Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries)

  Praise for

  death drops

  A DearReader.com Mystery Book Club pick

  “With a terrific premise and an interesting topic, Fiedler’s debut shows promise.”

  —Library Journal

  “An engaging investigative thriller . . . an enjoyable whodunit.”

  —The Mystery Gazette

  “Fiedler has a knack for detailing aspects of acupuncture, massage, yoga, and homeopathy which should provide fertile ground for further adventures of an unconventional, but eminently likeable, doctor.”

  —Mystery Scene Magazine

  “Death Drops is as engaging as it is educational about natural remedies and full-body health.”

  —Herb Companion

  “A fun book to read.”

  —BookTrib

  “Death Drops is a gem! Entertaining, informative, and with a mystery that had me completely baffled!”

  —Gayle Trent, author of Killer Sweet Tooth

  “An absorbing mystery and entertaining debut.”

  —Linda Bloodworth-Thomason, writer/producer of Designing Women

  Thank you for purchasing this Gallery Books eBook.

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  contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  About Chrystle Fiedler

  For my mom, who always believed.

  acknowledgments

  Many heartfelt thanks go out to: the talented team at Gallery Books/Simon & Schuster, especially Mitchell Ivers, my editor Kathy Sagan, and the production and publicity staff; to Ann Collette, my smart and steadfast agent; to all the reviewers, writers, and columnists who wrote such kind words; to the bookstores that carry my books; to the readers who have enjoyed my work; and to Eve, Anne, and Ellen for their love, support, and guidance. Thank you all!

  Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips

  Welcome to my blog! In this series of posts, I’ll focus on aromatherapy, which is the use of essential oils to help treat a variety of conditions, and to support health and well-being. I use essential oils when I’m treating clients. Aromatherapy can:

  • ease stress, anxiety, or depression

  • reduce inflammation

  • treat insomnia

  • heal eczema

  • balance hormonal function (PMS, etc.)

  • enhance immune function

  • neutralize nausea

  • ease aches and pains

  • manage migraines and other headaches

  • treat upset stomach

  • work as an antiseptic and antibacterial

  Until next time, I’m Yours Naturally,

  Willow McQuade, ND

  chapter one

  Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips

  Lavender (the Latin verb lavare means “to wash”) is my favorite herb. Not only does it smell terrific, it’s calming and soothing and good for cuts and burns, insomnia, diaper rash, tension headache, PMS, and cramps (use with clary sage and Roman chamomile). The phytochemicals (plant-based chemicals linalool and linalyl acetate) in lavender are absorbed in the skin and in the membranes inside your nose, slowing nerve impulses, and reducing stress. An easy way to start using lavender is to put five to ten drops of essential oil in your bath. Add the oil after you have filled the tub so you can enjoy the full benefits of this wonderful aroma.

  Yours Naturally,

  Dr. McQuade

  Nature is the best natural remedy. That’s why I was at my favorite beach early on a Sunday morning. It was late August, a week before Labor Day, and the beach felt empty except for the piping plovers skittering across the sand and the seagulls that sat at the water’s edge like sentries. Qigong (pronounced chee gung), my scruffy black, gray, and white terrier, ran in front of me, sniffing the ground and making fresh paw prints in the sands. The sky above was aqua blue with whipped-cream cumulus clouds.

  I’m a naturopathic doctor, and I dispense natural remedies at Nature’s Way Market and Café, which is in the village of Greenport, a popular tourist spot two hours east of New York City on Long Island’s East End. But I didn’t plan to be a shop owner. Last June when I came home for two weeks to visit my beloved aunt Claire, I had no idea that my entire life would change. But after Aunt Claire was murdered and I turned amateur sleuth and figured out who the killer was, it was left to me to carry on her legacy. Owning a health food store is a big responsibility, especially considering I’d never run a business before. So I needed these breaks, this time spent in nature, to keep me sane.

  Qigong spotted the seagulls and ran to the shore. As he did, the entire entourage of birds took off in a whirl, flapping wings and cawing. I walked along the edge of the water and watched as the tide lapped its way in. I spotted a beautiful conch shell with a polished orange and yellow sheen but left it where it was, where it belonged.

  I picked up a polished stone, skipped it into the water, and kept walking. The sand felt good beneath my sneakers. I sucked in a lungful of sea air and felt the negative ions in the water boost my mood.

  Qigong ran up to me, tail wagging. I glanced at my watch. It was time to turn around. We headed back the way we’d come, me pretending to race Qigong down the beach, Qigong happily scampering ahead of me, knowing he would win. At the other end of the beach, we climbed into the Nature’s Way van and headed back to Greenport. It was still early, and a Sunday, so there weren’t too many people on the streets, but I knew that by noon the town would be packed, as this was the week before Labor Day.

  I drove past the colorful and eclectic collection of boutiques, stores, artist’s galleries, cafés, and souvenir shops on Main Street, then hung a right onto Front Street, passing more shops and Mitchell Park, which overlooked the harbor. Across from the post office, on the right, was the three-story, yellow, gingerbread Victorian house with red trim that housed Nature’s Way on the ground floor. Brightly colored posters in my windows announced everything from ALL SUPPLEMENTS 10% OFF! and WE STOCK WELEDA! to DELICIOUS ORGANIC WATERMELON!

  White wicker tables and chairs were arranged on the porch for alfresco dining. On top of the building stood a ship’s weather vane, a nod to our village’s nautical heritage. I took a right and pulled into the parking lot in back of the store.

  An hour later, showered and dressed, I headed downstairs to my office, which was on the ground floor. My bedroom was on the third floor, along with the offices of my friends Allie, who’s a masseuse, and Hector, who’s an acupuncturist. On the second floor was a yoga studio that featured floor-to-ceiling windows and a lovely view of Greenport Harbo
r. Across the hall was an empty room that I planned to make one day soon into a place to see patients.

  On the ground floor, at the bottom of the stairs, I headed past the kitchen to the café section in the front of the store, with its yellow tables and chairs, and bookshelves bursting to the seams with volumes on everything from vegan eating to yoga to meditation. An oversize corkboard displayed the daily specials along with funky artwork and photos and postcards from customers around the world.

  Merrily Scott, my salesclerk and right-hand woman, was busy serving customers. She dropped plates off at a table by the window that overlooked Front Street, then met me in the kitchen. Merrily wore the Nature’s Way uniform, a green apron over a white T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was pulled into tufts all over her head with neon elastic bands. She was energetic and upbeat, which might have had something to do with the large mug of organic coffee she held in her right hand. “How was your walk on the beach with Qigong?” She leaned over and scratched the little dog behind the ears.

  “Wonderful. It was good for both of us.” I reached into the display case and plucked out an organic blueberry muffin for my breakfast. Although we did outsource our bread to a local organic bakery, Merrily was an excellent baker and made great muffins and creative vegetarian dishes.

  “Are you going to be able to handle things here this afternoon by yourself?” I asked. “I have to go to that party at the Bixby estate.”

  “Better you than me.” Merrily went over to the counter, picked up the Suffolk Times, our local newspaper, and handed it to me. “It says there are ghosts in that mansion.”

  “I know. It’s kind of freaky.” The headline on the front page read BIXBY ESTATE TO BE STAR OF PARANORMAL TV SHOW. The show was called MJ’s Mind and featured a psychic named MJ who talked to ghosts. I’d been invited by my ex-boyfriend Simon Lewis, a television writer from L.A., to the welcoming party that was being held today from one to five for the cast and crew.

  Simon and I had lived together and broken up when I was in L.A. When I moved back to Greenport last June, Simon came here, ostensibly to write the great American novel and try to win me back, but it didn’t work. However, he had, like so many people before him, fallen in love with the North Fork and purchased a huge house on the Sound in Greenport. Now he came to Nature’s Way almost every morning he was in town for a healthy breakfast. He usually brought his laptop along, sat outside, and worked on the latest episode of his show, Parallel Lives, which he had created and produced, a show in the tradition of Lost and Awake.

  Over the past year, we had gradually, surprisingly, become friends. He could be funny and charming, and in small doses I could handle his behavior, which could also be ego driven and somewhat selfish. Now, he had a new girlfriend, Carly Bixby, who was a producer for MJ’s Mind, which was going to start shooting tomorrow at the Bixby estate. She was also Roger Bixby’s soon-to-be-ex-wife.

  According to Simon, Carly had filed for divorce in April because Roger had cheated on her, and they were now separated. But since both of them were owners of Galaxy Productions, both of them were here to work on the show for the Sci-Fi channel. No matter how awkward that might be.

  I turned to the article about the estate, which said that paranormal activity had been reported by Roger’s father and the mansion’s then owner, Max Bixby, who had just died at the amazing old age of 111. I could believe it. The photo of the estate made it look menacing, like something out of a horror movie.

  Merrily was staring at me, a worried expression on her face. “You might want to rethink going to that party.”

  “I’m sure it will be okay. I have Jackson to protect me.” Jackson Spade was the hunky ex-cop who’d helped me solve Aunt Claire’s murder a few months ago in June. We’d been a couple ever since. “Besides, I have to see that lavender farm.” Lavender is my favorite natural remedy, and the lavender farm on the ten-acre estate was usually viewed by invitation only.

  Two women walked into the store, and I took this as my cue to get some work done. So I grabbed the paper and a bottle of natural raspberry soda and headed into my office, which was directly across from the kitchen and the checkout counter. The space was warm and welcoming with cozy chairs and a couch. Above the doorway was a sign, PEACE, in bold letters. The bookshelves were crammed with natural, New Age, and veggie books. Pictures of healing herbs and various yoga positions lined the walls, along with photographs of Aunt Claire’s native Australia, and London, where she once worked as an editor for British Vogue.

  Aunt Claire had come here one summer to visit her sister, my mother, and fell in love with Nick Holmes, her yoga instructor, and never left Greenport. That was over thirty years ago.

  Qigong jumped on the couch and settled in for a nap while I took another look at the front page of the paper. Something about the mansion was unsettling. It’s my job as a holistic physician to restore balance and foster well-being. I’ve been trained to be sensitive to the energy that comes from people, but I’m also sensitive to the kind of energy that comes from places. Even though I was just looking at a photograph of a house, I couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t right about that place. Then again, I also have an active imagination. I shook off the feeling and tossed the paper in the recycling bin. I hoped my initial impression was wrong. I was looking forward to an afternoon off.

  Since it was Sunday, I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon ordering online, everything from eco-friendly cleaning products to produce to natural beauty products. Once I was done, I had a feeling of real accomplishment. Perhaps I was finally getting the hang of being a shop owner after all.

  I’d just straightened up my desk when Jackson knocked on the partially open door. “Hey, McQuade.” He wore a striped blue shirt with a tie, his good black jeans, and boots. He looked dynamite, maybe because his normal attire consisted of a T-shirt with some sort of message and faded blue jeans.

  Jackson was handsome in a Gerard Butler kind of way, with a chiseled jaw, to-die-for cheekbones, beautiful blue eyes, and short-cropped hair. He came over and gave me a long, soulful kiss. He felt warm and smelled of sandalwood, his favorite aftershave.

  The connection between us was electric and undeniable, and it had been that way from the second we met, in June, right after Claire was killed. He and I solved the murder together and helped send a crazy organic farmer and her deranged nephew to jail. Jackson had loved Aunt Claire almost as much as I did. And now, barely three months after her death, Jackson had become my rock. I knew I could count on him no matter what.

  After we kissed, he surveyed my outfit. “Is that what you’re wearing to the party?”

  I was wearing a pair of jeans, a LIFE IS GOOD tee, and flip-flops. “You’re early.”

  “I couldn’t wait to see you.” He kissed me again.

  “Me, too,” I said, gazing into his blue eyes.

  “Do we really have to go to this thing? And if we do, is there any way we can avoid your ex-boyfriend Simon? I’ve had enough of that egomaniac.”

  Simon would never be Jackson’s favorite person, but Jackson had made his peace with him once he could see that it was over between us, and that Simon was a fixture in Greenport and probably my life.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Simon’s the one who invited us, after all. Besides, he’s harmless.”

  Jackson gave a short laugh. “That, he is not. He takes up too much of your time, and he acts like a child when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

  “All true. But Simon’s also been a good friend to me. I didn’t tell you this before, but he offered to lend me money—interest free—anytime I need it for the store. He believes in me. He wants me to make the store a big success.”

  “He offered to lend you money?” Jackson arched an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”

  Jackson was quiet for a moment. Finally he said, “Well, I don’t, but maybe he’s changed after all. Who knows? Maybe he’s actu
ally capable of thinking about someone other than himself.”

  “Perhaps hanging out at Nature’s Way has been a good influence on him. It’s a very peaceful place to be.”

  Jackson rolled his eyes. “Okay, we’ll go party with peaceful Simon.”

  “It’s just a couple of hours. And it is kind of exciting. The invitations are highly coveted.” I kissed Jackson again. “We’ll go to the party, see the lavender farm, and we’ll be home before you know it. I just have to get changed. I’ll be quick.”

  Jackson made a face. “No, you won’t. It takes you at least an hour to get ready when we go out.”

  “Not if you help me get undressed.”

  “I think that can be arranged.” Jackson smiled.

  Later that afternoon, the smell of lavender was pungent as we drove toward the Bixby estate in Southold, which was about ten minutes west of Greenport. Being invited to this party seemed serendipitous since I’d recently decided to hold workshops about aromatherapy in the store, and the first one—which would take place tomorrow night—was going to focus on lavender, my favorite aromatic herb. I was hoping that the workshops would both educate my customers and draw new business for the off-season, which would begin next week, right after Labor Day.

  I took in a deep breath as we drew close to the estate. “Smell the lavender?”

  “Mmmm, you were right. It smells fantastic.” Jackson was an amateur gardener with a real passion for roses and lavender.

  Since I was driving, I couldn’t look at him, but I knew he was smiling. “I’m using lavender as the focus of my first aromatherapy workshop tomorrow night. I’m hoping it will improve business.”

  “I think it will. But you have managed to put some money away for the off-season, haven’t you?”

  That question made me uncomfortable. Yes, the store was doing okay, and I’d even managed to save a bit. But I had expenses that came from owning a three-story Victorian that demanded constant upkeep. The roof had been repaired in June right after Aunt Claire had died, the copper piping was replaced in July, and I had to buy a new heater in August. Yes, August.