Murder in the Secret Garden (18 page)

“Mr. Alcott!” Fitz shouted, his face lighting up like a small sun upon seeing Edwin standing at the stove, a red apron tied around his waist.

“You're back!” Hem cried giddily.

Edwin lowered the flame to a simmer just as both boys flung their arms around him.

He was clearly surprised by the show of affection, but quickly recovered and squeezed each twin in turn. “I think you've both grown a full inch since I last saw you.”

“Really?” The boys exchanged happy looks.

“What are you cooking?” Hem asked, peering into the frying pan.

Edwin pointed at the oven. “Since the rest of the meal is warming up in there, I was going to sauté broccoli to round it off, but now that you two are here, I might let you gentlemen have a go at it. Why don't you wash your hands? I'll show you what to do.”

While Edwin instructed the twins, Jane set the table. The oven timer beeped, and she plated the honey-glazed chicken skewers and grilled corn Edwin had brought from Daily Bread just as the three males finished cooking the broccoli.

As soon as they all sat down, the boys begged Edwin to talk of his travels. Jane hated to admit it, but she was just as eager to hear the details of his life away from Storyton.

Edwin didn't disappoint. He described the wares in the Turkish bazaars until Jane felt she could smell the fragrant spices or run her hands over a silk prayer rug. He spoke of men meeting in special cafés to smoke their hookah pipes
and play games of backgammon on beautiful boards inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

“Many of their everyday things are so beautiful, so exquisitely made,” Edwin said. “On cold winter days, I dream of their coffee.” He smiled at the twins. “How you would love to explore the ruins of Pergamum and Ephesus. But for now, perhaps you'd be interested in solving a riddle. The answer will reveal a hidden treasure. How about it?”

If the twins leaned any closer to the table, their chins would soon hit their plates. “Yes!” they both cried.

Grinning, Edwin excused himself and opened the front door. He disappeared outside for a moment and then reentered the house carrying a plastic bag. “I tucked this behind a bush,” he said to Jane. “Didn't want to ruin the surprise.”

“You remembered to bring us something!” Hem clapped.

“Of course.” Edwin presented each boy with a rectangular object wrapped in a thick layer of white tissue paper.

The boys tore off the paper and Jane silently prayed that Edwin hadn't given them anything fragile, but when she saw the edge of a wooden box, she relaxed.

“Whoa,” Fitz breathed, running his fingers along the mother-of-pearl inlay on the box top. “Is this a backgammon game?”

“Like the men in Turkey play?” Hem added.

Edwin laughed. “No, though I will teach you how to play backgammon. It's a good game.” He pointed at Hem's box. “These are puzzle boxes. They open, but not with a key. You must solve their riddle. When you do, you will find the treasure.”

“Are they the same?” Hem asked.

“I don't think so,” Fitz answered. “My flowers are different than yours. See?”

“That's right.” Edwin said with a note of approval.

Hem looked at his brother. Very solemnly, he declared, “We won't solve this by acting like Harry Potter. We're going to have to think like Hermoine Granger.”

Fitz nodded. “It's only for a little while.” He then turned to Edwin. “Thank you, Mr. Alcott.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Hem echoed. “These are so cool!”

“Take care of your plates before you start thinking like a girl,” Jane teased.

Feigning a shudder, Fitz collected their dirty dishes while Hem carried their glasses to the kitchen sink and loaded them into the dishwasher.

“Cooties phase?” Edwin whispered.

“Big-time,” Jane whispered back.

Having finished with their duties, the boys grabbed their boxes and darted upstairs.

“This might be the first time in history they forgot about dessert,” Jane said.

“And I brought such an unusual one,” Edwin said, producing a tin from the bottom of the plastic bag. “These are for you.”

Jane took off the lid and peeled back a layer of wax paper, revealing pink, sugarcoated squares dotted with pistachios. “What are they?”

“Turkish delight.

“The candy the queen offered Edmund in
The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe
?” Jane was astonished. “I've never seen it before.” Her fingers hovered over a piece. “To think that Edmund betrayed his entire family in exchange for this treat.”

Edwin shrugged. “To be fair, the queen's version was enchanted. This is the traditional version made with rosewater. Not magic.”

Jane popped a candy in her mouth and chewed. It was gelatinous, extremely sweet, and had the consistency of a gumdrop except for the crunch of the roasted pistachio nut buried within its depths. Jane wasn't sure that she cared for the candy.

“They're not my favorite either,” Edwin said with a laugh.
“But knowing how much you love books, I thought you'd like to try this candy. Just once.”

“I'm glad I have. That was really thoughtful of you. And what you brought the boys—they'll never forget it.” She took his hand. “I'd love to hear more about what you did and saw when you weren't a
special
guest of the sheik's, but I need to get back to Storyton Hall. Billy's coming to watch the boys and should be knocking on my door any second now.”

Edwin pushed back his chair. “I understand. I also thought I'd peruse the fair. Have a casual chat with a few of the herbalists about books. Old books in particular. You're juggling enough as it is, and if I were a betting man—which I am—I'd wager that the book thief is feeling pretty confident about getting away with his crime in the midst of the chaos created by two murder investigations. Let me help you recover the missing herbal, Jane. This is what I do. It's who I am.”

“The Templar,” she said softly.

Edwin raised a warning finger. “Try not to bandy that name about in public.”

The doorbell rang, interrupting Jane's airy laugh. It felt so good to smile and laugh with Edwin that Jane stepped close enough to kiss him on the mouth. The kiss was brief, but full of desire. And promise. “Thank you for everything you did today,” she whispered.

“I'm not finished yet, sweet Jane.” Edwin opened the front door and slipped outside with the liquid grace of a cat, leaving Billy blinking in surprise.

“The fair is a go,” Billy told Jane as soon as he'd recovered. “The police didn't arrest any of the guests.”

Jane could have hugged Billy for delivering this news, but she restrained herself. “Did all the herbalists get their tables ready in time?”

Billy nodded. “Yes, ma'am. They have some interesting stuff for sale too. I took a quick peek before I came over.”

“I can only imagine,” Jane said.

After saying good night to the twins, she left the house and called Sherriff Evans, who'd returned to the station.

“What's going on? Did the police leave?”

“For now,” Evans said. “The ME wanted to review his preliminary results with McCullough. McCullough also wanted to talk to Tom Green. He collected statements from everyone who went on this morning's hike or had access to that piece of cake. All except Hannah Billingsley, that is. The younger Mrs. Earle forced her sister to lawyer up. She's claiming that her sister was coerced into speaking with the two of us while under the influence of medication. She also asserts that we violated Hannah's privacy.”

Jane was shocked. “Victoria said that?”

“She's very angry.”

“And she's extremely protective of her sister.” Jane felt a prick of shame. “Consider how things looked from her viewpoint. She entered her sister's room to find three paramedics, the sheriff, and the resort manager encircling her frightened sister. I can't really blame Victoria for her reaction.”

Jane heard another phone ring in the background. “I need to take this, Ms. Steward. I'm sure we'll talk later.”

*   *   *

The medieval fair was a subdued event. Despite the upbeat instrumental music being piped into the ballroom through the overhead speakers, there was a distinct absence of enthusiasm among the vendors. Their lack of interest in describing their wares affected the shoppers, and few guests or villagers seemed inspired to reach for their wallets.

Jane made a beeline for Tammy's table and was relieved to find a small crowd gathered there. They were raptly listening to Tammy explain why her natural products were both more effective and healthier than those they could purchase in most stores.

“They're more expensive too,” a man pointed out.

“That's true,” Tammy agreed pleasantly. “But they'll last twice as long, so you get a better deal if you buy from me. Not only that, but by not supporting companies that use harmful ingredients or dump toxic chemicals into the earth, you really end up in a win-win situation. Hold out your hand, sir, and tell me if this bug spray smells nice.”

Grudgingly, the man allowed Tammy to dab a little on his skin. He raised his hand to his nose, sniffed, and shrugged. “It's okay. I don't really care how I smell, though. I'm willing to stink like a garbage dump as long as the mosquitoes leave me alone. It's hell trying to fish when they're eating you alive.”

“I know it works, so I'd like two bottles, please,” Jane said loudly. “As well as two bars of that incredible gardener's soap and a jar of lavender bath salt.”

“Coming right up!” No sooner had Tammy moved to bag Jane's selections than a lady guest started filling her arms with items from the table.

Realizing that she had an audience, the woman giggled. “I'm getting a head start on my Christmas shopping! I work in an office filled with women and we do Secret Santa exchanges every year. These soaps, essential oils, and scented satchels are the perfect size. And I won't have to stress over what to buy come December. I'll have unique and thoughtful gifts all ready to go.”

“That's really smart,” another woman said and scooped up a jar of eucalyptus-scented exfoliating scrub and a bottle of moisturizing body lotion.

Following a rush of sales, Tammy looked genuinely happy for the first time since Kira's death.

“You're beautiful when you smile,” Jane said.

“I love what I do.” Tammy started rearranging her wares. “It isn't about the money either. I love creating quality products, and I love matching people with the product they need
most. It's a calling, and all the other things that happened this weekend almost made me forget how much I value my calling.”

Jane saw the sorrow in the older woman's eyes. Tammy Kota was no killer. And Jane didn't believe she was a thief either. “I'm so sorry. About everything.”

“I know you are, dear girl,” Tammy said. “And I bear no ill will against the sheriff or the cops. They're just doing their jobs. What I can't understand is why anyone would kill the druid. Every plant he grew has two faces. A yin and a yang. Poison and healing. It just depends on the application.”

“Perhaps the druid had two faces as well,” Jane suggested.

Tammy grunted. “I'm sure he did. We all do, but some of us are better at hiding the less attractive one than others.”

A customer approached the table and Jane moved off, her thoughts turning from the herbalists to Tom Green. As Jane strolled by Vivian's table and her books on garden conservation, and the Scannavinis' table with their bottles of perfumes, she considered how Tom had spent his entire life wondering what secret his father had fled from. Perhaps Andrew Green had carried the secret inside himself all along.

His other face
, Jane thought. She stopped to stare at the twisted face of a dried mandrake root at the Poison Princess's booth.
Did Tom kill his father because he finally discovered the hidden side of the man he'd only partially known?

As though in answer, her cell phone rang and Sheriff Evans's number surfaced on the bright screen.

Jane hurried out of the ballroom through a rear exit leading into a staff corridor and was immediately enveloped by cool air, dim lighting, and silence.

“I wanted you to hear the news directly from me,” the sheriff said after Jane answered the call. His voice sounded
raspy and thin, as though the long day and the burdens of his job had suddenly aged him. “Tom Green has been arrested on suspicion of murder. McCullough believes Tom had the strongest motive for killing Andrew Green.”

Jane was gripping her phone so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. “Which was?”

“Money. His father had a safe filled with cash,” Evans said.

Every part of Jane rebelled against the idea that Tom Green had killed his own father. She wasn't alone in her disbelief. The Fins also felt that the police had taken the wrong person into custody.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Green had means, opportunity, and in Officer's McCullough's eyes, motive.” Sinclair said. “To secure Mr. Green's freedom, we must offer up the real killer.
If
the killer is still among us. Mr. Sterling? You've deduced that the tire mark embedded in the embankment near Storyton River on the day Ms. Grace's body was discovered is a match to the tire on Mr. Green's truck, correct?”

Sterling nodded. “Mr. Green's pickup is a 1985 Chevy C10. It wasn't hard to establish that the track belonged to one of the Goodyear tires from that truck.”

Once again, Jane and the Fins had gathered in Uncle Aloysius's office. Jane, who'd been spinning her uncle's globe while she listened to the Fins exchange information, suddenly left her chair and approached the piece of slate containing the list of The Medieval Herbalists' names.

“The killer must be on this board.” She jabbed at the slate. “And I believe we'll be closer to finding out who he or she is as soon as we hear from Butterworth.”

Prior to convening in her uncle's office, Jane had sent Butterworth to speak with Claude Mason. “I don't care how you get the information out of him,” she'd told the butler. “I need to know how he learned of the druid. Who was his source? Because that person may have had a connection to the man who was once known as Andrew Green, MD, and that fact will move their name to the top of our suspect list.”

Until Butterworth reported back, Jane wanted to focus on the other herbalists. Picking up a stick of chalk, she drew a line through two names: Nico Scannavini and Michelle Scannavini. “This couple is in the clear. They skipped the wedding feast and the hike. According to Butterworth, they spent the morning hanging out by the Jules Verne Pool. Following that, they enjoyed an early lunch in the Rudyard Kipling Café.”

“But why?” Lachlan frowned. “Why did they blow off what were bound to be two of their group's most unforgettable events?”

“I can answer that,” Aunt Octavia said. She was comfortably settled in the wing chair closest to the window and was petting a comatose Muffet Cat in long, slow strokes from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. “According to the housekeeping staff, Mr. Scannavini and the Poison Princess had a fling during last year's retreat. Even though Mrs. Scannavini has forgiven her husband, it was very difficult for her to be in the same room with ‘the tramp.'” Aunt Octavia held up a finger. “Mrs. Scannavini used a far more derogatory term, but I prefer not to repeat vulgarities. In any case, following your book club discussion, Jane, the couple elected to distance themselves from their fellow herbalists for the remainder of the retreat.”

Uncle Aloysius shrugged. “Sounds reasonable to me. I
can certainly understand why Mrs. Scannavini wouldn't be able to enjoy herself in the company of her husband's former lover.”

“Me too,” Jane said. “Let's move on. I'm going to circle the names of the wedding guests who were seated at the bride and groom's table. These people had the best opportunity to add poison to the cake.”

“Wouldn't one taste arsenic?” Aunt Octavia wanted to know. “I like to think my palette is discerning enough to detect a lethal dose of poison, even if it was mixed with lots of sugar.” Her eyes gleamed and Jane guessed that her aunt was lost in a fantasy involving a very large slice of cake.

“I believe the arsenic was blended with honey and the mixture was drizzled over the entire piece,” Sterling said. “The liquid would have soaked into the cake and the sweetness of the honey would have helped mask the slightly metallic taste of the arsenic. It isn't bitter like cyanide and can be disguised fairly easily.”

Aunt Octavia sighed. “Poor Mrs. Hubbard. She'll never look at a wedding cake the same way again.”

Though Jane adored Mrs. Hubbard, this was not the time to focus on her feelings. Turning back to the board, she asked, “Which of these herbalists could obtain arsenic?”

Before Sinclair could reply, the phone on the desk rang. “That'll be Mr. Butterworth.” Sinclair passed the heavy rotary telephone to Jane.

“I've spoken with Mr. Mason who insisted that he couldn't remember which member had originally e-mailed him regarding the druid of Storyton,” Butterworth began. “It was only when I threatened to recall Officer McCullough that Mr. Mason was suddenly able to clear the cobwebs from his mind and tell me what I wanted to know,” Butterworth said in a self-satisfied tone.

“And?” Jane pressed.

“Hannah Billingsley first raised the subject.” Butterworth
paused for a moment to allow this to sink in. “Ms. Billingsley wrote Mr. Mason that her sister, Victoria, had stumbled upon a document citing the existence of a holistic healer in Storyton, Virginia. At this point, the site for the next group retreat had not yet been chosen and Ms. Billingsley—Hannah, that is—proposed The Medieval Herbalists book a long weekend at Storyton Hall. She went on to suggest that they might look into paying a visit to this mysterious healer should the group end up at Storyton next summer.”

“I can't believe it,” Jane said, speaking into the mouthpiece while also addressing everyone else in the room. “Hannah also carried the poisoned piece of cake to Andrew Green. So is she the killer?”

“What's her motive?” Lachlan asked and then held out both hands. “I'm just playing devil's advocate.”

Sinclair nodded in approval. “Having a theory challenged is the best way to view its strengths and its flaws.”

“I don't see Kira's death as motive,” Jane said. “I know that sounds callous, but it's Tammy who was Kira's friend, not Hannah. Why would Hannah risk her future and endure such physical pain to avenge the murder of an acquaintance?”

“She wouldn't,” Uncle Aloysius declared. “But is there another person this young woman would have killed for? Someone she cares about who might have been hurt by Andrew Green in the past?”

Jane stared at him. “The person Hannah loves most is Victoria. Their bond is undeniably powerful. I felt it within minutes of meeting them. But what would have wounded Victoria so deeply . . .” She trailed off. Suddenly, she was standing in Victoria's guest room again. Victoria, resplendent in her wedding gown, was giving her older sister a pep talk. Jane remembered two details quite vividly. The first was putting flowers in Hannah's hair. The second was Hannah describing her sister's tendency to keep everything and anything associated with her late mother.

“You've had an epiphany,” Aunt Octavia said.

Holding out a finger, Jane spoke into the earpiece. “Butterworth, could you use the computer in Sinclair's office to research Hannah Billingsley's mother? I'd like to know how she died.”

“Certainly,” Butterworth replied.

Jane put the phone down on her uncle's desk and then returned to the slate board. She circled Hannah's name twice and then glanced at Sterling, who knew more about chemicals than the rest of the assembly. “Hannah restores antique botanical prints and drawings. Would any of her art materials contain arsenic?”

“Certain pigments added to paint contain arsenic,” Sterling said. “However, it would be extremely difficult to isolate the arsenic.”

Sinclair, who'd been staring at the laptop screen, now looked at Sterling. “Ms. Billingsley is part of a large network of auction houses, antique dealers, and art gallery owners. She could acquire hazardous materials from another century. William Morris wallpaper containing toxic green paint would be easier to boil down to a liquid form than artist's paint from the tube, for example.”

“It's possible, but one would still need some skill in chemistry to successfully produce enough milligrams of arsenic to kill a healthy adult male,” Sterling said. He turned to Jane. “Why Hannah Billingsley? I thought you believed her to be innocent?”

“Because of the pain she endured in order to deliver that poisoned cake to Andrew Green.” Jane now circled Victoria's name. “I no longer think his death is tied to Kira's murder. I think Hannah steered the herbalists to Storyton because she discovered that Dr. Green had something to do with her mother's passing. When I stopped by the bridal suite to deliver the wedding bouquets to the Billingsley sisters, I learned that their mother died of cancer. Victoria was
a young girl when this happened, and growing up without a mom clearly marked her. I think Hannah did her best to fill her mother's shoes, but at what cost?” She paused. “Most of us see Victoria as the stronger sister, right?”

There were several murmurs of assent.

“Because she exudes self-confidence,” Jane said. “She's self-possessed while Hannah is quiet and reserved. But I've seen another side of Hannah. She comes to life when she talks about herbs or her work. And I've witnessed the fierce love she bears for her sister. Like Tom, Hannah also had the means and the opportunity. The unanswered question is whether she had a valid motive or simply played the role of the unwitting courier for the real murderer.”

At that moment, Butterworth appeared in the doorway. He stood like a soldier at attention. “Mrs. Janice Billingsley was experiencing flu-like symptoms and chronic fatigue,” he announced somberly. “Eventually, she saw a physician and was informed that she had Stage 4 cancer. After being told that she had approximately three months to live, she was given several treatment options—which she refused as these were likely to prolong her suffering—and sent home.”

“Damn cancer!” Uncle Aloysius muttered angrily. “Those poor girls.”

Butterworth allowed for a moment of silence before continuing. “I thought I might have to gain access to Mrs. Billingsley's medical records, which would have cost us valuable time, but her name popped up in an article from the
Journal of Clinical Oncology
.” He brandished the sheet of paper in his right hand. “This is a summary of the key points.” Pointing at the slate board, he said, “I concur with your theory, Miss Jane. Hannah Billingsley killed Andrew Green as an act of revenge.”

Aunt Octavia shifted in her chair, causing Muffet Cat to open his eyes halfway and cast his yellow-eyed glare at the person closest to him, which happened to be Jane. However,
Jane was too caught up in Butterworth's narrative to take note of the irritated feline.

“Would you explain what you found in that article?” Jane asked Butterworth.

Butterworth inclined his head. “According to a clinical research study, Mrs. Billingsley was one of hundreds of women diagnosed with cancer after taking a specific medicine during pregnancy. The medicine, Benetyne, was meant to relieve acute morning sickness.”

Sterling frowned. “It caused cancer instead?”

Butterworth spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “The harmful side effects weren't immediately evident. In fact, the discovery of cancer among patients having used Benetyne for several months or for multiple pregnancies didn't present for years. The first sign that something was very wrong with this drug was the increase of birth defects in infants of mothers who used Benetyne.”

Jane gasped. “Is that what happened to Hannah? All those surgeries? The braces and the pain? Her lifelong torment was because of this drug?”

“I believe so, yes,” Butterworth said gravely. “Cervical kyphosis and other spine and neck issues were prevalent among the infants affected by the drug.”

Aunt Octavia reached into her housedress for a lace handkerchief. “This is too horrible. Are you saying that because Hannah and Victoria's mother took a medicine to relieve the symptoms of morning sickness, she ended up delivering a baby girl with a birth defect? And, not too many years later, this same woman died a premature death—her body riddled with cancer?”

“Yes.” Butterworth folded the sheet of paper in two and glanced at Sinclair. “There were a few obstetricians—not many, mind you—but a few, who continued to prescribe the drug even after word began to spread that it was unsafe.”

“Why would someone do such a thing?” Jane cried.

Sterling sighed. “For the perks. This occurred two decades ago—before the relationship between prescribing doctors and pharmaceutical reps was regulated. The drug reps could offer physicians all kinds of incentives in exchange for writing prescriptions using their products. They'd give the doctors golf trips, cases of expensive wine, steak dinners at the finest restaurants, stock options, the latest equipment for his or her practice—the list goes on and on.”

Aghast, Jane went quiet. So did everyone else. The silence in the room was heavy. Haunted. It was as though the ghosts of all the innocent women and children filled the space, mutely pleading for justice. Jane closed her eyes, and when she did, she saw Hannah in her maid of honor gown. Recalling the younger woman's embarrassment because the hump of her upper back had been exposed, Jane felt a sharp stab of grief on her behalf.

“Did you find out if Andrew Green was Janice Billingsley's obstetrician?” she whispered into the silence. “Is that why he had to abandon his child and start a new life as a recluse? Why he had to become a man with no identity? Because he continued to prescribe this drug after it was rumored to cause birth defects?”

“I don't know, but I suspect Mr. Sinclair is already searching for that answer.” After exchanging nods with Sinclair, Butterworth moved to the slate. “There is another fact to consider, and that involves the pharmaceutical company responsible for manufacturing Benetyne.”

Jane groaned. “Don't tell me . . .” But she knew what Butterworth would say before he spoke. She'd seen the initials E.P. in the druid's notebooks. She knew exactly which company Andrew Green had worked for—and had continued working for even after leaving his old life behind.