The Fool Dies Last, page 22
‘We know that when it chooses to, the attic can be remarkably helpful.’
‘For a price,’ Summer replied dourly. ‘Always for a price. It will want something in return. Just give it time. Then we’ll learn how much to regret our gratitude.’
‘Well, I’m not regretting it yet,’ Hope said. ‘Regardless of whether we can read the document or not, it’s still an advantage for us to have it, because now we can decide if I should bring it to the spa for the meeting.’
‘Bring it to the spa for the meeting?’ Summer exclaimed, gaping at her.
Hope nodded. ‘That’s the question. Should I take the pages and pretend that I know what they say, or would it be better to leave them behind as a potential bargaining chip?’
‘Have you lost your mind? You want to bargain with a murderer?’
‘I don’t want to, but we might have to. Our options are limited. Gerald was absolutely adamant that I go to the spa and give the paper to the person. Can we really take the chance that he was hallucinating from the pain of his injuries or exaggerating his fear of what might happen if the person doesn’t get the paper? Gram’s life could be at stake. And possibly also Sylvia’s or Kirsten’s.’
Summer’s expression was grave. ‘Even so, it’s awfully risky to go to that meeting, Hope. The person has killed twice already.’
‘I’ll just be extra careful not to eat or drink anything while I’m there.’
‘If that was meant as a joke, it isn’t remotely humorous,’ Summer reproached her. ‘Besides, we don’t even know for certain whether some food or beverage played a role in the deaths. At this point, it’s merely speculation.’
‘But it’s not speculation that the murderer will in all likelihood be at the spa today, planning on meeting Gerald at noon. This is our best – and maybe only – opportunity to find out who the person is before they kill again.’
Summer offered no rebuttal, because there was none. ‘What about Nate? Should we tell him about the meeting?’
Hope considered a moment. ‘I’m not sure. On the one hand, it would probably be safer to have the police there. On the other hand, having the police there will probably scare off the murderer, which defeats the whole purpose. What do you think?’
‘I think that irrespective of the meeting, we can’t let Nate know how we got the paper. He won’t understand. And the same goes for Dylan. If Dylan was already getting overly interested in the attic, this will make his curiosity explode. Or – as I said once before – he’ll recommend psychiatric treatment.’
‘For us or the attic?’
Summer burst out laughing, but she was silenced an instant later by a sudden knocking on the front door of the boutique.
‘We don’t officially open for another twenty minutes,’ Hope said, checking her watch. ‘I don’t have an early appointment scheduled. Do you?’
‘No. There isn’t anything on the calendar.’
The knocking continued.
‘Let’s just ignore it.’ Summer lowered her voice in case their visitor had good hearing. ‘Moreover, let’s keep the boutique closed this morning. We should get to the spa early, so we can figure out where exactly Gerald was supposed to have his meeting and—’
Hope looked at her in surprise. ‘What happened to the meeting being too risky?’
‘It is too risky. But you’re right about our options being limited. And if we’re both there, then it will be much more difficult for the person to sneak up on us or trick us in some way. I’m still wondering whether we should tell Nate about the meeting, though. It might be prudent in the event that—’
Rather than stopping, the knocking grew increasingly louder.
Summer tossed her magnifying glass on the table with annoyance. ‘The door is locked, and the sign says we’re closed. Can’t they take the hint and go away?’
‘Maybe it’s important. Maybe it’s Dylan or Nate …’ Hope rose from her chair and tiptoed to the window overlooking the sidewalk. She craned her neck, attempting to see the person at the door without being seen in return. ‘Nope. Not Dylan or Nate.’
‘No?’ There was a note of disappointment in Summer’s tone. ‘Who is it, then?’
Her question was answered a second later when Rosemarie Potter’s face pressed against the glass. ‘Hope? Is that you in there?’
‘Of all the people,’ Summer groaned. ‘Of all the mornings. Of all the—’
‘I hear somebody talking,’ Rosemarie continued excitedly. ‘It sounds like Summer!’
Summer sank her head into her hands and groaned again.
Hope chuckled. ‘You have a distinctive voice, apparently.’
Rosemarie pressed her face harder against the glass, trying to get a better view into the shop. Her cheeks puffed out like a blowfish.
‘Lovely,’ Summer muttered. ‘Now, on top of everything else, we need to wash the windows to remove giant lip prints.’
‘Summer?’ Rosemarie called once more. ‘Hope?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t avoid it. We’ll have to let her in.’ With a sigh, Hope started toward the door. ‘I’ll do a quick reading if that’s what she wants, and then let’s try to hurry her back out.’
Summer nodded. ‘I won’t offer her any tea; otherwise, she’ll just linger. Maybe you could pretend that you see one of her future husbands at the farmers’ market or the pet supply store. That would get her moving.’
Hope threw her sister an amused look before turning the lock and unlatching the door. Rosemarie rushed into the boutique, the wind chimes above the door swinging wildly and her tangerine bird-of-paradise dress flapping around her.
‘I’m so glad that you’re here!’ Rosemarie exclaimed. ‘I know it’s a bit early to drop by, but I was worried after what happened yesterday. All those police at the house, and none of them would tell me anything …’
Restraining a smile, Hope returned to the palm-reading table, reminded that she owed Percy an extra doggie cookie for being so helpfully obstinate by refusing to enter Summer’s house the day before. She had the drawer open and was already reaching into the cookie bag when she realized that the pug was absent.
‘Where’s Percy?’ she asked in surprise.
‘He’s with the groomer for his weekly shampoo and to have his nails clipped.’ Rosemarie followed her to the table. ‘I got breakfast.’
‘At the groomer’s?’ Summer said with a half-suppressed laugh.
‘Oh, no. At the new shop across the street from the groomer’s.’ Seating herself on one of the empty chairs at the table, Rosemarie deposited a waxed paper bag next to the manila envelope and wrinkled pages. ‘They make custom donuts.’
Hope hastily collected the paperwork, both to keep it from possible prying eyes and to protect it from getting any more damaged. ‘What are custom donuts?’
‘According to the examples on display,’ Rosemarie explained, ‘they use combinations of donuts to spell out messages for birthdays and other special events.’
Summer was skeptical. ‘I like a donut as much as the next girl, but what happened to good old-fashioned cake and ice cream?’
‘I said the same thing! There’s nothing better than a birthday cake with frosting and candles. But the people at the shop promised me that a single bite of one of their donuts would change my mind forever.’
‘And did it?’
‘I don’t know yet. They didn’t offer samples, so I ended up buying a bag of donut holes, figuring that we could all try them together.’ Rosemarie leaned forward and opened the top of the bag. ‘Voila – breakfast!’
The appealing smell of warm fried dough and cinnamon sugar wafted into the air. Summer’s skepticism promptly vanished – along with her memory.
‘Thanks, Rosemarie. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea to go with those? I can make a fresh pot of either. But maybe we should eat a couple of the donut holes first. That way we’ll know whether tea or coffee would taste best …’ Summer reached into the bag. ‘You want some, too, don’t you, Hope?’
‘Not one bite!’ Dylan hollered. ‘NOT ONE BITE!’
Rosemarie nearly tumbled from her chair in shock. Summer’s hand froze on the way to her mouth. The envelope and papers that Hope had been discreetly sliding into the drawer fell to the floor.
‘Put it down! Put it down right now!’
Ordinarily, Dylan bellowing at Summer to release her breakfast as if she were Percy and had just picked up something unsavory from the sidewalk would have caused Summer to bellow in return. But she was too startled to respond. Hope and Rosemarie were too startled, as well. All they could do was stare at Dylan in astonishment. He had apparently arrived on the heels of Rosemarie, but none of them had noticed, perhaps because of the already singing chimes and the collective curiosity over the concept of custom donuts.
Dylan approached the table with quick strides, grabbed the donut hole from Summer’s hand, and threw it into the waxed paper bag. Then he picked up the bag and pointed the opening toward Rosemarie. ‘You also. Put them in. Hurry up.’
With a bewildered squeak, Rosemarie dropped the pair of donut holes that she had been holding back into the bag. Dylan sealed up the top.
‘Now go wash your hands,’ he directed.
They didn’t move.
Dylan’s nostrils flared like an irate alligator. ‘Do you want to suffer a torturous death from poisoning? If not, go wash your hands!’
Summer’s mouth started to open in reply, but it almost immediately closed again, and without further delay, she swiftly headed toward the rear of the shop. Squeaking a second time, Rosemarie jumped up and raced after her.
‘Use soap and rinse thoroughly,’ Dylan instructed them.
As Summer and Rosemarie disappeared into the kitchen, Hope remained standing at the table in stunned silence, her mind struggling to process Dylan’s words. He turned to her and motioned toward the bag.
‘Did you touch any of its contents?’
Hope shook her head.
‘And none of you ingested even a crumb?’
She shook her head again.
‘Good.’ With a relieved exhalation, Dylan tossed the bag on to the floor and settled himself into the chair that Summer had vacated. ‘Until these murders are resolved, you and your sister can’t eat or drink anything from an outside source, not even one that you fully believe to be harmless. It isn’t safe.’
‘Does that mean …’ Hope’s voice was ragged. ‘It’s definite now? Marilyn and Roberta were poisoned?’
Dylan gave an affirmative nod. ‘I received the call from the lab this morning, only a few minutes ago, in between seeing patients at my dad’s office. The report was the same for both women: strychnine poisoning.’
‘Strychnine!’ Hope exclaimed in horror. ‘My god, that’s rat poison.’
‘It’s frequently used as a rodenticide, but not exclusively,’ Dylan said. ‘The results are consistent with the symptoms that Marilyn and Roberta exhibited immediately prior to their deaths. Among many other unpleasant effects, strychnine causes severe and extremely painful muscle spasms and, eventually, respiratory failure.’
‘So there was no allergy, after all?’
‘As a matter of fact, my initial assessment at the community center was correct. Roberta did experience anaphylactic shock. It turns out that she was allergic to aspartame.’
‘Aspartame?’ Hope frowned. ‘I thought aspartame was an artificial sweetener used in things like diet soda and sugar-free yogurt.’
‘It is an artificial sweetener,’ Dylan confirmed, ‘and that’s precisely why the murderer chose it. Strychnine is an exceedingly bitter, odorless, white crystalline powder. To mask its bitterness, the murderer added aspartame. That way, neither victim would have tasted anything strange. I doubt the murderer knew that Roberta was allergic to aspartame. Roberta might not have even known herself. It’s an uncommon allergy, but by no means rare. Hence, Roberta’s – but not Marilyn’s – hives, flushing, and facial swelling.’
‘Did the lab determine what the strychnine and aspartame were put in?’ Hope asked.
‘Not yet. And we may never get a definitive answer. All the items on Roberta’s plate – the spaghetti, bread, and dessert – came back negative. Marilyn’s lemon water also came back negative. Incidentally,’ Dylan observed with a slight smile, ‘that puts you and Olivia in the clear.’
Hope was not amused by the remark.
‘The problem with strychnine,’ Dylan continued, ‘is that depending on the dose, it can take anywhere between fifteen and sixty minutes after ingestion for symptoms to begin to appear. We know from Olivia’s account that Roberta was already ill before she got her plate, and we know from your account that Marilyn was already ill before she got her glass, so they must have consumed the strychnine some time earlier. But it could have been half an hour or an hour earlier, and that’s a lot of time, with a lot of potential food and drink options, all of which have disappeared by now, either deliberately or due to ordinary clean-up.’
‘But we can be certain that Marilyn and Roberta ingested the strychnine at the spa and at the community center?’
‘Without question. Nate confirmed that both women were at their respective locations for at least an hour prior to their deaths. Roberta was busy with her bingo, and Marilyn was busy with her treatments. We can also be certain of one more thing,’ Dylan added.
‘What’s that?’ Hope said.
The slight smile resurfaced. ‘The murderer is a woman.’
Hope’s breath caught in her throat. Did Dylan know about the meeting at the spa? When Gerald had talked about the stolen keys and the intended meeting, he had repeatedly referred to the person involved using a female pronoun: She didn’t give me a choice. You have to bring her the paper. Had he told Dylan the same thing?
‘Why a woman?’ Summer asked. In a more leisurely manner than her exit, she had reappeared from the kitchen, a checkered dish towel draped over her shoulder. ‘Because of the old myth that poison is a woman’s weapon?’
‘It is indeed a myth,’ Dylan replied. ‘Contrary to popular belief, a greater proportion of poisoners are actually men. But there are no men connected to this case, aside from Gerald – who I think we can all agree is not cut out to be a killer – and your dear husband. So unless you imagine that Gary is cleverly and systematically working his way through the members of the tontine in order to disguise his true goal of poisoning you, we can state with reasonable confidence that the murderer is a woman.’
Summer paused, as though deliberating whether to laugh or cry at the idea that Gary could be orchestrating a scheme to poison her. ‘I agree with you,’ she said after a moment. ‘My money is still on Kirsten.’
‘You’ve scratched Sylvia off the list?’ Dylan inquired.
Hope coughed as a warning to her sister. The conversation was heading in a dangerous direction. If they explained to Dylan why they no longer considered Sylvia to be a suspect, then they would have to explain Gerald’s planned meeting, which would inevitably lead to the admission that they were suddenly in possession of the papers from the attic, and that was an explanation they didn’t want to make.
Summer must have caught the hint, because she immediately changed the subject by offering Dylan the dish towel from her shoulder.
‘You touched that piece of donut I was holding,’ she reminded him. ‘I wasn’t sure if you needed to clean your hands, too, so I brought a towel.’
Dylan declined. ‘Thanks, but I have to wash my hands when I get back to the office anyway, before seeing the next patient. I’ll try not to lick my palms in the interim,’ he said drolly.
‘Your patients must be getting impatient.’ Summer glanced at the clock on the wall, then at her sister. ‘The morning is quickly ticking by.’
It was Hope’s turn to catch the hint. If they wanted to get to the spa early, they needed to get rid of Dylan soon.
‘Strychnine poisoning takes precedence over bursitis and bunions, which is what my morning has consisted of so far,’ Dylan responded. ‘But you’re right, I have kept my dad’s patients waiting too long …’ As he rose from his chair, his gaze went to the floor. ‘What are those?’
‘Those?’ Hope looked down and saw the envelope and accompanying pages that were still lying where she had dropped them at Dylan’s unexpected entrance. ‘Oh, those are nothing.’ Hurriedly scooping them up, she deposited them in the open drawer.
‘Nothing?’ Dylan questioned.
‘Nothing,’ Hope repeated, firmly closing the drawer.
His eyes moved across the table, pausing at Summer’s magnifying glass. ‘It appears as though you’ve been examining something. Anything of interest?’
Hope struggled for a plausible answer. She could see that he was piecing it together. The yellowed sheets of paper, and the magnifying glass, and Summer’s thinly concealed eagerness to get him out of the shop. Dylan may not have known about the meeting, but he was clearly beginning to realize that something was in the works.
To Hope’s relief, Rosemarie chose that moment to return from the back of the boutique. She approached the table at which they were all collected with unsteady steps.
‘The tea is much appreciated, Summer,’ Rosemarie said, sipping from a mug that she held with equally unsteady hands. ‘I’m sorry that I got so panicky in the kitchen, about sufficient soap and scrubbing.’
‘There’s no need to apologize,’ Summer replied gently. ‘That cup of chamomile will make you feel better.’
Rosemarie nodded. ‘I would ask for a refill, but I have to pick up Percy. I’m already late, and I don’t want him to think that I’m neglecting him.’
‘He could never possibly feel neglected,’ Hope assured her. ‘Percy knows how much you love him.’
A happy blush spread over Rosemarie’s face, and her hands calmed somewhat. But when she set down her mug on the table and started to move toward the front door, her steps were still unsteady. It gave Hope an idea. She could help Rosemarie and, at the same time, push Dylan out of the boutique.
‘Percy is at the groomer’s the next block over,’ she told Dylan. ‘Maybe you could walk there with Rosemarie on the way back to your office? Give her one of your strong arms to lean on?’
