“Savannah, I need to talk to you,” someone said through my open car window.

I
LOOKED UP TO SEE LAURA MOON STARING DOWN AT ME
, and from the expression on her face, she wasn’t going to tell me that I’d won Yard of the Month from the local garden club.

“What can I do for you, Laura?” I asked as I got out of my car. I didn’t like the way she’d been looking down at me, and I wanted us to be on an equal level if we were going to have a conversation that I wasn’t all that anxious to have in the first place.

“Why did you do it?” she asked pointedly. “What did Joanne ever do to you, anyway?”

“I could ask you those very same questions,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “Do you think there’s a chance in the world that you would like that any more than I’m enjoying your accusations?”

“Of course not,” she said, “but I didn’t kill her.”

“Neither did I,” I said a little more emphatically.

“You were still there when Sandra and I left Asheville.”

“For two minutes,” I replied. “I got out of there just as fast as you two did. Anybody could have poisoned her, including the two of you.”

“The only difference is that I know that we didn’t do it.”

“Are you that sure about your friend?” I wasn’t trying to sow discord, but I was honestly curious.

“Of course I am,” Laura said, but I saw something in her glance downward that told me I might have hit too close to home.

“I’m assuming that you’ve already heard that Joanne was poisoned, Laura. Word gets around fast in a small town, doesn’t it?”

“For your information, the police told me as soon as they found out. I was her next of kin, you know.”

“That’s what I heard, but to be honest with you, the news kind of surprised me. I didn’t realize that you two were that close, let alone family. I couldn’t tell anything by the way you acted toward each other yesterday at Café Noir.”

“We had drifted apart, but lately we were getting to know each other again,” Laura said softly. “She didn’t approve of my friendship with Sandy, and Joanne never made any apologies for expressing what she felt. Still, we were beginning to work things out, and then someone stole that opportunity from me, and I want to know who is responsible.”

“So do I,” I replied. “Why do you think I’m running all over town making everyone uncomfortable with the
questions I’m asking? Why do you just assume that I was the one who poisoned her?”

“She told me she sold her first puzzle and that she was going to show it to you,” Laura said haltingly, as though she was beginning to lose faith in her theory that I was the killer.

“That’s no motive for murder. Inheriting her estate might be considered one, though.”

“There’s not much of an estate,” Laura said with a hint of wry laughter in her voice. “She’ll probably have more bills than assets by the time I’m finished, and I get the privilege of spending the next six months sorting through it all.”

“At least she owned some property,” I said.

“Are you talking about her house? From what she told me, she’d mortgaged it to the max. Face it, there’s nothing left.”

“Then she must not have shared everything with you,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” From the way Laura was looking at me, I had no doubt that she was in the dark about Joanne’s land deal with Harry Pike. I debated sharing the information with her, but I knew that she’d find out sooner or later. And then another thought struck me. Why not tell her now and see how she reacted?

“Check the courthouse records,” I said. “That’s what I did. Joanne had a great deal more money than you think.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she said. A point suddenly occurred to her. “Why were you snooping into Joanne’s life, anyway? What motive would you have to do that?”

“I’m going to solve her murder myself and clear my name in the process, Laura, whether anyone else likes it
or not. I would have thought you’d be delighted to have someone working to find the real killer, so those of us who are innocent won’t stay under a cloud of suspicion.”

“I want to find her killer more than you do,” Laura said plaintively.

“Then I suggest you visit the courthouse, and then look me up,” I said. “The records are all there. You just have to know the right questions to ask.”

Laura stared at me a second, and then said, “What can it hurt?” as she turned and headed toward the courthouse basement.

In all honesty, I hadn’t expected such a burst of loyalty toward Joanne from Laura, and it surprised me. I could think of a few reasons she might be feeling it, though. If she hadn’t killed her cousin, she could sincerely be regretting the times in the past that she’d fought with Joanne, and the moments still ahead of them that she’d now lost.

Laura’s reaction to Sandra’s name when I’d mentioned it had shown a flicker of doubt in her eyes. I was curious to see if Sandra had equal doubts about Laura, and there was only one way to do that. I’d spoken with all of the suspects save one anyway.

It was time to find Sandra, and see if her motives for murder were any stronger than mine or anyone else’s on my list.

S
ANDRA OLIVER WAS AT HER DESK WHEN I WALKED INTO
the law firm where she worked as a receptionist. She looked startled to see me. “Savannah, what are you doing here? I don’t have you on my appointment schedule for today.”

“That’s because I’m not on it,” I said. “I was hoping to speak with you for a few minutes, if you have the time.”

“Sorry, I’d love to, but I’m awfully busy at the moment,” she said.

I looked around the empty waiting room. The furniture was at least two decades old, and mismatched at that. The carpet was starting to fray on one edge, and the curtains hadn’t been cleaned since the Reagan administration. It wasn’t the most prosperous place in town, if the furnishings were any indication.

“Is that so? Is Nathan in his office?” Nathan Haggerty was a brash young lawyer who’d come back to Parson’s Valley after graduating from Duke Law School. He’d received offers from some big firms, but he ultimately decided small-town law was what he wanted to do, so he’d bought out a dying law practice from his uncle and was trying to make a go of it. He and my husband had become good friends since we’d moved to town, though the two of us weren’t all that close.

“He’s gone, but I have work of my own to do,” she said.

I couldn’t argue with that, but I still wanted to speak with her. “Surely you get a break sometime during the day. This won’t take long, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t,” she said, clearly not sorry at all.

“That’s fine,” I said as I turned back toward the door. “I just thought you had a right to know what I heard about you. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I’ll go ahead and let Zach know. Don’t say I didn’t come here and try to get your side of it first.” I was bluffing, but I had
to believe that Sandra couldn’t tell. At least that was what I was counting on.

“What did you hear?” Sandra asked, her voice nearly shouting now.

“It’s okay, really. I understand all about your situation. You’re a busy woman; I get it.”

“I’m due for a break after all,” she said as she stood from her desk chair. “I can give you five minutes.”

“That should be all I need. May we go outside, or do you need to stay here and answer the phones?”

“Don’t worry about it. If we get any calls, the machine will pick up,” she said as she walked me to the door.

Once we were outside, I had plans to get her talking about Laura and her relationship with Joanne, but Sandra was clearly not interested in anything but my bluff.

We were barely out onto the porch when she stopped and looked at me. “What did you hear, Savannah?”

“I understand that Joanne stole something valuable of yours,” I said.

She looked at me sharply. “Where did you hear that? Is your husband reporting back to you, or have you been listening in on his telephone conversations?”