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  “You gave Mrs. Hackett inhalers?” I asked.

  “Yes. They were for him. Doc Westin had ordered some for Mrs. Hackett when Bumper left for college. I just got some of those.”

  The box, I thought. There were inhalers in the box where the ricin was.

  “Did you bother anything else in the box?”

  “In the box?” she said and squinted. “Did you go through them? I packed them up for Mrs. Westin’s eyes, not anyone else’s.”

  “Just answer the question, Miriam,” Auntie Zanne said. “We don’t have time for your monkey business.”

  “No. Didn’t touch anything else. Got the inhalers and gave them to Mrs. Hackett.”

  “And I passed them out,” Mrs. Hackett said, she nodded toward Boone. “He was the first person I gave one to. Before they even left for their trip.”

  “Oh,” I said, the realization hitting me that maybe Bumper never had a real asthma attack. That he might have been reacting to ricin the entire time. “Is that when you first gave Bumper the poison? When you were in Lake Charles?”

  “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Boone said.

  “Wait,” Pogue said. “Let’s just back up for a minute here. You were talking about the inhaler at the wedding. That’s the one that we know for sure had poison on it, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “So where is that one?” Pogue asked.

  “Chase gave it to Alex,” I said. “Alex gave it to the paramedics who put it with Bumper’s things, and then Boone got it when he was at the hospital.”

  “He wanted to dispose of the evidence,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “That’s a convoluted passing around of a murder weapon,” Pogue said. “Might be a problem with chain of custody.”

  “But it’s what happened,” I said.

  “Is that what you did?” Mrs. Hackett asked, realization hitting her, she sniffed back her tears. “When we were at the hospital? You came back with his jacket and bowtie. Did you get the inhaler while you were back there, too?”

  That sent Boone into a tailspin. He turned around in circles and grabbed his head. His face had turned beet red and he eyes were filled with tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he boomed, spit spewing as he yelled. “I didn’t do anything!”

  “What kind of poison was it?” Piper asked.

  “Ricin,” I said, having to speak over Boone’s wailing. Then as I spoke, along with Boone’s cries came another shriek. At first I thought it was Miriam Colter, attempts to keep her down perhaps unsuccessful, and she’d let out a war cry. But it was Delphine Griffith.

  “Boone Alouette!” she screeched. “Did you take that from my house? Ricin!” She stood up and shook her fist at him. “I shared what it was with you and then you stole from me? I knew I had some missing. I knew I had more in my cabinet.”

  “How would you know some was missing?” Boone said. “As much as you had up there. Anyone could have gotten some of it.”

  She grabbed the air like she was holding on to his collar and gave it a push. “You used it to kill somebody? My own flesh and blood using God’s bounty for evil!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he barked at her. “Don’t say something like that. Don’t say that now!”

  “Is this what you do with the knowledge I give you?” She shook her head back and forth with such vigor I thought she’d given herself something akin to shaken baby syndrome. “You are no kin of mine!” she cried.

  That seemed to bother him. “I’m not saying anything,” Boone said. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, sniffed back his tears, then crossed his arms. “I know that I am supposed to have a lawyer.”

  “Fine, you want a lawyer. They can come down to the jail to talk to you. I’ve heard enough,” Pogue said pulling handcuffs out of his back pocket. “Turn around, Boone. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Michael Hackett.”

  Epilogue

  Auntie insisted that the Roble Homecoming Award Dinner proceed sans Boone. Bumper still deserved it so everyone needed to close their slack jaws, still open at the surprise of Boone being the murderer and put on a smile. It was time to start.

  In the days that followed, Pogue wouldn’t take my phone calls, and he seemed to be out of the office every time I called. I didn’t mean to hurt my cousin. I didn’t know how far he’d gotten in his investigation, and even after he started speaking to me again, he wouldn’t tell me.

  I decided that I loved investigating, even if it made my cousin angry with me. It made me feel useful and needed. And, I discovered, it gave me a chance to spend time with Auntie. I knew that was what she wanted.

  Boone ended up taking a plea. As far as the Medicare scheme, he didn’t speak about it. Miriam Counter had taken care of it by getting her brother-in-law, who was a retired federal judge, to make some calls on her behalf and whatever they came up with seemed to factor into Boone’s decision.

  But mostly it was Delores Hackett.

  At first, Boone wouldn’t admit to anything—the scam or murder. He wouldn’t even talk to the lawyer he said he wanted, but he changed his mind after a visit from Mrs. Hackett. No one knew what she’d said to him, neither one of them would tell. So, he took a plea—life without the possibility of parole instead of a death sentence like the Texas judicial is so fond of giving.

  And, as for me, there wasn’t as much talking behind closed doors and I was in a state of confusion about it.

  I didn’t know what to do about Alex or Rhett.

  Alex thought everything was fine between the two of us—nothing had changed. He still planned for us to be together just like we’d talked about before I left Chicago. Only I wasn’t sure that’s what I wanted anymore.

  But did I want Rhett? Better question, did Rhett want me? Because if he did, why was he flaunting another woman in front of me?

  Or was he?

  Hailey Aaron had popped out of sight just as quickly she had popped in, and Rhett hadn’t said anything about her.

  Auntie Zanne had said, even though I hadn’t mentioned one word to her about it, that if I wanted to know who she was to Rhett, I should ask.

  And Shane Blanchard and Coach Buddy Budson were indicted, yep, lo and behold Auntie Zanne was right, they were running a gratuity and bribery operation. LaJay Reid wasn’t implicated, but they seemed to refer to him in the indictment papers that Auntie somehow secured. But to her dismay, it wasn’t her “Secret Agent Man,” Rhett Remmiere who ran the sting, although to placate her he’d made a call to see if any operations had their sights on the two. They, along with a few other conspirators, had charges filed out of the Washington D.C. Circuit.

  I found myself thinking less and less about going back to Chicago and more and more about taking Doc Westin’s job. Oh yeah, and making some friends.

  About the Author

  Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author, Abby L. Vandiver, loves a good mystery. Born and raised in Cleveland, it’s even a mystery to her why she has yet to move to a warmer place. Abby loves to travel and curl up with a good book or movie. A former lawyer and college professor, she has a bachelor’s degree in Economics, a master’s in Public Administration, and a Juris Doctor. Writer-in-Residence at her local library, Abby spends all of her time writing and enjoying her grandchildren.

  The Romaine Wilder Mystery Series

  by Abby Vandiver

  SECRETS, LIES, & CRAWFISH PIES (#1)

  LOVE, HOPES, & MARRIAGE TROPES (#2)

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