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The perfect summer weather was holding steady, and I grew excited about July being only a week away. I’d finally be able to put the top down on my Ghia without being too chilly while I drove through town. I parked in the private lot in the rear of the Jørgensen Building and went in through the shop’s back entrance, which opened up directly into my office. I wanted to check my dangerous plants inventory to see if anything had been stolen.
Inside the locked cabinet across from my desk were shelves filled with herbs that would kill anyone who hadn’t been trained and educated about their proper dosages and uses. There were several small, airtight glass jars filled with plants like nightshade, monk’s hood, foxglove, and hemlock. Nothing had been stolen; the amounts in the jars matched up with the amounts in my computerized inventory program. Whoever had killed Barry hadn’t used me as their supplier. I felt my burden lighten a little.
But that didn’t mean the killer hadn’t gotten their hemlock from someone else I knew. While I was sitting at my desk, I made a list of other herbalists in the area. I’d call them during a lull and ask if they’d prescribed or sold any hemlock in the past few months. If anyone had, I’d call Dean and pass on the information.
“Hi, Bekah,” I said after entering the front part of the store. “I’m so sorry I’m late. This morning has been crazy.”
Bekah, a pretty, petite brunette with blue-green eyes and funky fashion sense—today she was wearing an aquamarine short-sleeved t-shirt, a denim mini-skirt, black tights, argyle crew socks in black, lavender, and aquamarine, and black Converse low tops—was standing on the small dais where our cash register was located. She glanced up at me and smiled. “It’s not a problem,” she said with a shake that sent her braided pigtails bouncing. “It’s been really slow. So, is it true? About Viki and Barry, I mean?”
“What have you heard?” I didn’t want to break my word to Dean. I’d promised not to tell anyone about Barry’s murder by poison, and I assumed he didn’t want me to say anything about Viki being murdered, either.
“Just that Barry died at the bake sale on Saturday, and Viki was found at her house last night. Why? What do you know?”
I paused for a split second before answering. Bekah wasn’t a gossip; she could be trusted to be discreet, plus Dean had said that he wanted to talk to her. It wouldn’t hurt to give her a head’s up. “Doc Hutchins sent Barry’s body to the CBI lab in Golden for an autopsy. He got the results this morning, and Dean came by to ask me about them. Barry had coniine and conhydrine in his system.”
Bekah’s face became thoughtful as she tried to remember what those compounds were. We’d discussed them a few months ago when I started teaching her how to use the dangerous plants. “That’s hemlock, right?” she asked.
“Yep. Hemlock.” I experienced a proud teacher moment.
“Does he think we’re involved?”
“No, not anymore. I showed him the last time I prescribed it, and just now, I checked the supplies in the back. None has been stolen since we did inventory last week.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” The bell above the shop’s front door rang out, and my first patient of the day came in. Bekah smiled and said, “Hello, Your Honor. How’re you today?”
Judge Harry Bartlett, the mayor’s husband, looked like a stereotypical grandfather when he wasn’t wearing his severe black judicial robes. He was of medium height and just a touch overweight. A halo of white hair floated in a fringe around his head, and his rheumy blue eyes peered out from behind round spectacles. Today he was dressed in tan dress slacks, a red-blue-and-tan plaid shirt, and dark brown suspenders. He smiled at Bekah. “Good morning, young lady,” he said, his stentorian baritone filling the space. “I’m doing just fine.” He turned to me. “Are you ready for me, Bryony?”
“You bet,” I said, holding out my arm to the judge. He slipped it through his, and we walked back to the patient exam room across the hall from my stillroom. “How’re you feeling?” I asked as he sat down on the exam table and I took a seat on a rolling stool that I’d rescued from an estate sale in Aspen. “Still feeling good? Taking your pills every day?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell ya, they’re a real lifesaver.”
I smiled and began my examination. Harry had come to me in October, complaining of constant constipation, stomach cramps, and horrible flatulence. He’d tried everything from cup after cup of peppermint tea to prescription drugs, and finally, his wife had sent him to me in desperation. I’d prescribed a diet that included lots of leafy greens, yogurt with live cultures, and thrice daily pills that contained a mixture of dried and powdered dandelion root, St. John’s wort, lemon balm, calendula, and fennel. Within a week, he was feeling better. Within a month, he was back at full health.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I told him, sitting back on my stool after peering into his mouth and listening to his belly. “Let’s cut back to two pills a day, okay? Once with breakfast and one with dinner. Are you still enjoying your yogurt and salads?”
“Yes. Doris and I have been trying out different kinds of yogurt. We found something called skyr. It’s Icelandic. Even more sour than Greek yogurt.”
“Oh? That sounds like it’s right up your alley.”
“It’s perfect. We found a brand that has a rhubarb-strawberry flavor. That’s my new favorite.”
I smiled at Harry’s enthusiasm but inwardly grimaced. His favorite sounded absolutely revolting to me, but if it kept him happy and healthy, he had my blessings. “We’re all done here,” I said. “Why don’t you go up front and pick out something for Doris? I’ve got to make up another batch of your pills.”
“Got any recommendations?” He slid off the exam table and pulled his shoes and shirt back on.
“There’s some fresh rosewater at the counter, and I think Bekah put out some new lavender-balsam sachets as well.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Bryony.”
I smiled and patted his shoulder as we left the exam room. I went across the hall and spent a few minutes pounding dried herbs into fine powders and then pouring the powder into cellulose pill capsules. When I returned to the front of the shop, I found Harry paying for his exam, pills, a small bottle of rosewater, and three of Bekah’s sachets.
“I’ll see you in three months,” I said. “Tell Doris hello for me?”
“You bet. Bye, Bekah.” Harry waved and left the shop.
After that, we were busy in fits and spurts. Retail customers bought hand creams, lip balms, candles, soaps, pre-blended teas, and bulk herbs, while I saw patients with a variety of complaints from dry, hacking coughs to one case of conjunctivitis. When there were lulls in the day, Bekah and I pounded, mixed, sifted, strained, and measured while I taught her more of what I knew.
We worked hard until six o’clock when we closed up shop. I headed home after that to change for the town barbecue. Since I was helping Jen with dinner by acting as one of her servers, I dressed in black pants, a white button-up shirt under a black vest, and added a black bow tie. I felt pretty snazzy.
Beryl and Lily were curled up on the foot of my bed, some six inches apart, watching as I dressed and did my hair and makeup. When I was ready to go, I scratched them behind their ears and said, “I’ve got a date tonight. Don’t wait up for me!” I winked and then headed out to the car.
Once at Civic Center Park, I helped Jennifer, Mark, and Stephen set up the portable kitchen Jennifer had cobbled together throughout her many years working as a caterer before she’d bought Shoomaker's. After Jennifer had begun cooking, I helped set up tables and chairs, the server’s station, as well as the cash bar and the various decorations that were scattered throughout the tent.
People soon began gathering around the enormous Colorado blue spruce that grew in the middle of the park. Glittering fairy lights hung from almost every branch, sending out shards of golden light that danced on faces, playground equipment, and parked cars alike. The air was filled with the mouth-watering scents of roasting meat, corn on the cob, fresh strawberries and cream, and more than a little hint of the Raven and Fox’s wild strawberry mead.
As soon as twilight fell, a small group of three men clustered in a semi-circle around a large bare patch of dirt that was surrounded by a ring of large rocks. In the center of the rocks was a huge conical pile of wood that had been left outside to dry for a week. The Mayor and Mr. Bartlett, each with a black leather folder held in their hands, stood next to the group of men. As soon as the sun set and the lights on the tree winked on, Mayor Bartlett called out, “On this, the shortest night of the year, we come together as a community to celebrate the coming rainy season. May it bless us with bounty!”
Harry called out, “We gather as one family, to enjoy food and friendship, and to mourn the tragic losses of two of our own, who were taken from us violently this week. Please observe a moment of silence for the memories of Barry Shubitz and Viki Childress.”
Everyone in the crowd lowered their heads. A deep silence settled over the park, broken only by the sound of a lone owl hooting in the darkness. I felt eyes on me again and glanced around. I didn’t see anyone obviously staring at me, but I shifted closer to Mark anyway. I trusted him to keep me safe if it came to it.
“Thank you,” Harry’s voice boomed after a few moments.
I looked up as the mayor nodded to the men next to her. The men took pitch-soaked rags and wound them around hefty branches before setting them alight. They threw the lit torches into the center of the woodpile, and a hush fell over the gathered people. All eyes were on the bonfire as we waited with breath held to see if flames would spring up or if fire starters would have to be employed. Village legend said that whenever the SummerFest fire didn’t start immediately, the rains would be meager that year.
A tiny spark caught in the center of the bonfire, soon spreading to engulf the entire structure. A cheer rose from the crowd, and seemingly as one, we exhaled with relief. If the legend were true, this year’s rains would be abundant, and our next celebration in late September would honor a bumper crop of vegetables and fruits.
“This is why we came back after Mark left the Marines,” Jennifer whispered from beside me. “The community. The people. The way everyone celebrates the holidays.”
I nodded. “Same here. No matter where I lived—Berkeley, Seattle, or Denver—I missed summer in Saxon Lake.”
Jennifer gave me a quick, one-armed hug then spun and clapped her hands together. “Okay, folks. Let’s get this show on the road.” She bustled off to the serving line and took her place in the center of things.
I watched the line to be seated forming then tied on a white apron before going to my first table of the night. For the next two hours, I took orders, bused tables, ferried drinks and food, and chatted with diners. At one point, I noticed Gordon Oakes, Viki’s boyfriend, in the crowd. He was hanging all over a pretty blonde girl in a disgusting display of public affection. I stared, open-mouthed, as they made out in a corner of the tent.
“Well,” Adele Vincent said. I had been taking her order, but we were both distracted by the display. “He sure didn’t waste any time, did he? Viki’s not even in the ground yet, and he’s carrying on with someone else. Shameful.”
“I agree,” I said. “Do you know who she is?”
“I sure don’t. But you can bet I will before the night’s over.”
I nodded. I knew Adele would figure out the girl’s identity, along with who her parents were, where she’d grown up, gone to school, where she worked, and possibly even her credit score and social security number before the night was over.
After taking Adele’s order and seeing Mom slide into a chair next to her, I went back to the kitchen area to get drinks for them. I chatted a bit with them after bringing back a sidecar for Adele and a vodka martini for my mother but was soon too busy to follow up with either of them about the girl’s identity. I was busy for the rest of the evening and lost track of time until Jennifer pulled me aside.
“Weren’t you supposed to have dinner with Dean tonight?” she asked.
I frowned in confusion, then gasped, remembering that I had a date with the sheriff. “Oh, no!” I looked around the tent and spotted Dean sitting at a table near the front of the tent. “Has he been waiting long?”
“Nah. Just about fifteen minutes or so.” Jennifer spun me around and whipped off my apron, vest, and tie, and fluffed my hair. Then she slid a red cashmere cardigan over my shoulders and gave me a gentle shove. “You’re done for the night. Enjoy it.”
I gave Jennifer a quick hug and grinned. “Thanks. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“You’d better. I need that sweater back, too, by the way.”
I grinned at her before cutting through the crowd to Dean’s table. He stood and pulled out my chair. As I sat down, I noted with interest that he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead, he had on a nice black cable-knit sweater over a pair of faded jeans and black cowboy boots.
“You look nice,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said, one corner of his mouth curling with a smile. “So do you.” He swallowed hard and looked out over the crowd. “Busy tonight.”
“Everyone in town is here, I think.” I glanced out into the tent as well and spotted Mom and Adele still sitting at the table they’d been at an hour ago. Luke and Lorelei Williams had joined them at some point during the evening. They were all staring at Dean and I. I could feel flames rise up in my cheeks. I gave Mom a discrete glare before turning back to Dean. I found him staring at me as well. I smiled shyly as I raised a hand and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear.
He cleared his throat and looked away. “What’s good tonight?” he asked, looking down at the centerpiece of primroses and daisies that lay on the table between them.
“Everything. Jennifer went all out. She made her usual burgers and chicken sandwiches, but there’s also Mark’s grandfather’s pulled pork and a spicy, citrusy brisket, too. And of course all the usual sides—potato salad, macaroni salad, corn on the cob, coleslaw, tomato salad. Oh, and the desserts, too. Strawberry shortcake, strawberry pie, lemon bars. Like I said, everything is good.”
One of Jennifer’s servers arrived at the table. Dean ordered a brisket sandwich with a side of potato salad and an ear of roasted corn, and I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with coleslaw and tomato salad. Once our server left, a somewhat awkward silence descended over the table.
“So did you get a chance to talk to those witnesses?” I asked.
“Yes, but they didn’t give us anything new. The servers from the Raven and Fox Pub didn’t remember seeing Barry. That’s not too strange, though. They were really busy during the SummerFest. The chef swears he didn’t use wild carrot in the salad. In fact, he doesn’t use anything like that ever. And no one else remembers seeing Barry arguing with anyone—”
“Except me.”
“Yes, except you. But you and I weren’t in the tent when Barry got his food, so we don’t know if Viki had the opportunity to slip something into it.”
“But she could have, right?” I pressed.
“Sure. But so could have anyone else in the tent.”
“But Viki had the motive—the blackmail—and the opportunity. She was in the tent with Barry.”
“But how would she have known about hemlock? You two never seemed particularly friendly, so she didn’t pick up the knowledge from you.”
“You’re right. She never showed an interest in what I do, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t paying attention whenever Mom and I talked. And she was friendly with Bekah. Maybe that’s where she learned of it.”
“Another thing I’ll need to talk to Bekah about tomorrow. We have an appointment, by the way. She said she works in the morning but felt pretty confident that you’d give her a little time off to come down to the station and talk with me.”
“Of course. Is ten o’clock okay?” Dean nodded, and I made a mental note to close the retail space while Bekah was gone. “I saw Gordon tonight,” I said, changing the topic.
“Oakes?”
“Yes. Viki’s boyfriend. He was making out with some blonde girl. Viki’s not even been buried yet.”
“So?”
“So? He doesn’t seem particularly upset that Viki’s dead. Have you talked to him yet?”
“Not yet. He’s not high on my list.”
“Well, he should be.”
“Bryony,” he said, and his tone made me think he was all out of patience with me. But I didn’t care. This was important. I just knew that Gordon had something to do with all of this. “I don’t need you—a civilian, I might remind you—to tell me how to do my job. If I uncover something that makes me think Gordon is involved, I’ll call him in for questioning. Until then, let me handle this, okay?”
“Fine. But what if it was his voice I heard on Viki’s message? She called me at nine-thirty. That’s about when Doc said she was killed. You should really talk to him.” I looked away from him as my arms came up and crossed over my chest. Dean sighed and shook his head. I couldn’t help it; I knew I was acting petulantly, but his rebuke had stung.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll consider it.”
The waiter arrived with our meals, and a strained silence descended over the table as we ate. After we’d finished our main courses and were waiting for coffee and strawberry shortcakes with fresh whipped cream, Dean asked, his voice tentative, “Would you be up for a wagon ride after dessert?”
A slow smile spread across my face, and I nodded. “Absolutely. That sounds really nice.”
He smiled back, clearly pleased with himself for asking. Coffee and shortcakes arrived, and we ate them slowly, savoring every bite. Jennifer had outdone herself with the food tonight. Everything I’d tasted had been the best cooking she’d ever done. Deann and I left right after our dishes had been cleared and joined the short queue for the wagons. Ours was pulled by a matched pair of russet-coated draft horses with white-blond manes and tails. We sat side by side on one of the short benches in the back of the wagon, drifts of straw floating around our ankles like thin strands of gold.
The night was cool but comfortable, and the skies above the village were perfectly clear and studded with bright stars. Dean pointed out constellations for me: Taurus, Cassiopeia, and Orion. The wagon rumbled down Saxon Avenue, turned on to Blue Spruce Street, turned again onto Clear Creek Avenue, then onto Ponderosa Street before heading back to Saxon.
When we arrived once more at Civic Center Park, Dean helped me down from the wagon and held my hand for a moment too long. We stood inches apart, eyes locked, and for a brief, beautiful moment, I thought Dean might kiss me. He was distracted, however, by Gordon Oakes’s sudden appearance. Gordon was crossing the street, leaving the park, hand in hand with the blonde girl he’d been kissing earlier that night.
He dropped my hand and flashed me a quick smile. “Thanks for dinner and for the wagon ride, Bryony. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned on his heel and dove into the crowd, hot on Gordon’s heels.
“Bye,” I said but was certain that Dean hadn’t heard me. With a heavy sigh, I turned for the parking lot and my car. Minutes later, I arrived at a cold, dark house. After locking up, I headed up the stairs to my bedroom. The bedside lamp was on, just as I’d left it before going to the bonfire. Beryl and Lily were curled up together in the middle of my bed, and Beryl’s loud, rumbling purr made a nice harmony with Lily’s softer, more ragged purr. The noise filled the room when they saw me.
“You’re both so sweet,” I told them and gave them a few scratches beneath their chins. Beryl squeezed his eyes shut at me, looking decidedly pleased with himself, while Lily made her strange little trilling noise and pushed her face along my thumb. I changed into my pajamas and slid into bed, curled around the cat’s warm, purring bodies.