“What’s on the agenda today?” I asked Grammie the next morning, trying to suppress a yawn. We were sitting at the island, drinking coffee and picking at scrambled eggs. The day was a sleepy one, cloudy with a forecast of occasional showers.
“Not much.” She dropped a piece of egg onto the floor for Quincy, who pounced and gobbled it up. “I really should concentrate on reading the rest of the diary.”
I’d been wondering when she would get back to that. If the diary were mine, I would have already devoured it in search of clues. Then I realized—it must be painful to relive her budding romance with Papa. “Grammie, if you don’t feel like doing it right now, I understand.”
Before she could answer, the crunch of gravel announced the arrival of the Blueberry Harbor Police SUV. Anton was at the wheel. “The chief’s here. I hope they finally released the store as a crime scene.” I’d been chomping at the bit to get back to the renovations.
But Anton’s face, as he trudged across the drive in company with Rhonda Davis, looked less than happy. Uh-oh. The last sip of coffee threatened a return.
Forestalling Grammie, I flew to the back door, not caring that I was still in my summer pajamas. At the last second, I pulled on a fleece jacket to hide the gauzy fabric barely covering my chest.
“Hey, Anton. Rhonda. What’s up?” Despite the casual greeting, the tension in my voice revealed my worry.
“We have a search warrant for the house and the property,” Anton said.
I staggered backward in surprise. I’d been bracing myself to hear that they were arresting Grammie. Then I gathered my wits. “For what? Can I see the warrant?”
Anton looked at Rhonda, who handed it over. The document wasn’t long and the list of items was short—leaves, seeds, and stems of something called Datura stramonium. Used in the commission of a felony, murder one.
While a team of state and local officers swarmed in and out of the house and scoured the fields, Grammie and I watched from the back porch swing. On the surface, Grammie appeared her usual calm self, but the hand lifting her mug shook.
“Why on earth do they think we have jimsonweed growing in our fields?” she asked. “Your grandfather made a point of removing any noxious weeds. Otherwise the hay would be ruined.”
“I’m guessing Elliot was poisoned by it.” Now Anton’s questions about Elliot’s food and drink the day he died made sense.
Using my phone, I found a site discussing the poisonous plant, which looked perfectly innocent with its bell-like white flowers and serrated leaves. Datura had hallucinogenic properties, as mentioned in books Carlos Castaneda wrote in the 1970s. Alternative names were colorful—devil’s trumpet, angel tulip, and locoweed. According to the site, symptoms of an overdose from the seeds or dried leaves were gruesome and sometimes fatal. For Elliot to die, he must have received a very powerful dose.
Something struck me. “Why did the killer use jimsonweed? How did they even think of it? There are tons of other poisons.” I wondered if it had some meaning to the killer, perhaps a connection to Elliot’s past. Unfortunately a past Grammie shared with him.
“You’re right, Iris.” She reached out and grabbed my forearm. “What if Elliot’s death is revenge for Star?”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” I searched my photo gallery for the Uncle Henry’s listing to make sure it was still up. Later today I would go to Liberty, I resolved, to look at linens and, most important, visit the old commune.
The officers didn’t find anything in the fields as far as I could tell, but they did haul away Grammie’s containers of herbal tea and even some spice bottles.
Mid-morning, Anton came to the house to tell us they were done. “No arrest yet, huh?” I said, ticked off they had put us through the humiliation of searching our home. “I could have told you that before you invaded our privacy so early in the day.” The sprinkles had become almost a downpour, and Anton looked miserable in his police-issue slicker, raindrops dripping off his hat brim.
The chief pressed his lips together, not bothering to defend the department’s actions. “I wanted you to know that we’re searching the store again. So it will be another day or two before we release it and you can go back inside.”
“You think Grammie concocted her devil’s trumpet tea at the store?” I couldn’t hold back a jibe. “Or maybe it was left over from the party days. What’s the half-life on jimsonweed anyway?”
“Iris. You know I’m only doing my job.” He looked with longing toward the SUV.
But I wasn’t finished yet. “Why are you so focused on Grammie? I overheard Ted Perkins and Elliot fighting the other day, about business. And Ted was sweet on Star. He cried over her death.” I thought about throwing Nancy and Charlotte into the suspect mix but I had only rumor and hearsay concerning them. I actually heard Ted and Elliot argue and, yes, I saw Ted cry.
He turned away with a sigh, muttering something about not being in charge of the case. As he plodded to his vehicle, head down, remorse stabbed me. It was only because of our friendship that I dared poke at him.
Inside the house, Grammie was building a fire in the living room fireplace. “Want to go on a road trip with me?” I asked. “The rain is supposed to stop.” The radar map revealed that, in an hour or so, this big batch of clouds would be out of here.
“I’d rather not, Iris.” She crumpled balls of newspaper and tucked them under the crisscrossed kindling. “I have a call scheduled with Cookie and, like I said earlier, I also need to finish reading the diary. This latest turn of events has made one thing perfectly clear. We need to get a move on and solve this thing before they decide to throw me in jail.”
Maybe my trip to the commune was a sidebar. But then I thought, no. At the least, I would be doing something—however small—to investigate Star’s death. And maybe, as Grammie and I thought, her murder was connected to Elliot’s. After all, he’d been infuriating for decades, why kill him now?
“That all makes sense, Grammie,” I said. “I’ll see if Madison wants to go with me.” I really didn’t want to walk into a strange situation by myself. In the back of my mind, banjos played any time I thought of venturing deep into the countryside. That old Burt Reynolds flick had a lot to answer for, even if it was set in Georgia, not Maine.
I sent Ian a text first, heart in my throat, to let him know that the storefront was still off-limits indefinitely. Then I held my breath, wondering if I’d get a reply back saying he quit. Or telling me where to go. But there was … nothing. Not even a rude emoji.
With a sigh, I texted Madison about the trip to Liberty, hoping she wouldn’t ghost me too. Although she didn’t have a reason, the way Ian did. The memory of his mother’s cold stare prickled whenever I thought of it, like a burr caught in my collar.
But Madison wrote right back, saying she was in a kickoff meeting at the Sunrise Resort but would gladly go with me later. I was excited for her, since she had been trying to win a contract with the resort for months. Obviously she had succeeded at last.
This good news cheered me, and with a lighter heart, I headed upstairs to do business paperwork. But I had barely turned on the computer when Bella called. Since she usually texted me, I picked up immediately. “Iris,” she said. “Are you free for the next hour?”
I glanced at my messy desk. Nothing was terribly urgent, I decided. “I can be. What’s up?”
She lowered her voice. “Nancy Parker is coming in for a fitting. I was hoping you could do her alterations for me.”
I still hadn’t told Bella I would have to stop doing alterations once our store opened. I’d better do that today. But yes, I had time for one last customer, especially one up to her neck in two murder investigations. I told her I would come right down.
Bella’s store was cool and fragrant, a respite from the bustle of Main Street on a summer day. “Iris.” Bella came around the end of the counter and greeted me with a hug. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”
“No problem.” I returned her hug, then took a deep breath. “I hate to tell you this, but I won’t be able to help you after the store opens.”
She nodded. “I expected that would happen. I’m already putting out feelers for a new seamstress.” She glanced out the window. “Nancy isn’t here yet. Do you want a lemon water?”
“Sure.” I followed her to the back room, where she had a small refrigerator. She poured two tall glasses of ice water and added slices of lemon. “Of course, I’m making the assumption that we’re still going to open. The police searched our property today for the murder weapon.” Even saying the words out loud made my stomach churn.
Bella frowned as she handed me a glass. “Murder weapon? I don’t get it.”
“The autopsy showed that Elliot was poisoned, not strangled,” I said, keeping an eye on the door for Nancy. “Someone fed him an overdose of jimsonweed, which grows around here. Who knew.”
She continued to frown as she absorbed this. “So they still think your grandmother is guilty.” She shook her head. “Ridiculous. Not only is she innocent, of course, but other people had much stronger motives. Why aren’t they focusing on them?”
Good question. But before I could respond, the front door opened with a jingle and Nancy entered, pushing sunglasses up into her hair. Suddenly nervous, I put a hand on Bella’s arm. “Is she going to want to see me?”
Bella pressed her lips together. “Don’t worry. It will be okay.” She set down her glass and arranged her features in a welcoming smile, then swept into the main room. As for me, I lingered in the doorway, hoping that Bella was right.
“Nancy. How nice to see you.” Bella greeted her in the Italian manner, with air kisses on each cheek. “You’re looking well.”
Nancy made a face as she gazed into a nearby mirror. She pulled off the sunglasses and patted her hair. “Really? I feel like such a mess.” She tucked the sunglasses into her bag, which was crafted of soft mustard-colored leather.
“That’s totally understandable. Again, so sorry for your loss.” Bella paused as Nancy nodded in acknowledgment. “Remember that lace dress we altered?”
“The one I wore to the Governor’s Ball?” Nancy said. “It fit like a dream. And such delicate fabric, too.”
Bella linked her arm through Nancy’s and turned her to face me. “Iris did the alterations, which were masterful. And I’ve asked her to help me today since we have some complicated garments to try on and alter.”
“Hello, Nancy.” I braced myself for her reaction. After all, my grandmother was the chief suspect in her husband’s murder.
But to my surprise, although her expression remained dour, she merely nodded. “Iris. Good to see you.” Well mannered to the core, I had to give her that.
“Nice to see you too,” I murmured. I tagged along as Bella gathered several dresses off a rack and carried them into the largest changing room.
Black dresses. For a widow to wear.
Nancy was already shucking her pleated shorts and seersucker blouse, revealing her plain but expensive bra and panties. She took the first dress Bella handed her, but instead of putting it on, her face screwed up and she burst into tears. Still clutching the garment, she hugged Bella and then me, her tears dripping onto my neck.
“I miss him so … so much,” she said, her voice rising to a wail that rang in my ears. “How can he be gone? He was everything to me.”
As I patted her shoulder, which was still quite firm for a woman aged seventy or so, I felt pretty certain that Nancy hadn’t killed her husband. Her grief felt authentic to me. After all, this wasn’t the first time I had consoled a bereaved woman.