LOVE, HOPES, & MARRIAGE TROPES Page 18

  “Oh,” he said and slowly nodded. “No one has come to me but Miriam Coulter. She’s probably filling their heads with it.” He huffed. “Hope it won’t make more work for me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Mrs. Coulter that the FBI would have to be in charge of a federal scam like that?”

  “Do you think that would have stopped her from bugging me about it? No. Said she couldn’t get to ‘no FBI office’.”

  “Well Auntie might have fixed that for her, she announced today in front of all of her seniors that Rhett was FBI.”

  “Good,” Pogue said. “Maybe he can take some of the heat off of me. With this murder, I’m up to my ears in real police work. I don’t have time for her imaginary crimes.”

  “I don’t think it was imaginary,” I said. “A lot of seniors lost money on that.”

  “You’re not snooping around on this now, are you? What have you been doing?”

  “Nothing,” I said. He narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t. They told me about it. Plus, Doc Westin had some personal items he left at the old office. I went through them to see if I should take them to his widow and I saw it mentioned.”

  “You found something about a Medicare scam?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Doc Westin was trying to look into it for them.”

  “Where is the box?” he said. “Why didn’t you bring it to me?”

  “I’d thought I’d give the stuff to Rhett. You know, like we just discussed that would be the FBI’s jurisdiction.”

  Time to get to what I really wanted information on.

  “So... How is your murder investigation going?” I asked.

  “No offense, Cousin, but that’s none of your business.”

  * * *

  Pogue’s comment lit a fire under me.

  I’m sure I reminded him of Auntie Zanne as I huffed and puffed my way out of there. I couldn’t get to the car fast enough.

  I didn’t know what Pogue had, but between Auntie Zanne and me, I was sure I was ahead of him in the investigation game. We’d run a pretty comprehensive probe so far. Us catching the killer shouldn’t be that far off, and I’d be willing bet that he didn’t have the information we did.

  And since he had an attitude, he wouldn’t be getting any of my information.

  I threw the car into drive, my tires screeching as I swerved into a U-turn. I glanced in my review mirror, in my mind daring him to come out of his office and just try and give me a ticket.

  Auntie and I had spoken to all of our suspects—Auntie’s had been Shane Blanchard and Coach Harold “Buddy” Budson. Initially mine were Bonnie Alvarez, Piper Alvarez and Chase Turner. I’d since added Doc Westin and Miriam Colter to my list. And so far, I hadn’t been able to scratch any of them off.

  Yes. Yes. Doc Westin died long before Bumper had, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t somehow set the wheels in motion and the murder wasn’t carried out until later. Like lacing some of those inhalers with the deadly poison before giving them to Mrs. Hackett. Doc Westin hadn’t any idea he’d die before his murder plot was played out, if indeed that was what happened.

  Auntie’s list was a whole different story. A bribery and gratuity operation, paying Roble football players to attend certain universities, or do endorsements for the popular Mighty Max sports drink once they hit the NFL. In my opinion her suspects, although she hadn’t let go of the idea, probably had nothing to do with the murder. Still, her interrogation of them, if that’s what you want to call it, was what led me to my fifth suspect. Doc Westin. In the end, for me, her suspects ended up having some useful purpose.

  In my investigation, I’d discovered that Jorianne hadn’t gotten Bumper to the altar because of a threat with a deadly weapon, it was because she was the girl of his dreams. And I learned that not everyone wanted that union to take place, and some might have even been jealous of it. All motives for murder.

  And then there was that best man who came out of nowhere and lied to me about the inhaler for no reason. Chase Turner. It seemed I couldn’t get his full story from anyone.

  Finally, I’d located a possible source for what was used as a murder weapon. Actually I had found the “gun and the bullet”, as it were. A stash of inhalers and an empty container marked ricin. I pulled up to a stop sign, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I thought about our reconnaissance activities.

  Yep. Auntie and I had been able to ask a lot of questions, make accusations and watch their reactions. I just needed to start putting the pieces together that I’d gathered.

  Although, I still needed to find out what happened to the ricin that was missing from the empty container in Doc Westin’s personal things. I wasn’t sure any had ever been there, but I had to believe that it had possibly been there at one time. It just seemed to me that it would be easier for someone to get the protein already extracted than to get the castor bean and try to do it themselves, especially after Auntie told me how technically difficult it was to purify. And that was maybe what Doc Westin had because it was the only way it would’ve been any use to him as an alternative treatment for cancer.

  So far, I figured it could be possible that Doc Westin, before he died, laced the inhalers with ricin. I didn’t know why, sure it was improbable, he was a healer by profession, but it was possible. And now, thanks to Mrs. Westin, I’d learned that Miriam Coulter had access to the things Doc Westin had stashed as well. She was a more likely culprit because she was still alive. I thought about her and that cane—was there anyone else that could have been in those boxes? And if there was no one else... I shook my head.

  I needed more information.

  The driver of the car behind me laid on his horn. I guessed I’d stayed a little longer than necessary at the stop sign. I held up a hand that could be seen through the back window and waved my apologies. I pulled off, still lost in thought.

  And at what point was I going to tell Pogue what I had found out? Being mad at him shouldn’t stop me from divulging the information I had, even if it was sketchy. I knew that. It’s true, he could test the container Doc Westin had marked ricin and find out if any had actually ever been in it. He could also dust it for fingerprints. But I just wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to send Pogue off on a wild goose chase. Right now I was running after my own tail, chasing ghosts and little old ladies. He didn’t want me investigating anyway, and if I came to him with a half-cocked idea, Pogue would be even more upset with me.

  It was possible that Doc Westin never did actually get any ricin out of one of the caster bean plants Auntie’s herbalists grew, and that little plastic container had always been empty. Why get Pogue involved in that?

  And if that were true, I’d have to look for another source.

  Yep. For now, I’d keep quiet to Pogue about it until I had something more concrete. And for right now, I thought, it probably would be best to follow the Doc Westin lead—even if it meant a little old lady had to go to jail. I guess you just shouldn’t mess with people’s Medicare.

  So where to start?

  Doc Westin either had ricin or was trying to get it. Auntie Zanne had told me that. And I had to assume Auntie wasn’t the one who had gotten ricin extracted because she told me she’d suggested Doc Westin not try to use it. That meant, if he did get it, he’d gone to another herbalist.

  Auntie had given me four names. I only remembered two. Mark and Leonard Wilson.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The twins lived in a small cape cod down the road from our house. It was painted white with canary blue shutters, planter boxes underneath the mullioned windows were filled with an assortment of colorful flowers. There was a white picket fence and little stone gnomes and animals in the yard.

  It had been too late to visit the sisters after I’d left Pogue’s office. I knew the sisters got up and went to bed with the chickens. I couldn’t let my Auntie Zanne know what I was up to. She’d be upset that
I was questioning her friends about something she hadn’t shared with them.

  It was so hard to get out of the house, Auntie Zanne kept an eye out for me like a hawk. When I was working on the new ME facility, I had a reason to leave in the mornings and she never questioned me. But now with it all finished she had my days planned and couldn’t understand why I didn’t have time for whatever she wanted me to do.

  “Where are you going?” she said. She walked out of one of the chapels while I was going out the front door. I just knew she’d be in the kitchen, where she was every morning this early. Oh, but not today.

  “Out for a walk,” I said. It wasn’t a complete lie. I did plan on walking the quarter of a mile to the Wilson house.

  “I’ve got things for you to help me with,” she said. “Homecoming is in a couple of days and with all the stuff that’s been going on since last Saturday’s almost—wedding—”

  “I can help you when I get back,” I said, not letting her even start on her list of my to-dos.

  She turned and looked at me, narrowing her eyes. “What are you up to, Romaine?” she said.

  “I’m not up to anything,” I said.

  “Oh yeah you are.” She circled around me looking at me up and down. “Did Alex call?”

  “No.”

  “Is he meeting you outside?”

  “No.” She stood and stared at me. “Why do you think I’m up to something?” I asked.

  “Because you never agree to help me that quickly. I usually have to threaten you.”

  “You never have to threaten me,” I said.

  “I’m watching you,” she said, and made her fingers in a V, pointing at her eyes then back at me.

  “Oh geesh!” I said. “I’ll be back.”

  I walked out the house and started to go the opposite way of Mark and Leonard’s house just to throw Auntie Zanne off. Then I thought, how ridiculous. As old as I am, I’m hiding out from my auntie.

  There was no sidewalk along our county thoroughfare, Grand River Road, so I walked out into the street and headed toward the Wilson’s place. I walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. I didn’t think they’d be gone this early so I walked around to the back of the house.

  Their backyard was as large as Auntie’s even though their house was one tenth the size. Flowers were everywhere, leaving only a narrow stone walkway to get to their greenhouse.

  “Morning,” I called out as I approached.

  I saw one of them wave me in. They were all smiles as I stepped inside. “Good morning,” I said again.

  “Good morning, Romaine,” they said together.

  “What do we owe this nice surprise to?” one said.

  “You haven’t been over to see us since you were a teenager,” the other one said.

  “Has it been that long?” I asked.

  “Maybe longer.” They spoke in unison.

  “Well, that’s just not right,” I said. “I’ll have to come and visit more often.”

  It was hard to tell the two apart, nowadays I used the pattern of the wrinkles on their faces, a sign of their seventy plus years to aid in their identification—Leonard’s crow’s feet were etched deeper and were longer than Mark’s. but they didn’t make telling them apart easy, as usual they were both dressed in the same plaid shift dress and matching green garden jackets. They had on beige stockings and green canvas tennis shoes.

  “That would nice,” Leonard said.

  “But today, I came by to ask you a question, see if I couldn’t get your help.”

  “We’ll be happy to help you, won’t we, Sister?”

  “Of course, anything for you, Romaine.”

  “It’s about your garden.”

  “Our garden?”

  “Yes. I know that Auntie Zanne asked you to grow castor beans.”

  “How do you know that?” Leonard asked.

  “It was supposed to be a secret,” Mark added. “We didn’t know why, but of course if Babet asked us to keep quiet about it, we wouldn’t question it.”

  “She told me,” I said, trying to convince them to talk to me, although if Auntie Zanne knew, she wouldn’t approve of them breaking the confidence. And I didn’t know if they’d taken some kind of Voodoo herbalist oath. “I’m helping solve Bumper’s murder.”

  “Yes, Babet told us you both were working on it,” Mark said. “What is it you’d like to know?”

  She seemed more willing to talk, so I turned to her.

  “I’m not sure if you know, Mark, that it was Doc Westin who was interested in it the castor bean,” I said.

  They looked at each other.

  “We knew,” Mark said.

  “Doc Westin came to us,” Leonard said.

  “For us to help him,” Mark said.

  “He went behind Auntie Zanne’s back?” I asked.

  “Oh no,” Leonard said.

  “That’s not what he was trying to do,” Mark said.

  “Babet was out of town,” one twin said.

  “Visiting you,” the other one said.

  “And because he couldn’t get to her, he tried us. I don’t know why he needed to have it so quickly.”

  “I thought that he didn’t know who Auntie Zanne had growing it for him.”

  “He didn’t,” they said at the same time.

  “But he knew that we knew about herbs,” Leonard said.

  “He knew that we were in the Ladies’ Society with Babet,” Mark said, finishing the explanation.

  “The Ladies Society of Voodoo Herbalist,” Leonard said.

  “Yes,” Mark said and nodded.

  I loved the sisters dearly, but it was only so much I could take of them finishing each other’s sentences and thoughts and then speaking at the same time. It was like being in an echo chamber. I needed to ask as few questions as possible to get to what I needed to know.

  “Do you know why he wanted it?” I asked. “What he needed it for?”

  “He told us,” Leonard said.

  “He wanted the ricin,” Mark said.

  “So did you give him any?”

  They hung their heads. “No,” they said, and nothing else. It felt, though, as if they weren’t telling me something.

  “If he seemed really interested in getting some, I’m thinking that he didn’t stop with you two.” I looked at them, and eyes wide they looked back. “But he might not have known who the other herbalists were.”

  “He didn’t know,” Mark said.

  Leonard shook her head, and Mark started shaking hers in sync with her sister.

  “Okay,” I said. “Did you tell him?” I asked.

  “We may have,” Leonard said.

  “And if we had,” Mark said. “We would have told him that Delphine Griffith had actually extracted ricin even though Babet thought it was too hard to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I had the name of one of the other herbalists that had grown castor beans. One of the women that Auntie had told me about—the one who lived in Shelby County.

  Shelby was one of the three counties in our “tri-county” area. But where I needed to go was about a forty-five-minute drive. I glanced down at my fuel gauge. I needed gas.

  Auntie always kept her vehicles on full. Never know when the funeral home had to make a run. It wouldn’t be professional to have to stop and get gas when a grieving family was waiting. I had been borrowing her car all week and hadn’t stopped to fill up once.

  I drove about fifteen minutes on Highway 87 before I pulled off on an exit ramp to fill up.

  I paid with my own credit card at the pump, figured I shouldn’t expense the gas to the funeral home since I’d been doing all the driving. As I stood at the pump, I noticed a young girl walking my way, a smile on her face.

  “Hi,” she said. “Romaine, righ
t?”

  “Hi,” I said, recognizing her. It was Gaylon, Mrs. Hackett’s niece. “How are you?” I smiled back.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “You live out this way?”

  “Oh no,” I said. “On my way to Shelby County to visit a friend of my auntie’s.”

  She nodded. “On my way home,” she said. “It’s been a long week.”

  “Yes it has,” I said, “but I’m sure it’s been even a longer one for you.”

  “Yes it has been.” She nodded. “My aunt has been so distraught. You know Bumper was her only child. She doted over him.”

  “Yes, I read that in the program at the funeral.”

  “But everyone has been so good to her. Neighbors from all over Roble, even Sabine County, coming over bringing food and helping out. Jorianne, her family and Bumper’s friends from when he played for Roble High. They’ve all came and stood by her side.”

  “That is really nice,” I said. “I’m sure she appreciates it.”

  “She does. But it still so hard for her to wrap her head around, you know?” Gaylon said.

  “I can imagine,” I said.

  “Just think,” Gaylon said, “last week his friends took him to Lake Charles for his bachelor’s party. And this week we buried him.”

  “Lake Charles?” I said, confused. “I thought they went to Las Vegas. To the Golden Nugget.”

  “Oh no,” she chuckled. “What? Did you see that picture on Facebook?”

  “Yes, I did,” I said, kind of embarrassed. “I don’t have a Facebook account or anything, I just was just trying to get to know him better.”

  “Yeah. No. They went to the one in Lake Charles. Had it planned for weeks, and my Aunt Delores said Bumper was so excited.” She smiled at the pleasant memory of her aunt. “They were trying to act as if it was Vegas, trying to make Bumper take the pictures down. You know: “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Apparently that counts for Lake Charles, too.” She laughed. “They didn’t get back until late Friday night. Jori was so upset, worried about him the whole time.”