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It took more arguing on her part, but Beverly eventually won Adam over. So, now-blonde Beverly and Adam were standing in Professor Vernon Atkinson’s living room, which was currently a mess. The furniture heaped in the middle and covered in plastic tarps looked like a haunted-house prop, and more tarps covered the floors. Atkinson welcomed them in with a speck of paint on his nose and a roller brush in hand.
“Nyssa’s hated that yellow color for years, haven’t you, dear?” His wife, wielding a paintbrush in the corners, nodded silently.
Beverly looked at the walls with the new coat of paint. “That’s a lovely shade of maroon.”
“Cranberry,” Atkinson said, pointing to the can. “We should all be wearing face masks and air filters, considering what they put in this.”
Beverly walked over toward Nyssa to study the color more closely. “You have more patience than I do. I’d happily hire someone to do it.”
Atkinson said, “But we love home improvement projects, don’t we, dear?”
Nyssa pasted on a smile. She did give a quick side glance over at Beverly before returning to her brushwork.
Adam pulled out his small notebook as he asked Atkinson, “Do you know a man named Braddon Hopper?”
Atkinson stood back from the wall to examine his progress. “If he was a former student, I might remember his face. So many students come and go.”
Adam pulled out a photo and handed it over. The other man peered at it, then shook his head. Adam asked, “You didn’t see this man over at Wallace Ryall’s place?”
“Despite our tiffs, Detective, I didn’t stay glued to the window with a video camera watching everything that man did twenty-four-seven. Or people coming and going.”
“You said before you didn’t see any women there except for his ex, Fern Gery.”
“He didn’t have wild parties if that’s what you mean. Although he and Fern got into it now and then.”
“Arguing?”
“Typical engaged-couple nonsense.”
Nyssa had a pained expression on her face but kept painting. Just what did her husband consider a “typical” argument? The toilet-roll, toothpaste-tube kind, or something more violent? Beverly would love to know the answer to that one.
Atkinson added, “I believe Wallace got Fern on the rebound after her ex-husband ran off with some floozy. So there was a reason, eh? This woman was hard to get along with, hence the arguments.”
Adam asked, “You’re an avid gardener, isn’t that right?”
“Avid, but not fanatical. I’m not like those people who go to rose shows or build greenhouses for their precious, pampered orchids.”
“What do you grow, mostly?”
“Organic herbs and vegetables. Things my wife can use in her cooking. We dry many of them. Beats all those store-bought brands with their MSG, or synthetic anti-caking agents, or concentrated toxic pesticides.”
“Speaking of toxic, you haven’t noticed any unusual weeds growing in your yard? Things like white snakeroot, belladonna, wolfsbane?”
“Funny thing about poisonous plants, they’re often very lovely. Belladonna bushes are often grown for their beautiful drooping, bell-shaped blue or red flowers. And wolfsbane has these lovely purple clusters.”
“But you haven’t grown any?”
“Not intentionally. I use organic herbicides to keep most weeds like that at bay. To avoid any cross-contamination from seeds of such plants with my herbs.”
“Are you aware of any specific gardeners who might be cultivating them?”
“No, and they’d better not have any pets if they do. It only takes a tiny bit to kill an animal. I certainly wouldn’t want Muttley getting into them.”
Atkinson put down his roller brush and frowned. “Are you hinting that the poison used on my dog was something like wolfsbane?” He mumbled to himself. “Never saw it in Ryall’s yard.”
Beverly wanted to try to get Nyssa alone since it was clear her husband was the controlling type, at least with other people around. Should she ask for some water as an excuse to follow Nyssa into the kitchen and get her alone? No, Atkinson would likely barge ahead and go get it himself.
Adam snapped the notebook shut and put it back in his pocket. “That’s all for now, Professor. Don’t want to interrupt your painting any further.”
Beverly smiled at Nyssa on her way out and gave a quick look back as she and Adam let themselves out. “Dr. Atkinson appears pretty cheerful, but his wife is one sad, depressed woman. I guess it takes one to know one.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like someone who gets depressed. More the active, take-charge type.”
“In my former life.”
He didn’t press her on it, and she was grateful. He looked at his shoes, one of which was now sporting a smear of cranberry paint, which prompted Beverly to say, “I guess we’ll have to accessorize your wardrobe to match. We can start with a cranberry tie, add in some cranberry cufflinks. Plus, a cranberry pocket-handkerchief.”
“I loathe cranberry.”
“The fruit or the color?”
“Both.” He held up his foot and wiggled it as if he could make the paint go away.
“You don’t think Atkinson grew the wolfsbane and planted that bottle in Braddon’s desk?”
“If he did grow it, he’s already got rid of the evidence. Makes me wonder if his dog got poisoned accidentally by his master’s own stash.”
“Poor little guy. Regardless of who did it, it was a horrible thing to do.” She sighed. “Grammie was allergic to dogs. Still, every Christmas I used to dream there’d be a Golden Retriever puppy under the tree.”
“Guess it’s hard to have a pet if you move around often.” He paused for a moment. “Looked for places here, yet?”
“Haven’t had time. What with Harlan’s case and Agnes’s shop.” Once again, her excuses rang hollow to her, and she knew they would to Adam, too. She blurted out, “Maybe you could recommend a real estate agent?”
A slow smile spread across his face. “I could do that.” He started whistling “Little cabin in the woods,” and she joined in. She wasn’t going to tell him about her visit to “his” cabin, not yet. She was still too skittish to feel ready to settle down, but she could play the pretend game, couldn’t she?
Adam got a call on his cell, and from his end of the conversation, Beverly knew it was Jinks, excited about something. When he hung up, he relayed to Beverly, “The fingerprints and DNA from the root beer bottle you rescued from the park ranger did the trick. They match Jinks’s sexual assault case. The woman picked him out of a lineup, and now our park ranger is in jail.”
“That’s wonderful, for Jinks and her victim. Doest his help Harlan, too?”
“Time will tell. I need to hurry back to the office to help Jinks interrogate ‘His Excellency.’ Hopefully, I’ll learn more then.”
