Poisoned (The Alex Harris Mystery Series) (3 page)

“What are you thinking about?” John asked as he handed me a cup of tea.

“Just about how much I love the fall.”

“Autumn and winter. What kind of person have I gotten myself mixed up with?”

“One who does not like hot, sticky summers like the one we just finished. I don’t like feeling like a wet towel in a dryer with the setting on hot!”

John laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s about the only thing I dislike about this state.”

“You’re not working this coming weekend, are you?” I asked, while putting an English muffin into the toaster. John shook his head. “I thought we could take our bikes and find a nice little country inn and maybe a field for a picnic.”

“Sounds good to me. A country inn, cool autumn night, hmmm, very romantic,” he said while nuzzling my neck.

“Do you want some toast?”

“No. I’ll just grab something on the way to work. I better get going.”

A “something on the way to work” usually meant a donut and another cup of coffee. When he did take the time to eat a decent breakfast it usually consisted of a bowl of shredded wheat and a glass of milk. But John was a morning person, just like me, and he started moving the minute he rolled out of bed. Sitting still long enough for breakfast put a strain on him.

John kissed me good-bye—one of those kisses that had it not been a workday would lead to other things—and left.

I smiled. Definitely the best way to start a morning.

*****

“It’s a big decision. I think we need to do more research and give it some serious thought,” Sam said an hour later as we sat in my office. We had been toying with the idea of expanding our agency. Rather than sending our employees out on temp jobs, we would take over the personnel departments for firms that didn’t want to bother with this aspect of business. All employees would work for Always Prepared with our agency doing taxes, benefits, and hiring.

“You know,” Sam said, “if we do expand we’ll have to hire more staff ourselves. And if we hire more people, we’re going to need a bigger place.”

I leaned back in my chair and pushed my hands through my short brown hair. “Yeah, I thought about that. I’d hate to leave this place.” Our agency was located in an old house that felt a lot more like home than a sterile building would.

“Expansion would be good for Millie. If we hired more admin staff, the logical progression of things would be to promote Millie to admin manager.”

“You’re right. She’d be great and I’d love to give her more responsibility.” I turned my head as Millie entered Sam’s office.

Millie’s ensemble remained subdued, but I did notice the addition of another pumpkin on the doorstep along with a scarecrow sitting on the wooden chair out front. “Sorry for the interruption but I have Chantal Bradbury on the phone for you, Alex.”

“You can put Chantal through to me in here.” Sam twisted the phone around and handed it to me. “Good morning, Chantal. I’m on my way shortly.”

“Alex!” Chantal hesitated for a moment and then I heard her voice again. “Alex, you have to come now! Please.”

“Chantal, what on earth is the matter? Where are you?”

“I’m at the Brissart house. Something terrible happened. They found Bradley this morning. Dead.”

“Dead? Good God! You mean over at Mrs. Brissart’s house?”

Samantha stopped working and came over to stand by me.

“Mrs. Platz, found him this morning when she woke up. He spent the night but I don’t know the details yet. The police are here asking a lot of questions. Poor Mrs. Platz is hysterical, and from what I can gather, I don’t think he just died in his sleep or anything. They want to talk to me about my position here, and well, I didn’t know if I should mention the agency or what. I don’t want to bring you any unwanted problems or publicity. Oh, Alex, why would anyone want to kill Bradley? He’s such a great guy.”

“What do you mean
kill
? You mean he was murdered?” I asked as goosebumps sprouted along my arms. I couldn’t believe it. Not in our small town again.

“Well, no one said anything to me yet, but the police questioned Mrs. Platz and there’s a detective in with her now.”

“Do you know who the detective is?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“No. Listen, I better hang up. Will you come?”

“Of course. I’m leaving right now.” I handed the phone back to Sam. “Mrs. Brissart’s grandson is dead. The housekeeper found him this morning. It looks like murder.”

“Oh, my,” Sam managed to say.

I covered my mouth with a hand while a tear escaped down my cheek. “I just met him yesterday. How could he be dead? He ate macaroons with us and then worked in his tree house all afternoon. Chantal wants me to come over right away.”

“Poor Mrs. Brissart.”

Mrs. Brissart, in addition to being a valued client of Always Prepared, was also one of our favorites. She came around each year at Christmas and brought us some home-baked goodies and wine. The whole town respected her for all her good works.

“I better get going. I’ll call you later and let you know what’s going on.”

“Hey!” Sam said. “Let the police handle it this time, okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” I gave Sam a smile and wondering if it was true.

Cars littered the driveway. The one I hoped to see was there—John’s. I parked next to Chantal’s car, away from the front of the house, and went in.

Chantal paced the front hall, her eyes red and puffy and her eyeliner streaked across her cheek. I recognized the look from my own experience with death.

“Oh, thank God you’re here. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe Bradley is dead.” She sniffled and pulled out a ratty looking tissue from her pocket. “I’ve never been questioned before. I don’t know what to tell them. Why would someone kill Bradley?”

I also recognized hysteria building up inside Chantal. “Relax. It’s okay. I’ve been through this before.” I sighed. “It’ll be fine.”

“Really?” She looked at me with blackened eyes. “You’re over your…experience?”

“Sure.” I had to lie, right? I didn’t want to panic her anymore than necessary, but the fact was it wouldn’t be fine. At least not for a while. True, I felt better than before, but every once in a while I still awoke in a sweat after another nightmare. At least Chantal hadn’t stumbled onto Bradley’s body herself. I mustered up a smile and took her by the shoulders. “The man I’m dating is the detective in charge so that should make things easier for you.”

But not necessarily easier on me. John hated my interference the last time murder came to Indian Cove. Of course, mad, passionate love hadn’t consumed us at that point. This time I had l’amour on my side though somehow I didn’t think it would help. I was about to find out.

A door on the right of the hallway opened and Mrs. Brissart came out clutching a tissue in one hand and holding onto the arm of a young man with the other. John stopped in the doorway and spoke with an officer.

“Who’s that?” I asked Chantal.

“Stuart Brissart, Bradley’s brother.”

“Mamoo, I’m going to try to reach my parents again. Will you be all right?”

“Yes, thank you, Stuart. Please, go and call your father.” The old woman walked toward Chantal and me.

“Mrs. Brissart, I am so terribly sorry about your grandson.” My voice caught and I quickly composed myself before the tears started rolling again.

For a minute it didn’t look like Mrs. Brissart recognized me, but then her eyes focused through the tears and she smiled up at me. I’m five-foot seven, and quite a bit taller than the five-foot Roberta Brissart.

“Alex. Thank you for coming. This is dreadful. I can use all the support I can get.” She patted my arm and walked into the living room on the opposite side of the hall, with me and Chantal following.

The housekeeper arrived almost immediately with a tray of both coffee and tea. Her hands shook and her face looked pale as milk. I knew the feeling. Mrs. Platz found Bradley’s body and would never forget it.

Mrs. Platz glanced at me. “Oh. I need to get more cups.”

I didn’t think she should be working, but maybe it helped her cope.

John walked into the room startling me out of my thoughts. “Alex. What are you doing here?” he asked in a surprised tone, his eyes boring into mine.

“I’m working here this week while Chantal is away. I told you.” I said this last bit in a soft whisper out of the corner of my mouth.

John, six-foot two, with dark brown hair and gray eyes that changed color depending on what he wore, ran a hand over his strong chin. “I didn’t realize you worked for the agency,” he said to Chantal. “Would you come with me, please?”

Chantal got up and followed him into the hall. He turned and looked at me. “You, too.”

I turned to Mrs. Brissart who sat alone on the sofa. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. Go with Chantal.”

We followed John into the dining room where another man, presumably Detective Maroni, sat. The young man looked serious. He wore a thick pair of glasses covering his brown eyes and his skin was clean-shaven and soft looking with just a hint of a leftover tan. Under his tweed blazer, he wore a blue oxford cloth shirt and a dark blue tie. His strawberry-blond hair was cut short and blow dried. With a name like Maroni, I expected him to be dark-haired and olive-skinned. Maybe his family came from northern Italy. By way of Ireland.

“Have a seat, Mrs. Bradbury. I’d like to ask you some general questions first and then we’ll get down to the events of yesterday.”

John asked Chantal to state her name and address. “Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“Any children?”

“No.”

“How long have you worked for Mrs. Brissart?”

“Since last November. I’ve worked for Always Prepared for some time, and last year this position became available and Alex sent me over here for an interview. We hit it off, Mrs. Brissart, I mean, right away, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“How often do you come in?”

“Every morning. I work from nine until usually about three depending on how much Mrs. Brissart has for me to do.”

“Is there a lot to do?” John asked the question with skepticism in his voice.

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Brissart is active on several committees throughout town. And she’s on a selection committee at one of the museums in New York. I also do a lot of her personal correspondence. Her eyes aren’t as good as they used to be. She prefers to write her letters but her arthritis bothers her a bit so I type everything.”

Chantal answered all the questions with a voice full of nervousness. Chantal Bradbury had come to Always Prepared a few years ago when she and her husband moved to the area. They had lived in New York but tired of city living. Her husband still commuted by train every morning, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Chantal’s fluency in French had been a big asset on many occasions.

“And,” Chantal continued, “I started doing some work for Bradley and his family history project.”

At the mention of Bradley, Chantal became upset. Somewhere in the house I could hear voices. Many voices. I patted Chantal’s hand and smiled, and John continued.

“Now let’s talk about yesterday. What time did you arrive?”

“My usual time, nine o’clock.”

“And what did you do all day?”

Chantal shifted in her seat. “Well, let’s see. First I made several phone calls for Mrs. Brissart and then Alex arrived. She’s taking over things while I’m away for a few days so I spent the rest of the morning showing her how Mrs. Brissart likes things done. We had several letters to draft. Mrs. Brissart is on the finance committee for the abuse center and is helping to develop some fund raising schemes. Then in the afternoon Bradley came by with the family history.”

“Who came by the house during the course of the day?”

Detective Maroni rapidly took down notes and I thought if he ever tired of police work I could certainly find him plenty of temp jobs.

“Well, let’s see,” Chantal continued. “Mrs. Brissart, Mrs. Platz, Bradley, and Mrs. Brissart’s two sisters.”

“That would be May Estenfelder and June Doliveck.” John looked up at Chantal for confirmation.

“Yes. That’s correct. They arrived in the morning and were suppose to come back in the afternoon.

“Yes, that’s right. They did come back. Just as I headed out,” I volunteered. At John’s annoyed look I explained. “Chantal left shortly after Bradley arrived and I finished up the history for him.”

“Just Mrs. Estenfelder and Mrs. Doliveck?”

“No. Quite a few others arrived but I didn’t know any of them. I did notice three other women and a couple of men,” I added.

“I can probably tell you who was here. They’ve been here before,” Chantal said with a roll of her eyes. “Besides Mrs. Brissart’s two sisters, I’m sure Mr. Smit showed up. He’s a developer, and Steven Estenfelder. That’s Mrs. Estenfelder’s son. Steven’s daughter, Trish, would probably have come and Larry Estenfelder and his wife. He’s Steven’s brother. I would imagine Marsha Myers showed up as well. She’s Mrs. Doliveck’s daughter.”

“Was Bradley still here when they all arrived?” John asked me.

I nodded. “Yes. I wanted to stay and help but Mrs. Brissart assured me she would be fine with Bradley’s help. I think she’s a bit embarrassed by her sisters.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Chantal?”

“Well, the family, I should say the three sisters, own a piece of land outside of Farmington, and Mrs. Estenfelder and Mrs. Doliveck hooked up with a developer, Mr. Smit. He wants to buy the land and turn it into houses and shopping and business complexes. Mrs. Brissart flat out refuses to sell. There’s a house on the land. It used to be the retirement home of her father and she goes up there from time to time to get away. Not too much anymore.

“Anyway. Her sisters want to sell it and Mrs. Brissart won’t. They need her signature to sell. She says why should she? She doesn’t need the money and she likes the house.”

“Do you get the impression perhaps the sisters need the money?” John asked.

Chantal took a moment. “Well, I never thought of that, but it could be possible. They’ve all got money from family investments, I believe, and I know Mrs. Brissart is fine on that front, but come to think of it, her sisters are always saying they weren’t left with as much as Mrs. Brissart after their husbands died. And I get the impression they’re not as frugal as Mrs. Brissart. Don’t get me wrong,” Chantal tapped the table for emphasis, “she is most generous and giving, but it’s not her character to spend money on what she considers foolish things.”