Chapter 18

TO MY SURPRISE, Pepper couldn’t have been more supportive and concerned. She pushed me toward the exit. She offered her car, which I didn’t need, and her cell phone, which I also didn’t need; I’d had sense enough to grab my purse. As I dashed from the shop, Bailey promised that everything at The Cookbook Nook would go off without a hitch.

I scooted into my VW and jammed the car into gear. Pepper was still within range. I yelled out the window, asking who had alerted her.

“Maya.”

“Why didn’t she call me?” I shouted.

“She did. You didn’t answer.”

I glanced at my cell phone’s readout. Indeed, there was a missed call from a telephone number I didn’t recognize.

“Maya’s at the hospital with your aunt,” Pepper added. “She’ll explain . . . Just go. Mercy Urgent Care.”

There was a big hospital near Santa Cruz, but there were two decent-sized emergency clinics in Crystal Cove. Boating, surfing, and swimming accidents occurred often in a beach community. Mercy Urgent Care was on the road heading up into the hills.

I raced to Admitting. A kind nurse directed me to the second floor. When I arrived at Aunt Vera’s room, I paused in the doorway. My stomach clenched at the sight of my stalwart aunt looking so feeble. She lay in bed, the back of the bed raised to a forty-five-degree angle. Her skin was pale; her face was stained black and blue. Tubes weaved out of her like spiderwebs to machines that pulsed with light and vibrated with tones. A young female doctor, who appeared no older than I, was in attendance checking my aunt’s pulse.

Maya stood by the window with her arms wrapped around her body, hands shoved under her armpits. Her curly hair looked bedraggled. Her slender frame was overwhelmed by the loose-fitting, green hemp dress and knitted shawl she wore. When she saw me, she hurried to me and clutched my hands. “I watched the whole thing.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “She was driving erratically. I was in the car behind yelling for her to stop.”

“I’m sorry, you were where?”

“Here’s how it started—”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Aunt Vera said. Her voice was gravelly and tired.

The doctor wrote something on the chart and, without a word to Maya or me, left the room.

I broke free of Maya and rushed to my aunt’s side. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes were glassy. The blue-and-white gown the hospital had provided washed out her usually ruddy skin.

Why couldn’t hospitals come up with gowns in bright pink or red? Something cheery and hopeful. If I were to take on the campaign to promote this hospital, that would be one of the first things I would address. Mercy Urgent Care. Not wishy-washy. Not bland. Full of hope. Because we urgently care that you face life with energy and enthusiasm . . . or something like that. Years ago, I would have spent months perfecting the slogan for a campaign. Now, they flitted through my mind in an instant, quickly replaced by what I needed to do at The Cookbook Nook.

“One minute I was driving along the road,” Aunt Vera continued, “and the next, bam.”

“Bam?” I cried.

Maya nodded. “She plowed into a tree.”

“A tree?” I moaned. “Did Trisha Thornton or her boyfriend try to run you off the road?”

“What?” Aunt Vera looked perplexed. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“Bailey overheard them talking at Latte Luck Café. Bailey said they were worried because you were snooping around UC Santa Cruz. By yourself.”

“I went to the school to talk to a counselor about Trisha. I thought I might intercede on her behalf with this probation thing. However, I couldn’t find anyone to help me. Not a soul.”

I sighed. “Really? You would do that for her? Even while everyone thinks she killed her mother? You are positively the kindest person in the world.” I lifted her hand and squeezed gently.

Aunt Vera said, “Let me backtrack. Nobody ran me off the road. It was my own doing. It all started at yesterday’s lunch when you got me thinking about Bingo.”

“This is my fault?”

“Of course it is, dear. Everything’s your fault.” She winked—an effort that made her wince—and then she waggled a teasing finger, her energy slightly more vibrant than her skin tone. “Jenna Starrett Hart, don’t even go there. I did not crash because of you or anything you did. You know how I drift off when I drive. If I were Chief Pritchett, I’d take away my driver’s license ASAP. Don’t tell her I said that.” She snickered. “Something like this . . . running into a tree? It’s never happened before.” She flinched again. The tubes weren’t making talking easy. The tape holding them in place was puckering. “Anyway, after our chat at the luncheon, I thought back to times when I’d asked Bingo about her former fiancé or her past. I remembered how she would snap off conversations with a wave of her hand—a misdirection, a magician might call it. All she had ever told me about her high school sweetheart was what I told you already: he left for college and dumped her. End of story. Well, I wanted to know the truth, so I telephoned her, but she didn’t answer. That’s why I went to Aunt Teek’s. To look for her. She wasn’t there. A sign read, Back in 10 minutes. But the door was unlocked. She often forgets to lock the door. She says it’s a Midwesterner’s habit. They’re so trusting, they never lock their houses. Can you imagine?”

I couldn’t. In California, that just wasn’t done. There were areas that were safer than others, but locked doors were a must. If only the world’s inhabitants could be more trusting . . . and trustworthy. Open doors. Open books. No violence. No death.

I tucked a loose hair behind my ear and said, “Go on.”

Aunt Vera drew in a sharp breath. She grimaced, as if something in her rib cage hurt. She exhaled slowly. “I went inside to wait. While I was there, I glanced around and saw a pile of books on Bingo’s desk. I wondered if any might be a diary or a photo album, anything that might give me the slightest peek into her past. I’m not typically a snoop, but I owed it to Pearl, didn’t I? At least I convinced myself I did. If I could learn something more about the man who broke Bingo’s heart, maybe I would understand why she was so evasive about him. I wondered if there was some deep, dark secret that Bingo needed to hide—would kill to hide. I don’t know if she was Pearl’s client—we’ve never talked about that, either—but what if something horrible happened to the man, and Bingo mentioned it to Pearl? Who better to talk to about that kind of upset than a therapist?”

“Are you wondering whether Bingo killed the boy?”

“No. Heavens, no. I don’t . . . No.” Aunt Vera picked up a glass that had a lid and a straw and slurped down a long drink of water. “What I found next . . . forgive me, but when I didn’t discover a diary or personal calendar on the desktop, I decided to rummage through the drawers. What can I say? A niggling notion just took over. It was like I was possessed. Not truly possessed, mind you. No exorcists needed today.” She tittered as she set the glass back on the bedside tray. “Anyway, in the second drawer on the right, I found a bottle of arsenic.”

Maya gasped.

Aunt Vera nodded. “I know. Arsenic, the king of poisons. Then I found an antique hatpin about six inches long that looked stained at the tip. Remember how Bingo suggested a sewing needle as a weapon when you were theorizing at the luncheon? Well, I got to pondering how else poison might have been administered to Pearl in a way other than a hypodermic. What if Bingo dipped a hatpin in arsenic and poked Pearl?”

I said, “Do you think Bingo was taunting us? Giving us a clue?”

“No, it can’t be.” Maya waved a hand. “Bingo is not a killer. She is so . . . good.”

“She is, and I would hope it’s not her,” my aunt said, “but why did she stash those items out of sight? Right about that time, Bingo, Emma, and Maya entered the shop.”

I looked at Maya. She concurred.

“Needless to say, I was caught off guard,” Aunt Vera went on. “I dumped my findings back in the drawer and stood, bumping my knee on the underside of the desk. It’ll be black and blue tomorrow.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her what her face looked like. It would probably turn a horrific greenish-yellow in a few days.

Aunt Vera continued. “It seems the trio had met, without me, that morning to plan a celebration tea.”

Maya said, “You were invited, but for some reason we couldn’t track you down. Your cell phone must have been switched off.”

I glanced at my aunt. She tinged pink. Earlier, I hadn’t seen her car in her driveway. She must have spent the night at Nature Guy Greg’s place. No judgment, Jenna, no judgment.

“We went to Latte Luck Café to chat,” Maya went on. “We thought it would be nice to hostess a high tea at Nature’s Retreat for all those who put their heart and soul into the luncheon. You know how these events are. They take a year to plan—the faire, the haunted tour, the luncheon—and then whoosh, it’s all over in a nanosecond. Everyone is exhausted and wondering what tornado hit her. That’s why Vera got a cold. Me, too. Emma came up with the idea for the high tea. She said Pearl would have approved. Bingo embraced the idea with open arms.”

“How did you wind up at Aunt Teek’s?” I asked.

“Silly Bingo needed her datebook. The woman doesn’t do anything in the digital age. She doesn’t have an iPhone or Blackberry. It’s amazing, don’t you think?”

My boss at Taylor & Squibb was very old school. No social media. No hashtag communications written in 140 characters or less. He said the New Age was ruining our ability to communicate face to face. He and my father met one time and talked like they were lifelong buddies.

“When we arrived at the shop,” Maya continued, “we must have startled Vera. Now that I know why she was there, it makes all the sense in the world, but she seemed flustered. You did, Vera.” Maya eyed my aunt. “You stuttered, and your face was as flushed as a rutabaga. Not a pretty color, by the way. Sort of mottled. Now, you look . . .” Her mouth turned down.

Aunt Vera said, “What? What do I look like? Give me a mirror.”

“No!” I yelled.

“That bad?”

“You’ll need a little makeup for a few days, that’s all,” I lied.

“More than a little makeup,” Maya said.

I glowered at her. “Go on. Tell the rest of the story. You, Bingo, and Emma walked in on my aunt.”

Maya coughed as she knotted the ends of her shawl. “Bingo asked what Vera was doing there.”

“Her voice had an edge to it,” Aunt Vera cut in. “Of course, I could have been reading something into her tone because I was nervous. I fibbed and told her I needed some lace for something we were decorating at the shop. A pumpkin, I think. I’m sure she knew I was fibbing.”

Maya said, “But Bingo laughed and said, ‘What’s mine is yours,’ and then she proceeded to make tea for all of us. I started to help, but I was so hypercaffeinated by that time—I’d had three cups of tea trying to rid myself of this nagging cold—I excused myself to the ladies’ room. When I returned, we kept the conversation light. No mention of Pearl or the tragedy. Halfway through our chitchat, Vera started acting funny.”

“How so?” I asked.

“She was pulling on her hair and fidgety. Suddenly, she bolted to her feet and hightailed it out of there.”

Aunt Vera’s eyes widened. “Did I look that edgy? Truth be told, I was thoroughly embarrassed that I had questioned whether my friend of many years could be a cold-blooded killer, but what in heavens might she need arsenic for?”

I said, “Maybe arsenic just happened to be included in the items she’d purchased along with the antique shop. You know, arsenic was an old-time remedy. Back in college, I took a human biology class, one of those classes that was totally useless to a journalism and art major. The project required us to research medicines and how they were used to treat ailments. It turned out doctors used arsenic, and sometimes mercury, to treat syphilis before penicillin was discovered, and they used opium to help with coughing and other digestion ailments.”

“Who knew?” Maya hiccupped out a laugh. “Did you know marijuana, because it stimulates hunger, is good for people with eating disorders?”

Aunt Vera gave her a curious look.

“Sorry.” Maya waved a hand. “I get off track sometimes.”

Was she trying to tell my aunt she had a thriving medical, albeit unlicensed, marijuana business? Not mine to reveal.

Aunt Vera said, “So, Jenna, you think finding arsenic in Bingo’s things could be harmless?”

“She could have found the arsenic and decided that it was safer to stow it in her desk.”

“Rather than throw it away?”

I nodded. “I can’t tell you how many things I put someplace thinking I’ll get rid of them and find them years later. Back to you. What happened next?”

“I drove toward home, contemplating my next step.”

“Your next step?” Maya said. “Vera, you’ve got to stop investigating. It’s not wise. We have a good police force.”

“I know, but it’s my duty. I can’t sit idly by and watch them bungle Pearl’s case.”

“They’re not bungling it.” Maya heaved her narrow shoulders. “All I can say is it’s lucky I came onto the scene. You see, Jenna, because I thought your aunt was acting erratically, even for her—”

“Too-ra-loo,” my aunt warbled.

“Call me crazy, but you made me so anxious. I worried you’d gone back to taking that over-the-counter cough medicine junk. All those unhealthy red dyes. The stuff can make you not only itchy but sleepy, and worse. So I followed you. You missed your exit. I didn’t know where you were off to, but then you started to weave. You were getting too close to the cliff.”

“What cliff?” I nearly shrieked, trying to imagine the terrain.

“South of the pier,” Maya said.

There were lots of hills in and around Crystal Cove, but not many cliffs. However, along Highway 1, southward toward San Simeon, there were sheer walls of rock. I remembered when my father was teaching me to drive along the route. Every second, I worried that I would plunge into the ocean.

“Aunt Vera, why were you all the way down there?”

“I can’t remember.”

“I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep,” Maya said. “That’s why I was honking.”

“I remember wondering who was dogging me from behind. It was hazy. I couldn’t make out a car or face in the rearview mirror. At one point, I turned my head to see who was being so rude. I guess that’s when I lost control of the steering wheel. I swerved. I hit the tree and banged forward.”

My heart started to pound so hard I could feel it drumming my ribs. “Didn’t the airbag inflate?” I said.

“What airbag? In my ancient Mustang? I hit my forehead and my cheek.” She started to reach for her face.

I said, “Don’t.”

“Give me a mirror, now.”

“No.”

“Don’t baby me.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

She pulled up the covers of her bed and tucked them tightly under her arms. “Well, I’m alive and that’s all that matters. Now, I’m getting sleepy.”

“We’ll go,” I said, “but I want you to promise to do everything the doctor orders.” I took hold of my aunt’s hands. They were shaking. She was anxious. So was I. Replaying the events in my mind, I couldn’t help wondering if Bingo had slipped something into my aunt’s tea to make her so drowsy she would drive herself to an untimely death.