Murder in the Secret Garden (9 page)

Constance was about to argue, but she must have seen the transformation in Jane. Gone was the congenial resort manager. Another woman had taken her place. This woman was a mother, a fighter, and a protector.

“Yes,” she whispered petulantly.

Jane shot Eloise a look to convey that she should wrap up the event and left the room. The second she was in the hallway, she broke into a run.

In the lobby, Jane nearly collided with Sheriff Evans. She mumbled a harried “excuse me” and tried to maneuver around him, but he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Your sons are okay,” he assured her. “Were you after this?” He held up a plastic bag containing a brown, man-shaped root.

Jane took the bag and stared at the object within. “You got that from my boys?”

“Mr. Lachlan saw them playing with the root and took it away,” the sheriff said. “Your sons were quite vocal in their indignation, and their complaints drew the attention of Deputy Emory. When Emory overheard Mr. Lachlan use the word ‘poisonous,' she felt compelled to investigate. Mr. Lachlan turned the root over to us.”

Now that she knew the twins were safe, Jane's anger over Constance Meredith's foolishness—or deliberate maliciousness—redoubled. “That woman!” Jane fumed. “I should press charges against her!”

“According to Emory, your boys were wearing earmuffs,” the sheriff explained. “They'd buried the root at the edge of
the kitchen garden and had action figures positioned around it. When one boy pulled the mandrake root out of the ground, the other would knock over the action figures and howl as if they'd died an agonizing death.”

Jane understood at once. “They were playing herbology class.”

“What?” Evans frowned in confusion.

“It's a Harry Potter thing,” Jane said, her gaze still fixed on the root.

The mandrake root definitely had an anthropomorphic shape. It was all too easy to envision two arms, two legs, a trunk, and a head, albeit these were somewhat bulbous and misshapen. There were even depressions on one side of the “head,” and Jane could envision a grotesque face staring back at her. As she continued to inspect the mandrake, she saw raw white spots where smaller pieces of root had been snipped off.

“The Poison Princess trimmed this root to make it look more like the plant described in medieval folklore,” Jane said, showing the cuts to Sheriff Evans. “
That woman
!”

“You have every right to be upset,” the sheriff said soothingly. “However, Ms. Meredith has not broken any laws. I checked. Anyone may buy, cultivate, or distribute mandrake, despite the fact that it's poisonous.”

Jane glared at the sheriff. “I would kick her out of Storyton Hall before sundown if there wasn't an ongoing murder investigation!”

“Speaking of which, I have preliminary results from Ms. Grace's toxicology test. Would you like an update as you check on your sons?” Evans kindly asked. “Mr. Lachlan is letting them feed his birds to make up for ‘ratting them out,' as he put it.”

“I do want to lay eyes on the boys,” Jane said. “Irrational as that is.”

Evans put a hand on Jane's shoulder. “It's a parent's prerogative to worry.”

Flashing him a smile, Jane led the sheriff to the garage where the John Deere Gator carts were parked. “If we drive, we'll get there faster and have more privacy while we talk,” she said.

The moment Jane cleared the driveway and hit the wooded trail, she accelerated. She continued picking up speed until the trees zipped past.

“Was Kira poisoned?” Jane asked once Storyton Hall had receded into the distance.

“Yes!” Evans had to raise his voice over the noise of the Gator's motor and the rush of air. “However, we need tests to determine what type. The medical examiner did discover a puncture wound at the base of Kira's neck.”

Jane slowed the cart. “A puncture wound? As in, from a syringe?”

“Exactly.” Evans sounded impressed. “It could easily have been overlooked. Ms. Grace's hair covered the injection spot.”

Storyton Mews came into view and Jane stopped the cart and turned to the sheriff. “So it's definitely murder.”

Removing a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket, Evans handed it to Jane. “This list reflects those individuals who had an opportunity to kill Ms. Grace. We still have no obvious motive.”

Jane examined the names. “It's not a very long list.”

“I'd like to search their guest rooms immediately. Depending on what we find, I may also conduct additional interviews,” the sheriff said. “Right after you see your sons.”

Jane promised to be quick. “I want this case solved as badly as you do,” she said in a hushed voice as she parked next to the building. “I only wish we knew which poison had been injected into Kira. Liquefied mandrake root, for example.”

“Ms. Meredith is in the clear,” the sheriff reminded her.

“Yes, I know.” Jane was unable to hide her disappointment.

The mews were quiet. No visitors were permitted after five, as Lachlan liked to be alone with the birds before settling them down for the evening.

The most recent additions to the Storyton Mews, a peregrine falcon named Horus and a merlin named Cillian, were not tame enough to hunt on their own. Though Lachlan allowed them to go on short flights each morning, they kept close to the mews because they knew an easy meal awaited them there.

Freyja, the Cooper's hawk Lachlan had snuck into his cottage last winter, and the reason there now was a falconry program at Storyton Hall, had advanced in her training to the point where she could bring down smaller birds. For the most part, however, the raptors' diet consisted of frozen chicks. And while Mrs. Hubbard had eventually forgiven Lachlan for giving her the shock of her life when she'd accidentally opened a box stamped
PERISHABLE
to find a supply of day-old chicks inside, she insisted that the mews be equipped with its own freezer.

As Jane approached, it was clear that the twins had just finished doling out supper for Cillian, for one of Lachlan's boxes was on the ground in front of the merlin's mew. Hearing the Gator, Lachlan returned Cillian to his perch, locked the door, and hustled over to Jane.

“I'm so sorry, Miss Jane,” he said, twisting his heavy leather gloves in his hands. “I had no idea she would give them such a thing. I should have been watching.”

Lachlan was genuinely distressed. Once, Jane had had reservations about employing a man suffering from PTSD, but she soon realized how foolish she was being. Lachlan, who was as loyal and courageous as a lion, didn't have any more demons than she did. He just couldn't hide the fact that he was battling them as well as others could.

“You did nothing wrong,” Jane said gently. “I'm their mother, and
I
wasn't watching. We can't always be there. What matters is that you spotted the danger and you removed it. Thank you, Landon.” She used his first name for emphasis.

Though Jane was tempted to squeeze his forearm, she refrained. She sensed that he wouldn't welcome her touch just then. However, she did see him relax a little. “They've all but forgotten the root,” he whispered conspiratorially. “And I think Cillian's starting to get used to them. It's a good start. He's the only bird who still freaks out around kids.”

“Well, if he can tolerate Fitz and Hem, he can handle visits from the Tasmanian Devil and a troupe of whirling dervishes.” Jane spent a few minutes visiting with her sons. While the sheriff was busy admiring the raptors, she quickly updated Lachlan on the status of the investigation.

“Tell Sinclair that I'd like an in-depth report on Ms. Grace brought to my great-aunt and -uncle's apartments. I want all the Fins to join me there. It's time for us to determine the killer's motive.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Sheriff Evans stood reading the information plaque on Cooper's hawks. “Just in case he doesn't.”

*   *   *

The Medieval Herbalists lacking solid alibis for the estimated time of Kira's death included Hannah Billingsley, Claude Mason, and Tammy Kota. Also, Sherriff Evans wasn't completely satisfied by the statements provided by Phil and Sandi Hughes, considering they were each other's alibis.

None of the herbalists staying at Storyton were upset when Sheriff Evans informed them that he intended to search their rooms.

“Go right ahead,” Tammy said. “My life is an open book. Some of the pages, and their illustrations, might make you
blush, but I've got nothing to hide.” With a wink, she offered the sheriff her room key.

Evans assigned her room to Deputy Mills.

“Do I have to watch?” Tammy asked Jane. “I'd rather sit in your gazebo with a glass of wine and meditate for a spell.”

Jane granted Tammy permission to leave. As the sheriff distributed other assignments, she made her own. A Fin would supervise each search. And though Sheriff Evans had no idea that Storyton Hall's butler, head librarian, or head chauffeur were far more than accommodating staff members, Jane knew nothing would escape their sharp-eyed glances or acute hearing.

However, by the time Jane, the Fins, Uncle Aloysius, and Aunt Octavia reconvened, nothing useful had been discovered.

“Not a single piece of dirty laundry was brought to light,” Sterling said.

“Mrs. Pimpernel would disagree.” Butterworth sniffed. “Ms. Kota's room was in a deplorable state. It bore a remarkable resemblance to a gypsy encampment.”

Jane, who'd taken an instant liking to Tammy, said, “That sounds rather fun.” Turning to Sinclair, she gestured at the stack of papers on the coffee table. “I hope you've had more success.”

“Not much, I fear.” Sinclair quickly distributed a packet to each person. “Kira Grace didn't have expensive tastes. She was not a spendthrift. Hers is not a history tainted by avarice. For most of her life, she lived quite modestly. When her career took off and she finally began making a little money, she didn't know what to do with it. Unfortunately, she entrusted it all to a man she knew back in college. This man was running a Ponzi scheme. He went to jail, but not before Ms. Grace lost all of her assets. She was forced to declare bankruptcy.”

Jane shook her head. She'd been having a difficult time
understanding why Kira had taken the damning photographs of Constance Meredith and Nico Scannavini, but now her motives were clear. “So the victim of a financial crime turned to blackmail. She must have been desperate.”

“Ms. Grace was actually homeless for a time,” Sinclair said. “That doesn't excuse her from making a very poor decision, but after conducting extensive research, I've come to believe that this was her first blackmail attempt.”

“What about all those clothes in her room?” Jane asked. “How did she buy those if she was broke?”

Aunt Octavia looked alarmed. “What of her hotel bill? How did she plan on paying for this weekend's expenses?”

Sinclair brandished another stack of papers. “She was doing the credit card shuffle.”

Uncle Aloysius growled. As a rule, he distrusted credit card companies and paid for purchases via cash or check. Every time he read an article or heard a news report featuring credit card debt, fraud, or outrageous interest rates, he'd launch into a monologue on how these companies preyed on hardworking Americans.

From under the table, Jane heard a feline growl and knew Muffet Cat was responding to the noise Uncle Aloysius had made.

“The bastards! Forgive my language, ladies, but it's true,” her uncle railed. “People think they need to carry a balance on their credit cards to establish a credit rating. They believe it's wise to increase their credit limit. The fancy platinum cards tempt them. They don't read the fine print. Suddenly, a nasty annual fee appears on their statement along with a whopping interest rate. Multiply that monthly bill by several cards and—”

“All right, Aloysius.” Aunt Octavia silenced her husband with a look.

Jane focused on Sinclair again. “If what you're saying is true—and we have no way of confirming that Kira didn't
attempt extortion before this weekend—then our best motive just went out the window.” She turned to Lachlan. “After hiking with the herbalists this morning, your impression was that they genuinely like one another. And they liked Kira.”

“We certainly lack the usual motives for murder,” Butterworth said. “Money, revenge, envy, a crime of passion, et cetera. However, an injection of lethal poison to the back of the head reeks of cowardice. The murderer didn't wish to see his victim's face.”

“A cowardly and callous killer,” Jane said. “The way he loaded Kira in a wheelbarrow and dumped her in the river showed how little respect he had for her body.”

Sterling, who'd been silent up to this point, suddenly jerked in his chair. “What if the crime
was
about money? Ms. Grace set out on a solo hike. With her camera. We already know she had the means to blackmail her fellow herbalists, but perhaps she was gathering evidence on someone
else
that morning. Someone who could provide her with a bigger payoff. If so, there would be no need to approach her friends.”

“There's only one person I can think of with a secret that might lead to murder,” Aunt Octavia said gruffly.

Jane's blood turned cold as she met her aunt's dauntless gaze. “Edwin Alcott.”

“We know so little about him, Jane,” Uncle Aloysius said, trying to soften the blow with a kind look. “Only that he's called The Templar and is a notorious book thief. And while he did return one of the missing pages from our Gutenberg Bible, we can't say what his motives are or who employs him. Can we?”

“No,” Jane replied. “But Edwin gave me a book to read. A diary. He told me that it would help me understand who he was and what he did.”

A host of raised brows followed this announcement.

“We should still be suspicious of him, of course, but I
wanted you to know that he believes the diary will clarify things,” she quickly added. “I also think we need to see how Edwin interacts with the other Medieval Herbalists.
If
Kira was aware of his
other
profession, who's to say she was the only one?”

“How do you plan to bring the wolf among the sheep?” Aunt Octavia asked.