CHAPTER 24

LUPE, Astrid, and I sat in rocking chairs on the Scents & Nonsense patio and looked out at the Enchanted Garden. Dash and Charlie gnawed on rawhide chews at our feet, while Nabby stalked the perimeter of the fence in the cooler weather. Yesterday’s rainstorm had knocked the heat right out of the atmosphere, and while the temperature would still climb considerably as the day went on, there was a feeling that the relentless swelter of summer was falling behind us. The plants in the garden appeared refreshed, and after the events of the last few days, I was feeling better than I had a right to.

After I’d arrived home the night before, I filled Astrid in on what had happened while she was binge watching Game of Thrones with Charlie. Then I finally took one of the painkillers that Dr. Scott had given me and tumbled into bed. I’d slept like a dead person for ten solid hours and woken after eleven in the morning. I’d hurried out of my house, only to find Astrid and Lupe sitting on the patio of Scents & Nonsense, nibbling on buttery anise-and-cinnamon bizcochitos, and sipping strong tea.

Maggie was keeping an eye on things inside the shop and insisted that I join them. Now I gratefully took another sip of steaming Darjeeling.

“You have to give me this recipe,” Astrid said. The bright blue sling that kept her arm and shoulder immobilized reminded me of the baby sling she’d carried Precious the teacup pig around in. Had that really been only four days ago?

“It’s my mother’s,” the detective said. She’d brought the cookies over, saying that Astrid being unable to bake gave her an excuse to cook in her tiny apartment. “She always made them for the holidays, but I figured this was a kind of celebration, too.”

I shifted the soft pillow on the right side of my seat and carefully stretched my leg out. Even my falling injury was less painful today, though it would take a while to heal altogether.

“We might need something bubbly if we’re celebrating bringing a murderer to justice,” I said.

“A double murderer,” Lupe said.

I stopped my fussing and turned. Astrid was staring at her.

Now that she’d snagged our attention, Lupe gazed out at the garden and smiled a grim smile. I was glad it wasn’t directed at me. “Cynthia Beck had used deadly nightshade to kill before, when she lived in San Diego. Husband number one.”

“Holy moly,” Astrid breathed. “So one of her divorces wasn’t a divorce at all?”

“Oh, no. She had the two divorces, too. She didn’t advertise being a widow after she moved to Poppyville, I take it?”

Astrid and I shook our heads. She said, “I always called her a mantrap, but I had no idea she was a black widow.”

The detective nodded. “She got away with it for years. Probably wouldn’t have ever been caught if she hadn’t tried it again.” She looked pointedly at me. “And if you hadn’t known right off the bat what killed Sontag.”

“So that’s why she knew plant poisons were hard to detect in an autopsy,” I said. “She’d done her research a long time ago, and then she’d recognized the belladonna when she saw it on the land she wanted to buy.”

“Exactly.”

“But how did you find out?” Astrid asked the detective. “Her husband’s death must have been a long time ago.”

“Thirteen years ago,” Lupe agreed. A cat-who-just-ate-the-canary look settled on her face. “She confessed.”

I frowned. “You’re kidding. I mean, it just doesn’t seem like Cynthia to say or do anything that isn’t in her own best interest.”

“Ah. But I convinced her it was in her best interest. Once I found out she’d had three marriage licenses, I called the police in San Diego and found the guy who’d investigated her first husband’s death. He sent me her file online, and I spent all night going over it.”

I searched her face. Now that I wasn’t dwelling on my own posterior and had a modicum of caffeine in my system, I could see the dark circles under her eyes. Lupe hadn’t slept at all since I’d seen her last. A true professional. I couldn’t imagine Max Lang losing one second of sleep, or sacrificing one beer or ball game, in order to dig deeper into crime.

Not to mention then baking up a batch of yummy cookies.

She continued. “I found enough that I thought I could build a case.” She shrugged. “When I talked to Cynthia earlier this morning, I managed to convince her of that and told her the prosecutor would likely go easier on her if she came clean. It took some persuading, but eventually, she did just that.”

“Nice job!” I lifted my cup.

“To getting Larken off the hook,” Astrid said, holding her tea aloft.

“To good police work,” I said.

Lupe grinned and her weariness seemed to drop away. She lifted her cup as well. “To justice.” A wry expression crossed her face. “And to no more murders in Poppyville and never having to work with Max Lang again.”

“Amen,” Astrid and I intoned.

•   •   •

THE bell over the door to Scents & Nonsense jingled, and I looked up from where I was pricing a new shipment of scented drawer liners to see Tanner Spence silhouetted in the light from the street. It had been almost a week since Cynthia’s arrest, and he’d called a couple of times to check on how I was doing.

He strode in and stopped in front of the counter. “Lookie what I have.” He slid a folder across to me.

Raising my eyebrows, I opened it. Inside was a mock-up of the article on my tiny house.

“Oh, this is great,” I said, flipping through the pages. “Longer than I thought it would be, too.”

“Read it,” he said, and went over to pour a cup of coffee and grab a chocolate chip cookie.

Astrid might not want to have to make cookies, but as long as she could manage recipes that only required one hand and a stand mixer, she was determined not to stop. She was back at work at Dr. Ericcson’s office and still pet sitting, too.

I read through the article. It was informative, with a casual voice that was friendly and accessible, so the reader learned a lot while feeling like they were getting to know the author—and the subject, which in this case was me. It was a strange feeling.

The pictures were artful compositions that also conveyed the creativity and ingenuity of the man who had designed my tiny house. There was a mention at the end that he was interviewed elsewhere in the magazine.

After all that posing Spence had made me do, the only photo of me was a candid shot I hadn’t even known he’d taken. I was leaning over the alembic, and he’d caught the steam starting to swirl from it into the air. The expression on my face was as dreamy as any I’d seen on Larken.

I didn’t know whether to be flattered or dismayed.

“You like it?” he asked, and handed me a cookie.

Absently, I bit into it while flipping through the article again. “I love it.” Looking up, I said, “You aren’t required to show it to me, are you?”

“God, no. But I wanted you to see it before it comes out in the magazine.” He shrugged disarmingly. “I’m pretty proud of it.”

“You should be.”

He smiled.

I smiled.

“Is that why you’re still in town?” I asked finally.

His eyebrows rose in amusement. “Not exactly.”

I waited.

Spence’s grin widened. “I love small towns.”

I stared at him.

“I live here now,” Spence said. “Just signed a lease on an apartment on the west side of town.”

I blinked. “Because . . . ?”

“Like I said, I love small towns. And in the short time I’ve been here, Poppyville captured my interest.”

I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice when I said, “Poppyville captured your interest.”

“Uh-huh. Along with some of its inhabitants. One in particular, but she’s not available. So it’s not like I’m moving here for her.” Then he dropped the teasing tone. “Listen, Ellie. I’m a freelancer. I work all over the place, and I live wherever I want to. For a long time, I was overseas for months at a time, but I’m done with that gig. Still, it never made sense for me to own a home.”

He took a breath, watching me as he spoke. “I’m on a month-to-month lease in Sacramento, but I’m tired of the city. I like Poppyville. A lot. And I like you.” He held up his hand as I began to protest. “I know you have a long-distance relationship going on, and I respect that. But we can be friends. Or not, if that somehow feels wrong to you. Either way, I’m going to stay here for a while.” He seemed to struggle for the right words, then shrugged. “It just feels right here.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay, what?”

“Friends.” I stuck out my hand.

He grinned and shook it.

After all, how could I argue about Poppyville feeling right to someone else, when my whole life it had been the only place I’d ever wanted to be?

•   •   •

I STOOD beneath the circle of willows and listened. Meadowlarks, red-winged blackbirds, and the cawing of crows. A breeze pushed the tree branches back and forth. Far overhead, a jet plane carried passengers to a faraway place.

The air smelled of sage and dust and sun-warmed clay. No bubble gum. Nothing weird.

But the weird was there, hiding. I could feel it.

The fences were all down, the gate gone, the edges of Miss Poppy’s original parcel of land left to the imagination. It all felt so much bigger as a result, even the shallow red cliff, the crumbling chimney, and half-fallen wall.

Leaving the trees behind, I joined Larken, Colby, and Joyous in the remains of the old cabin. They were discussing the particulars of the agreement they’d reached. The ruins would stay right where they were, but Joyous would bring in an expert to make sure they were structurally safe. Ditto for the wellhead.

Joyous kept looking over her shoulder at the willows as if they were going to spontaneously generate a blanket of tule fog on a moment’s notice. Heck, for all I knew, they might. But I wasn’t worried, and I caught her eye to let her know that.

She smiled weakly and turned back to Larken and my brother.

My long-lost cousin had started seeing a therapist, and already seemed far happier. It made my heart glad every time she smiled. She’d decided not to sell her thirty acres, but she wasn’t ready to spend much time there, either.

So she and Larken had figured out a compromise. Joyous would give Larken a long-term lease for a pittance. Larken could use the money she got from her grandfather for off-grid systems like solar and wind power that could be moved if she ever wanted to relocate, and she and Colby were already making plans to build a straw-bale house to live in.

Like I said: crunchy.

And yes: Colby was on board.

Oh, he’d still have his Westfalia, and he’d probably still take off sometimes. But he and Larken had found a way to compromise as well.

Life was good.