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It was an hour later that Di and Mac were sitting around Doc MacDougal’s kitchen table again, Sgt. Peewee having been left back at Mac’s house. Amazingly, Nora was still alive, although in pretty bad shape.
Right now, she was in the doc’s spare room with plans to move her to an Asheville hospital once she was slightly more stable.
The surprising addition to the scene this time was Velveteen, whose assistants had alerted her. Despite her longstanding rivalry with Nora, she’d jumped in immediately to help, first moving the rest of her merchandise inside her store and then locking up with a key she’d found in the woman’s purse. After that, she’d found ways to make excuses for why they were wheeling the woman away, claiming to the few visitors who hadn’t been driven away by the off-key children’s choir that Nora was exhausted from the long day and that Cute ‘n’ Cuddly would be back in business soon.
Admittedly, many of the visitors had headed back home or to the campgrounds or rental houses with sleeping kids in tow already, so there weren’t that many people left to see. It was also the night when the new resort held their Come One, Come All, Marshmallow and Weenie Roast Extravaganza, which—although only in its second year—was becoming a fixture of the fête.
Now, having helped Velveteen bring Nora to the doc’s house, Di and Mac sat under their new mayor’s knowing glare with their untouched orangeade and lemonade in front of them, as Velveteen drummed her fingers on the table.
Very little about her had changed from her elevation to head of the city. Today’s Indian textile dress was purple. She still looked much more like an old hippie than a mayor.
Finally, without looking away from them, she called out, “Silas!”
“Yes’m?” he wondered, as he came in from where he’d been helping his mother in the sickroom.
“Your mom need you for anything in particular right now?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t think so.”
“Good,” Velveteen nodded. “Then go in the living room and watch some TV. Y’know. The way you want to watch it. Loudly.”
It took the boy a second, but he finally blinked and nodded.
“Yes’m,” he agreed—apparently used to being ordered around by forceful women—and headed off to do just that.
Pretty soon, they were hearing about the houseguests on Big Brother from the other room. Di hoped his brains didn’t rot out before Velveteen said whatever she was planning to grill them about under this cover of noise.
“Tell me everything,” she ordered.
And, surprisingly, Mac did immediately—at least up to the point she’d known about. Then, she turned to him and added, “What did you get from Nora before she collapsed?”
Like a good boy, Di told them everything. After all, one of these women had his heart and soul and the other held all his secrets. Trying to hide anything would have been crazy.
Once he finished, Velveteen spoke very softly.
“So the sheriff has been poisoning people.”
Although Di flinched a bit at hearing it said out loud, he nodded.
Really, it was the only way it all made sense. While Aunt Mary had means and motive, she wasn’t a stupid woman. If she’d done this, he doubted she’d have been celebrating the mayor’s death quite so openly after it—and she’d never have poisoned him in her very own restaurant, not to mention that he’d never heard about any bad blood between her and Nora.
Given what Barry had let slip earlier, too, it seemed the sheriff had been in the diner with Pocket soon before he collapsed. If he’d slipped something into Pocket’s peach pie, it might even be why he’d lost his taste for it later. While Di wasn’t certain what the man would have brought to Nora, just a cold drink would probably have been welcomed after a long day of selling at the fête.
Still, for all it made sense, there were questions.
“But, if the mayor was bribing Pommel—. . .”
Velveteen held up her hand, and he got her point. Even with the TV blaring the antics of various, thoroughly unlikable houseguests, it probably was better not to say some things.
But his question remained.
“Then why . . .?”
Sighing, Velveteen’s voice was so low it almost couldn’t be heard.
“Oh, he was bribing him, all right. Although the sheriff came by City Hall before the fête this morning and offered to help me ‘move in,’ I’d already found and hidden Pocket’s books.”
Mac seemed amazed.
“He actually kept records of the people he’d bribed?”
She blinked.
“And in a physical book?”
For a moment, Velveteen chuckled softly.
“What can I say? The mayor was seriously old school.”
“But then why . . .?” Di asked again.
“Because the sheriff’s reluctance to work with the state police was drawing attention—and that was the last thing Pocket wanted. He already had plans to replace the sheriff with you, which the man obviously knew about.”
That the mayor had had plans to oust Pommelroy was certainly true—as the two men’s screaming match a while ago in his office had made clear.
Still, eyes wide, Di just sat there, until he remembered how to speak.
“Um, me?”
She couldn’t have meant me.
Then again, who else would she have meant? There weren’t a lot of other people in the room.
Maybe Mac?
Granted, she’d have been great at the job if she wanted it. Still . . .
But Velveteen nodded once, confirming his guess.
“Uh, why?”
Di couldn’t imagine anyone less likely—Sgt. Peewee would have made a more logical choice—and knew that none of the officers, except maybe Alex, would listen to him, anyway.
And the night shift would be even worse.
They were mostly ex-rent-a-cops who hadn’t been able to stay awake on the job. Or whose malls had gotten closed down. They were mostly there to call in the day shift in case something real happened—although it never actually did.
If you want to find a convention of old, snoring men, look to the Prospector’s Rest Sheriff Department’s night shift.
Clearly, Velveteen saw this and nodded.
“I think that was part of what he was hoping for, that you’d be too busy fighting off insubordination to get anything real done. Plus, he figured you’d be grateful and indebted to him.”
“And it would look great when it came to the town,” Mac added. “I mean,” she went on at his look. “A small Southern town but with a black sheriff! Hooray! No racism to see here, folks. Move right along.”
“It probably would make him and the town seem open-minded,” Di agreed.
Which would help with the tourism. While, mostly, the town’s attitude to visitors was that any variety of them was fine, so long as they brought their money—and there were certainly citizens of all shades and creeds—the town was still pretty white, overall. And it held to fairly rigid old gender notions, too, as the fact that he couldn’t admit his main, stitching pastime to anyone made clear.
Head still spinning at this idea, Di’s voice sank even lower.
“So taking out the mayor was a matter of preserving his job. But Nora?”
It seemed a lot of trouble to go to, just to cover up that he’d borrowed a book.
“Well, Nora is about the biggest gossip in town,” Velveteen answered. “She’d already mentioned to two of my helpers that she was aiding him in creating a garden. When eventually there was no garden, only an ability to find poisonous plants, don’t think Nora would have kept quiet about it. Certainly, he knew she wouldn’t.”
Apparently, they weren’t even using the man’s title now.
“But why borrow it from her, then?” Di wondered. “We do have a library.”
Granted, it was tiny and in an old house close to Main Street, but it had a definite gardening section. Trying to grow things in rocky, mountain soil was probably top three conversation starters around town, only second to, “How are your children/grandchildren doing?” and just above, “Did you see that last Tarheels game?”
Velveteen snorted.
“That man walks into the library. Full stop. You don’t think that’s going to be the main subject of gossip in town for at least the next three weeks?”
Certainly, it wasn’t a likely scenario, so Di kind of got the point. But actually poisoning Nora still seemed ridiculously excessive.
Apparently, Velveteen picked up on his thought, leaning in, her voice dropping yet further.
“I know. Unfortunately, I think he’s gotten a taste for it now. He’s feeling like a god who can drop whomever he likes. We’ve got to find a way to wrap this up soon, or who knows who he’ll go after next.”
It was a worryingly good point. After all, none of them wanted to be the next victim. Two poisonings at the very same fête were more than enough for one year.