Murder in the Secret Garden (17 page)

Sheriff Evans cleared his throat and adopted an officious stance. He stood, feet spread hip-width apart, with his thumbs hooked under his weapon belt, and gazed steadily at Victoria. “Ms., uh . . .” He turned to Jane for help. Clearly, he'd forgotten Victoria's new surname.

“Mrs. Earle,” Jane said.

“Mrs. Earle, your sister needed medical attention. She might have taken more than the recommended dosage of her prescribed medications. I can't say for certain, but she was barely conscious when we found her.”

Victoria touched Hannah's forehead. “Oh, Banana. The thing this morning—it was too much for you.”

“I'll be okay.” Hannah managed a weak smile. “It was so pretty up in the hills, Via. I wish you could have been there.”

“I know, puddin', but I'm here now. What can I get you?”

Hannah raised the arm attached with the IV. “I think I'm getting it already. Just don't let them take me to the hospital. I
was
hurting pretty badly when I got back from our trip and my pain meds weren't doing the job, so I took another dose.”

“Is it possible that you opened the wrong bottle?” Victoria asked gently. “Could you have taken a Flexeril first followed by a Vicodin? Or the other way around?”

Keeping her eyes locked on her sister's, Hannah seemed to search her memory. “It's possible. I really don't know. I was nearly blind with pain.”

“What is your pain level now, Ms. Billingsley?” Radford asked. “On a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest and ten being the highest.”

Turning to the paramedic, Hannah said, “It's between a four and a five. And before you grow too concerned, I deal with that level on a daily basis. If you took an X-ray of my back, it would look like the aisle of a hardware store. I'm held together with rods, pins, plates, and screws. I spent so much of my life wearing a brace that I feel weird without it, and I've been stuck with so many needles that I could start my own IV.” She paused for a breath. “Yes, I took the wrong pill, but I wasn't trying to kill myself or harm myself in any way. I was at a level nine at the time and my judgment was impaired. It won't happen again. I don't plan on riding
a horse again. Ever. Please, let me sit with my sister in peace for a while. I'll remove the IV when the fluid bag is empty.”

Radford started to protest when Sheriff Evans put a hand on her shoulder. “It's all right. Thank you, and thank your team for getting here so quickly. Deputy Emory will handle the paperwork and I'll check in with you later.”

Shaking her head in confusion, annoyance over being dismissed, or a mixture of both, Radford collected her gear and left the room.

Though Hannah exhaled in relief, Victoria remained dissatisfied. “Despite my sister's medical issues, I don't understand why your presence was necessary, Sheriff.”

“Perhaps she would prefer to explain that herself,” the sheriff said. He took several steps back, giving the sisters their space, and Jane followed suit.

“Hannah?” Victoria took her sister's hand. “What's going on?”

The fearful expression returned to Hannah's face. “I don't know what he's talking about. I've been asleep since we got back.” She darted a glance at the clock. “It's been over two hours. I have no idea what he means!”

Victoria studied her sister for a moment before caressing her hand and murmuring to her, “Okay, Banana. Okay, honey. I'm going to take these people to the patio and straighten this all out. We'll be right on the other side of the French doors.”

“I'm afraid that's not how things are going to proceed,” the sheriff said. He calmly pulled up a chair next to Hannah's bed. “You see, I've come to Storyton Hall ahead of the Alleghany police, and I don't expect them to be as patient with you as I've been, Ms. Billingsley. Kindly tell me one thing: Had you ever met or heard of Dr. Andrew Green before this morning?”

“Who's Andrew Green?” Hannah asked.

“The druid,” Jane said.

Hannah glanced from Jane to the sheriff. “No. Of course not.”

The sheriff spread his hands as though accepting her answer as an absolute truth. “All right. Did you bring the druid a piece of your sister's wedding cake?”

Hannah nodded, but shifted her gaze to Victoria. “It was packed in a take-out box and wrapped with string. I didn't get to see if he ate it, though. None of us were even able to meet him. Tom said that he was really angry that we'd invaded his privacy. We only had a chance to see his garden for a few minutes and then we had to leave.” She released a resigned sigh. “I was in such pain by that point that it was probably a good thing that he kicked us out. If we'd stayed any longer, I might not have made it back.”

“You're a tough cookie.” Victoria tucked a damp tendril of hair behind Hannah's ear. Turning to Evans, she said, “What point are you dancing around, Sheriff? My sister never met this man until today and she brought him a piece of my wedding cake. Why are cops heading to Storyton Hall? You're not clarifying anything for me.”

“I was hoping Ms. Billingsley wouldn't make this so difficult,” the sheriff said, and Jane knew that she wouldn't have the chance to deliver the news to Victoria. Hannah and Victoria might be her guests, but crime was the sheriff's business, and he'd be the one working in conjunction with the police.

“Leave my sister alone.” Victoria's voice was low and ominous. “I'm an Earle now. We're a very powerful Virginia family, and I think you've harassed her enough for one day.”

The sheriff was the picture of composure as he said, “Dr. Green died shortly after ingesting the piece of cake your sister brought him. The Alleghany police have undoubtedly already begun running tests, but it's very likely they'll find traces of arsenic in the remains. Ms. Steward was with the
doctor during his last moments, and she asserts that he was the victim of a fatal poisoning.”

Victoria stood up and walked around Hannah's bed, putting herself between her sister and the lawman. “What are you implying, Sheriff?”

“I'm trying to prepare you for what's to come, Mrs. Earle. Officers will be arriving shortly to arrest your sister under suspicion of murder.”

Hannah let out a bestial cry.

“Based on what hard proof?” Victoria asked acidly before making a visible effort to master her emotions. “Anyone could have tampered with that cake. Was the slice monitored since it was cut? Because if not, there is no evidence that my sister poisoned it. Where would she get arsenic in the first place?” She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “This whole thing is absurd. I want you both to leave my sister's room this second. I'm calling my husband, and
he's
going to call his family's attorney.”

During Victoria's speech, Jane had been watching Hannah for signs of guilt, but the only emotion she saw on the younger woman's face was fear.

“Can you help us sort this out?” Jane asked, directing her question to Hannah. “Did you pick up the cake in the kitchen or was it delivered to your room this morning?”

“Don't answer her, Hannah.” Victoria's tone was sharp. “Wait for the lawyer.”

But Hannah's eyes were already on Jane. “You've been kind to me, so I'll tell you.”

“Hannah—” Victoria pleaded.

“I have nothing to hide,” Hannah interrupted before pointing at the small refrigerator across the room. “I requested that fridge when I booked this room because I travel with ice packs. The freezer section is tiny, but it's big enough for my needs. Anyway, I boxed up a piece of cake last night and
brought it back to my room. One of the waiters gave me the take-out box and the string. He even lined the bottom of the box with a paper doily.”

Jane gave Hannah an encouraging nod. “When did you put the cake in the box?”

“Not long after I'd finished eating my piece. I knew we'd be visiting the druid the next morning because Tom had told me during dinner. He explained that he'd rented me a horse for the day so that I wouldn't be left behind.” Her eyes grew moist. “No one's ever done anything like that for me. Except for you, Via. Tom also told me that the druid would love a slice of wedding cake. He rarely got to enjoy such a treat living way up in the hills.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Jane said and cast a quick glance at Sheriff Evans. She knew she'd run away with the interview, but he inclined his head, wordlessly signaling for her to continue. “And was the boxed piece of cake close at hand the rest of the night?”

Hannah pursed her lips in thought. “No. At one point, I went inside the hotel to use the ladies' room. And I also left it on the table when Tom and I decided to sit and talk on one of the garden benches.”

“See!” Victoria cried triumphantly. “There were plenty of opportunities for another person to tamper with it.”

Ignoring her, Jane pressed on, “I saw you and Tom chatting before I went inside for the evening. You seemed to be getting along really well. I'm glad, because Tom's a fine man.” She hated to manipulate Hannah, but she had no choice. With a heavy sigh, she said, “I thought I knew him so well, but today, I learned that the druid was his father.”

Hannah's mouth formed an O of surprise. “
What?
”

“I tracked Tom down today because I wanted to know why he kept mentioning Kira's name last night. After all, he hardly knew her.” Jane focused intently on Hannah. “Did Tom tell you why he was so broken up about her death?”

Hannah twisted her sheets around her fingers. “I don't want to get him into trouble,” she whispered.

Victoria was on her knees in a flash. “You need to tell us, Banana. You and Kira have known each other for years. You can't let her murder go unsolved.”

Reaching for her water glass, Hannah took a long swallow. Still clutching the glass, she said, “Tom was worried that Kira might have visited the druid before she was killed. Tom was going to try to find out while the rest of us were looking at the garden of poisonous plants. He planned to pull the druid aside and ask him about Kira. With so many of us nearby, he wasn't concerned about his safety.”

“Were you the only person who knew of this plan?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Hannah said. “Tom and I are alike in many ways. We understand solitude and the beauty of the natural world more than most. He was teased as a boy for being small and for growing up without parents. It wasn't quite the same experience as mine, but it made him sensitive. I guess you could say that I found a kindred spirit in him. And he in me. We trusted each other with stories of our pain . . . and a few secrets too.”

At any other time, Jane would have found Hannah's revelation a source of joy, but all she could think about now was the take-out box containing the slice of cake sitting unattended at Hannah's place at the table.

“Did you notice the box at all?” Jane asked Victoria.

She shook her head. “Carson and I were so caught up visiting with guests that I barely sat down after we cut our cake. After sampling our piece, we went to the gazebo for our first dance. We didn't return to our seats until over an hour later.”

“We'll have to speak with everyone else at that table,” Sheriff Evans said.

Jane felt numb. Would the twists and turns of this day never cease? “If I remember correctly, there were a few
Medieval Herbalists seated there,” she said. “As well as Tom Green.”

Victoria stared at the sheriff. “This Mr. Green—he owns a plant shop, right? Which means that he has a supply of pesticides and fertilizers. I don't know much about medieval herbs, but in my job, I've come across multiple records of accidental poisoning from these sources.”

“Did those cases involve arsenic?” Sheriff Evans wanted to know.

After hesitating just long enough to throw Hannah a look of distress, a look that spoke of her reluctance to incriminate her sister's new friend, Victoria said, “Each and every one.”

While Jane had been preoccupied with Hannah and Victoria, the Fins had returned to Storyton Hall. Unfortunately, Jane didn't have the chance to speak with any of them because Sue from the front desk called Jane on her cell phone to tell her that the Alleghany police had arrived and were asking for her.

Jane had no prior experience with the police from the neighboring county, so she let Sheriff Evans take the lead. He and Jane stood in the main lobby, observed by a gaggle of curious guests, and made the necessary introductions.

The officer in charge was a man named McCullough. Jane had a good feeling about him—probably inspired by his unhurried air and his willingness to accept the sheriff's proposal that they all relocate to the large conference room in order to share information relevant to the case.

The party turned out to be a large one, consisting of Sheriff Evans and Deputy Emory, four Alleghany police officers, and Jane and Sinclair. Sterling had gone off to his lab to compare the rubbings he'd taken from the tire on Tom
Green's pickup truck with the marks found in the ground near the site where Kira's body was found. Lachlan was to interview the waitstaff on duty during the wedding to see if they remembered someone tampering with the piece of cake meant for the druid. As for Butterworth, he'd taken up his customary position by the front doors in an effort to create an atmosphere of normalcy.

Once everyone was seated, Sheriff Evans wasted no time outlining the details of Kira's case. “Until today, I had no concrete leads,” he explained to his fellow lawmen. “We suspected Ms. Grace was engaged in extortion. Her financial status was dire and she may have turned to blackmail in the past. We can now conclude, judging from the images and timestamps on her camera, that she visited Andrew Green the day of her murder.” He gestured at Sinclair. “This is Mr. Sinclair, the head librarian of Storyton Hall. He has a projector screen and will show you what we believe are Ms. Grace's final minutes on this earth as well as evidence indicating she was killed by Andrew Green.”

Sinclair dimmed the lights and proceeded to scan through Kira's photographic tour of the druid's property. When he reached the most significant image, he paused the slideshow.

“This, gentleman, is likely the murder weapon to which Sheriff Evans referred,” he said. “You can see that Dr. Green is filling a syringe from a jar. It wasn't possible to view the label from this image, so I blew it up. You can now read it quite clearly.”

“Water hemlock?” Officer McCullough arched his brows. “Isn't that what the ancient Athenians made Socrates drink?”

“Yes, he was forced to commit suicide via poison hemlock,” Sinclair said, noticeably impressed.

“The ME has yet to confirm our suspicions,” Sheriff Evans cut in, “but I expect him to get back to us with his findings
by day's end. Tomorrow at the latest. With our cases being so clearly linked, they should receive priority status.”

Officer McCullough frowned. “Around here, that doesn't always mean much. Half of the department's on vacation.” His gaze moved from the image onscreen to the sheriff. “Tell me something if you would. If the victim's camera wasn't found with her body, how did it end up in your hands?”

“I took it from the druid's cabin,” Jane said before Evans could reply. “I knew it was wrong, but I think we have more important issues to address. For example, Andrew Green ingested a piece of cake laced with arsenic. This piece of cake was served at the Billingsley-Earle wedding, which occurred last night at Storyton Hall. The bride's sister, Hannah Billingsley, decided to bring a slice of cake to Andrew Green and asked a waiter for a take-out container. The next morning, she carried the cake from Storyton Hall to the druid's cabin.”

“So why are we sitting around this table?” a young policeman asked McCullough. “The killer must be this Hannah Billingsley.”

McCullough held up a finger, indicating patience. “Please continue, ma'am.”

Jane looked at Sheriff Evans to see whether he wanted to take over, but he nodded to indicate that she could continue, so she did. “The sheriff and I were speaking with Ms. Billingsley shortly before your arrival. We'd also assumed that she was likely Andrew Green's poisoner. Our suspicions were increased when she didn't pick up the phone in her guest room or respond to repeated knocks on her door.”

“What made you so certain she was inside?” McCullough wanted to know.

Jane was glad he'd asked this question, because it gave her an opportunity to describe Hannah's physical appearance and medical issues in advance of his meeting her.

“We learned that several people had the opportunity to lace that piece of cake with poison,” Jane added after finishing up her summary of Hannah.

McCullough tented his fingers. “They're your guests, Ms. Steward. Do you suspect anyone in particular?”

“No,” she confessed. “But I think the motive lies in the past. I believe the killer knew Andrew Green. Back when he was a practicing physician. Perhaps he hurt someone the poisoner cared about. Perhaps he hurt the poisoner. Maybe Kira Grace's wasn't the first life he deliberately brought to an end.”

“There's another possibility,” Sherriff Evans added. “This one excludes the herbalists and keeps the suspect list all in the family, so to speak. I'm talking about Andrew Green's son. Tom Green owns The Potter's Shed in Storyton. He led the herbalists on their hike this morning and was also a wedding guest. He had both the means and the opportunity to kill his father.”

The sheriff went on to share what Victoria had told them about the case studies she'd come across involving arsenic and fertilizers and pesticides.

When Evans was finished, McCullough let out a whistle. “We have a ton of ground to cover. I hope I can count on your continued cooperation, Sheriff. And yours, Ms. Steward.” After receiving assurance from both parties, McCullough turned to the officer seated to his right. “You and Anderson go pick up Green. Question him at the station. We'll interview everyone else here. It'll take too long to cart them back and forth.”

“You're welcome to use this room as your center of operations,” Jane said. “I'll have coffee, tea, and water sent in for your officers and the guests. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Yes.” McCullough pointed at the screen. “I'd like that camera. Also, I'd prefer that no one leave the hotel without my permission. That goes for these Medieval Herbalists as
well as any of the hotel staff involved with the preparation or serving of food at the wedding.”

Jane didn't want her staff members living in the village to be detained past quitting time, so she requested they be interviewed first.

McCullough agreed. “They'll probably be eliminated right off,” he told Jane as she headed for the door. “I'd also like copies of their employee files and I need to speak with your head cook!” he called after her.

Oh boy
, Jane thought.

She found Mrs. Hubbard separating chilled homemade dough for dinner rolls.

“I don't care if he's the King of England!” she declared when Jane explained that a police officer needed to speak with her right away. “If I don't get this dough in the oven, there'll be no rolls for dinner! If it's so important, he can talk to me back here.”

In the end, McCullough lost his patience and stormed into the kitchen.

“Didn't Ms. Steward tell you that I'm in the middle of a murder investigation?”

Mrs. Hubbard pointed at her ovens. “Time waits for no man, and neither does fresh bread. If I don't bake it now, our baskets won't be filled with the steaming hot, buttery rolls our guests love. Now that they're in, we can have a nice chat.” She pulled out a stool. “Have a seat, dear. Would you like a piece of shortbread?”

And before McCullough could rebuff the offer, a plate of shortbread and a cup of tea appeared as though by magic in front of him.

Mrs. Hubbard sat opposite him and, smiling angelically, waited for him to speak. Jane took the empty stool to Mrs. Hubbard's left.

“Ma'am, could you tell me about the cake you made for the Billingsley-Earle wedding?” McCullough asked.

“Certainly!” Mrs. Hubbard exclaimed and began a lengthy recitation of her involvement in creating the Hildegard wedding feast.

McCullough shot Jane a confused glance, but she shook her head in warning and mouthed, “Don't ask.”

“Could you recite the cake's ingredients?” he asked instead.

Mrs. Hubbard was delighted to oblige.

“So it contained almonds,” McCullough murmured.

It suddenly dawned on Mrs. Hubbard that a policeman investigating a murder was keenly interested in the cakes she'd baked. Turning to Jane, she whispered, “What's this all about?”

“Someone used your beautiful cake to commit a terrible crime, Mrs. Hubbard. Officer McCullough is trying to discover who this person is.”

Mrs. Hubbard's apple red cheeks paled. “I don't understand!”

“We think arsenic was added to a piece of cake,” McCullough continued gently. “This would have been after the individual cakes were sliced and served. Hannah Billingsley requested a take-out box. Do you remember anyone from the waitstaff mentioning her wanting a piece of cake to take with her?”

“No!” Mrs. Hubbard cried. “I was swaying on my feet from exhaustion by that point. In fact, once the cakes were served, I practically crawled home and fell into bed.”

Satisfied that Mrs. Hubbard had told him everything she knew, McCullough scooped up the shortbread, thanked her, and left.

Prior to entering Mrs. Hubbard's loud and fragrant domain, McCullough had questioned Storyton's waitstaff. Now it was time to interview the herbalists, and he made it clear that Jane was not invited to join him in the conference room.

Thus excluded, Jane headed to the Great Gatsby Ballroom, where she hung a sign announcing the postponement of the medieval fair until after dinner. She was just returning to her office to draft a message to the same effect, which could be printed, copied, and slipped under guest room doors by a pair of fleet-footed bellboys, when she was accosted by Mr. and Mrs. Earle.

“I can't believe you've allowed some Podunk police officer to treat your guests like criminals. You will rue the day you tangled with our family!” Mrs. Earle spat. “Neither my son nor my”—her face twisted as though she'd bitten into a piece of rotten fruit—“daughter-in-law will say one word without a lawyer present.”

Jane plastered on her professional smile and said, “Officer McCullough is conducting a murder investigation. Had he chosen to do so, he could have carted every person in this resort to the police station for questioning. If you don't want your son or daughter-in-law to be interviewed without your attorney, that's your choice, but I would advise against referring to our local lawmen as Podunk. I assume you'd like to return to Richmond tomorrow.”

“Our bags are already packed,” Mrs. Earle scoffed. “The only tolerable thing about this place was the food, but now we have to worry about being poisoned!” She tapped the face of her gold Rolex. “No, missy, we'll be leaving the moment our attorney makes it clear to your
local lawmen
that Carson and Victoria had nothing to do with this nonsense. We have a company to run, for heaven's sake. We can't be stuck here with your sluggish Wi-Fi and your ridiculous antitechnology rules.”

As much as Jane wanted to explain that the purpose of Storyton Hall's unique rules was to encourage an atmosphere of rest, relaxation, and reading, she sensed that her words would be wasted on Mrs. Earle. With a courteous
smile still fixed on her face, Jane excused herself and exited the manor house, heading for home. She wanted to start dinner preparations before the twins returned from Aunt Octavia's.

Pushing open her garden gate, she reflected on her first meeting with Tammy Kota, and how she and the boys had peered up at her shadowy figure and taken her for a witch.

Who else have I completely misjudged?
she wondered.

A dark-haired figure stood in the gloom beneath Jane's front door gable. A genuine smile sprang to her lips when she realized that the figure belonged to Edwin Alcott.

“Haven't you had enough drama for one day?” she asked.

“Apparently not.” He grinned mischievously.

Sliding her key into her door, Jane paused to look at him. “How long have you been standing here?”

“Not long. When I stopped by Run for Cover and saw that Eloise had closed shop for the day, I got worried, so I took a few minutes to clean up and grab some provisions from the café before driving over.” He gestured at a bag on the stoop. “I figured both you and Mrs. Hubbard have been through enough for one day. Besides, I made a promise to Fitzgerald and Hemingway and I'd like to make good on that promise.”

Jane slipped her key into the lock and stepped inside. At once, the familiarity of her home wrapped around her like a chenille blanket. This was her haven. Her place of sanctuary. Her family's nest. Was she ready to invite Edwin to enter her most precious place again?

It's just dinner
, she told herself.

Aloud she said, “The twins will be here soon. I called my aunt five minutes ago asking her to send them home, and those boys only have two speeds: fast and breakneck.”

Edwin laughed. “Wouldn't you love to be young again? Every inch of my body is sore from riding that motorcycle. Ten years ago, it wouldn't have bothered me, but I'm feeling
it in my back this evening.” He held up his hands. “Don't worry. I can still heat up the food I didn't cook. My chef did all the work. I can only take credit as delivery boy.” He carried the bag into Jane's kitchen. “Do you have any olive oil?”

When Hem and Fitz raced into the house a few minutes later, the aroma of garlic sautéing in butter was already wafting throughout the kitchen.