Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries) Page 21

  Arthur shrugged. “I was thinking if you could find her, maybe she could help you figure out the real story behind Daniel’s murder and that would help you solve Roger’s murder.”

  “You don’t know where she lives, then?” I asked.

  Arthur shook his head. “No, but you’re a smart cookie. You can track her down.”

  Jackson looked doubtful. “You think that’s enough to get them off the hook?”

  Arthur and Agatha gave me pleading looks. They were old and desperate and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. Besides, I didn’t want Koren asking questions about what we were doing in the mansion when everyone else was gone. “Sure. Let them go.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Arthur said, and smiled at Agatha. They picked up their flashlights and stood.

  “Just one thing,” Jackson said. “Put the books back.”

  They did as they were told and left. After they did, Jackson said to me, “So how do you intend to track down this writer, Edith Thorne?”

  I took out my phone. “I guess I’ll start with the Internet.” I accessed my browser and typed in her name. No result. “There’s nothing here.” I put the phone away. “If she’s local, she’ll be in the phone book. I’ll check that when I get home. It’s low-tech but it could work.”

  “If she’s a writer, she could be anywhere. I’ll contact a buddy of mine who’s still on the force. If she’s not local, he can track her down.”

  I stepped close to Jackson and gave him a kiss. “I’m glad you’re on my side. We make a good team, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, we do, McQuade. We’re like the dynamic duo.”

  chapter twenty

  Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips

  When your vocal cords become inflamed, it can make you lose your voice (laryngitis) or just have difficulty talking (hoarseness). Inflammation can be caused by everything from an infection to allergens and even heartburn. A steam inhalation can help you speak up. Just boil a pot of water and remove it from the stove. Add two drops of eucalyptus essential oil, and two drops of pine oil. Put a towel over your head and the pot and inhale. Also, as much as possible, rest your voice. Write things down if you need to communicate!

  Yours Naturally,

  Dr. McQuade

  Jackson went home to take care of his dogs, and I headed back to Nature’s Way. When I got home, I immediately went into the office, pulled the phone book out of the desk drawer, and went to the T’s. An E. Thorne was listed, but no address. It was too late to call tonight, but I would try her first thing in the morning.

  I had a fitful night’s sleep. I definitely slept better and felt more rested when Jackson stayed over. Several times during the night I heard creaking floorboards and hopped out of bed, went to the door, and looked out, but no one was there. When I got back in bed, I obsessively reviewed the facts of the case, especially the information that Arthur had provided. Edith Thorne was my new person of interest. I had to make contact.

  Sunday morning, I woke up at seven thirty. The overcast day was one week since Roger was murdered. I did my yoga routine, took a shower, and headed downstairs. I found Merrily and Wallace in the kitchen, handling the breakfast crowd. Nearly all the tables were full. I headed straight for the coffeemaker. “How is everyone this morning?”

  “We’re doing fine,” Wallace said.

  “I’ve got a batch of organic raspberry muffins coming out if you want one,” Merrily said as she put on an oven mitt and opened the oven. She pulled out a tray of muffins that looked perfectly yummy.

  “I’d love one,” I said. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “Well, the tests came back positive for Lyme, and Dr. Cooper put me on doxycycline for two weeks. I started the dose yesterday, but it was still hard getting up this morning. All my muscles ache and I’m really tired.”

  “It may take a while for the symptoms to calm down.”

  “I know. Dr. Cooper said it could take a couple of months.”

  “Well, make sure you rest whenever you need to. The couch in my office is always available.”

  “Thanks. You may find me camping out in there.”

  “Not a problem.” I grabbed a muffin and poured myself a cup of coffee. I put a nice dollop of organic butter on top of the muffin and watched it melt. “This looks delicious, Merrily. I may just have to come back for seconds.”

  She smiled. “Feel free.” The door opened and two more customers came in. Wallace grabbed menus and led them to a table near the window. I took my coffee and muffin and headed into my office.

  I sat down at the desk and put my breakfast aside for the moment. I wanted to call Edith Thorne. I reached for the open phone book, found her number again, picked up the office phone and dialed the number. But there was no answer.

  I took my phone out of my pocket and checked my messages. Jackson had left a text at 8:01 Sunday morning saying that he was on his way back up to the estate and asking me to call him when I arrived. Amanda had e-mailed me the schedule for today without any comment on our conversation at the Russells’. Allie and Hector had appointments from three on, and so did I. This would give me time to take care of things here and check out one Edith Thorne.

  I tried her again but there was no answer. I decided to pay a few bills and, that done, turned my attention to my blog on NaturesWay.com. I did some research and decided to tell readers about a new study in the Journal of Pain Research that showed that when women participated in a seventy-five-minute yoga class twice a week for eight weeks, it lessened pain and improved psychological functioning, mindfulness, and cortisol levels. I opened WordPress, posted the info, added a photo of women in a yoga class from iStock.com, and published it.

  That done, I turned to the article about rashes that I was writing for Nature’s Remedy, but I just couldn’t concentrate. MJ’s Mind was leaving town tomorrow, and I still hadn’t found Roger’s killer. I picked up the phone and tried Edith again. No answer.

  Wallace knocked on the door and came in. “We’re almost out of a bunch of things in the kitchen. Should I work on a new order?”

  “Sure.” I put Edith’s number in my iPhone and put the phone book away. I felt frustrated, and I guess it showed because Wallace asked me what was wrong. I gave him a brief overview of my investigation into Roger’s murder, specifically what Jackson and I had found out from Arthur last night. “So now, I really need to talk to this writer, Edith Thorne. I’ve called her several times and she isn’t answering.”

  “She doesn’t always answer her phone,” Wallace said. “Or she might be at Town Hall working on something. She likes to go in on Sunday when it’s quiet to do her work.”

  “You know Edith Thorne?” I asked, surprised.

  “Edith used to be my history teacher in high school in Northport. When she retired twenty years ago, she moved out here and became the village historian for Southold Town. She’s friends with my mother. They have lunch every month either here or in Northport.”

  “Arthur said that she was also a writer.”

  “Yes, she wrote a book about rum running titled East End Rum Running about twenty years ago. But she didn’t put her name to it. It’s written by Anonymous. I don’t know why.”

  “Arthur said she knew Max Bixby, and he implied that somehow she got the real story—either from him or Rebecca. Maybe it was for that book,” I said. “I think she may be able to help me solve Roger’s murder, which I need to do ASAP. Everyone is going back to L.A. tomorrow.”

  “Well, be prepared. She’s very reclusive, to the point of being a hermit. She’s prickly and doesn’t get along with most people. But I’m sure you’ll find a way to charm her.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  I needed to talk to Edith, but a Sunday Labor Day rush at Nature’s Way intervened. At nine thirty we got slammed, and all the tables in and outside were full. I was grateful for the business, but it was a scramble to get everyone fed at the same time. We decided that Merrily would stay in the kitchen and
make up the dishes while Wallace and I served the customers. At eleven forty, I dropped off my last two plates of food at a table for two on the front porch. Fortunately, Southold was only about seven minutes away from Greenport, so I still hoped that I might catch Edith at Town Hall.

  By this time, the sun had burned away the clouds and the sky was clear, with only mild humidity. It was the kind of day that reminded me of fall, which was only weeks away. To people who lived on the East End, fall was our best-kept secret (except for the pumpkin and corn-maze craze around Halloween). The roads weren’t crowded, the towns settled back into nontourist mode, and the weather was glorious. It made me feel optimistic. Maybe I could solve Roger’s murder and clear Simon before the production left town. Edith Thorne was the key.

  So, I drove out of Greenport, past the high school and the gas station, the Lutheran church, up and over the new bridge, and followed the road past Mill Creek and farm stands into the town of Southold. After the light by the Capital One bank, I continued on past Feather Hill and parked in front of Town Hall. I’d just reached the door when a man dressed in a suit and tie came out of the building and said, “They’re closed.”

  “I figured that, but do you know if there is a woman named Edith Thorne in there working? She’s the town historian.”

  “Mrs. Thorne works in the annex in the Capital One building. You may be able to catch her there, but I doubt it. It’s Sunday.”

  I turned around and drove east back to the Capital One building, parked, and went into the lobby. But the door to the annex was locked. I did see someone working in the back, though, so I knocked. A few moments later a young guy in a polo shirt and jeans came to the door and opened it. “We’re closed until Tuesday.”

  “I’m looking for Edith Thorne. Do you happen to know her address?”

  “I do.” He eyed me suspiciously. “But I can’t just give it out. Have a good day.” He closed the door.

  I headed back to Greenport, frustrated because I hadn’t been able to talk to Edith Thorne and because I’d forgotten the products I needed to treat my clients today. It was already 1:00 p.m. on Sunday afternoon, and I wanted to be back at the estate by two. I had just driven past Greenport High School when my cell phone rang. I glanced at it but didn’t recognize the number. Thinking it might be important, I pulled over and answered it.

  “Willow? Willow?” Simon sounded absolutely panicked.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “They’ve arrested me. I’m in jail.”

  Oh, no, not that. “When, why?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here. Can you come down? I need to talk to you. Please.” He sounded on the verge of hysteria.

  “I’ll be right there.” I felt my frustration double. Not only had I been unable to see Edith, but now Simon had been arrested. This was the very thing I was trying to prevent. Why now? I wondered. Had Koren discovered something that gave him grounds to arrest Simon? I gripped the steering wheel, tried to remain calm, and called Jackson. He didn’t answer so I left a message and pulled back onto the main road.

  A few minutes later, I arrived at the jail. I pulled open the heavy oak door, went to the counter, and asked to see Simon Lewis. At first, the imposing police officer with the shaved head said Simon couldn’t have any visitors. But when I told him that Simon was my brother, he grunted and led me back to a small room with nauseating green walls, a table and two chairs, no windows, and the smell of BO.

  The guard told me to sit down and went to get Simon. I took a few long, deep breaths. Because Simon was in a panic, I needed to remain as calm as possible. I had to find out what had happened and get up to the estate and find some answers.

  Moments later, the guard led in Simon. He was dressed in his street clothes—a navy Izod polo shirt, khaki shorts, Docksiders—and handcuffs. He looked absolutely awful, unshaven and gaunt, with a haunted look in his eyes. “Willow, thanks for coming.”

  The guard said, “Sit,” and pushed him into the chair opposite me. “No touching.” He went to the door, closed it, and stood in front of it.

  “What happened?”

  Simon tried to run his hands through his hair but stopped when he remembered that he had handcuffs on. “The cops found this letter that shows that I was blackmailing Roger about his cheating on Carly.”

  “Simon, don’t get offended, but I have to ask. Did you write it?”

  “No, of course not. I make plenty of money of my own, thank you very much. Why would I stoop to blackmailing anyone?”

  “Greed?”

  “Oh, please!”

  I remembered the bright green Post-it note from Roger that had been attached to the payment Tom had received: This is blackmail, Tommy. But I trust you will keep your word and not tell Carly a thing. Destroy this note!—RB.

  “I believe you,” I said. “I’m guessing the note was forged.” It would have been relatively easy to forge a letter implicating Simon instead of Tom, except for the signature. “Is your lawyer having the letter authenticated?”

  “Yes, but until then, I’m stuck here.”

  “But it makes no sense. If you were blackmailing Roger, why would you kill him? It’s like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs. Not that you need the money.”

  “Exactly. But Koren came to my house last night. He told me I had motive, namely the controlling interest in Galaxy. Plus, means—I’m rich so I had access to whatever I needed to kill him; and opportunity—we were at the same party and we’d fought earlier in the day and now this weird letter. His brilliant theory is that Roger refused to pay me and I killed him.

  “My lawyer is trying to get me out on bail. We had a hearing at the Suffolk County courthouse early this morning. The prosecutor didn’t want me to have bail at all, says I’m a flight risk, but the judge didn’t agree and set it at one million.”

  I gasped. “Do you have it?”

  “I only need to come up with ten percent, or one hundred thousand, so, yes, I can afford it.” He leaned toward me. “I need to know if you found anything that can help me out of this mess.”

  I gave him a quick recap of our trip to the estate last night and what Arthur had told us about Edith Thorne.

  Simon shook his head. “Well, I’m not sure how getting info on Daniel Russell’s murder will solve Roger’s, but it sounds like our only lead. You need to find her, Willow.”

  “I know that. I went to her office in the Capitol One bank in Southold, but it was closed and I don’t have her address. But Wallace knows her. He may know where she lives.”

  “Ask him! Pronto!”

  The guard walked over to us. “Calm down, Mr. Lewis. You have two more minutes.” He jingled the keys to Simon’s cell, went back to the door, and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I’ll be at the estate all afternoon and I’m hoping I can solve this today,” I said. “The show wraps tomorrow, so we don’t have much time.” I didn’t relish going back up there. A murderer was on the loose, and the stakes were higher than ever before.

  My anxiety must have shown on my face because Simon put his hand on top of mine. “You can do this, Willow. I know you can. You’re super smart and you’re a good friend, the best. I know you won’t let me down.”

  We were certainly better friends than lovers. I actually liked him most of the time now, instead of constantly being frustrated by his inability to meet my needs.

  “No touching!” The guard came over to us and helped Simon up from his chair. “Let’s go, Mr. Lewis. It’s time to go back to your cell.”

  Simon gave me a look of pure desperation as he headed out the door.

  chapter twenty-one

  Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips

  Did you know that certain scents can also help you remember? That’s because the nasal cavities are close to the brain. So, if you need to remember important information, inhale up to ten breaths of pure essential oils such as basil, lemon, lemongrass, lime, peppermint, or rosemary (ancient Greek scholars wore laurel
s of rosemary around their necks) to help imprint the information on your mind. When you need to remember the info, smell the same scent.

  Yours Naturally,

  Dr. McQuade

  When I went back to Nature’s Way, Merrily and Wallace were busy with the lunch crowd. The Saturday and Sunday of Labor Day weekend were always the most hectic. Today, Sunday, both the tables inside and outside were full. Wallace didn’t have time to talk about Edith Thorne, so I packed up some more lavender essential oil, Rescue Remedy, and homeopathic remedies for stress, put them in the big, purple van, and headed back out to the estate. I decided to leave Qigong at home since I anticipated a hectic day. MJ’s Mind’s production team had to get all the scenes it needed to shoot done between now and tomorrow.

  On the way back to the estate I tried Mrs. Thorne again, and this time she actually answered. I pulled over into a parking lot so I could focus. “Mrs. Thorne?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “My name is Willow McQuade. I run Nature’s Way Market and Café in Greenport.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Right now I’m working up at the Bixby estate, and there’s been a murder. A murder that is very similar to the murder that took place in 1933 when Daniel Russell was killed.”

  She hung up.

  I tried her again. When she answered, I said, “Mrs. Thorne? It’s Willow.” She hung up again. This was getting me nowhere. I called the store and Wallace answered. He sounded frazzled and rushed. “Nature’s Way Market and Café. How can I help you?”

  “Wallace, it’s me, Willow. I just tried to call Edith Thorne. I don’t think I charmed her. She hung up on me, twice.”

  “I told you that she’s prickly.” I could hear the clatter of plates in the background and the busy din of customers chatting.

  “I see what you mean. Do you think you could call her and ask her to talk to me? It’s important.”

  “I know it is. Just let me get through the lunch rush and I’ll give her a call. I’ll let you know what happens.”