Lead a Horse to Murder (34 page)

It had never occurred to me that my actions might be putting someone else in danger.

Even if I’d considered that possibility, I thought as I careened along a particularly treacherous curve on Turkey Hollow Road, I never would have imagined that poor Inez would have been chosen as the next victim.

And then suddenly, like a flash of lightning, the connection became ridiculously obvious.

Of
course
! I thought. Someone must have overheard Inez telling me about the argument between Diana Chase and Eduardo right before his murder! Or perhaps that person already knew that the MacKinnons’ housekeeper had found out how angry Diana was . . . and figured that it was only a question of time before she broke her silence about the incriminating conversation that had occurred only days before he was poisoned.

She was only trying to be helpful, I thought mournfully, lurching to a stop and hurrying up the path connecting the MacKinnons’ mansion with Inez’s cottage. And look what happened.

As I hurried toward the tiny building nestled behind the MacKinnons’ grand mansion, I saw that the front door was ajar. I paused in the doorway, softly calling, “Callie? Inez? It’s me, Jessie Popper.”

Then I saw Inez in the small living room, lying on her side on the sagging couch. Her head was nestled against a pillow and a blanket was draped over her. Callie sat perched on the edge of the chair next to her, her expression tense. She jumped up as soon as I came in.

“Thanks
so
much for coming, Dr. Popper,” she said breathlessly. “Like I said on the phone, you seemed to be the only person Inez trusted enough to let me call. She doesn’t look too good. I brought in the pillow and blanket from her bedroom. I figured at the very least, I should do everything I could to help her get more comfortable.”

“That was very smart, Callie,” I assured her. I only wished I felt as confident as I sounded. I was supposed to be in charge here. But as I surveyed the scene, I felt overwhelmed. Lying before me was a possible poisoning victim who refused to get medical treatment. And because I had no idea what she had ingested, it was impossible for me to know how to treat her myself.

I crouched down next to the couch, my face close to Inez’s. “Inez, can you hear me? Are you able to talk?”

“Dr. Popper,” she said weakly. “I theenk I will be fine. I just feel dizzy. Eet was probably nothing. Just something I ate, maybe.”

“That’s what we’re afraid of,” I told her. “Callie thinks you were poisoned.”

“No!” she protested. “Ees not possible!”

“I’m afraid it’s very possible. Sooner or later, we’ll figure out what was used to poison Eduardo. Once that’s done, I’m hoping it will become much easier to identify his killer.” I hesitated. “Inez, I’m afraid that person might be trying to poison you with the same substance.”

“I’m sure eet was nothing. A bad piece of fish, maybe. I’ll be fine. I just—” Her voice broke off, as if she were no longer capable of speaking.

“Inez!” I cried, afraid I was losing her. If nothing else, I wanted her to remain conscious. “Tell me exactly what happened. What you ate, when you started feeling strange . . .”

“Eet was earlier tonight, right after I ate dinner here in my cottage.” She spoke haltingly. “I—I started to feel dizzy. Then, the room started spinning around and I blacked out, just for a moment. I managed to get to the phone, and I called the house. Callie answered. She said she was all alone, but I asked if she would come.”

“She looked really bad,” Callie interjected.

“Bad, how?” I was still hoping that, somehow, I’d be able to figure out what Inez had ingested.

“She was just lying on the couch, moaning. The first thing I thought of was calling for help, but she wouldn’t let me.” Callie studied Inez. “Shouldn’t we make her throw up or something? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when someone’s poisoned?”

“It depends on what they ingested,” I told her. “In some cases, vomiting can make it worse.” I focused on Inez once again. “Inez, do you have any idea what you might have eaten? Was there anything unusual about what you had for dinner tonight? You mentioned that you had fish. Did it look strange or taste unusual?”

“I don’t theenk so . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“It would have been so easy for somebody to sneak into her cottage and stick something bad in her food,” Callie volunteered. “They could have just walked in and put whatever they wanted into something that was already in the refrigerator. This place is hardly ever locked. Besides, it’s been warm and there’s no air-conditioning, so Inez has been keeping the windows open. It would be really easy to get in without Inez or anyone else knowing.”

“It’s possible that it’s just food poisoning or the flu,” I said. But even I didn’t believe it. Not in the face of all the horrifying events of the past few weeks. “Inez, it’s really important that you get medical attention. Please, let me take you to the emergency room so you can see a doctor!”

“But you are a doctor!” she insisted.

“I’m an animal doctor,” I reminded her. “I’m not qualified to treat people!”

“Please, eef I can just sleep . . .” All of a sudden, a look of alarm crossed her face. “I theenk I am going to be sick!” She threw off the blanket, jumped up, and dashed toward the bathroom.

“Dr. Popper?” Callie asked nervously. “Is she okay?”

“It might be the best thing,” I assured her. “At least this will help get the poison out of her system.”

Still, I went over to the bathroom, hesitating outside the closed door. From inside, I could hear violent retching sounds, followed by coughing. I waited until I heard the toilet flush before knocking softly.

“Inez? It’s Dr. Popper. Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied in a weak voice.

I opened the door slowly and found her kneeling on the floor, in front of the toilet. Her face, half hidden behind a towel, was red. Her dark eyes burned with fear.

“Dr. Popper, please, do not call anyone,” she begged. “I am feeling better already. I just ate something bad, but I theenk now I will be okay.”

“Please reconsider,” I pleaded. “We’re talking about your health. We could even be talking about your life!”

“But ees so expensive at the hospital! Eef I can just rest—”

“All right, Inez.” As frustrated as I was, I had to face the fact that I was never going to convince her that she should seek medical help. Besides, I was relieved to see that she really was starting to look better. The color was coming back into her face, and her eyes were beginning to lose their dull look.

“You and Callie, you can both go now,” she continued. She stood up, holding onto the sink to steady herself. “I theenk I would like to sleep. I feel so much better now.”

“I don’t feel right, leaving you alone,” I insisted.

“I am fine. Please, Dr. Popper. You are so kind to be concerned. I will keep the telephone close by, but now I will rest. Tomorrow, all this will be just a bad memory.”

I hoped she was right, especially since it was clear that she wouldn’t have it any other way. I watched her shuffle into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Come on, Callie,” I said reluctantly. “Let’s go home.”

“Is Inez going to be okay?” she asked, glancing at the closed bedroom door nervously.

“I think so.” I hesitated. “I
hope
so.”

“What about you, Dr. Popper? Are
you
okay?”

“I’m just very, very tired,” I told her. I didn’t bother to tell her I was also very worried.

I was about to get back into my car when I realized that I needed to use a bathroom first. While I’d used that as an excuse many times before as a way to snoop around someone’s house, this time the need was sincere.

“Callie, before I hit the road, can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course, Dr. Popper. You know your way around, right? I’m going upstairs. Even though Shakespeare is the last thing I feel like facing right now, I’ve got a ton of homework.” She cast me a grateful look. “Thanks for coming over. You really came through for us.”

“You’re welcome, Callie. I’m glad I could help.” I was about to add that I was actually kind of pleased that she’d thought of calling me for help, and that she was welcome to do it again any time. But she’d already turned and headed up the stairs.

As I came out of the bathroom and walked toward the front door, I noticed that Callie had left one of her sketch pads out again. This one lay on a table in the living room, probably forgotten. Unable to resist, I picked it up and began leafing through.

Not surprisingly, Callie turned out to be just as adept at still-life drawing as she was at creating landscapes and portraits.
She really is talented,
I marveled, studying one rendering after another. The first three or four were groupings of common household objects. One featured a pencil mug and a stack of letters, another was of a teapot and several porcelain cups, a third pictured an ornate jewelry box with necklaces and strings of beads spilling out.

The next drawing was an unusual-looking flower, in a terra-cotta pot. It was a beautiful plant, with a slender stalk that curved gracefully, delicate leaves, and a large blossom that was shaped like a trumpet. I wasn’t surprised to see that the drawing was as well executed as all the other pieces of artwork Callie had done.

I flipped over and saw another drawing of the same plant, this time from a different angle.

The next page was a rendering of a profusion of the same flowers. I recognized the area of the estate that Callie had captured on paper. It was the patio, where these plants flourished. I’d noticed them the night of Jillian’s cocktail party.

I didn’t know all that much about plants in general. They were interesting, but I’d always found animals so much more engaging. But as I stared at these particular drawings, something I’d learned about this one slowly came into focus.

And the limited knowledge I’d acquired had nothing to do with my formal training in biology. In fact, I remembered something I’d learned during my sophomore year of college.

In my Shakespeare class.

Datura
. If the plant Callie had drawn was the one I thought it was, it had many different names: jimsonweed, locoweed, angel’s trumpet, devil’s trumpet, mad apple, green dragon.

Its mind-altering effects were well-known—which is why Shakespeare had found it so intriguing. It had proven very useful in
Romeo and Juliet,
when Juliet needed a way to appear dead. The Friar instructed Juliet to drink a potion containing
Datura
in order to induce a state of unconsciousness that would make her appear to be dead.

If my memory served me correctly, it was also extremely toxic.

Oh, my God,
I thought, my mind racing. This highly poisonous plant was growing all over Heatherfield, just like the red maple leaves that poisoned Stryder. They had been right in front of me since Eduardo’s murder, but not for a moment had I stopped to think about what a threat they were.

And I never would have if it hadn’t been for the fact that Callie had singled it out. She’d chosen it as the subject for her artwork, again and again.

Which was an interesting fact, by itself.

It could just be coincidence,
I told myself, trying not to jump to conclusions. She could have picked out this particular plant as a subject for her artwork simply because it was such an interesting specimen. And it
was
abundant here on the property.

So are a lot of other plant species,
another voice inside my head pointed out.

Please, no,
I thought.
It
can’t
be Callie. I
have
to be
misinterpreting this.

I wasn’t sure whether or not I was heading in a direction that made sense. But there was one thing I was sure of: It was time to talk to an expert.

My concern for Inez continued to weigh me down late the following morning as I drove my red VW into Brookside University Visitors’ Parking Lot. It wasn’t as if I didn’t understand her fears about seeking help at an emergency room—and possibly being admitted to the hospital. The cost of medical care was astronomical. I suspected that her salary was barely enough to cover her usual costs, and she certainly didn’t strike me as somebody who had a few dollars left over at the end of every week to stash into a savings account.

Still, I would have felt much better if she’d seen a doctor. The next best thing, I figured, was to find out if she really had been poisoned—and, if so, if it had been with the same substance that had been used to kill Eduardo.

I hadn’t anticipated how strange it would feel to be back on a university campus. But as I strode across the wide green lawn of Brookside University’s central quad, I found myself feeling oddly out of place.

It wasn’t even the age difference between me and the students who walked together in twos and threes, although the fact that I spotted more pierced bellybuttons wandering through the quad than I could remember having seen in a long time didn’t help. It was more the feeling that this college campus was a place that belonged to
them,
that this was their time to dedicate themselves to learning and exploring—at least, in terms of their intellectual life.

It also brought back all the pressure of college. I remembered the countless all-nighters I’d pulled, Suzanne and I fortifying ourselves with Diet Coke and take-out pizza that was about as tasty as the cardboard box it was delivered in. Sweating each grade, never forgetting for a minute that admission to veterinary school was so competitive that getting even one A-minus instead of an A could make the difference in deciding the future.

There’s a sense of unreality that’s part of the academic experience, I recalled, a loss of perspective about how the rest of the world functions. But at the same time, the stakes are so high at that point in life.

I mused about the fact that here I was, ten years after graduating from college, taking for granted so many things that at one time seemed like a dream. Yet I was lucky enough to be living it every day, pursuing the career I’d wanted since I was a little girl.