Coastal Cottage Calamity (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 2) (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

“It was in the mid-1800s,”
Mac said starting the story they both knew about nicotine being used as a
poison.

“In Belgium,” Miss
Vivee added.

“That’s right,”
Mac said. “A woman and her husband killed her brother to get the inheritance.”

“Just like Ron
Anderson,” Miss Vivee said and nodded at me.

“Perhaps,” Mac
seemed to agree. “Anyway, I can’t say that I remember all the details, but
determining if a poison was from a plant before that time hadn’t been possible
during an autopsy. That kind of forensics didn’t exist. Knowing that the couple
used pure nicotine to kill him.”

“If an autopsy
couldn’t detect nicotine, how does anyone know that’s what they used?”

“Ahh,” Mac said.
“I said up until
that time
. The prosecutor had thought that it may be nicotine
because they found dried tobacco leaves and some dead cats in the
brother-in-law’s makeshift laboratory. So the prosecutor asked a British
chemist to develop a test he could use and would stand up in court. It took the
chemist three or four months, but he figured out a test that could be used on a
corpse to determine if the poison was plant based. I think after that the
brother-in-law was found guilty and hanged for it. I don’t know his full name –
the chemist’s, but his last name was either Stats or Otto because the
Stats-Otto test is still standard in toxicology even today.”

“But,” I said
touching the phone to close down Google. (I almost didn’t need it with the
wealth of information Miss Vivee and Mac had stored in their brains.) “It seems
to me,” I continued. “With people puffing on tobacco for more than a few
thousand years, and its popularity as a national addiction, no one would think
to use it to kill someone. Other than with cancer, which doesn’t kill
instantly.”

“Nicotine is a
drug,” Mac said. “Highly addictive.”

“Right. I agree
with that,” I said. “But it’s just not something you hear about people using to
kill someone.”

“Women use poison
to kill,” Miss Vivee said. “It’s a known fact. It’d seem right as a murder
weapon against our resident lover boy. Either that or a small caliber hand
gun.”

“Yes, another fine
weapon for a woman scorned,” Mac agreed.

“We don’t know if
a woman killed him. Remember,” I raised my eyebrows. “Your number one suspect
is Ron Anderson,” I said trying to rein in conversation and get back to how
would someone think to use nicotine. “Surely wouldn’t be my first choice seeing
that every corner store sold rat poison that would do the job just as well. Killing
someone with nicotine.” I shook my head. “It’s quite creative. But it seems odd
to use. Out of the way. So many other poisons to use.” I looked at Miss Vivee.
“Your greenhouse shelves are lined with plenty of things. And I bet no
nicotine.”

“No.” Miss Vivee
set her lips in a tight line. “Don’t stock any. I only know of one other use
for it, other than that, no, it has no medicinal use. No good use.”

“Other than to
kill Oliver, that is,” Mac said.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Renmar seemed
heartbroken.

It was the morning
of Oliver’s memorial service and the Maypop Bed and Breakfast was going to host
the repast. Even if Renmar had to “choke Ron Anderson” herself to make it
happen.

Her words.

I had been
tiptoeing lightly around Renmar. I didn’t want to come right out and accuse her
of murder, even though her own mother thought her capable. But if she was the
murderer she sure was putting on a good show. She seemed lost without Oliver.

“As much as I
hated them,” she said, “I’m even going to miss those god forsaken electronic
cigarettes of his.” She fanned her hands in front of her eyes to keep them from
getting misty. “After Louis died from lung cancer who would have ever thought
I’d say that.” She looked over at me.

I was sitting at
the round kitchen table drinking coffee while she flitted around the kitchen –
pots steaming, flour aflutter, pans clanking. It was early in the morning, and
I’d heard her in the kitchen even after we got back from our snooping
expedition. I looked back at her over the rim of my cup and hunched up my
shoulders.

“Well I never
would,” she said.

I watched her and
thought to myself,
I thought my family was crazy.
Between Miss Vivee’s
Voodoo-ism and Renmar’s mean streak that made her capable of murder. I was
beginning to wonder what I got myself into when I fell for Bay . . .

“I talked to Bay
this morning,” I said.

“You did?” A weak smile
crossed her face. “What’d he say?”

“He and Tom are
coming to the memorial service today.”

“Tom?”

“Remember the
liaison for the FBI?”

“Oh the one Mother
said was having a pissing contest with Lloyd.” She chuckled. “The Sheriff, I
heard, didn’t want the FBI to have anything to do with Oliver’s body.”

“Yeah. He was
pretty upset. Anyway, Bay thinks if it was murder then he might get some
information on the killer at the service.”

“I guess that’s a
good idea,” she said stirring something that smelled yummy.

It was a good idea
to Miss Vivee, that’s for sure. She was planning on doing the same thing.

“Although I’d hope
Bay would come anyway,” Renmar continued. “Not just because it’s business. Oliver
after all was family.”

“Autopsy results I
think are going slow.”

“Why is that,” she
asked.

“I don’t know.
Maybe it being the weekend, he didn’t really say. Oliver’s body will be there
at the memorial. They just don’t have any determination on the cause of death
yet. Toxicology and whatever they do wasn’t completed.”

“Don’t they know
up there in Atlanta that the dead don’t care what day of the week it is?” I
turned and saw Brie standing at the door.”

“Come on in, Brie.
I’ll make you some tea.” Renmar waved her sister into the room. “I suppose no
one’s come in today. Everyone’s getting ready for the service.”

“We care. Everyone
in Yasamee,” Brie said. “But it doesn’t look like the FBI care much about our
dead.”

“I know,” Renmar’s
said her eyes filling up with tears. “At least Oliver’ll be there. I’m glad
about that.”

“Hello.”

I turned again and
looked at the archway that lead from the hallway to the kitchen. This time I saw
Charlie.

Charlotte Anderson
appeared to be alone and was leaning into the doorway hesitantly, it seemed she’d
poised herself to be able to duck and run just in case we were in the mood to
throw rotten tomatoes her way.

“No one was out
front. The UPS man gave me this package,” she said and offered it up. “I hope
it’s okay that I came on back.”

Renmar, at
Charlie’s appearance, started stumbling over her words. I got up and took the
box from her and handed to Renmar.

Brie was the
consummate hostess. “Would you like some breakfast?”  Brie asked. “I’m not sure
what to call you.”

“Charlie,” she
said.

“Charlie,” Brie
smiled and beckoned her to come and take a seat at the table. “How about a
Belgium waffle? Renmar can make you one.”

“Uhm . . . I’m uhm
. . . I have my hands full,” Renmar said holding up the box Charlie had just
brought in. She seemed nervous, which was rather curious.

Unless of course
she thought Charlie knew that she was the one that killed Oliver . . .

“So, let’s see
what I’ve ordered now,” Renmar tried to put on a smile. She grabbed a butcher knife,
one too big for the task and sliced into the tape that held the box shut.

I scooted my chair
a little farther away from her.

“I’ll make it for
you,” Brie offered.

“Oh no, that’s
okay -” Charlie started to say.

“Morning
everyone.” It was Koryn. “Looks like everyone’s in the kitchen.” She walked
over to the cabinet and grabbed a box of cereal and a bowl. “Everyone but Miss
Vivee, where is she?”

“She’s moving kind
of slow this morning, Brie said. “After you finish up, Logan, maybe you can
check on her?”

“Sure.” I said.
Miss Vivee had said she wanted to ride to the church with me anyway so she could
conduct her secret investigation. So I probably was the one that needed to
check up on her.

“What in the
world,” Renmar had opened the packaged and picked up its contents. “Canning
jars? Why in the world did I order these?”

“I ordered them,”
Koryn said her mouth full of cereal. “I forgot all about it. I was thinking I
wanted to learn about making preserves.” She took in another spoonful. “I don’t
need them now that I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Renmar
and Brie said together, stunned looks on their faces.

“You didn’t tell
us you were leaving,” Renmar said.

“I know,” she said
and put the spoon down in the bowl. “I was waiting until the right time.” She
looked around. “I guess this is the right time,” she shrugged.

Renmar took in a
breath like she wasn’t sure what to say. “Well. Okay,” she said slowly. “So I
guess you’ll be taking these jars with you, because with Mother’s bottles in my
cabinets and in my spice rack I don’t have any room.”

“I don’t need
them,” Koryn said and hunched her shoulders. She looked around. “I’ll just
throw them out.”

“And why did they
come in my name?” Renmar asked pushing the box across the table to Koryn.

“I just figured
they might not deliver to me here because my name isn’t on the address.”

“They know we have
guests here,” Renmar said. It seemed her feelings were hurt.

“Sorry,” Koryn
said.

Charlie spoke up.
“That’s the reason I came.” She looked at everyone. “To say, ‘Sorry.’”

“Why would you
need to say sorry,” Brie asked. Renmar hadn’t had two words to say to her since
she had walked through the door.

“For Ron,” she
said and hung her head. “He went and planned this memorial service without any
input from you and Oliver was closer to you then us. Me. At least now that I
hadn’t seen him in so long.”

It looked like she
was going to cry.

Brie got up and
put her arm around her. “It’s okay, Charlie.”

“No it’s not. But
he doesn’t mean any harm. Really,” she said and looked at Renmar. “You needed
pay no never mind to him. He’s all bark and no bite. Just full of hot air.”

“Well, I’m glad
you told me,” Renmar finally said something to Charlie. “I’ll be sure to bring
one of Mother’s long, sharp hat pins to the service with me and give the old
guy a poke!”

Everyone, even
Charlie, laughed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was a beautiful
summer day. The sun was a vibrant yellow, and its haze seemed to dance and
shimmer in the bright blue sky. A soft breeze came in from the river and the
air was filled with the sounds of people gathering.

 The wooden church
was painted white, complete with steeple and large stained glass windows. Ten steps
ended at a stone slab porch that ran the entire length of the building encased
by Tuscan-styled columns. Three sets of double doors lining the front of it
were wide open.

It seemed that the
whole town, all five-hundred-eighty-three, came to Oliver’s memorial service.
And Ron Anderson stood at the door like he was welcoming them into his home. He
greeted each of them as they filed into the open doors, shook their hands,
patted them on their shoulder and passed out tissues from a big box he kept on
the table behind him as the need arose. The Pastor, ousted by Ron, stood behind
him, and smiled and nodded at each person as they graced the sanctuary.

A large picture of
Oliver sat the front of the church. Propped on a large easel, it set next to
the casket that was covered in a wine colored table runner and a casket spray
of white roses filled the chapel with a bouquet of fragrance.

Everyone came in
and ambled their way up the center aisle to view the body. Some left after
writing their names in the guest book, others milled around or sat and talked
with others waiting for the service to start.

Miss Vivee was
quite pleased with how Oliver had been laid to rest, even commenting that he
“looked natural.”

Being dead is a
natural occurrence of the human existence, I know that, but Miss Vivee it stated
as if dead was how people looked naturally. I stared at Oliver for a while, and
with all my training in the human condition, I couldn’t see his natural look.

Miss Vivee started
brushing her hand across his suit jacket making his body bounce up and down in
the casket.

“Miss Vivee!” I
grabbed her hand. “What are you doing,” I whispered.

“Just wanted him
to look nice and neat,” she said and swiped her gloved hand over his hair.

“You were brushing
pretty hard.”

“Ugh!” she
grunted. “He doesn’t
feel
it.”

I held her hand
and led her over to the pew where her family and Mac sat. Renmar, Brie and
Hazel had reserved the front row nearest to the casket for them. Ron Anderson when
he came in from his station at the front door dragging Charlie behind him let
out one of his grunts at the sight then escorted over to the next row of seats.

Then he jumped up
like he’d forgotten something. He walked up to the casket and scowled. Charlie
reached out her hand to touch him, but drew it back. And then the two of them
went back to their seat. Ron presumably satisfied that he’d paid his proper
respects.

Then one by one
Miss Vivee’s prediction came true – all the woman involved in the Maypop Melee
(as I liked to call it) walked through the doors of the church. Miss Vivee announced
each one by repeatedly slapping my thigh, which was getting pretty sore by the
time the last one strolled in eyes puffy, tissue held to her nose.

“Okay. This is it,”
Miss Vivee said and stood up. “C’mon, Mac.” She got his attention and started
walking.

“What’s it?” I
asked figuring I better follow.

We went to the
back of the church, once we were in huddle together she said, “It’s time we
question Oliver’s women.”

“Do you know what
you’re going to say?” I asked.

“
Tsk
. Of
course I do,” she said. “All we need to do is find out which one of them had
means and opportunity to kill him. We know all of them had the motive.”

Means. Motive.
Opportunity? No she didn’t just say that.

“And how do you
plan on doing
that
?” I asked just as Lindsey Grace passed us going out
to the church’s courtyard.

“Just follow my
lead,” Miss Vivee said and headed toward her first suspect, Mac limping behind
her.