“Suit yourself,” Josh sneered, grabbing Kayla's hand and attempting to walk around Kevin, who moved to the side, blocking their path. I was afraid there was about to be a repeat performance of the altercation Kevin and Eric had had in the restaurant parking lot, but, once again, the police stepped in. The chief, Lieutenant Belmont, and Sergeant Martinez surrounded Kevin.
“Go home, or go to jail,” the chief said firmly. “Your choice.”
“All right; I'm leaving,” Kevin growled. He pointed his finger at Josh. “You haven't seen the last of me. I want my money!” he yelled, as he backed away, then turned, and started off.
“I don't know what he expects me to do,” Josh complained to Greg. “The estate's bankrupt, but I guess he doesn't believe me.”
“Forget it, Josh. There's no way to satisfy him. You're doing the best you can.”
“If the auction of Eric's household goods doesn't go well, there won't even be enough money to pay you back for final expenses,” Josh said ruefully.
Greg shrugged. “Like I said, don't worry about it. Now, let's get going. We'll see you at the house.”
Everybody drifted off to their vehicles then, and we formed a procession as we drove to Rebecca and Greg's house for the reception.
When I arrived at their house, Rebecca was setting out trays of food on her dining room table.
“Need any help?” I asked.
“I sure do,” she told me. “Could you bring out everything that's sitting on the kitchen counter?”
“Right away.” It didn't take us long to put out all the food. Meanwhile, Greg set up drinks in the kitchen, where he served them while Rebecca and I circulated in the living and dining rooms, taking drink orders. I estimated that there were probably about thirty people present. Although Rebecca and Greg's home was larger than mine, that many people were enough to make it crowded. No wonder Rebecca had decided not to announce the reception at the service.
After everybody had a drink in hand, I returned to the kitchen for an iced tea for myself. Rebecca was brewing another pot of coffee.
“I didn't make any food for this reception,” she confided. “After the poisonings, I decided the safest bet was to buy it all at the supermarket deli. I don't want anybody thinking I poisoned them, if they go home with a tummy ache.”
She jumped when a deep voice behind us said, “I wouldn't worry about it, Mrs. Winters. We're satisfied that none of your Pioneers group is responsible for the poisonings.”
She turned and saw that the assurance had come from the police chief.
“So, we're in the clear?”
“Absolutely. We've talked to everybody in the Pioneers who contributed food for your booth, and it's clear that the poisoned carrot bars were left there by an outside party, not one of your members.”
“That's a relief. I mean, I never thought that one of our own choir members could do such a thing, even by accident, but it did happen at our booth, and I feel bad about that.”
“It sounds as though you don't think it was an accident,” I commented.
“I'm afraid not. We're looking at some of the high school students who've been engaged in some dangerous pranks this semester, but I've probably said too much. Please keep that information to yourselves for a day or two while we finish our investigation.”
We nodded as the chief helped himself to a mug of coffee and doctored it generously with sugar and milk before returning to the living room.
“Why do you suppose the police came?” Rebecca asked. “It sounds like they're on the way to solving the poisoning cases.”
“They probably want to cover all the bases,” I guessed. “You never know.”
“So they want to see who shows up today?”
“I wouldn't be surprised.”
“Well, I didn't see any high schoolers at the funeral home, did you?”
“No, I didn't.”
“I hope they solve the case soon. To think that Eric may have died because of some stupid prank—”
We were interrupted then by several people who came into the kitchen for drinks. They helped themselves while Rebecca set out some more chilled bottles of beer, and I returned to the living room.
Josh, Kayla, and the relatives who'd sat with them in the front row at the memorial service had huddled in one corner, rather than mingling with the guests. Nearby, Greg was explaining his relationship to the deceased to a group of people.
“He was my second cousin, once removed,” he told them.
“I call myself cousin whether they're first, second, third, or removed,” one woman noted. “It's easier that way.”
“You've got that right,” Greg agreed. “I guess that fits all Eric's relatives, except Josh.”
I looked around and saw Susan and Chip with their heads together and Eric's neighbors, Jack and his wife, heading toward the dining room. Seeing Jack reminded me of the conversation we'd had the day I visited Sylvia Costa. I had a nagging feeling I was forgetting something as I mentally reviewed what Sylvia had told me.
Then I remembered. I'd thought, at the time, I should tell the police she hadn't gotten along with Eric. Since she was his next-door neighbor, there was a good chance the police had already interviewed her, but I could have kicked myself for not remembering sooner.
I looked around for Dave Martinez, since I thought he'd be the easiest one to approach about the matter, but I didn't see him. I went back into the kitchen, but he wasn't there, either. A few of the guests had departed, so I assumed Dave had left, too, but Lieutenant Belmont was sitting in a chair in the living room, observing the proceedings. Since I hadn't spotted the chief, either, I'd have to talk to the lieutenant.
He was juggling a plate piled with food, none of which qualified as part of the heart-healthy diet he was supposed to be following. The lieutenant was a stubborn man, and if he hadn't changed his diet after suffering a major heart attack and undergoing bypass surgery, I figured there wasn't anything I could say to convince him otherwise.
He must have read my mind, though, because, as I approached him, he put up his right arm as if he were directing me at a traffic stop.
“Don't say a word. I know what you're thinking,” he grumbled.
“Oh? What am I thinking?”
“That I shouldn't be eating this stuff.”
“Hmm.”
“No comment? That's a first.”
“Would you change your mind if I did comment?”
He snorted. “Not hardly.”
“Well, then . . . . I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.” I grabbed a folding chair and moved it closer to the lieutenant.
“I suppose you think you're onto the killer.”
“No,” I said, ignoring his sarcastic tone, “but I was talking to one of Eric's neighbors the other day, and she said something that I thought you should know about.”
“All Mr. Thompson's neighbors have been interviewed, Mrs. Trent.”
I shared my information, anyway.
“Sylvia Costa told you that she and Eric didn't get along? Lots of people don't get along with their neighbors, Mrs. Trent, but that doesn't mean they poison them.”
He popped a pig-in-a-blanket into his mouth and practically swallowed it whole. Appalled, I watched as he stuffed in a couple more. If the lieutenant wasn't careful, he could very easily choke, but he appeared unconcerned as he chomped down two brownies in quick succession. Before I knew it, he'd eaten everything on his plate and had returned to the dining room for seconds or maybe it was thirds, for all I knew.
I stood and returned the folding chair to its previous position. Even though the lieutenant had made light of my information, I knew he'd look into it, but, of course, he never wanted to let on that he might take me seriously.
I really doubted that Sylvia had had anything to do with the poisonings. Despite the fact that she had knowledge of hemlock and even knew where to find it, and she was an accomplished baker, I simply couldn't picture her cooking up such a dicey scheme that involved slipping poisoned carrot bars into the Pioneers' booth, knowing that chances were slim that Eric would ever eat them and, at the same time, knowing that other people she had no grudge against would buy them. Anyone who would do that was surely a very sick or very evil person, and Sylvia didn't strike me as either.
I noticed that a few more people had said their goodbyes, and I thought it was time for me to be on my way, too. Laddie and Mona Lisa would be eagerly awaiting my arrival home, or, at least, Laddie would. I never knew about my mercurial calico cat.
I made the rounds, bidding the people I knew goodbye and offering condolences again to Josh. Susan and Chip were standing next to the front door, so I stopped for a word with them on my way out.
Chip, who normally would have made a point of flirting with me, acted very subdued.
“This is the first funeral I've ever attended,” he confided. “Major bummer.”
I wouldn't have put it that way myself, but sometimes I forgot how young Chip was, no older than my son Dustin. Certainly, Chip was a grownup, but he was so youthful that perhaps it wasn't too surprising that he had never attended a funeral before today.
Susan pulled me aside. “He's really down,” she said.
“Yes, it's a sad occasion.”
“I know, but he's talking about skipping the Roadrunner's Christmas party tomorrow evening.”
“Party?”
I couldn't believe it, but I'd completely forgotten about the gallery's party. I'd been looking forward to spending Sunday at home, hanging out with my pets. Somehow, I just wasn't in the mood for a Christmas party.