Death and Honesty (16 page)

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Authors: Cynthia Riggs

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Cozy

BOOK: Death and Honesty
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Victoria felt her face flush. Old lady, indeed. Willoughby’s voice echoed in her mind: Leave the heavy work for us young folks. She set Chickee, still wrapped in his towel, under the beach plum bush. She waited for Willoughby to disappear around a corner of the house, and immediately started to disentangle the rake from a honeysuckle vine that had grown around it.
Chickee’s coop had been small, too small, Victoria thought. No wonder he’d crowed all the time. The coop had been about the size of the coffee table in her parlor and about the same shape. Clearing up the wreckage would be a simple task.
She puzzled over the ends of the broken wood frame, which seemed to have the sort of marks a hammer or a crowbar might make. She thought about that as she worked.
Jordan, still holding the handlebars of his bicycle, cleared his throat. “Mrs. Trumbull?”
Victoria lifted her head regally and looked down her nose at Jordan. He seemed very young and very slim in his snug-fitting black and green bicycle suit. But he was old enough to know better. No matter how difficult Lambert Willoughby was, and she agreed he was difficult, Jordan had no business leading him to believe his pet had been mauled by a dog.
Victoria pulled a black plastic garbage bag from another beach plum bush where the wind had blown it.
“I didn’t want to hurt the rooster, Mrs. Trumbull. I thought I was giving it a good home.”
She wrenched off a two-foot section of chicken wire mesh from the chewed up boards it had been stapled to and worked it into the plastic bag, careful not to snag her hands on the rusty ends. “Why don’t you put your bicycle away and join Lambert in that beer he’s offered you? He believes you saved Chickee.”
“If it weren’t for you, Mrs. Trumbull …” Jordan looked down at the ground. He unsnapped his bicycle helmet. “I don’t seem to be able to do anything right.”
“Chickee’s new coop will be as far away from you as is possible, so you’ve won. Accept it graciously.”
“I can give you a ride home, Mrs. Trumbull. When you’re through, that is.”
“Thank you,” said Victoria. “This shouldn’t take me more than a half hour.”
Jordan wheeled his bicycle across the dirt road to his place. From the far side of the Willoughbys’ property, Victoria heard sawing and hammering.
She separated out the rest of the chicken wire from the frame, set the plastic bag of chicken wire off to one side, and made a pile of the burnable wood.
Jordan, in pressed jeans and a collared knit shirt with something embroidered on the pocket, hurried past her, waving as he did.
In a half hour Victoria had cleaned up the worst of the mess, and began to rake the ground where Chickee’s pen had been.
She had been raking for only a few minutes when she heard a frenzied yapping, and a medium-sized white dog with brown markings over one eye rushed over to her from the direction of Oliver Ashpine’s house. Victoria braced herself and held the rake at the ready. The dog was trailing a leash that was attached to his collar. The trailing end was obviously chewed through and was slimy wet. He skidded to a stop in front of Victoria, stumpy tail wagging.
Victoria had expected him to jump up on her. When he held up a paw, she took it, and patted his solid flank. “Hello, pup.” The dog wriggled.
From under the beach plum bush, Chickee made a clucking sound. The dog paid no attention.
“Do you see that rooster, pup?”
The dog cocked his head to one side, tongue out.
She studied the dog. “You didn’t tear up the chicken coop, did you.” A statement, not a question.
The dog barked once.
“I saw tool marks, not tooth marks.”
The dog crouched in front of her, rear end in the air, tail wagging.
“Let me untie that leash.” Victoria leaned the rake against a tree and the dog stood patiently until he was free, then danced around her in circles.
Chickee clucked. The dog continued to ignore him. Victoria took up the rake again and raked the sandy soil from the edges of the area toward a depression in the middle. The dog raced back and forth in front of her.
“Don’t get in my way, pup.”
The dog bounded over to the pile of dirt Victoria had raked to the middle and started to dig.
She decided to let him dig. A good time to rest. The dog pawed at the loose dirt, tossing it behind him in a rooster tail spray He barked and occasionally looked behind him at Victoria as though he wanted to make sure she was still watching. She leaned on her rake and laughed. “A mouse! Find a mouse!” she called out, and the dog dug faster.
In the background she was vaguely aware of the sound of hammering. Chickee flopped around, unwrapping his towel as he did.
The dog stopped digging, pawed and sniffed at something he’d unearthed, and looked back at Victoria.
She leaned down to look. “What did you find, pup?”
What he’d found was a thin metal box about the size of a paperback book. A Christmas candy tin. Victoria bent over and tugged it away from the dog, who stood expectantly.
Victoria took a folded paper towel out of her pocket and wiped off the tin. The box had only a slight touch of rust. It couldn’t have been in the ground more than a few months because no roots had grown around it. The Santa Claus on the lid grinned merrily.
She suddenly realized that the steady hammering, which had gone on for the past hour, had stopped.
She worked at the tight-fitting lid. It was probably rusted on. It took awhile, some prying with a nail she found, but she finally opened the lid. Inside, wrapped in bubble plastic, were
a disk and an envelope. She couldn’t read the label on the disk.
Willoughby’s voice sounded from around the corner. “Another Bud, Rivers old buddy?”
By now, Chickee had worked his feet loose. He hopped toward the voice, trailing his towel behind him.
“Thanks, Lambert old boy, old pal,” said Jordan. “Another time. I promised to take Mrs. Trumbull home.”
Victoria quickly tucked the disk back into the slim tin and slipped it into the front of her gray corduroy trousers. She pulled her heavy sweater over it and looked down. Her stomach looked flatter than usual, but then Willoughby was not likely to examine a little old lady too closely. She would give the disk to Howland Atherton who could figure out what was on it.
Jordan appeared around the corner accompanied by Willoughbys, who was wiping his hands on his jeans.
The dog barked. Victoria quickly raked dirt to the middle to cover the indentation where the tin had been.
Willoughby stopped and stared at the dog. “What the hell … ?”
“I believe it’s Mr. Ashpine’s dog,” said Victoria.
“Bertie. Damn right it’s Ashpine’s. How’d he get loose?” He turned to Victoria. “You didn’t clean all that mess up by yourself, did you?”
“It was no trouble,” said Victoria.
“I hope you didn’t spend too much time on it, I mean, digging?”
“Nothing like that,” said Victoria.
Lambert looked around. “Wonder when Ashpine is due back from the hospital?”
Victoria smoothed the front of her sweater where the flat rectangle showed. “The dog was trailing a leash, which he apparently chewed through.”
“He attacked …” Willoughby was interrupted by Chickee, who, freed of the towel, lifted his wings, threw his head back, and crowed.
 
At the hospital, a male technician with curly dark hair that surrounded his bald head like a tonsure handed Doc Jeffers the report
on the contents of Oliver Ashpine’s stomach. Doc Jeffers thumbed through the report while he stood next to Oliver Ashpine’s bed. The technician waited.
Oliver groaned.
Doc Jeffers patted Ashpine’s arm absently while he read. “Small, globular, nearly black berries.” He looked over his glasses at the technician, who shrugged. Doc Jeffers continued. “Berries, along with stems and leaves, were apparently crushed to produce juice used in making the jellied candy. Some berries left intact.”
“Fortunately,” said the technician. “Only way we could tell what the candy was made from.”
“And the berries … ?” asked Doc Jeffers.
The technician stood up straight and took a deep breath. “Elderberries, sir.”
Doc Jeffers stared at him.
“Elderberries,” the technician repeated.
“My grandmother drank elderberry wine. Lived to a hundred and two.”
“Mine, too,” said the tech, “only she died at eighty-six. Wine, jam, and jelly Pies. She made elderberry ice cream a few times.”
“As kids, we’d strip elderberries off the stems and eat ’em.”
“Me, too,” said the tech.
“You’ve ruled out everything else?”
“Yep.”
“What was in the candy other than elderberries?”
“Sugar, pectin, vinegar, butter. That’s it. Mostly strained ground-up elderberries, stems, leaves, and bark.”
Ashpine moaned again. “I’m going to be sick.”
“You are sick,” said Doc Jeffers, and turned back to the tech.
“I looked up elderberries on the Internet, Doc. It’s a familiar berry, all right, and considered edible, but several years ago eight people in California got sick from drinking elderberry juice.”
Doc Jeffers looked at the tech over his glasses.
“The eight were helicoptered to a hospital in Monterey,” the tech continued. “Acute gastrointestinal and neurologic symptoms.”
Doc Jeffers looked down at Oliver’s pale face.
“Nausea and vomiting, abdominal cramps, weakness. Dizziness and numbness,” said the tech. “The elderberry juice was served at a church picnic.”
“My advice is to avoid those damned church picnics,” said Doc Jeffers. “Who the hell made the candy, and did they know what they were doing?”
“Mrs. Danvers,” gasped Ashpine. “She’s killed me.”
“You’ll be fit as a fiddle by tomorrow morning,” said Doc Jeffers. “Get some sleep.”
“I want a guard by my door!”
“You’re watching too much television,” said Doc Jeffers. “Want me to give you something to help you sleep?”
“I want to make sure Giles and little Roy are comfortable,” said Delilah. “Lee, darling, Henry is moving out of the guesthouse to make room for them. Help him get settled in the upstairs guest room,” and she breezed back toward the pen where the driver and his son were watering the goats.
Lee went up to the second floor. As she passed Delilah’s bedroom she saw Henry folding a shirt. How was the screen test? Had she qualified? The palms of her hands were damp and she wiped them on her black trousers.
Henry finished folding his shirt and emptied the contents of his bag onto Delilah’s heart-shaped bed.
“Reverend True, sir?” Lee began.
Henry looked over his shoulder. “Why, hello, Lee.”
“Can I help put your things in the guest room, sir?”
Henry smiled. “Thank you. Put them in the right-hand dresser drawers in here. Miss Sampson’s room.”
“Miss Sampson asked that I help you move into the guest room, sir.”
“This is where I’ll be, thank you. Put my things in the right side of the dresser.”
“Miss Sampson usually keeps her lingerie there …”
“If Miss Sampson’s clothing is in there, move it out.” He waved his arm in the direction of the bed.
“Yes, sir.”
Henry seated himself at Delilah’s dainty dressing table, white with ornate pink and gold roses. He leaned back in his chair and watched Lee fold the clothing he’d taken out of the guesthouse.
“Been checking out your video,” he began.
Lee stopped folding and looked at him.
“Nothing definite to offer you, as yet, but things are looking good.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“We’ll need another screen test. You up for that?”
“Whenever you say, Reverend True.”
Henry went to the door. “You’re doing a fine job here at the house, Lee. Keep up the good work.”
Lee flushed. “Thank you, sir.” She picked up a pair of undershorts and began to fold them.
Henry watched from the door. “I think you’ve got the makings of a fine actress, Lee,” and he went out into the hall and closed the door behind him.
After he left, she walked slowly over to Delilah’s closet, opened it, and selected a turquoise silk kimono. She put it on over her white blouse and black trousers and with one foot set carefully in front of the other, strolled over to the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. She turned first one way, then the other, belted the kimono, then unbelted it, lifted up her hair and dropped it again.
She didn’t hear the door open.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Delilah stalked into the room. “Take that off and get out.”
Lee slid out of the silky garment and looked for a place to hang it.
“Drop it. Just drop it right there.” Delilah pointed at the bed. “Go to your room. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning. In the kitchen.”
 
Victoria summoned Howland to her house to check out the DVD from the tin Bertie had unearthed under the defunct rooster coop. He was in the upstairs study, arms folded, and he was tapping his foot impatiently.
“It’s going to take awhile for this ancient machine to boot up. How old is your computer, anyway?”
“Four years,” Elizabeth said.
“No wonder. Let’s have the disk.”
“Will you be able to play it?” asked Victoria.
Howland shrugged. “If we’re lucky.” He took the DVD from
her and examined the label. “Made by some company I’ve never heard of. TruArt Productions.” He slipped the disk into the player. Elizabeth watched from behind him.
He clicked on various instructions that popped up on the computer screen. “Okay, so far.”
While Howland was working with the computer, Victoria examined the envelope that had been in the tin along with the disk. It was addressed simply “Tillie,” and had been opened. She unfolded the note that was inside.
“Who’s it from, Gram?” asked Elizabeth.
“It’s signed ‘Lucy’.”
“Lucy Pease? How weird, I mean, you guys found both bodies.”
Howland looked up. “What’s strange is to find the note and DVD under a chicken coop.”
“The note is to Tillie from Lucy. She’s returning the DVD, thanks for letting her see it. ‘You have a great future in films,’ she says, and she compliments Tillie on her art.” Victoria turned the note over. “Here’s the explanation for the hiding place. She says she’ll drop the DVD off at Town Hall, and tells Tillie to hide it when she gets home, where Lambert won’t find it.” Victoria looked up with a smile. “Her ‘nosy son-in-law,’ she says.”
“I didn’t realize Lucy was Lambert’s mother-in-law,” said Elizabeth.
“He’s married to Lucy’s daughter, Annie.” Victoria continued to scan the note. “Lucy’s sorry Tillie’s family doesn’t appreciate her acting passion. Tillie can always come to her, and so forth.”
“Does she mention any names?” asked Howland.
“No names.” Victoria put the note back in the envelope. “I had no idea Tillie and Lucy were so close.”
Loud music suddenly blared out of the computer. Howland turned down the volume. “We’ve got something now.”
 
After they’d seen the first two minutes, Victoria said, “That’s enough,” and Howland ejected the DVD.
Elizabeth muttered, “She calls that acting?”
On screen, Tillie had pranced around what looked like a motel room in bra, panties, and high-heeled opera pumps in time to music that Howland turned down still lower.
“That’s embarrassing,” said Elizabeth. “How could she possibly want anybody else to see that?”
Victoria sat back after Howland took the disk out of the computer. “I must say, she has a nice trim figure.”
“Gram!” said Elizabeth. “Why do we need such stuff?”
“She saw it as art,” said Victoria. “Apparently, Lucy did, too.” She turned to Howland. “Can you find out anything about the company that produced it?”
“TruArt Films,” Howland read from the disk. “I’ll do what I can.”
 
Selena dropped by the hospital that evening to visit Ocypete and Ellen. Hope was on duty at the desk in the Acute Care Unit filling out paperwork.
“Hi, Miss Moon,” she greeted Selena. “Miss Meadows and Miss Rotch are in the room overlooking the garden. Pretty view. The daffodils are in bloom.”
“I’ve been so worried. How are they?” asked Selena.
“They’re fine, all three of them. They can go home tomorrow morning,.” She smiled reassuringly at Selena. “What do you have there?” She nodded at the white pasteboard box tied with thin purple ribbon that Selena held.
“Fruit candy I made for them. Organic. My own recipe.” Selena’s drawl was more noticeable than usual.
Hope, who’d known Selena forever, smiled. “Today’s the first time any of them have felt like eating. They’re fully recovered, so I’m sure they’ll enjoy a homemade treat.”
“Is it all right to go on in?”
“Sure,” said Hope. “They’ll be glad to have company.”
Selena tiptoed down the short hall. “Knock, knock!” she said. “I’ve been so worried about you!”
“Can you believe it?” said Ocypete, who was sitting up in the bed nearest the door. “Three of us. It’s a wonder you didn’t succumb.”
“Was it the flu, Petey?”
“Poison,” said Ellen, who’d put aside the book she’d been reading when Selena entered.
“Poison?” Selena’s hand went to her throat. “What kind of poison?”
“They didn’t say. Just that we’d all three eaten something that didn’t agree with us.”
“I don’t really think it was
poison
poison,” said Ocypete. “What do you have there, Selena?”
“I made some candy. Especially for you,” said Selena. She held a hand up to her mouth to veil her next words. “I didn’t make enough to share with, you know who.”
“Quite right,” said Ellen.
“My own recipe from berries I froze last summer.”
Ocypete said, “A purple ribbon! I just love purple.”
“I know you do.” Selena slipped off the ribbon and opened the box.
Ocypete peered into it. “How pretty!” Translucent purple squares powdered with sugar nestled in little, white, pleated paper cups. “I adore fruit jellies. Were those your candies in Town Hall?”
“Yes,” said Selena, blushing. She looked down at her feet. “I thought Mrs. Danvers and the girls upstairs might enjoy them.”
“I ate more than my share,” said Ocypete. “A piece from Mrs. Danvers’s desk. Then a day or so later I saw the box on Oliver’s desk, and I ate at least three more.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” said Selena.
Ellen spoke up from her side of the room. “Have a seat, Selena.”
“Thank you. I mustn’t stay too long. I don’t want to tire you out.”
“Nonsense,” said Ellen. “We’re completely recovered, right, Petey?” She reached for the box of fruit jellies and helped herself to a piece. “How about you, Selena?”
Selena giggled. “I’m not much for candy, I’m afraid.”
“All the more for the rest of us,” said Ellen. “How about you, Petey, candy?”
Ocypete looked over the choices and took one of the larger pieces. “We’ve recovered fully, but the hospital is keeping us overnight, just to be sure.”
“I think that’s only right, don’t you?” said Selena. “I hear the food is good.”
“Outstanding,” said Ellen. “Yesterday, neither of us felt like eating, but the doctor said we can eat whatever we feel like today”
“And so today we are,” said Ocypete.
“The food is nicely prepared, nicely seasoned, and hot,” said Ellen.
“And what’s not supposed to be hot is nice and cold,” added Ocypete.
Selena stood up. “I really must go. Is there anything I can get you girls?”
“No, thanks. We’ll be home tomorrow.” Ellen looked over the side of her bed.
“Do you need something, Ellen?” asked Selena.
“I found it. The control button.” She adjusted her bed to sit bolt upright. “I hate to bring this up, girls. But when we get home, we have a problem to deal with.”
“Oliver,” said Selena. “I was afraid of that.”

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