Acts of Violets (32 page)

The neighborhood was quiet, as though everyone had settled in for the night. Only a dog barked somewhere down the street. As I crept alongside the house I glanced at the Mazellas’ and saw a sliver of light glimmering feebly from between the edges of a closed drape. Nothing rippled in the window. No sign of Eudora. I doubted she could have seen me anyway.

A lone maple shaded the back of Ryson’s house. There were no shrubs along the foundation or near the garage, just a mixture of weeds scattered across hard, bare ground. The back door still had yellow crime scene tape across it, so I picked at a corner and slowly lifted it away from the wood, trying not to make a sound. I aimed my flashlight at the worn brass knob, relieved to see it was the kind sold at the local Ace Hardware for about ten bucks. On the off chance it was unlocked, I gave it a twist; then when that failed, I tapped softly on the door. Hollow and thin, just what I’d hoped to find. Cheap doors usually had cheap locks.

I reached into my pocket for my credit card and eased it in above the lock, between the latch and the flimsy wood frame. I slid it down until it pressed against the metal latch, then tried to maneuver the card over the latch.

It popped out. I rolled my shoulders to ease the growing knot of tension, then tried again, but it wouldn’t budge. I glanced around. Where was Reilly?

Patience, Abby.
I put the flashlight between my thighs, clamped my knees together to hold it steady, then guided the card along the front of the latch. Damn! It still wouldn’t budge. My hands were perspiring, so I gripped the card with my teeth and wiped my palms down the front of my jeans.

Okay, here we go. Third time’s the charm.
I refocused the beam, inserted the card, and tried again. The plastic began to bend under the force of the pressure. “Please don’t snap,” I whispered to it.

Something moved behind me. I jerked my head around and lost my grip on the flashlight, and it fell to the cement stoop with a loud
thwack
and rolled away. I held my breath and listened, searching for shapes in the darkness. Was someone there?

Then came the scamper of feet across dry ground and a scrabble up rough bark. A tree branch rustled above me. The clouds parted, and the moonlight revealed the outline of a raccoon, its eyes shining as it watched me. I let out my breath. Just a raccoon. No reason to be afraid.

I picked up the flashlight and once again clamped it between my legs. Then I slid the card in and tried again. The latch moved inward ever so slightly.
Steady as she goes.
I rolled my shoulders again. My scalp itched beneath the hot knit cap, but I forced myself to ignore it. Then I pressed harder against the card and felt more movement. Yes!

Suddenly something bumped against the back of my legs. With a gasp I spun around, catching the flashlight before it slipped to the cement. A pair of golden cat eyes blinked up at me, head tilted as if to say,
“Oh, did I scare you?”

“Go away,” I whispered, but the cat only meowed and rubbed against my legs again.

“No, don’t do that. Go away.”

Being a cat, he interpreted my
no
to mean
try again
. I gave him a nudge with my shoe, and the cat pulled back with a hiss. Down the street, a porch light went on and a woman called, “Here, Tinkums! Here, boy!” The cat scampered off

Tinkums? No wonder he was ill-tempered. I wiped my hands, readjusted the flashlight, and tried again. This time I knew just how to wiggle the card around the latch, and a moment later I felt it give. A little more pressure . . . and . . . it opened.

I paused to glance behind me, just to make sure Tinkums hadn’t returned, then slipped inside the house and eased the door shut. The house smelled of moldy food, sour beer, and odors I didn’t even want to guess at. I stood motionless until I was satisfied that the house was deserted, but even then I was spooked. Boy, did I wish Reilly was there.

I locked the door, then clicked on the flashlight and shined the beam around the room, keeping it away from the window, which was covered only by a thin curtain on each side. In the dim light I could see a bag of newspapers sitting beside the door, a sink piled high with dishes, a row of cabinets above and below a countertop, a steel-legged table and two chairs, an oven with a crooked door, and—there it was—a mustard gold refrigerator.

“Bingo,” I whispered. The prize was a mere three yards away.

I tiptoed across the room and opened the refrigerator only a few inches to make sure the light wouldn’t be seen through the window. Inside I saw a six-pack of Budweiser, a carton of eggs, half a loaf of white bread, a partially eaten salami log, jars of pickles, mustard, and mayonnaise, a bottle of ketchup . . . but no white cake box.

Oh, no. Where was the cake?

Letting the door close with a soft
whoosh
, I hunkered low to the ground and cast the beam around the room. Surely he hadn’t consumed an entire cake in one day. He must have put the box somewhere else. It wasn’t on the table or countertop. Would he have stowed it in a cabinet?

I opened the lower cabinet closest to the refrigerator and peered inside, then made my way along the row to the sink. I got to my feet and worked my way through the high cabinets. In the last one I found what amounted to a pantry. The lowest shelf was stocked with canned soups, tuna, and more jars of pickles. The second held bags of chips and corn puffs and a half-eaten bag of popcorn. I stood on my toes to see the top shelf. Was that a white box way up there?

I put the flashlight on the counter, hoisted myself up, twisted to my knees, and rose. Yes! A white box. I stretched my arms up and carefully lowered it to the counter. Then I turned to slide off and my hand hit the flashlight, sending it skittering down the Formica, into the sink, where it hit an aluminum pot with a loud
clang
.

“Okay,
that
was a stupid move,” I whispered.

I retrieved the flashlight, then propped the light on the counter. I freed the side flaps and pulled back the lid, releasing the sweet scent of vanilla. There sat a creamy white frosted cake topped with crystallized yellow roses, green mint leaves and—ha!—dark purple violets. Best of all, one huge slice was missing.

A scrape of metal on metal brought my head around. I listened intently. Was someone trying to get in the front door? Had Reilly come after all?

Then I heard a soft flutter, like someone shaking a sheet, and caught a whiff of something acrid. Burned sage maybe?

Eudora?

I
turned just as a white-robed figure came rushing toward me, crying, “Evil spirits must be purged!”

A scratchy blanket heavy with the cloying odor of smoked herbs was thrown over my head and twisted noose-like around my neck. Before I could even draw a breath I was yanked off my feet and dragged backward across the floor.

“I’m not an evil sprit,” I rasped, my voice muffled by the thick fabric. “I’m Abby—from the flower shop.”

At once we stopped, sending me scrabbling to loosen the material around my throat only to have her jerk it away with such force that my head hit the floor with a hard thud and my mind spun. Then I felt myself float upward like a giant bubble. Up, up, and away.

 

Ouch.
The back of my head hurt. I tried to rub it but I couldn’t lift my hand . . . or my arm . . . or my other arm. Were they tied behind me? Was I dreaming? I wiggled my fingers and felt linoleum beneath me—gritty, unwashed linoleum. That wasn’t a dream.

My eyes flew open and I blinked to bring the light into focus, but it wavered and darted in front of my face. I turned my head and discovered that I had been propped against a cabinet next to the refrigerator. A slim white taper in a brass candlestick appeared in front of me. Behind it stood Eudora, a ghostly, white-robed figure wearing a wooden mask with round eye holes. Why had she tied me? And why was she staring at me as though I had grown horns?

Trying not to appear as nervous as I suddenly felt, I said, “You gave me quite a scare, Eudora. How did you get into the house?”

She jabbed a hand between folds in the robe and produced a key. “If one has purity of heart, the key is always within reach.”

Right. More like a spare key under the mat. Ryson must have kept one outside for emergencies, and Eudora had probably seen him hide it. I tugged on the rough cord that dug into my wrists. “There’s no reason to tie me. I’m not dangerous. I’m harmless little Abby, the florist from Bloomers. I came to get that cake in the box on the counter.”

The mask tilted to one side. “The cake can’t leave here,” she said, as though explaining to a child.

“It’s evidence, Eudora. You can always get another cake. And would you
please
untie my hands? The cord is cutting my wrists.”

“You can’t have the cake,” she said firmly, floating toward the white box. “It has been anointed to kill evil spirits. You shouldn’t have removed it from the cabinet.”

She anointed the cake? Eudora’s cylinders were really misfiring today. I wiggled my wrists back and forth, trying to loosen the binding. Damn, she’d tied it tight. “It’s just a cake, Eudora. It can’t protect against evil. Besides, Dennis—I mean Sinned—is dead. No evil spirits left. So why don’t you let me loose and we can both get out of here?” I swiveled my torso so she could see my hands.

Her voice shook with anger as she swung around to glare at me. “Don’t talk to me as if I’m crazy. I know what I’m doing.” She set the candlestick on the counter, then began to chant as she produced a small glass jar from her robe. Inside I could see a pale ashy substance.

I tugged harder on the binding, sliding my wrists farther apart as she removed the lid, took a pinch of the contents, and sprinkled it over the frosting and flowers. “What is that, Eudora? Sage?”

“Ohm-m-m-m-castor-ohm-m-m.” The mask muffled her words, making them indistinct.

“Castor oil? It looks more like a powder to me.”

She shook her head as she continued her ritualistic sprinkling and chanting. “Ohm-m-m-casper seeds-ohm-m.”

I worked the cord back and forth as I tried to decipher her cryptic drones. Casper seeds? What the heck were casper seeds? Wait. Did she mean
castor
seeds? “Eudora, please tell me you didn’t grind up seeds from your castor bean plant.”

She nodded.

She
had
ground them. At once my skin began to crawl. Castor bean seeds contained ricin, a deadly substance that would cause an immediate, powerful reaction if even a tiny bit got into the body—headaches, asthma, vomiting, diarrhea, even hallucinations. As a florist, I’d had to educate myself on plant toxins, and I knew this was one of the deadliest.

“Eudora, that powder is poisonous. If someone were to get some on her fingers, then touched food—” I stopped with a gasp. Dear God. That was exactly what she’d done. She’d snuck into the house and sprinkled poison on the cake. Ryson wouldn’t have noticed the taste amidst all that sugary frosting. It would have been sweet revenge for the death of her dog.

No wonder Ryson had complained of feeling ill. It hadn’t been the flu at all. That would also explain why he had reacted violently when Marco went to talk to him. He’d just eaten a piece of cake and was out of his mind.

But even with all those symptoms, the seeds wouldn’t have killed him instantly, or even a day later, not from eating one slice of cake. It would have taken three or four slices over as many days before the toxins built up in his system enough to kill him. Eudora must have slipped into his house several times over the course of a week. The piece of cake Ryson ate Sunday evening must have been the one that finally did the trick.

“Sinned had to atone for his wicked ways,” she said in that eerie monotone. “He was a murderer, and murderers must pay.”

“Eudora, listen to me,” I said, frantically working the cord behind my back. “I understand how painful it is to lose a pet, but sometimes accidents happen. Sinned probably didn’t realize he left that antifreeze out. I’m sure he didn’t mean to kill your dog.”

At that the chanting stopped and she swung to face me, stamping the white bootie that covered her foot, her hands balled into fists. “Yes, he did mean to kill Daisy. It wasn’t an accident. He said he’d do something to her if she didn’t stop barking. I
know
he put that pan of antifreeze out for her. I saw him do it!”

Beneath the mask, her voice broke, sounding human for the first time. “That devil lured my Daisy over here and let her drink from the pan. How could he have been so evil? She was a dear little animal, never hurt a soul. She was my baby.”

She leaned against the counter, head bowed, weeping softly. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I had lost pets, too, and knew the grief could be as devastating as the loss of a family member. But I also didn’t trust that Eudora had suddenly become reasonable, either. I had to get that cake out of the house.