There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3) Page 13

  “I was just giving Charmaine a little tour of the greenhouse,” she said.

  He stepped aside to let her pass. “The timer went off for the rice.”

  She smiled up at him. “Then lunch is almost ready.” She stood by the door to close it behind me. “You’re sure you won’t join us?”

  “Thanks, but I have to get going.” And tell Frankie about the key ingredient in the tea Marty McCutcheon had been drinking.

  Jeremy held the French door open for us. “Don’t let us keep you then.”

  Subtle.

  “Thank you for your time,” I said, heading toward the foyer with Victoria at my heels.

  “If there is any other news, please let me know.” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper when we reached the front door. “I really do want to know what killed my husband.”

  So did I.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  “Monkshood,” Frankie said, scowling at her computer monitor as she searched a plant toxin database.

  I stood by her side, still trying to catch my breath after running up the steps of the courthouse. Yet another reason to lay off the cheeseburgers.

  “Aconite. Certainly an infamous poison in ancient times, but an alkaloid not that uncommon in homeopathic medicine.” She tapped her pen against a notepad as she read. “That joke about how Marty’s wife was trying to kill him certainly makes a lot more sense now that we know what was in his tea.”

  No kidding.

  Frankie tucked a wayward strand of graying auburn hair behind her ear and gazed up at me. “But you believed her when she was telling you all this.”

  “Mrs. McCutcheon didn’t give me any indication that she was lying or holding anything back and was very emphatic that the tea had nothing to do with her husband’s cardiac arrest.”

  “Still, with the witnesses’ statements about food poisoning, it may have been a contributing factor.” She pulled a toxicology lab request form from a file in her desk, put a checkmark next to Pending Tox, and wrote Aconite in the Drugs Suspected column. “Give this to Patsy,” she said, handing me the form. “She’ll know what to do with it.”

  “What happens if the results come back positive for aconite? Will there be an official investigation into Marty’s death?”

  “Let’s get the lab results back first. Until that happens this changes nothing.” Frankie sharpened her gaze. “So if Darlene McCutcheon or any family members ask you any questions about this you either refer them to me or say that we’ll know more in six to eight weeks.”

  “Right.” I headed for Patsy’s desk.

  “And Charmaine.”

  I turned to see Frankie smiling at me.

  “You did the right thing to bring this to my attention.”

  It was my second attagirl in the last two days. If I hadn’t stalked Phyllis Bozeman on Saturday to practically accuse her of poisoning her ex-boyfriend, I might have happy-danced my way down the hall.

  Instead, I handed the form to Patsy. “We need to send this to the crime lab.”

  She jutted her pointy chin at me. “We?”

  If I ever needed to be cut down to size, I knew who I could rely on. “Frankie asked me to give it to you. It’s for Marty McCutcheon.”

  Patsy scanned the form. “Aconite? That’s a new one.”

  “It’s a poisonous alkaloid. Commonly used in ancient times. In fact, it’s widely believed that the emperor Claudius died of aconite poisoning.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, reminding me of Myron right before he swatted me in the face with his tail. “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you think you can get it out today?”

  Okay, I admit that I was enjoying my little moment of professional success a tad too much, and I shouldn’t have poked the mama bear in front of me. But since Patsy had roped me into playing Truth or Consequences with her boyfriend, I thought it only fair that she share in my moment.

  She puckered. “I’ll get right on it.”

  I whistled all the way back to my desk. Maybe things were looking up. I had a great guy who wanted to share his bed with me, I had a boss who didn’t think I was a total screw-up, and if my hunch was right, a significant level of aconite was going to be found in Marty McCutcheon’s urine.

  My feet froze to the threadbare carpet as the full weight of that thought made me shiver.

  If—and it was still a big if—but if someone had made sure that Marty had consumed enough of the poison to kill him, wouldn’t that person have wanted to be there to control the situation? Control who consumed it? When to call for medical assistance?

  I rushed back to my desk and pulled out my interview notes, carefully re-reading them.

  Shit almighty, both Jeremy and Austin had made it clear that Victoria didn’t want to make that call. Even Victoria chided herself for waiting as long as she did. If the salsa had been tainted, Cameron was the only person who mentioned being warned away from it—again, by Victoria.

  My pulse pounding in my ears, I did a mental rewind of all the times she seemed to be emotionally off, too helpful, too in control.

  No matter how many times Victoria McCutcheon said that she wanted to know what killed her husband without registering a ping on my liedar, I couldn’t help but think that she already knew.

  She certainly wasn’t wasting any time burying husband number three.

  I’d dismissed it early on as something out of crime fiction, but maybe Darlene had been dead-on when she pointed an accusatory finger at her successor.

  Victoria McCutcheon was a black widow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A few heads turned when the silver bell above the Duke’s Cafe front door signaled my arrival, but that was nothing out of the ordinary, so the coast seemed clear for me to grab the lunch my growling stomach had been reminding me that I’d missed.

  I slid my butt onto the barstool next to ninety-year-old Stanley, who had the sports section of Sunday’s newspaper spread out on the counter in front of him. “How’s it going, Stanley?”

  His eyes, magnified through the thick glasses that were always sliding down his bulbous nose, lit up as he smiled at me. “You disappoint me.”

  Uh-oh. “Why?”

  “I thought you were saving yourself for me.”

  “A girl can’t wait forever, Stan.”

  “I like to move slowly. Don’t want to rush a good thing.”

  Lucille squeaked up to refill his cup with decaf. “Any slower, old man, and we’d have to call Tolliver’s to come pick you up.”

  He stuck his tongue out at her.

  “What’ll ya have, hon?” she asked me, her pencil poised over an order ticket.

  “A turkey sandwich on wheat to go.” I glanced behind her at Duke, who didn’t look pleased to see me. Understandable, he’d been like a second grandfather to me, and while Steve had always been one of his favorites, I was pretty sure Duke wasn’t too keen on the notion of Steve and me as a couple.

  “Actually, why don’t I make it myself, and you can keep me company for a couple of minutes.” Because I didn’t need any extra ears to overhear the discussion I needed to have with the queen of Gossip Central.

  With a nod Lucille followed me into the kitchen.

  “What are you two up to now?” Duke grumbled as I washed my hands at the sink behind him.

  “Nothing. I’m saving you the trouble of making me a sandwich.”

  “Uh-huh, and why is Luce back here with you?”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m on a break.”

  He blew out a breath as he flipped a beef patty on the grill. “You’ve got until this burger is done to finish that break.”

  Lucille pulled me back to the table where my great-aunt Alice was rolling out pie dough. “Talk first, sandwich later.”

  Alice looked up at us. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” I said.

  Lucille sat on the wooden stool next to Alice. “Like what?”

  “Have you two heard anything about V
ictoria McCutcheon being seen around town?”

  Lucille and Alice looked at one another and shook their heads.

  “So there’s no gossip floating around about her?”

  Lucille shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing recent.”

  I sat down across from her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Yeah,” Alice chimed in. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  Lucille looked at my great-aunt like she’d suddenly become senile. “Remember when Pearl came in telling us about Marty breaking it off with her sister after he met someone online?”

  I vaguely remembered a music teacher in town named Pearl from when I was a kid. “Who’s her sister?” I asked.

  She aimed the same look across the table at me. “Phyllis Bozeman, who was none too happy when that pretty young thing came on the scene.”

  Other than the online part—one of the ways Victoria could have been trolling the region for a rich husband—this sounded like ancient history. “Okay, we’re short on time here, so new subject. What do you know about Bob Hallahan’s personal life?”

  Alice wrinkled her brow. “I know he lost his wife a couple of years back. One of the boys is in the military. The other one’s an engineer at Boeing.”

  “And he sold their big house and recently moved into something smaller over by the school.” Lucille hesitated, her eyes searching mine. “But I don’t think this is the kind of information you’re looking for.”

  She was right. “Do you know if he’s been seeing anyone?”

  “He’s certainly had the opportunity—good-looking man like that. Can’t be more than fifty-five, a perfect candidate for some of the younger widows and divorcees around here. Maybe he hasn’t been ready to move on.”

  I wondered if that were still the case.

  “Order up!” Duke bellowed.

  Heaving a sigh, Lucille pushed herself to her feet. “That man has the worst timing.”

  Alice chuckled. “He prides himself on it.”

  The moment that Lucille left to pick up her order, Alice placed her warm palm on my wrist. “What’s with all the questions?”

  “Don’t repeat what I’m about to tell you to anyone, okay?”

  Leaning closer, she nodded.

  “Estelle Makepeace saw Victoria over at Bob Hallahan’s house the Tuesday evening before Marty died.”

  Alice frowned. “Doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “She referred to Victoria as Bob’s lady friend, so I think that wasn’t the first time she saw them together.”

  “Oh. Well, that may mean something.”

  “It may have nothing to do with anything. I just thought that if they had a relationship, that it might have some bearing on...”

  Alice sharpened her gaze. “On what?”

  “Nothing.” I’d already said too much.

  “Liar.”

  “If you hear anything, let me know, okay?”

  She patted my hand. “Sure, sweetie. Oh, as long as you’re here, when’s dinner tonight?”

  Huh? “Dinner?”

  “Mary Jo said six-thirty or seven. Which is it?”

  Since Duke could barely tolerate my mother and her fake accent, I saw no reason for him to arrive early. “Seven.”

  Alice picked up her rolling pin and shot me a knowing look. “Be sure to tell Steve to come. From what I’m hearing he’s practically family now.”

  “Don’t get too carried away. Like Stanley, I’m trying to take things slowly.”

  “That’s not what I heard this morning.”

  I cringed. “Well, don’t believe everything making the rounds. And he’s coaching the peewees tonight, so he can’t make it.”

  She smirked. “Lucky him. He’s going to miss out on hearing all about your mother’s wedding plans.”

  Yeah, lucky him. I wondered if it were too late to volunteer for the job of assistant coach.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Almost seven hours later, I split the last of the second bottle of cabernet with Duke while my mother ignored the now cold chicken cacciatore on her plate.

  “Of course, we’re not looking to make this some grand affair.” She beamed at Mr. Ferris as if he actually had some say in the matter. “Simple elegance is what we’re going for. I’m thinking classy, serene, understated. With low music and candles.”

  “Girl, you just described a funeral service at Tolliver’s,” Duke said, reaching for his wine glass. “I’m sure Curtis would make his chapel available to you for a good price.”

  Marietta bristled. “I am not having a wedding at a funeral home.”

  “Suit yourself.” He pointed at her plate. “You gonna eat that chicken sometime tonight?”

  “I’m working on it!” she said without a trace of accent.

  “Then make it snappy. Some of us working stiffs have to get up in a few hours.”

  Alice waved her husband off as if she were shooing a pesky insect. “Mary Jo, we might be able to help you find a hall in town if we knew how large of a wedding you were thinking.”

  My mother blinked. “A hall? No, no, no. That wouldn’t have the ambiance, the chi that we’re looking for.”

  “What the hell is chi?” Duke asked.

  She smiled across the table at him as if she were a princess addressing one of the less fortunate commoners in her realm. “Energy.”

  “Energy.” He almost spat the word out. “I should have guessed as much.” Downing his wine in two big gulps, he pushed his glass toward me.

  Figuring that he needed it more than I did, I poured the contents of my glass into his.

  Marietta stabbed a bite of chicken with her fork. “The energy of a room is actually quite important. Take this room for example. A little too much negative energy is swirling around if you ask me.”

  Duke turned to his wife of fifty-two years. “Yeah, so knock it off with the hall suggestions. We need a chi-chi place with ambiance.”

  Alice glared at him. “What we need is for Mary Jo to tell us more about what she’s looking for so that we can help her find it. It’s her big day.” She looked across the table. “And yours of course, Barry.”

  “We appreciate that, Alice.” Mr. Ferris gazed into Marietta’s eyes. “But honestly, I’d be perfectly happy going in front of a judge at the courthouse or hopping on a plane to say our I dos in Vegas.”

  My mother dropped her fork, awkwardly tittering in a high pitch as if she were auditioning for the role of Glinda in a Wizard of Oz remake. Probably because she’d already experienced both those options with marriages that had lasted less than a year. “Don’t be silly. We’re going to do this right.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find the perfect location. You have two weeks to look around.” Two long weeks that would require a lot more wine to get through if this evening were any indication.

  She looked at me and sighed, “Where do your friends get married?”

  Nowhere that would remotely interest her with one exception. “Donna had an outdoor wedding in Port Townsend at Manresa Castle.” The first time anyway. “Very pretty grounds. You should check it out.”

  My mother pointed a lacquered nail at me. “We should check it out. After all, you are my maid of honor. You’re supposed to help me with these decisions.”

  She and I both knew that Emily Post wouldn’t agree with her. “Let’s chat about this later.” When I would remind her that this was the type of decision she should be making with her future husband, not me. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I collected all the dinner plates except for Marietta’s and headed into the kitchen, where Alice’s famous sour cream apple pie sat on the counter, along with six dessert plates.

  Seconds later, my mother set her plate on the stack I’d placed in the sink and turned to face me. “I really could use your help with this.” She lowered her voice. “Barry’s such a sweetheart, but he’s useless when it comes to planning a wedding. He just wants to hurry up and get married. I swear, if
I hear that man say whatever you want to do one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

  And if she thought that I was going to spend my every waking hour planning this wedding with her, I was going to lose it!

  “Chah-maine, I need someone who will give me an honest opinion.”

  She didn’t want my honest opinion about this wedding. Because I’d be telling her to wait at least a year—well past the typical duration of her infatuations.

  “Mom.”

  “I mean it. You’re the only one I trust to tell me what you really think.”

  “I’m working. I don’t have time…”

  She inched closer, a hopeful gleam in her emerald eyes. “I’ll be happy to work around your schedule.”

  Marietta wasn’t known for working around other people’s schedules. Quite the contrary.

  While I stared at her, looking for signs she was lying, she took my hand and smiled sweetly, lovingly, and I heard a flushing sound. It was either my resolve going down the crapper, or Duke’s prostate was acting up again.

  She searched my gaze. “What do you say? Could we take a couple hours tomorrow night and go to Manresa Castle?”

  “It will have to be after five.”

  She clapped her hands. “That’ll work out perfectly! There will still be plenty of natural light to see everything when we first get there, but we’ll also have an opportunity to see it lit for an evening event.”

  I forced a smile. “Great.”

  “And of course we’ll need to have dinner there. No point in talking catering before test-driving the menu.”

  “Fine.” No doubt she’d order one of almost everything, take one bite, and leave the rest for me. I made a mental note to wear my fat pants.

  “Wonderful! Oh, and I’d like to check out a little chapel up north. Botanical garden, view of the Sound. Barry thought it was a little too far away, but it’s supposed to be one of the best wedding venues around. That’s worth a look, don’t you think?”

  I gritted my teeth because the one road trip I’d agreed to had just become two. “Sure.”

  “When we go, we should probably check out some of the bed and breakfasts up there. The wineries, too. We could even do some wine tasting!”