FIFTEEN

Andy drove me to Summer Place; Mollye followed in her car. Though Daylight Savings Time was still a month away, the days were lengthening. It was still light when Andy pulled his truck in the driveway.

As he made the turn, the curtains twitched in my across-the-street neighbors’ house. One of the Miss Medleys was on alert, cataloguing the comings and goings at my future B&B. My cell phone beeped right after I switched on the kitchen lights.

“Brie, there are lights on in Summer Place but I don’t see your car, just a truck and that flashy van Mollye Camp drives. Since she’s there, I assume your visitors have permission. But better safe than sorry.”

I assured Miss Medley I was among Summer Place’s current occupants and thanked her profusely for keeping tabs on my property.

Andy smiled. “Wow. If she’s going to report every vehicle that comes and goes, the woman’s going to have her work cut out for her once you open your B&B.”

“She’s harmless and I’m glad she keeps an eye on Summer Place while it’s vacant,” I said. “I’ve worried teens might decide it’s a great place for a clandestine hook up. But it’s a construction hazard zone. Lots of accidents waiting to happen to anyone sneaking about in the dark.”

I frowned as I suddenly recalled Miss Medley’s suspected intruder report from last night. An unknown truck had pulled into my driveway after Mollye and I left, and it had lingered for maybe half an hour. Then there’d been the clean bowl. The one I hadn’t remembered washing.

Rotten ribeyes! Could a visitor have broken in, used the bowl to add poison to my chocolate mousse, then washed it so I wouldn’t notice?

Andy and Mollye looked skeptical as I formulated my theory of a poisoner intruder. I’d settled on the chocolate mousse as the carrier since its dark, rich taste would camouflage any additive stirred into the mix.

Andy rocked back on the porch chair he’d claimed. His crossed arms signaled doubt. “What’s the motive? Someone wanted your tasting to be a big failure and didn’t care if the little prank cost someone her life?”

Mollye jumped in. “Maybe Brie’s not off base. Maybe someone purposely poisoned Harriett because she was blackmailing them. Perhaps the killer researched Harriett’s medical condition and knew whatever he added would make her croak. Could be he thought it would only make the others embrace their toilets.”

Andy shook his head. “You have such a way with words.”

Mollye held up a finger. “Wait. Here’s another idea. If there really was an intruder maybe he—or she—only intended to embarrass Brie, and Harriett’s death was, oops, a surprise. The goal might have been to make everyone puke, and no one was supposed to kick the bucket.”

I shivered. “Geesh, of your two motives, I have to say I prefer Harriett being the intended victim. I’d hate to think someone despises me enough that they’re willing to poison innocent bystanders. I’ve lived in Ardon County less than a year. Hard to imagine I’ve stirred up that much animosity.”

Mollye harrumphed. “You’ve been pretty quick to inspire both love…” She paused to batt her eyelashes at Andy. “And hate. For the most part, the hate’s sort of a side effect of your role in catching murderous scumbags. While said scumbags are now either dead or in jail, they have plenty of relatives in Ardon County.”

Andy uncrossed his arms and rocked forward to lean his elbows on the table. His green eyes darkened as he studied my face. “Moll has a point. We should make a list of potential enemies—yours and Harriett’s. I’d put Susan Young and Mrs. Quinn of the True Believers on your side of the list, but I can’t believe they’d risk harming Harriett, one of their own.”

“Harriett posted she’d be at the luncheon, but that doesn’t mean the church folk read her blog,” I added. “Maybe none of the True Believers knew Harriett was coming.”

“How ironic would that be?” Moll asked. “Religious whackos poisoning one of their own. Nope. Doesn’t compute. Anyone who tampered with the food had to know Harriett was coming. Her blog was the only way people who weren’t invited knew there was a tasting. It wasn’t advertised.”

I held up a hand. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves—and reality. Time to quit fantasizing and do what we came to do—get samples of all the ingredients in both desserts. Contaminated fruit might be to blame. Avocadoes are what make the mousse so smooth and creamy. Let’s make two sets of ingredients. One for Dr. Swihart, one for Sheriff Mason.”

I checked the internet to see what steps someone was supposed to take if food poisoning was suspected. South Carolina’s Department of Health and Environmental Control—DHEC—offered explicit directions for bagging and labeling foodstuffs.

It took us half an hour to gather the ingredients. The fruit pie’s crust was made from dates and nuts, while smashed bananas served as a creamy binder for strawberries, raspberries, and mandarin oranges. We bagged dual samples of everything except the berries. Since I’d used every berry I’d bought, my only recourse was to retrieve packaging from my trash bin to indicate the source. If the berries were contaminated, there’d be other reports.

The chocolate mousse recipe had fewer ingredients: pulverized avocadoes, raw cocoa powder, cashew milk, stevia, and vanilla. I added unpeeled avocados to my inventory and labeled plastic baggies holding tablespoons of the dry ingredients. I poured some of the cashew milk in two small containers and put them in the refrigerator.

“Dr. Swihart’s going to analyze one batch of samples, right?” Mollye asked. “Who do you suppose Sheriff Mason will get to test the other set?”

I frowned. “If there’s a suspicion of contaminated food, I think it’s a special epidemiology team from DHEC but sometimes they call in specialists from the Centers for Disease Control.”

Andy looked thoughtful. “They’ll screen for things like E. coli, salmonella, listeria, the bacteria commonly introduced during food harvesting or processing. But I’m not sure routine tests would pick up the type of toxins someone might have deliberately introduced to harm folks.”

I shivered. “Surely they’ll keep testing if the initial ones prove negative. As a toxicologist maybe Dr. Swihart can devise a testing protocol right off the bat to look for more exotic possibilities.”

I stashed the samples for the “official” inquiry in Summer Place’s commercial size refrigerator. We packed the rest in a cooler for Dr. Swihart.

Moll got up from her chair. “I’m starving. Don’t take this personally, but I think I’ll pass on any item in your refrigerator. For once, I’d rather raid my own fridge.”

I sighed. “I’m afraid that’s how everyone will feel once word of Harriett’s death circulates. I sure hope the cause doesn’t remain a mystery. If it does, I might as well put Summer Place on the market. No one will want to visit a B&B with a to-die-for kitchen.”

Andy walked around the table and hugged me.

“Hey, is that allowed?” Mollye tsk-tsked. “Isn’t it Paint’s week as the boyfriend?”

Andy grinned, his emerald eyes twinkling. “This is a hug from a friend. If it were my week, I’d ask you to leave the room. But I do plan to call Paint tonight. He’s goofing off in Charleston when he should be on Brie duty. If he plans to spend more time at the coast, we need to amend our original agreement with an ‘alternate’ clause—e.g., if boyfriend of the week is absent more than twenty-four hours, the alternate has approved access to Brie Hooker’s lips.”

Mollye snorted. “What if you’re tied up more than twenty-four hours birthing colts or operating on cats?”

“That’s different,” Andy replied straight-faced. “Brie has the option to tool over and visit me, wipe the sweat from my brow as I bravely coax a breech colt to enter the world.”

My nose wrinkled. “Sorry Andy, but given a choice between playing scrub nurse in a barn or buzzing off to Charleston to dine with prospective investors, Paint would have the edge. He did invite me, you know? Now I wish I’d gone instead of staying for this wonderful tasting.”

“I’m crushed,” Andy replied. “Guess it’s time to drive my friend, Brie, back to pick up her car. Wonder if anyone from the sheriff’s department is still at Harriett’s house.”

I locked the sunporch door as we left. Andy reached behind me and rattled the knob. “Doesn’t hurt to double check,” he said.