Chamomile and Chaos, page 1
part #1 of Heywood Herbalist Cozy Mysteries Book 6 Series
Chamomile and Chaos
A Small Town Contemporary Cozy Mystery
Heywood Herbalist Cozy Mysteries Book 6
Carly Winter
Edited by
Divas at Work Editing
Cover By
CoveredByMelinda.com
Westward Publishing / Carly Fall, LLC
Copyright © 2023 by Carly Winter
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover by: CoveredbyMelinda.com
Contents
Previously in the Heywood Herbalist Cozy Mysteries…
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Also by Carly Winter
About the Author
Previously in the Heywood Herbalist Cozy Mysteries…
Previously in the Heywood Herbalist Cozy Mysteries…
In Herbs and Homicide, daytime soap opera star Samantha Rathbone flees Hollywood, leaving her life literally on fire, and she ends up in Heywood, Arizona. Adjusting to the small-town life isn’t easy, but she finds the locals welcoming despite her worries that her true identity will be discovered. She takes a job at Sage Advice, the local apothecary, and tries to settle into a life of anonymity.
When Sam finds her boss, Bonnie, dead, she quickly becomes the main suspect. Surprisingly, Bonnie has left Sage Advice to her and Sam has the most to gain by her death. As Sam struggles to catch the real killer, she also finds herself in a position where she can’t trust anyone. Is the killer Bonnie’s daughter? Annabelle, Sam’s co-worker? Doctor Garrett Butte, the physician who hates Bonnie? Or maybe Doug, the local homeless man who lives under the bridge? He was there that morning…
Meanwhile, in Lavender and Lies, Deputy Jordan Branson continues to remind Sam of George Clooney—except when she’s mad at him, which is quite frequently. She also discovers her employee and friend, Annabelle, enjoys exacting revenge on those who wrong her and the people she cares about. When their friend, Gina, the dog rescuer / nail salon owner / writer is accused of murdering the most hated man in town, who also happens to be her ex-husband, Sam finds herself once again embroiled in a murder investigation. Heywood is an old town with many secrets, and Sam slowly begins to uncover some of them. This leads to her being able to prove Gina wasn’t the killer, yet when the real murderer is revealed, Sam feels terrible about exposing them.
In Mint and Murder, Deputy Jordan Branson is accused of killing a woman in order to cover up a departmental investigation into his alleged wrongdoings. When he is relieved of his job, he asks Sam to help find the real killer.
The problem?
She’s not sure he’s innocent as all clues lead back to him. Then there’s that horrible story in his past that mirrors the current charges…
The investigation leads Sam and Gina to sign up for dance lessons at Groove and Go Dance where they both discover they’re really terrible at dancing, but it’s also where they find the real killer.
The holidays go to heck in a hand basket in Mistletoe and Mayhem when Mrs. Claus is found murdered days before the annual Christmas festival.
As Sam and Annabelle try to find the killer in order for the festival to continue, she feels threatened from many different angles. And when did the Senior Center become such a dangerous place?
When Sam’s former life as a Hollywood starlet comes back to blow up her quiet, unassuming existence, Sam wonders if the town will turn on her and she’ll once again be alone.
In Thyme and Trouble, Mrs. Mason, the owner of Knit Wit, finds her husband dead. Even though Sam’s life is in shambles, she steps in to console Mrs. Mason and help her with different tasks. Weird things keep happening at Sage Advice and Knit Wit, which makes Sam wonder if she’s next on the killer’s list.
When the killer is finally revealed, Sam staggers at the betrayal.
And now on to Chamomile and Chaos…
About the Book
When the town doctor dies at the Farmers Market, it is quickly discovered he was poisoned.
The gossip vine turns its sights on Sam because she was one of the last people to see the man alive, and if anyone wanted him dead, it was her.
As Sam fights to maintain her reputation as well as find the real killer, she discovers that once again, her future is going to be deeply affected by her past.
Will Sam find the murderer before her life is left in tatters?
Chapter 1
“Shut it down! Shut it down! Shut it down!”
The chanting voices filtered into my store, Sage Advice, from the street. At first I thought I was hearing things. But when I glanced around the corner from the back room to the front door, a sinking feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. Six people stood outside, and I realized they were chanting to shut me down. Or at least, my store. The line between me and my beloved business sometimes blurred.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the archway and stared at them while trying to decide what to do. Call the police? They weren’t on my property. Spray them with the hose? A nice idea, but it seemed like a lot of work to haul it from the back deck to the front and hope the stream of water would hit them. After a moment, the ringleader became apparent—Doctor Gerald Butte waved his fist in the air as he screamed. Five people joined him in the protest. Three even held signs.
Butte had been fighting the existence of my store since before I came to Heywood. As someone who deeply believed in over-prescribed pharmaceuticals, he hated that my herbal apothecary assisted people in getting well with the power of plants.
I turned as my friend and employee, Annabelle, entered through the back door carrying two bottles of wine. Since Mrs. Mason murdered her husband, the store next door, Knit Wit, had closed. A younger couple had opened a wine shop, aptly named Never Quit Wining. I couldn’t ask for better neighbors. Adrienne and Wayne were wonderful, kind people, and I’d developed a serious love affair with their organic chardonnay.
“What’s all that noise?” Annabelle asked, setting down the bottles on her workbench. We’d decided an afternoon cocktail was in order, and she’d run next door to purchase our favorite wine.
“Apparently, Butte is protesting our store,” I muttered.
Her brow furrowed as she ran a hand over her crimped blond hair. Pastel ribbons had been interwoven into a couple of small braids that matched her tie-died ruffled skirt and yellow t-shirt tied at the waist. “Who’s out there with him?”
“I have no idea.”
We watched them for a few more minutes.
Annabelle shook her head. “I think we should turn the hose on them.”
“Great minds think alike,” I sighed.
“I wondered what happened to make him, like, do this?” Annabelle mused. “I mean, he’s always been a pain in the butt, but why protest our store like this? Why now?”
Suddenly, they became quiet, and my hopes soared that they’d leave. But they’d only taken a moment to change the chant.
“Pills over Plants! Pills over Plants!”
“That’s dumb,” Annabelle said.
Footsteps sounded down the stairs, and we turned to find Doug. I’d taken him in after the New Year and helped him stay sober. In return, he did odd jobs around the store and the apartments upstairs. The old building had many issues, so he was usually quite busy.
“Hey, Sam,” he said, flashing a smile. “That sink upstairs is fixed.” He then met Annabelle’s gaze. “Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi,” she replied, meeting his tenor.
For the past six months, I’d watched the two of them dance around each other like moths to a flame. He needed to concentrate on remaining sober—which he’d done—not getting tangled up in a relationship, so I’d forbidden the romance. No, I really didn’t have the authority, but Annabelle had abided by my wishes and kept her claws to herself.
Doug lifted his handsome chin to the front of the store. “What’s going on out there?”
Sobriety had been kind to him. He’d put on weight, had a nice tan from painting the outside of the building, and his hazel eyes sparkled with curiosity and life.
“They’re picketing the store,” Annabelle said. “We were just discussing whether we should take the hose to them or not.”
“Are they really saying pills not plants?” Doug asked.
We nodded.
“That’s ignorant.” He shook his head.
“Exactly what I said,” Annabelle said with a huff.
“Let’s get back to work
I’d complained about the snow in the winter until no one wanted to listen to me. Now, the temperature soared and I almost missed being cold. None of my picketers would be out there very long—I hoped.
Glancing over at Doug, I quickly grabbed the bottles and ran upstairs. Even though he insisted that alcohol didn’t entice him, I didn’t want to tempt him. He’d worked so hard and come so far, my love affair with organic wine wasn’t going to ruin it for him, regardless of what he said.
After shoving the wine into the fridge, I gave my cat, Catnip, a quick scratch behind the ears as he stretched out on the couch. I then returned downstairs and tried to figure out the problem at hand. Having never been on the receiving end of a protest, I was at a loss.
“I think you better call Jordan,” Annabelle suggested.
“Do you really think he can do anything?” I asked. “They’re on the sidewalk, which isn’t my property.”
“Call him anyway,” Doug said. “A couple of people just looked like they were coming into the store and then walked away when they saw the picketers.”
I didn’t want to bother my boyfriend. Yes, I said it. Jordan is my boyfriend. As a sheriff’s deputy, his day had started early with a car crash on the freeway and gone south when he had to respond to a domestic abuse case which had sent the woman to the hospital. I could handle Butte on my own.
“I’ll go talk to him,” I muttered. “But film it all, Annabelle. If this jerk lays a hand on me, I’ll file a police report.”
“Aye-aye, Captain!” she yelled, giving me a salute.
Closing my eyes for a second, I took a deep breath and brought forth my character on As The Years Turn, Cassie. It didn’t take long for me to slip into the role of the take-charge murderer who always got what she wanted.
I pushed open the front door and marched over to Butte. “What are you doing?”
The protesters silenced and circled me. Fear settled in my chest. Surely, they wouldn’t attack me in broad daylight on the main road in town?
“We’re here to have you shut down,” he said loudly. “You’ve poisoned this community for long enough!”
I shook my head, angry I had to deal with the elderly man. “I haven’t poisoned anyone,” I hissed. “I’ve done nothing but help everyone who comes through my door.”
“Tell that to Kathy Richmond!” Butte shouted.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Who’s Kathy Richmond?”
“You can’t even remember the name of the woman you killed,” he hissed.
Butte might as well have punched me in the stomach. Now he was accusing me of murdering a woman?
“We don’t—”
“Of course you did!” Butte yelled. “Her name was Kathy Richmond! You killed her!”
Before I knew it, everyone was chanting, You killed Kathy.
I tried to place the woman and her ailments, with no luck. But we’d most certainly have a record.
However, I wouldn’t stand outside arguing with Butte. “If you don’t quit your stupid protest, I’m going to stand out in front of your medical clinic with a sign that says you’re a drug dealer,” I said, shaking my finger under his nose.
He narrowed his stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t test me, you condescending jerk. What’s good for me is also good for you. I’ll just make it ten times worse.”
As we continued the stare down, more people gathered around to watch. I realized me wagging my finger in the elderly doctor’s face wasn’t a good look, but I was so, so sick of this man trying to close my business.
“That’s enough!” Annabelle yelled as she hurried out of the store with her phone held up in front of her face. “Back off, Butte, or I’m going to put this on social media so everyone can see what a bully you are! How dare you pick on a woman!”
Ah, yes. Social media. The great equalizer. It had bitten me in the rear end not too long ago. People could say anything about anyone, and only the powerful elite were able to keep the truth in check… or promote the lies.
Butte’s face softened just a bit and he stepped back.
“Now, take your crew of ill-informed people and, like, skedaddle, fish face!” Annabelle yelled, still filming.
I turned my head, unable to meet Butte’s gaze as I fought a smile. Many months ago, Annabelle had hidden a dead fish in his car as retribution for being a jerk. She loved getting revenge on those who had slighted her or her friends. Did he realize the fish found inside his car and the insult Annabelle had slung at him were related?
Glancing at the store, I caught Doug watching Annabelle, grinning. Was that pride I saw in his stare?
“I’ll see you closed down for the death of Kathy Richmond!” Butte yelled before pivoting and stomping down the sidewalk, his crew following behind.
“Who’s Kathy Richmond?” I asked when they were out of earshot.
Annabelle lowered her phone and shoved it into her pocket. “She was a customer. Why does Butte think you killed her?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Do you remember what she was treated for?”
“Let’s go look. It’s been a couple of months since I saw her, and I always get her confused with Holly Bale for some reason.”
Doug held open the door as Annabelle and I marched inside. Worry curled my stomach. We’d treated Kathy, and now she was dead. What if we were responsible? It could mean lawsuits, not to mention the horrible weight of guilt I’d carry. Just because a product was natural didn’t mean it couldn’t be dangerous if not used correctly.
Annabelle rifled through her customer journal while mumbling to herself. I tried to wait patiently, but now I was horribly anxious. A hot flash ripped through me from head to toe and I took a deep breath to attempt to calm it.
“Here she is!” Annabelle shouted. Her brow furrowed as she read her notes. After a moment, she said, “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“What doesn’t?” I asked. I craned my neck to try to read her handwriting.
“She was here for stress. We put her on a chamomile tincture.”
I sighed in relief. “There’s no way the chamomile could kill her, is there?”
“I don’t see how,” Annabelle said. “Unless the tincture was somehow tampered with or went bad.”
“Do we still have some of what we gave her?” I asked, glancing around the store. What if we had it out on our shelves?
Annabelle nodded. “Let me check the batch numbers.”
As she hurried into the back room, Doug gathered a few bottles from our anxiety display. “I think we should pull these until you have everything figured out.”
“Yes. Thanks, Doug.” I grabbed a plastic bag from under the register and he gently settled them inside.
“I’m sure everything is okay, Sam,” he said gently.
With a smile, I tried to put on a brave face. “I hope you’re right.”
Because if my products had killed Kathy Richmond, I didn’t know how I was going to live with myself.
Chapter 2
The next day, Annabelle and I set up our booth at the Farmers Market. With all the tourists pouring into Heywood to enjoy the river rafting and our idyllic, small mountain town, we’d expected to sell a boatload of products, and we’d been correct. By the afternoon, almost everything had been cleared off our table.
I’d made the decision to keep the chamomile tincture off the shelf, even though Annabelle seemed quite certain there was nothing wrong with it. I thought it would be best to start a new batch, just in case. I’d looked up Kathy Richmond’s obituary, but it didn’t offer any insight as to how she’d died, only that she’d left behind two grown kids and a husband. If my product had truly been involved in her demise, I guessed Sheriff Mallory Richards would have been knocking at my door. She’d love nothing more than to see me behind bars.
