Poisoned (The Alex Harris Mystery Series) (5 page)

I sighed heavily. “I didn’t think I should mention the fact I’m the one who uncovered the killer the last time Indian Cove went through this, so I told him I would keep my nose out of it though I did have to work there, didn’t I?”

Meme cackled.

“And if I happen to overhear something or need to ask a question, well, it’s all in a day’s work.” I smiled at my grandmother and took a big bite out of the sandwich. “Meme, do you know Mrs. Brissart?”

Meme shook her head. “Never met her. I’ve seen her name in the papers plenty, though. She seemed to be on an awful lot of committees.”

I nodded and swallowed a piece of the sandwich. “She is. That’s why we have one of our temps working over there, though we should call her permanent by now.”

“Your sister said you’re going to be working over there this week. I’m real sorry, honey, that you have to go through all this again but at least you didn’t find the body this time.”

“The housekeeper did. Poor woman.”

“When you find out who the killer is, make sure you come get me first this time. We can’t go through what we went through last year.” Meme’s voice cracked.

I decided to change the subject. “What are you doing today?”

Meme heaved herself out of the chair and went into the kitchen and came back with a little notebook. “I got to go and do a few collections. I let one go for a few weeks cuz he got sick, but he’s back to work now. Can’t let them get too far behind.”

My grandmother dabbled in loan sharking—on a very small scale and only with a few choice customers. I realized long ago that Meme didn’t need the money and didn’t actually make much on the deals, she just liked helping out people she thought might need a second chance. She had an uncanny sense for knowing which people were good risks and surprisingly, she never got stiffed.

Meme finished writing something in the notebook and closed it. “And then me and Theresa are going over to Fred’s for some Pinochle.”

I held my mug between my hands and smiled. “Viagra Fred?”

Meme shook her head and sighed heavily. “Generic Fred. He can’t afford the real stuff. From what I hear, though, that generic brand does the trick.”

“Is this first-hand knowledge?” I asked, staring at my grandmother and not sure I wanted to know.

“Naw,” Meme said with a wave of her hand. “Ester likes to brag, but if you ask me, even with those generics, I can’t see how a ninety-four year old man is going to get any use out of them. I think Ester’s full of hot air.”

I kissed my grandmother goodbye with an admonishment not to cheat. Meme just cackled and pushed me out the door.

On the way to the Brissart home I drove through the old part of town, and stopped at Kruger’s Market to pick something up for lunch. If what Chantal had told me about Bradley’s food being poisoned was true—a tidbit of information that John all but confirmed last night—then I planned to bring my own lunch rather than nibble on anything in the Brissart household. I worried about using the refrigerator and opted for an apple and a package of rice cakes, or Styrofoam coasters as my sister referred to them.

I put the bag on the seat next to me, drove down Main Street and turned left heading for the Sound. Fifteen minutes later I sat in front of Paulson’s Professionals. My car headed here on its own volition and now here I was stalking the competition. I had no idea what I thought I’d find out but I just wanted to take a look at the place.

For starters the small office sat smack dab in the middle of a strip mall. I smiled. They obviously didn’t have a lot of money. I reached into the bag and pulled out the package of M&Ms I purchased along with my lunch. I absently ripped it open and took out a few. A car came slowly down the street and passed me. It turned into the strip mall parking lot and parked in a space right outside Paulson’s Professionals. I watched the woman exit the car but I couldn’t see her face. She dropped something and when she turned to pick it up I recognized her.

“Beth Amena. I knew it,” I muttered. Beth was one of our junior temps who thought she had more experience than she did. I encouraged her to take some of the online courses we offered on our Web site to boost her skills, but she wasn’t interested in more training. She just wanted to be sent out on the bigger jobs.

I watched for a few minutes more and then put my car in gear. Who knew how long she’d be in there. When we interviewed a new temp we put them through a battery of tests and it took hours.

I headed to the Brissart home, pulled into the driveway and parked in the same spot as the day before next to John’s car. Mrs. Brissart answered the door before I had a chance to ring the bell.

“Good morning, Alex. I keep hoping it’s my son and his wife, though I really don’t expect them until sometime this afternoon. Stuart finally reached them yesterday morning, night for them. What an awful thing to have to tell someone over the phone. My son tried to sound so brave, but Lillian fell apart. I don’t know how they’re going to manage that long plane trip. I don’t usually advocate such things, but I hope they have a supply of tranquilizers.” She looked up at me mournfully.

I wrapped my arm around the woman and could feel her small bones through her dress—quite a different feeling from my chubby grandmother. “Mrs. Brissart, I don’t know what to say. I am so terribly sorry for your loss. I only met Bradley the one time but he seemed like a wonderful man and Chantal thought very highly of him.”

Mrs. Brissart managed a small smile. “That’s very nice of you to say. You’ll have to excuse my appearance, dear. I’m afraid I spent most of yesterday crying. I loved that boy with all my heart. A better grandson you couldn’t ask for.” She pulled a lace hankie from the pocket of her dress and blew her nose. “My son and his wife, well, they were devastated as you can well imagine. And Stuart stayed with me most of yesterday.” She shook her head of silver hair and a tear escaped down her cheek.

“Yes, I saw Stuart here yesterday morning. Were he and Bradley close?”

“No. Not especially. But they were brothers nevertheless. They were very different, always had been. Not cut from the same cloth, I’m afraid. Stuart’s my grandson and I love him, but, well...” She sighed. “Come and have something to drink before we get started.”

I followed the old woman down the hall to the spotless kitchen in the rear of the house. No sign of John so far. Good. “Mrs. Brissart, I hope it’s okay about my being here, I mean for Chantal.”

“It’s fine. Chantal told me several weeks ago she needed to help her mother-in-law. Life doesn’t stop. Things have to go on. I know in time I will believe that, but for the moment, well, I just don’t know how any of us will be able to continue. I’m old. My life is almost over. But Kenneth and Lillian.” She sighed. “My poor son. Bradley meant everything to him, and to Lillian, too.”

Mrs. Brissart didn’t mentioned Stuart and I feared he wasn’t the comfort that one would hope.

I made a cup of tea from the kettle on the stove, carefully rinsing it out before adding fresh water. I wasn’t sure what to do about the tea bags, but after concluding that no one, not even a killer, would take the time to undo the bag, taint it, and put it back together, I tossed one in my cup. Besides, the boiling water was sure to kill anything poisonous if by chance they managed to syringe something through the paper I reasoned with my own brand of logic.

I followed Mrs. Brissart down the hall to the study. The woman usually had perfect posture and an elegant stride—very self-assured—but today her shoulders slumped and her pace slowed, even for her age. I wanted to wrap my arms around the frail creature in front of me who tried so hard to maintain some sort of decorum in the face of this horrific tragedy.

Mrs. Brissart stopped in front of the doorway that led to the study and looked across the hall at the yellow police tape pasted across the door. “That’s where Virginia found him.” She gestured to the heavy wooden door. “It’s a little TV room. He must have gone in to watch something after we all went to bed.”

John told me last night it looked like Bradley probably had been poisoned, though they wouldn’t know by what for a few days. He died a rather horrific death and lived long enough to vomit and to make an attempt at getting help, as the phone, on the same table with a plate of menacing looking macaroons, was off the hook. Finally he had gone into convulsions and died. Whether accidental or not, was yet to be seen. But how poison, of any kind, could accidentally get into a batch of cookies, made no sense.

Mrs. Platz told John she checked on Bradley first thing in the morning to ask what he’d like for breakfast. Not finding him in his room, she looked for his car and sure enough, saw it parked out front as it had been the night before. When she didn’t locate him in any of the upstairs bathrooms or the kitchen, she checked the study and then the den. Her screams brought Mrs. Brissart and Mr. Kaminski, the gardener, running.

“I wish I could just get a cleaning service in here now, but the police suggested we leave it for the time being. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go in there again.”

Mrs. Brissart turned and went into the study. I took a seat behind the large desk by the bay window. The smaller desk in the corner held the computer terminal and phone. There was also a fax machine on the other side of the office. Bookshelves lined another wall and held dictionaries and encyclopedias and other reference books along with some rather good reading material.

I fingered several volumes.

“Help yourself to anything. I don’t get a chance to read very often any more. Well, that’s not entirely true. My eyesight is a bit bad for reading all that tiny print. Besides, I’ve read everything there several times. Now, I need to make the arrangements. I wanted to wait for Kenneth and Lillian, but they said anything I wanted would be fine. I’d like you to work on the death announcements.” My face must have shown shock. “I know. It’s a morbid custom. You know, even today in some smaller towns in Europe they still send out death announcements. To everyone. They just go around the area and put one in every mailbox. Whether you knew the deceased or not. We will not send them out to everyone in Indian Cove, I dare say, but, well, I have many friends all over the world, as do Kenneth and Lillian. I think it best to let people know. It would be terrible to have someone inquire as to Bradley’s well-being at some later date and bring up all the pain, not to mention the embarrassment it would cause to the person asking.”

“Chantal said you have your contacts in a database program.”

“I do. You can print a list of addresses but I’d like you to address the envelopes by hand. The printer will bring the announcements by this afternoon. Lovely man. He’s really doing a rush job for us. I’m sorry, Alex, to give you such a simple, mindless task, but...”

Mrs. Brissart slumped in her chair and I ran around the desk to her side. “There now, Mrs. Brissart. Would you like to go rest for a bit? I can handle everything in here.” My voice caught. I too had tears in my eyes. The woman’s pain and the death of someone so young took their toll.

“I think perhaps a walk around the garden would do me a world of good. Would you mind coming with me, Alex?”

“Of course.” Death announcements could wait.

Mrs. Brissart got a sweater from a closet near the front hall and put it on over her simple but elegant navy blue dress. We went out into the garden from a door near the kitchen.

The back yard, though large, was very simply laid out, much like the house. We went down the wooden steps, Mrs. Brissart taking my arm, and walked along a tiny path following the perimeter of the land. A hint of a breeze brought the undeniable smell of the ocean.

We passed several large lilacs, dogwoods, and bushes with yellow flowers with a name I could never remember. Several hydrangea bushes surrounded a bench and I immediately thought of Martha Stewart and her penchant for dried flowers.

We walked in silence for a bit and came to a small area obviously used as a vegetable and herb garden. Mrs. Brissart told me that during the summer they grew their own mint to use for fresh iced tea along with an assortment of fresh basil, parsley, and an array of vegetables. She pointed out different shrubs and trees as we walked, all having some kind of history, until we reached an old, large oak with a tree house.

Mrs. Brissart tilted her head and looked up. “That was Bradley’s. He built it when he was, oh, let me think, probably about nine or ten. His mother was scared to death to let him climb up so high,” she gave a little laugh, “but, well, I had been a terrible tomboy, much to my poor mother’s dismay, and I knew all too well the lure of your own private place.” She looked off remembering some far away thoughts.

“He loved to come out here. Still did, sometimes. He went up that tree on Monday. Even in the winter.” She started to walk again holding gently onto my arm. “He spent a lot of time here. My son traveled a lot and wanted Lillian by his side. In summer, the boys went along. Got to see a lot of the world, but if it was during the school year, they came here. And I loved it!” She looked up at me with a big smile showing impeccable teeth for someone her age.

“Mr. Kaminski, our gardener, helped Bradley and Stuart with the tree house. He’s taking Bradley’s death very hard, Mr. Kaminski. He loved those boys. And they him. Especially Stuart. Stuart was never close to his parents. Oh, they got on fine, but I suspect Stuart always knew Bradley was the favorite. But he loved Ralph Kaminski. Still does.”

“Is Stuart younger or older than Bradley?” I asked.

“Older. By two years. Ah, Stuart. No two people could be so different. I ran into him on Saturday when I went to by the ingredients for the cookies. Stuart needed a few things for some get-together he was having that night. He likes to entertain or go out. Not like Bradley who preferred staying at home. Do you have a sister? Oh, of course you do, Samantha. Are you two alike?”

“In some ways. We do have our differences but basically we have the same values.”

“Well, Bradley and Stuart are like oil and water. Don’t mix. They got along fine but never shared any hobbies. It’s not that they argued are anything, they just had different friends and different interests. Money is more important to Stuart. Our family, well, we have money, that’s no secret, and it’s made things easy, but sometimes I don’t think it’s a good thing to have so much and not have to earn it.”