Murder in the Secret Garden (16 page)

Evans glanced at Jane in the rearview mirror. “I've made assurances to the Alleghany police that I would secure the suspect's room. If you believe Ms. Billingsley used arsenic to poison the druid, ah, Dr. Green, then the poison may still be in her possession.”

Jane knew it wasn't. After all, the Fins had already examined every inch of Hannah's room in their search for the missing antique herbal. If she'd had arsenic tucked away among her things, surely the Fins would have spotted it.

Unless it was in a perfume bottle or some other type of makeup container
, Jane thought ruefully. The Fins had been looking for a book. They wouldn't have expended energy inspecting Hannah's cosmetics.

“I want to be there,” Jane said, suddenly changing her plan. “I'll have Eloise see to Kira's camera. We'll have to wait a bit for the battery to charge anyway, so I should go to Hannah's room with you.”

As Jane knocked on Hannah's door, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. She liked Hannah and still couldn't picture her as a murderer. She also couldn't imagine how the young woman, whose life had been defined by bouts of chronic pain, would survive behind bars.

“She's not answering,” Jane whispered to Sheriff Evans and Deputy Emory.

After knocking once more, Jane pressed her ear against the thick wood and listened. Hearing no sounds from within the room, she used Mrs. Templeton's master key to let herself in.

“God, no!” she cried, seeing Hannah's inert body on the bed.

She raced into the room, the sheriff on her heels.

“Don't touch anything,” Evans commanded. He held his palm close to Hannah's mouth. Her lips were parted and her eyes were closed. Her skin had a waxen, sickly cast.

Jane tried to read the sheriff's expression. “Is she alive?”

“Yes, she's breathing.” Evans pressed his fingers to the inside of Hannah's wrist. After locating her pulse, he followed the second hand on his watch. “Her pulse is slow,” he said when he was finished counting. “She might have taken something.”

Deputy Emory glanced at her superior. “An overdose? Should I call for an ambulance?”

“Let's check the bathroom before we make that call,” the sheriff said. “This may be more of a drug-induced sleep than an overdose. Her pulse is slow, but not thready or weak. If I hadn't just completed that refresher course for first responders, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”

Her panic ebbing, Jane hurried into the bathroom, where she found several pill bottles. “I see Vicodin, Flexeril, and ibuprofen,” she called out. After quickly scanning the usages and side effects listed on the label of each prescription drug, Jane added, “Vicodin and Flexeril can cause drowsiness. Vicodin's an opiate and Flexeril is a muscle relaxant. If Hannah took both of those drugs at once, it would explain her condition.”

“You said that she appeared to be in considerable pain earlier today, so that explanation is very plausible,” the sheriff said, joining Jane in the bathroom. “Still, we'll call the paramedics, as I'd rather err on the side of caution. Emory? You got that?” Evans directed his voice toward the bedroom, but his gaze was fixed on the pill bottles lined up to the right of the sink.

“Yes, sir.”

“I'll have Billy keep an eye out for the EMTs and the police. I'm going to see if Kira's camera battery has charged long enough to show us anything,” Jane said, backing out of the bathroom.

Eloise had been entrusted with the job of locating Kira's wall charger and transferring the battery from the camera to the charger. After promising Sheriff Evans that she would
touch only those items, Eloise was given permission to enter Kira's room.

“Send for me immediately if the images reveal anything pertinent,” Evans commanded as Jane moved toward the door. “Having to share evidence is going to complicate matters as it is, and things are bound to become less friendly when my crime-fighting colleagues learn where the camera was found. So I'd like to see any relevant pictures for myself before the Alleghany cops take the camera.”

Jane hesitated long enough to glance at Hannah's face. “What if Hannah knew of Kira's plans to visit the druid? Maybe she and Kira were closer than I thought. Why else would someone with a bad back and neck endure such a painful trip on horseback to see him if not to seek revenge for a friend's murder?”

“If they were such close friends, then why wouldn't Ms. Billingsley come to me with her suspicions?” Evans asked. “Why throw her life away?” He shook his head. “No, there's something more to this killing. Something we're not seeing.”

Jane had to agree. It didn't make sense for Hannah to wait for the group excursion to avenge Kira's death. What if that excursion had never come about? What if Tom had turned them down?

“EMTs are en route,” Deputy Emory said, snapping Jane out of her reverie.

“I'll send Eloise if there's any news,” Jane promised and left the room.

The carpeted corridor was quiet and Jane ducked into the staff stairwell, thankful to have avoided running into one of Hannah's fellow herbalists. Or worse, her sister.

How will I find the words to tell Victoria what Hannah did?
Jane wondered, climbing the worn stone stairs to the next level. For she knew this task must fall to her. She couldn't leave such a delicate matter to a member of the Alleghany police. Victoria's world was about to unravel. The least Jane
could do was sit next to her, woman to woman, and speak to her with genuine compassion as she explained that Hannah would probably be accused of poisoning the man known as the druid.

“At least Victoria has Carson. She won't be alone in her pain.”

In Kira's room, Eloise was bent over Kira's camera. As per Jane's request, she'd donned a pair of housekeeper's gloves and had plugged the camera battery into its wall charger. She now stood staring intently at it, as though willing it to charge faster.

“Is it working?” Jane asked.

“According to that orange light, it's charging,” said Eloise. “I wanted to give the battery enough time to allow for a quick glimpse at her images. However, I have no idea how many she took. Her memory card is capable of holding over a thousand.”

Jane frowned. “We have neither the time nor the battery life to scan that many. Maybe we can view thumbnails or search images by date and time. Either way, it's now or never. Stick the battery back in and let's see the world through Kira's eyes.”

Eloise fitted the battery into the bottom of the camera and turned the camera on. She pressed the menu button and was able to scroll down a list of images by date from oldest to newest.

“It looks like she took over a hundred photos the day of the duck race,” Jane said, watching Eloise click on the first image. It was a close-up of a ladybug climbing the stalk of a Queen Anne's lace wildflower. “Zip through these nature shots. They're pretty, but they won't tell us why she was killed.”

Eloise pushed an arrow button and the images flashed past. And then, the first image of the druid's cabin appeared on the camera's LCD screen. “Is this his house?” Eloise asked. “The druid's?”

“Yes,” Jane said.

Kira had used her camera to document the druid's homestead in its entirety. She'd included dozens of shots of the interior of the sheds as well as the poisonous plants growing in the walled garden. The druid must have been preoccupied inside his house because Kira continued on her self-guided tour and photographed the wild hemp crop without being interrupted.

“Here are the money shots!” Eloise exclaimed, pointing at the hemp. “Do you think Kira knew the druid was growing marijuana all along? Was she planning to blackmail him after she took photos of his crop?”

Jane shook her head. “It's not marijuana, but a plant called ditchweed. Also known as wild hemp. It doesn't have the same mind-altering effects, though it's still illegal to cultivate.”

Eloise gaped at the image in surprise. “Well, that shows how useless I am as a botanist. And there goes my blackmail theory too. However, Kira wouldn't have made the same mistake. She knew her plants, so let's see where she goes next.”

Judging by Kira's photographs, which were now fewer and far between, she'd retraced her steps through the garden and had focused her sights on the cabin's interior. The living room, to be specific. Having just been there that morning, Jane guessed that Kira had crouched behind a bush near one of the side windows. From that vantage point, she'd then taken dozens of images of the druid.

“Whoa,” Eloise whispered. “This is stalker behavior. There are twenty shots of the man drinking a glass of water.”

Jane murmured in agreement. Not only had Kira snapped hundreds of images of the druid conducting mundane tasks, but she'd also captured his face from every angle. “I know she had a zoom lens, but some of these images are
really
close up. He must have heard the clicking of the camera.”

“Why did she want so many different angles of his face?” Eloise shook her head in puzzlement. “To prove that he actually existed and wasn't just a legend?”

“Kira needed money,” Jane said. “She was going to show these photographs to someone as leverage. But who?” She made a hurry-up gesture. “We'd better finish scanning in case the battery dies again.”

Eloise pressed a button and the image jumped from the druid reaching for a jar from his medicine cupboard to him unscrewing the lid from that same jar. The next photograph showed him filling a syringe with the liquid stored in the jar.

“Good Lord!” Jane cried. “Kira photographed her own murder weapon.”

There were two more images in which the druid put on a baseball cap and headed for the front door of the cabin before the stream of photographs came to an end and the screen went dark.

“She must have turned and run at that point,” Eloise said. “Or tried to hide.”

Jane couldn't take her eyes off the black camera screen. “Either way, she failed. The druid hit her with a rock or heavy branch. Once she was down, he pushed the needle into the back of her neck and released whatever poisonous plant extract was in that jar. He snatched up her camera and locked it in his safe. That done, he strapped her body on his ATV and got her down the mountain to Tom's truck. He loaded her into the passenger seat, drove her to Storyton River, and dumped her in.”

“How could anyone be that cruel?” Eloise shook her head in disgust.

Grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, Jane hit the camera's menu button. She brought up the image of the druid filling the syringe and stared intently at it. “Tom said that his father was once a practicing physician. Maybe Andrew Green had to abandon his son and literally flee for the hills
because Kira wasn't the first person he killed. Maybe he helped other people die well before their time. Maybe the man that the people of Storyton mistakenly believed was some gentle, nature-loving, hippie healer was really a fugitive. If so, and if what Kira caught on camera helps bring justice to an old case, or cases, then Kira's death might mean something.”

Eloise touched the camera. “No matter what happens, her
life
meant something. Every photograph is part of her story. And now I feel like her story has been woven into mine. It's just like reading a book. The author shares something with us in the telling. Kira shared the hidden side of herself through her photography. And this time, she showed us someone else's secret side as well.” She looked at the camera screen and frowned. “We're losing the battery charge again.”

“You'd better plug it back in,” Jane said. “I'll tell the sheriff what we saw. If Hannah's still asleep, I'm going to spend a few minutes with the twins. I need a respite from this madness. Do you mind staying here? I can have a tray sent up.”

Eloise grimaced. “Seeing that syringe robbed me of my appetite. You know how much I hate the sight of needles. Just don't forget about me. If you get too busy in Hannah's room, you can always send Lachlan after the camera.”

This elicited a smile from Jane before she took a final glance at the camera screen, which had gone completely black. Her smile slowly faded and she hurried from the room.

Knowing she had a little time before the paramedics arrived, Jane hurried to her aunt and uncle's apartments to see her sons.

“I ordered a tea trolley.” Aunt Octavia ushered Jane into her library. “You look like you could use a cup.”

Jane nodded in agreement. A cup of strong tea would help her to think straight. Even on scorching summer days, she enjoyed hot tea. It was partially the tradition of afternoon tea that Jane found so enjoyable. Just taking a few moments to sit for a spell—to pour tea into a porcelain cup or spread jam over a warm scone—these slow, deliberate actions were soothing. Of course, the daily ritual was secondary compared to the tastes of the rich tea and sweet, buttery pastries. The combination of the two, or any number of Mrs. Hubbard's delectable sandwiches or desserts, produced such a state of bliss that Jane consistently felt her cares ebbing away during the twenty-minute break she took around three o'clock each day.

Taking a seat at the library table, Jane accepted a cup of
tea and said, “I can't stay long. Have the boys been behaving?”

“They've been perfect cherubs. I'll call them in after we've had a chance to talk.” Her aunt studied her. “What's going on downstairs? I heard that we have unwanted visitors again.”

One day, Jane would have to find out how her aunt was able to discover what went on in every corner of Storyton Hall without having to leave her living room. In a low voice, Jane gave her a quick recap of her day.

Aunt Octavia responded by gesturing for the bowl of clotted cream. “My diet be damned. The sheriff
and
the police? We'll be all the over the news again.”

“At least the murders didn't occur on our property,” Jane said feebly.

“That won't spare us!” Aunt Octavia threw her hands into the air. “Every headline will scream out how a Storyton Hall guest poisoned a local healer. You'll see.”

Jane drank more tea. The hot, strong liquid gave her a measure of solace. “The local healer poisoned a Storyton Hall guest first. The police will have to collect enough evidence to prove that Andrew Green killed Kira Grace, but I saw the photographs stored on Kira's camera. I believe the lab results will validate the incriminating action captured by that photo, which was of the druid loading poison into his syringe. A poison that ended up in Kira's bloodstream.”

Aunt Octavia, who's been voraciously chewing a jam-and-clotted-cream-covered scone while Jane had been speaking, swallowed and daintily dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin. “You don't know why he murdered her or why Hannah murdered him?”

“No,” Jane said, putting her teacup in its saucer. “Which is why I should be going. If the paramedics revive Hannah, I need to be in the room. I also want to be the one to tell Victoria that her sister is a murder suspect.”

“A new bride shouldn't have to experience such anguish.” Aunt Octavia made a clicking noise with her tongue. “It isn't right.”

Jane didn't want to dwell on the subject. Absently, she placed a scone on her plate and split it in half with her knife. “I haven't had the chance to ask until now, but did Uncle Aloysius have any luck on his fishing expedition with Captain Phil?”

“He caught enough trout to feed the entire kitchen staff, but he learned nothing of the whereabouts of the missing herbal,” Jane's aunt replied.

At that moment, the twins appeared in the doorway.

“Mom!” they cried in unison. And then, “Tea!”

“Come on in,” Jane said with a smile.

Hem dropped into a chair, whisked his napkin onto his lap, and helped himself to three scones. “We were good at Sunday school.”

Jane pointed at his plate. “Though I'm very glad to hear it, two scones are plenty. Give one to your brother.”

Fitz held out his plate and, in his best Cockney accent, said, “Thanks, guv'na.”

“Please, gentlemen.” Aunt Octavia held out her hands. “No more dialects for today. Your mother only has a few minutes to spare, so let's make the most of it. Why don't you tell her your plans for after teatime?”

Jane shot her aunt a grateful look.

“Mrs. Templeton has a big surprise for us!” Hem declared.

Fitz swallowed a bite of scone with alacrity and added, “She cleaned out one of the old servants' rooms, which has been full of a bunch of junk—”

“Like broken mops and stuff,” Hem interjected helpfully.

“And she's going to show us how to make a giant fort out of sheets,” Fitz said, finishing his thought.

The boys exchanged excited glances and chewed with equal fervor.

“That sounds really cool.” Jane could imagine her sons
spending hours in their cotton fortress. “Will it be a maze with a Minotaur in the center or a restful place where you'll play games or read?” The tea and the presence of her family were proving to be a balm to her frayed emotions and taxed body. It seemed like days ago, not hours, that she'd parted company with her sons so that they could go to church and she could join Lachlan for a grueling hike into the hills.

“Maybe both,” Fitz said. “What do you think, Hem?”

“Every fort should have a monster guard,” Hem said. “It won't hurt us, of course. Only bad guys.” A twinkle entered his eyes. “Hey! We could use that broken broom!”

Fitz nodded. “Yeah! And that rake too. For claws!”

Gulping down the rest of their sugary tea, they turned to their mother and, in unison, asked, “May we be excused?”

“Sure. Have fun.” Jane longed to pull both boys to her and hug them tightly, but if she did that, she might alert them that something was wrong. Her sons were perceptive, and she'd rather they spent the rest of the afternoon in a small room building a sheet fort than watching troops of uniformed men and women march in and out of Storyton Hall. “See you at home for supper.”

The boys paused to give Aunt Octavia a lightning-quick kiss on her wrinkled cheek. She pretended to shoo them away as though they were annoying her, but the second they were out of earshot, she picked up her teacup and, beaming, murmured, “See what I mean? Cherubim.”

“Did they really receive a good report from their Sunday school teacher?” Jane asked. She put her napkin on the table. Though it was time for her to go, she was reluctant to leave.

“Well, her exact words were that their behavior was ‘improved over last week.'”

Jane frowned. “That isn't saying much. Hem turned his cotton ball lamb into the three-headed dog from the first Harry Potter book. Their Sunday school teacher, who isn't familiar with the world of Harry Potter, was
not
amused.”

“That doesn't sound so terrible.”

“That's only the half of it,” Jane went on. “Fitz fed his lamb to Hem's dog and at least three little girls in their class burst into tears.”

Aunt Octavia sniggered.

“Don't encourage them,” Jane admonished as she stood up. “I'd better go. I'll give you an update as soon as I can.”

“Good luck, sweetheart. You can handle this.” Aunt Octavia squeezed Jane's hand. The touch warmed her as she walked back down the cool servants' stairs toward Hannah's room and to what Jane fervently hoped would be the end of days of questions, confusion, and fear.

Sheriff Evans met her just inside the door. “Were you able to view the images on Ms. Grace's camera?”

Jane looked over his shoulder to where three paramedics crouched over Hannah's body.

“Yes,” she said. “One of them shows the druid filling a syringe from a bottle in his medicine cupboard. If we could zoom in on the bottle, I'm positive that it would identify which poisonous plant extract he injected into Kira's neck.” The sheriff opened his mouth to ask Jane another question, but she beat him to the punch. “What's Hannah's status?”

Evans gestured at each EMT in turn. “Hancock is administering fluids, Carilion just finished taking vitals, and Radford is about to break out the smelling salts. Those should bring Ms. Billingsley around, especially since she started stirring before the paramedics arrived. It's like she sensed she wasn't alone anymore but couldn't quite rouse herself from the trance the drugs had put her under.”

The female paramedic named Radford held something under Hannah's nose. Within seconds, Hannah's eyes flew open and she pulled her covers up to her chin. She kicked out with both legs, trying to clear the space around her bed, and swung her head from left to right, her startled gaze traveling from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face.

“Hannah!” Jane rushed toward the bed. “It's okay. These people are here to help you. You had too much medicine. You gave us quite a scare.”

Jane knelt by the bed and reached for Hannah's hand, but Hannah snatched it away and turned her face to the ceiling. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, revealing so much white that she looked like a panicked horse.

“It's all right, ma'am,” Radford said calmly. “We're giving you fluids because you were dehydrated. You'll be just fine.”

“I'm not going anywhere. You can't take me anywhere!” Hannah tried to pull the IV out of her arm, but Hancock caught her wrist to stop her from doing so and she bucked in protest.

Carilion approached Sheriff Evans. “She might injure herself, Sheriff. I recommend transferring her to the gurney and using restraints.”

Having overheard this, Jane leaned close to Hannah. “If you don't calm down, they're going to restrain you. Do you want that? Of course you don't. Please, Hannah. Calm down. Try to focus on my face. If you calm down, I'll call Victoria for you. Would you like me to call Victoria?”

At the sound of her sister's name, Hannah began nodding feverishly. “I need Via. Get me Via.”

“I will,” Jane whispered. She pushed her hands in a downward motion. “But you must lie still and let the paramedics treat you. If you do that, I'll pick up the phone on your bedside table and dial your sister's room. You can watch me. Deal?”

This time, Hannah was slow to nod. Her gaze had slid away from Jane and back to the crowd of people in her room. When her eyes met Jane's again, they were filled with distrust.

“Sheriff Evans? Could you ask some of our visitors to step out of Ms. Billingsley's room?” Jane's imperious tone made it clear that she was not making a request. “The circus atmosphere is obviously elevating her anxiety. She just woke from
a deep slumber to find a group of strangers gathered around her bed. That would upset anyone.” Jane darted an accusatory glance at Carilion. “Perhaps the three of us—you, me, and Ms. Radford—would be sufficient to see to her needs for now. Ms. Billingsley has agreed to receive the necessary treatment. In exchange, I've promised to send for her sister.”

Jane didn't wait for the sheriff's response, but picked up the phone and dialed the Princess Bride Suite. The phone rang and rang, but no one answered.

Hannah, who'd been distracted by the departure of Deputy Emory and the other paramedics, now turned back to Jane with naked terror on her face.

“I'll call the front desk,” Jane said hurriedly. “They can locate your sister.”

Jane disconnected her call to the bridal suite and dialed zero. Sue answered with a cheerful, “Good afternoon, Ms. Billingsley. How can we be of service?”

“It's me, Sue,” Jane said. “Ms. Billingsley is looking for her sister. She'd like Victoria to join her in her room. It's urgent.”

“I just saw her heading for the Paperback Parlor!” Sue exclaimed. “I'll deliver the message myself.”

“Your sister will be here in a few minutes.” Jane replaced the phone in its cradle. “How are you feeling?”

Hannah eased her white-knuckle grip on her covers. “I'm thirsty.”

Hearing this, the sheriff went into the bathroom to fill a glass with water. In his absence, and with the paramedic busy packing equipment into her kit, Jane was sorely tempted to ask Hannah why she'd poisoned Andrew Green. She could lean close to Hannah's ear and whisper the question very quietly. But Jane sensed—even if she possessed the callousness to ask this frightened, pain-riddled woman such a crucial question—that Hannah was incapable of replying.

Sheriff Evans returned with the water and gave it to Jane. “Do you want me to hold the glass?” Jane asked Hannah gently.

Hannah nodded weakly and took a sip. And then another.

Jane experienced a horrifying feeling of déjà vu. Only a few hours earlier, she'd held a glass of water mixed with activated charcoal to the druid's lips in an effort to coax the liquid down his swollen throat and counteract the effects of the arsenic he'd ingested.

Why?
Jane was dying to ask Hannah.
Did you know that the druid was Kira's killer? If so, how did you find out? And why would you risk your entire future to avenge a friend's death? You and Kira weren't even close. Tammy is the only herbalist who deeply cared for Kira.

If Jane were writing a novel, she'd reveal, in the denouement, that Hannah had been wearing a prosthetic hump all along. That her birth defect was a contrivance and she'd played the part of a chronic-pain sufferer in order to carry out the perfect murder. But Jane was not a novelist and Hannah's medical issues were very real. Jane also believed that Hannah had killed Andrew Green out of desperation. Why else would she deliberately subject herself to such agony? Or ruin the first day of her sister's marriage? And the most telling argument of all was the likelihood that she'd be caught.

Someone knocked on the door and Hannah cried, “Via!” in the shrill voice of a frightened child.

Jane rushed to let Victoria in, She barely managed to step aside as Victoria barreled into the room and knelt by her sister's side.

“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded angrily. “Why does my sister have an IV?” Victoria rounded on Jane. “What is the sheriff doing here? Don't your guests have the right to their privacy?”