Hide Away, page 21
They browsed through the gift side, mostly basket samplers of honey and jam and, of course, cider. Beverly bought some maple fudge for Adam since it was his favorite, and the two women found a table in the luncheonette area. Beverly wasn’t hungry at all, but she ordered some of their “world-famous” cider donuts and some coffee.
The entertainment turned out to be too loud and out-of-tune for their tastes, so they hurriedly finished the donuts and headed toward the Maple Kingdom Artisans Gallery. Beverly ignored the “kingdom” part since it brought to mind images of the SCA jousts she’d witnessed yesterday.
This place was much more to her liking. Watercolors, stoneware, wood and metal sculptures, fiber arts, glass. Fern seemed every bit at home as she did. How long had it been since Beverly had done anything friend-ish with a woman other than Agnes?
Fern picked up an iridescent, multi-colored glass bottle. “That would look nice on an end table.” She looked at the price tag and put it back. “Too rich for my blood.”
Beverly had seen that price tag, and it wasn’t as high as she’d expected. In fact, it was very reasonable. Work as a clerk at a florist’s shop wasn’t enough salary to buy yachts and Picassos, but surely this bottle was within reach? She toyed with the idea of buying it for her but didn’t know how she’d react. Mr. X warned her to be less impulsive, so perhaps she should take that to heart.
She asked, “Where do you live? Are there any less expensive home decor stores there?”
“A few miles west of Ironwood Junction. But I don’t need much. More things I have to dust.”
Beverly sighed. “Guess if I’m going to staying around here, I should look for more permanent housing than the resort.”
“You could rent a house for what a few nights at that place costs.”
“Can you suggest something?”
“I’m no real estate expert. I’m surprised Adam Dutton hasn’t given you some suggestions.”
“He’s terribly busy.”
“And terribly hot. Seriously, I always thought cops were, well. . .” She formed a figure like a beer barrel with her hands. “And bald.”
“Definitely neither. But I wasn’t kidding about the busy part.”
“Is it Wally’s murder?”
“Mostly.”
“Bruno says I should let it go. But I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t broken up with him, he might still be alive.”
“The what-if game will drive you crazy.”
Fern picked up a stoneware pitcher and peered inside. “If Adam is that busy, he must be getting close to solving the case.”
“He’s following several leads.”
“My money’s on Braddon Hopper. He hated Wally. It was like he became obsessed with him. You should have seen the way he looked at Wally. You could see the wheels turning in his head about how he’d get rid of him.”
“Did Wally ever say anything to you about a hit-and-run accident?”
“I don’t recall everything we talked about. But nothing like that jumps out at me.” Fern looked at the price of the pitcher and shook her head before setting it back down.
“Did you ever meet Braddon’s girlfriend, Jane Campen?”
“I saw them together. Braddon made sure to steer her away from Wally and me.”
“To keep him from becoming interested in her?”
“Jane? She wasn’t Wally’s type. Too mousy. And a little overweight. And that voice—nasal, like a honking goose.”
Fern pointed to a bowl crafted from spalted maple. “This is the color of Adam Dutton’s eyes. That’s one of the first things I noticed about him.”
So had Beverly. Lovely, warm, mocha-brown. “Why, I think you’re right,” she said as if noticing for the first time. Beverly liked Fern, but this interest in Adam kicked the borders of those feelings around a bit.
She said, “Have you and Bruno set a date?” Meowrrr. She wished she could have retracted it as soon as she said it. She hated catty women.
“After one broken engagement, I’m in no hurry for that. Bruno’s nice. But I’m not sure he’s The One.”
“But no OCD?”
Fern laughed. “Thank god, no. The most ‘O-C’ he gets is ordering the same toppings on his pizza. Anchovies and olives. He’s Italian, after all.”
Beverly grimaced. “I guess that’s better than living with someone worrying about germs all the time.”
“Wally couldn’t help it. It’s the way he was. No main suspects yet? I have to admit I’m disappointed.”
Despite her own frustrations about the pace of the investigation, Beverly felt compelled to defend Adam. “I’m betting on Adam and Detective Jinks.”
“Aren’t you consulting for the police, too?”
“I worked another angle this morning.” Well, Beverly had set out her unofficial shingle, hadn’t she? Couldn’t back down now. “Someone broke into Agnes Framm’s wine shop, and I tracked down the thief who’d robbed a similar store recently. But it’s not the same guy.”
“How does that relate to Wally’s case?”
“It probably doesn’t.”
She focused Fern’s attention on a yin-and-yang brass and silver bracelet. “This one is more affordable.”
Fern tried it on. “Fits, too.” She held her arm up in the air. “And no sliding. That drives me fucking insane.” She said it with such force, it took Beverly by surprise. So Fern had a spicy side. Good to know.
That aspect was further deepened when a woman headed into the shop and stopped short when she saw Fern, who mumbled under her breath, “Just what we need.” The woman abruptly turned on her heel and headed outside.
Beverly gaped after her and laughed. “Was it something I said? Who was that woman?”
“Nyssa Atkinson. She’s married to Wally’s former neighbor.”
“Ah. Wally and her husband had a feud. Did she blame you?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I don’t trust Nyssa. When Wally and I were dating, I thought Nyssa came on to him. Guess it’s not surprising since her husband’s a big swinger. Perhaps she is, too.”
“A swinger? Hadn’t heard that.”
“Wally was envious of the guy. But if Nyssa didn’t go along with all of that, I should feel sorry for her. At the time, I was pretty upset.”
“Did Wally succumb to Nyssa’s advances?”
“Oddly enough, he wasn’t interested. Or he picked up on some weird vibes from her. You know, takes one to know one. I’m not sure.”
“Would she have been upset he rebuffed her advances?”
“She may seem meek and mild, but she has an iron streak when she needs it.”
So did Fern, apparently. But then, so did Beverly.
As Fern was paying for her new purchase, Beverly’s cellphone rang, and she answered, despite not recognizing the number. “Yes?”
“Miss Laborde? This is Sharon Bogren. We met at the Salt Rock Lodge and Conference Center yesterday.”
“You’re the secretary there. The one who was interested in antiques.”
“Sorry to bother you, but I got some awful news. And I want you to tell Detective Dutton that I don’t believe it for a minute.”
“Don’t believe what, Sharon?”
“It’s Braddon Hopper, he’s at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Hospital. They’re saying it’s a suicide attempt. But I know it can’t be true. Please tell Detective Dutton I said so.”
Beverly listened to Sharon’s entreaty, then hung up and made her excuses to Fern that she had to leave. As she raced to the hospital, she wondered if she should call Adam but figured if Sharon knew, Adam knew.
A million thoughts flew through her head as she ran through various possibilities. Whatever the reason for him being in the hospital, Beverly’s gut feeling was it had something to do with Harlan’s case. And maybe, just maybe, this was the big break they’d hoped for.
Chapter 36
Adam sat by the hospital bed, listening to the ventilator’s whooshing as it forced air into the lungs of the man lying in a green hospital gown. It was eerily similar to what he’d seen at the hospital where Reggie Forsyth lay in his coma, but it hadn’t bothered him then. Was it because he took a perverse pleasure in seeing The Monster that way?
But Braddon’s prone form, the sounds, the sights, the smells of the pungent antiseptic—it all brought to mind the time it was Adam who was lying here. After a madman kidnapped and tortured him. He took a few deep breaths like his therapist has instructed.
He shook off the darkness as a woman burst into the room and stopped short of the bed. Beverly looked over at Adam. “I got a call from Sharon Bogren.”
“The conference center secretary?”
“She says you’re calling it suicide. And asked me specifically to tell you that you’re wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“She and Braddon started dating a few weeks ago. She said he was happier than she’d seen him in, well, since Jane Campen left. And he got the news the SCA board had decided to give the Rapier Marshall slot. That’s why she doesn’t believe he was suicidal in the least.”
Adam held up his cellphone, so she could see the text message, then he read it to her. “Couldn’t live with the guilt. I killed Wallace. I am a rabbit coward. Sorry.”
“He texted you a confession? And suicide note? That’s convenient.”
Adam pocketed the phone. “The preliminary blood analysis is monkshood poisoning. The only reason we knew to test for it is the bottle of monkshood tincture in his desk.”
“Monkshood? Isn’t that the type of poison used in the Middle Ages? Makes it sound like something an SCA person would use.”
“Like you said, convenient.”
Beverly moved closer to the bed. “How’s he doing?”
“They pumped his stomach, gave him activated charcoal, and have him in an induced coma. The doc said it’s touch and go, but there are positive signs he’ll pull through.”
“So, he just tipped up the bottle and drank it?”
“There was a cup of coffee nearby, so it may have been added to it.”
“Braddon’s ‘mud’ coffee?”
“Didn’t he say it was espresso, the more bitter, the better? With extra shots? Funny thing, that. Monkshood has a bitter, unpleasant taste. Braddon’s mud coffee’d be a perfect way to disguise the flavor.”
“You think Sharon Bogren is right?”
“Not necessarily. Still, very—”
“Convenient,” she finished for him.
“The lab’ll run prints on the cup, the bottle, Braddon’s cellphone. Not that I’m expecting anything. If this was a murder attempt and not suicide, it was carefully planned. Gloves would be on the checklist.”
Beverly gripped the bed rails. “I have to confess I’ve felt sorry for Braddon. A man with big dreams and big roadblocks.”
Adam rubbed his chin. “Too bad it’s winter.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“Dr. Vernon Atkinson is an avid gardener. Everything’s died off now. Couldn’t tell if he grew monkshood or not.”
“It could be dried or refrigerated, right?”
“Yep. And Atkinson has a chemistry background.”
Adam stood up as he noted a new arrival. The man slowly pushed a walker into the room, dragging his right foot with each step. Adam scanned the man’s face and saw that the mouth, eye, and muscles on his right side drooped.
Adam asked, “Mr. Hopper?”
The man looked over at him and nodded. Then Mr. Hopper pushed the walker beside the bed and reached out with his good arm to stroke his son’s forehead.
Adam said, “The doctor thinks Braddon’s going to be okay. They put him in an induced coma. But that’s to give his body time to recover.”
When he spoke, the older man’s voice was soft and hoarse, and the slurring made it even harder to hear him. “I can’t lose him. He’s all I’ve g-g-g-got. He’s a good boy. He’s such a good b-b-b-boy.”
Adam asked, “Mr. Hopper, had Braddon been unusually upset lately? Possibly depressed?”
“There’s a lot of . . . p-p-p-pressure. But not worse. Maybe b-b-b-better.”
Adam motioned toward a big, oversized recliner in the corner. “Why don’t you sit down. You can see him from there.”
Adam and Beverly helped him ease into the chair just as a woman around the father’s same age entered the room. She moved the walker out of the way and hovered over the older man, speaking soothingly to him. Adam introduced himself and Beverly, and she explained she was the man’s sister and Braddon’s aunt.
“They’re saying this was a suicide attempt, aren’t they? Well, they’re flat-out wrong. Not Braddon.”
“Then, do you know of anyone who’d want to hurt your nephew?”
“Not a fly. Could it be an accident?”
“Unlikely, I’m afraid. Our department is checking everything we can.”
“Thank you, Detective. Whichever pond scum lowlife did this deserves a taste of their own poison.”
When a doctor and nurse arrived, Adam put a hand on Beverly’s shoulder to guide her out of the room. He’d be getting regular updates, anyway. He started to lead the way toward the lobby when Beverly yanked him into a small supply closet and pulled the door closed except for a crack.
He stared at her. “What the—”
She put a finger on his lips and peeked out the crack, then whispered, “Mayor Lehmann’s here. Didn’t think you’d want to be caught in a pissing contest right now.”
“Good thinking.” Since he couldn’t see through the opening, he had to rely on her observations. Which gave him a brief moment for a few observations of his own. Like how close they were. How soft her body felt against his. How he smelled something sweet on her breath again, this time like summer-fresh raspberries. He also heard the loud thumping of his heart in his chest and wondered if she could, too.
He felt a twinge of disappointment when she whispered, “The coast is clear,” then opened the door all the way. If the nurse at the desk down the hall saw them duck into the closet, she wasn’t looking in their direction. Or was pretending not to.
He wished he could pretend that all he was thinking about was Braddon or Harlan or cases or justice. He reluctantly followed Beverly toward the lobby and the bright light of day streaming through the tall paned windows.
Once outside the building, Beverly asked, “Jinks have the day off?”
“It’s Sunday. She and Felicia were taking their kids skating.”
“That means you’re in need of a partner. Where do we go next? Wally’s neighbor with the potentially deadly garden?”
“We?” he asked.
“My presence might set them more at ease, particularly Nyssa. I should tell you that Fern Gery and I were at the Apple Peel when Nyssa walked inside, saw Fern, and walked out. Fern thinks Nyssa tried to come on to Wally. And may have blamed Fern for some of the bad blood between him and her husband.”
“She might transfer that dislike to you. If she remembers you from the shop.”
“I could do something about that. If you’ll let me.”
“Beverly...”
“She didn’t see me for long. Only a wig. I promise.”
Adam sighed. “If it’s just the one time, and I’m there with you. That blond wig you used when you came charging to my rescue three months ago was pretty fetching.” He hastened to add, “If you like that sort of thing.”
She grinned at him. “Blonds have more fun, right? Lead on, partner.”
Chapter 37
It took more arguing on her part, but Beverly eventually won Adam over. So, now-blonde Beverly and Adam were standing in Professor Vernon Atkinson’s living room, which was currently a mess. The furniture heaped in the middle and covered in plastic tarps looked like a haunted-house prop, and more tarps covered the floors. Atkinson welcomed them in with a speck of paint on his nose and a roller brush in hand.
“Nyssa’s hated that yellow color for years, haven’t you, dear?” His wife, wielding a paintbrush in the corners, nodded silently.
Beverly looked at the walls with the new coat of paint. “That’s a lovely shade of maroon.”
“Cranberry,” Atkinson said, pointing to the can. “We should all be wearing face masks and air filters, considering what they put in this.”
Beverly walked over toward Nyssa to study the color more closely. “You have more patience than I do. I’d happily hire someone to do it.”
Atkinson said, “But we love home improvement projects, don’t we, dear?”
Nyssa pasted on a smile. She did give a quick side glance over at Beverly before returning to her brushwork.
Adam pulled out his small notebook as he asked Atkinson, “Do you know a man named Braddon Hopper?”
Atkinson stood back from the wall to examine his progress. “If he was a former student, I might remember his face. So many students come and go.”
Adam pulled out a photo and handed it over. The other man peered at it, then shook his head. Adam asked, “You didn’t see this man over at Wallace Ryall’s place?”
“Despite our tiffs, Detective, I didn’t stay glued to the window with a video camera watching everything that man did twenty-four-seven. Or people coming and going.”
“You said before you didn’t see any women there except for his ex, Fern Gery.”
“He didn’t have wild parties if that’s what you mean. Although he and Fern got into it now and then.”
“Arguing?”
“Typical engaged-couple nonsense.”
Nyssa had a pained expression on her face but kept painting. Just what did her husband consider a “typical” argument? The toilet-roll, toothpaste-tube kind, or something more violent? Beverly would love to know the answer to that one.
Atkinson added, “I believe Wallace got Fern on the rebound after her ex-husband ran off with some floozy. So there was a reason, eh? This woman was hard to get along with, hence the arguments.”
Adam asked, “You’re an avid gardener, isn’t that right?”
“Avid, but not fanatical. I’m not like those people who go to rose shows or build greenhouses for their precious, pampered orchids.”
