SIXTEEN

We stuck the cooler with Dr. Swihart’s samples in the cab of Andy’s truck and drove to Harriett’s. Sheriff Kyle Mason was climbing inside one of the two cruisers sitting at the curb ready to leave.

I hopped out of Andy’s truck to buttonhole Mason. I held on to a slim hope he’d share information that would clear me of even a peripheral role in Harriett’s death.

“Hi, Sheriff. Guess you heard Harriett was one of my guests at a tasting today.”

Mason nodded, and I hurried on before he could deliver the lines he’d spoken so often last fall: “Can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

“Since some of my other guests have taken ill, a contaminated ingredient in one of my desserts may be to blame. I just left Summer Place where we put together samples of all the ingredients for testing. I’m as eager as anyone to find out what happened.”

Mason’s eyebrow lifted. “I think Mrs. Quinn may be a little more eager. She’s leveled some serious accusations. Namely that you poisoned her daughter to get back at her for protesting—do I have this right?—goat yoga devil worship.”

Andy interrupted. “Brie’s own mother ate the same food as Harriett. Surely that proves Brie wasn’t trying to kill anyone.”

The sheriff closed the open cruiser door and leaned against it.

“Mrs. Quinn and Reverend Nickles have an answer for that. They say Brie dusted the other folks’ dishes with just a touch of poison to make it look like Harriett’s death was accidental. The reverend made sure I knew about Professor Howard Hooker’s poison expertise. His theory? Professor Hooker told his daughter exactly how much poison to apply to make people sick versus dead.”

My fingernails bit into the palms of my hands. A distraction to control my anger. “We went through this malarkey about Dad’s poison plants when another Ardon native ate a fatal brownie. Since that happened before your time, here are the facts: Dad grows poisonous plants for Medical University of South Carolina researchers to test as potential cancer treatments. None of his plants are poisonous enough to kill adults unless they consume humongous quantities in a single sitting or over time. Harriett couldn’t have died from any plants in Dad’s garden.”

Sheriff Mason shrugged. “We’ve spoken to Mollye Camp and all the other luncheon guests,” he added. “Not everyone took sick.”

“That’s not unusual,” Andy interjected. “Bacteria can cause violent reactions in some people and mild or no symptoms in others.”

“I’ll leave the medical opinions to the professionals,” Mason said. “Brie, I want you to meet me at Summer Place at nine a.m. tomorrow. Don’t go back inside until I arrive.” He rubbed his jaw. “Sure wish you hadn’t returned tonight. Now no matter what a lab finds Mrs. Quinn will claim you scurried back to get rid of evidence that could prove it was murder. Members of DHEC’s epidemiology team will meet us there.”

Andy trailed my car back to Udderly Kidding. Aunt Eva flung the cabin door open while we were walking up the steps.

“’Bout time you got home.” Eva’s scolding tone said she’d been worried. “Andy, glad to see you escorted our wayward chef. Now what’s all this about you making your lunch guests sick and killing Harriett?”

The three of us sat at our cabin’s kitchen table, and I walked Eva through the day’s high and low spots, ending with my troubling conversation with Sheriff Mason.

“Maybe Mrs. Quinn has a point,” Eva said, holding up her hand to halt my sputtering retort. “Could be someone wanted to kill Harriett and spiked all the food to make it look like accidental food poisoning.”

“Tell Eva about Miss Medley’s sighting,” Andy interrupted. “There’s a possibility someone slipped into Brie’s kitchen the night before the tasting.”

I told Eva about the truck loitering in the Summer Place driveway and the clean bowl conundrum. “If someone really did sneak in to poison a dessert, how could he be certain only Harriett would die?”

Andy tapped his spoon against his cup. “Maybe he didn’t care if everyone died. Maybe he was willing to chance multiple deaths to kill Harriett.”

I slumped in my chair. “All I know is that I dished out the desserts, and Mollye delivered them at random. Mollye and I were the only ones who could have given Harriett a pre-determined portion. Despite Mrs. Quinn’s ravings, neither of us had any desire to kill the blogger—or Karen. But she didn’t want to hear me.”

Eva leaned back in her chair. Her eyes looked unfocused. Then she suddenly leaned forward and slapped the table.

“Sometimes those cobwebs have a way of trapping thoughts for a time,” she said. “There is a way to use poison and specifically target one person at a table for six. Talk with your friend Mimi, the pharmacist, about drug interactions. Maybe the killer knew Harriett took a medicine that would interact with whatever he added to your dish.”

Andy nodded. “Possible. I constantly read about new drug interactions. They concern veterinarians as well as MDs. Still it isn’t a very efficient murder method.”

“It leaves a lot to chance,” I agreed. “Maybe Harriett passes on tasting the dish that’s poisoned. Maybe she quits taking the medicine that interacts with the poison. The killer would have to know Harriett very well to know her medical history.”

“Maybe not.” Eva rose from the table, retrieved her purse, and pulled out a CVS sales slip like a crackerjack prize. “If I throw this slip away, a would-be killer can sort through my garbage and puzzle out every prescription and over-the-counter med I take. Simple as pie.”

“Okay, I’ll mention the possibility to Sheriff Mason, though I’m sure he’ll blow it off. Just fanciful thinking for someone in dire need of an alibi.”

My stomach growled. Despite all the talk of food poisoning, my tummy was reminding me I hadn’t eaten supper.

“Andy, Eva, are you willing to eat something I cook?” I walked to our cabin’s refrigerator to check on leftovers. “I need to eat something or I’ll have a headache.”

Eva shook her head. “I didn’t wait for you to dawdle home from your escapades. Already had me a nice juicy hamburger covered with lots of melted cheese. Yum.”

Andy smiled. “Have to admit that burger sounds good, but I’m a nondenominational kind of eater. I’ll pretty much snarf up anything you put in front of me, Brie. I have no fear of eating whatever you cook.”

I rummaged through the shelves and found leftovers from a vegetarian enchilada casserole. I dished out servings for Andy and me and nuked them in the microwave. “Choose whichever dish you want,” I said. “Think I’ll make that offer from now on so folks will think I’m at least willing to play Russian roulette if I’ve poisoned one of the plates.”

We’d just started eating when the cabin phone rang. Eva answered. She muttered “un huh” responses to whoever was on the other end of the line.

“That was Governor Strong,” she said. “Nice to have friends in high places. Carol says rumors about Harriett’s suspicious death have already found their way to Columbia. Apparently the Reverend Guy Nickles is stirring up the right-wing fringe, backing Mrs. Quinn’s contention that Brie Hooker, devil goat worshipper, has murdered one of his congregation’s true believers. He’s calling for an all-out investigation. Says he and his flock won’t let authorities bury the matter.”

“Wonderful.”

Suddenly the enchilada casserole lost all flavor. I pushed my plate away.

“Don’t worry.” Andy reached over and squeezed my hand. “Your flock of friends is just as determined. I’ll call Paint soon as I get home. We may need to put our every-other-week boyfriend routine on hold so we’re both around.”

“Thanks, Andy,” I said. “I’ll keep you and Paint up to date. Maybe the three of us should attend church together Sunday. Usually I go to Methodist services. I’ve never visited the Temple of True Believers. I’d love to show the reverend he can’t intimidate me. I could hand out flyers advertising our goat yoga classes as people leave the sanctuary.”

Eva frowned. “Whoa. I know you’re angry, and I admire your spunk, Brie. But you’d better not be serious. I’m not known for discretion, but lying low until this nonsense blows over makes a whole lot of sense.”

Eva had one thing right. I was angry. The idea that a bunch of lunatics were saying I’d poisoned someone on purpose was totally unfair. These people were murdering my reputation, killing my dream.