Death Drops (4 page)

A knock on the door disturbed my reverie. I blew out the candle and padded out of the room. When I opened the front door I found Merrily Scott, one of the café waitresses, dressed in the standard Nature’s Way uniform—jeans, a white T-shirt, and a green apron with the logo on the front. On top of her head she had twisted her bright red hair into tufts with fluorescent blue, green, and orange rubber bands.

Merrily was hypercheerful and hyperenergized, probably from the energy drink she constantly was holding. Today, though, her usual good cheer had been replaced with sadness and tears.

“I’m so sorry about Claire,” she said, her red eyes moist. “She was always so good to me.”

“Thanks, Merrily,” I said, verging on tears myself. “We’re all going to miss her.” I put my arm around her shoulders. “But why are you here? I told you to stay home.” I’d told Janice as much yesterday before she left. “We aren’t going to open today.”

She wiped tears from her eyes. “I can’t just sit home. I’ll drive myself nuts. I have to keep busy. Even if we aren’t open, I have things I can do, like ordering products, cleaning, stuff like that. Oh, and I have a message for you.” She handed me a message scribbled on a piece of recycled notepaper and took a sip of her drink. “This is for you. It’s from Mr. Matthews, Claire’s lawyer. He wants to see you right away. This morning. Now.” She chomped her gum a few times for good measure.

I looked at the note with his name, address, and phone number. Mr. Matthews had been Aunt Claire’s lawyer for more than twenty years. I knew she’d been fond of him, and more important, trusted him. “Did he say why?”

“No. Just that he wanted to see you.”

“Okay, thanks.” I began to close the door, but she stopped it with her foot. “Like, he wants to see you right now.”

“I know, Merrily, I just want to take a shower first.”

She thought about this. “Well, okay. He just sounded like he was in a really big hurry to see you.”

“Okay, Merrily, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Closing the door after Ginger and Ginkgo scampered down the stairs, I went into my room, stripped, and headed into the shower. As the warm water gushed down over my head and body, I wondered why Mr. Matthews wanted to see me so urgently. Was it something about the business? About Aunt Claire’s will? Surely that could wait until after the funeral. I grabbed the organic green tea and fennel shampoo (not tested on animals, of course) and lathered up as I considered the possibilities.

An hour later, after grabbing
a quick breakfast of fresh fruit and granola with plain low-fat yogurt, I grabbed an umbrella and headed out. After a brisk walk through the raindrops in the tangy, salty morning air, I arrived at Aunt Claire’s lawyer’s office. Located upstairs in a two-story white house (a dentist’s office was on the first floor), it was smack in the middle of Main Street, one of two busy thoroughfares in town along with Front Street.

Greenport had a quaint charm that came from its mix of longtime businesses such as the nautical ship and shore emporium, the drugstore, the old-fashioned department store, and the post office side by side with new, upscale boutiques, seafood restaurants, tea and coffee shops, antiques dealers, ice cream stands, and art galleries. I loved it and always got a thrill when I walked or drove through town, with its multicolored awnings, bright facades, and wooden signs. Tourists loved it, too. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, throngs of visitors packed the sidewalks sampling fare, shopping, and enjoying the seaside environs. Forbes even named Greenport one of America’s prettiest villages.

Today, though, it felt like a dark cloud hovered over the town. I was sure that everyone was shocked and afraid by what had happened. A murderer was among us. On a practical level, townsfolk were probably also concerned about the effect a murder would have on business. Would tourists be scared away?

I tried to shake off the cornucopia of fear I felt and knocked on Mr. Matthews’s office door. Receiving no reply, I went inside anyway. He wanted to see me right away, didn’t he? I stepped into the nondescript waiting area, which consisted of a threadbare couch, a few tired magazines, and a door that led to his office.

Sitting down, I checked my iPhone for messages. I’d received three e-mails from my assistant, Patty, in L.A. regarding various patients, and I replied with a request to please refer the cases to my boss and fellow alum, William Cohen, as she had done with other patients since I’d been away.

A few moments later, Patty e-mailed again, telling me that she would handle everything and not to worry. But I
was
worried. I couldn’t stay away too long or my new practice would suffer. But since I was the executor of Aunt Claire’s will, I would be responsible for the time-consuming task of settling her estate.

I pocketed the phone when Mr. Matthews appeared. Dressed in a tired-looking business suit, he was balding and had small, round spectacles perched on his nose. He popped a breath mint into his mouth as he crossed the room to me.

“Dr. McQuade, thank you for coming over,” he said as he took my hand. “I’m so sorry about Claire. She will be missed.”

“Thank you,” I said, on the verge of crying again. Any mention of Claire made me feel like dissolving into tears, a reaction I was sure would continue for a long, long time, maybe forever.

Matthews popped another mint into his mouth. “Mint?”

Waving him off, I said, “No thanks.” That brand was filled with artificial sweeteners I wanted no part of. I was off sugar, had been for the past five years, since I realized it depleted my energy reserves. If I needed a sweet fix, I used Truvia or Stevia, natural sugars with a glycemic index of zero, meaning they kept my blood sugar stable and didn’t zap my energy.

He shook his head. “I’ve been popping these constantly. I’ve got this strange metallic taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of.”

I got the feeling he was looking for some free natural medical advice. As much as I wanted to get to the point of today’s meeting, I couldn’t resist giving him some. “Have you tried a tongue scraper?”

He gave me a blank look. “A tongue scraper?”

“It’s a U-shaped device that you use to scrape bacteria off your tongue. It might help. You might also want to try some chlorophyll tablets to help correct your pH balance, make it more alkaline, which is better for your health. If you come to the store, I’ll give you some. Have you seen a dentist? It’s possible something’s wrong with a tooth as well.”

He put his hand to his face. “I’m not in any pain, but I’m due for a checkup. I’ll make an appointment and try what you suggested. Now, let’s go into my office, shall we?” He motioned to the door.

Inside, sitting on the couch, was my mother, Daisy; my sister, Natasha; and Janice.

My petite mother, dressed in a sunny yellow suit, brunette hair in an updo, jumped up and stood on tiptoe to kiss me on both cheeks. “Darling!” she chirped in her Australian accent. A transplant, she’d lived in the States ever since marrying my dad thirty-five years ago. They’d met in London while he was in Boston University’s student-exchange program and she was working as a magazine editor for British
Vogue
. “Are you okay? I called and called yesterday, but you didn’t answer.”

Wanting to be alone with my grief, I’d turned my cell phone off and had let the phone in the market go to voice mail. I also knew that my mother would be of no comfort to me, as she invariably said the wrong thing and made the situation worse.

Mother lived in her own universe, which after my father’s death from cancer eight years ago, revolved around trips to New York—especially during Fashion Week—charity fashion shows in Greenport, lunch at the country club, and worldwide vacations on cruise ships. Ditto for my older sister, Natasha, thirty-two, who worked 24/7 to ensure her new practice in Southold thrived.

“I’m fine,” I said, feeling tears welling up behind my eyes.

“You don’t look fine. You look pale and drawn, doesn’t she, Natasha?”

Natasha, with her fine-boned face, chic haircut, and designer suit, stayed on the couch. We, like my mother and Aunt Claire, had been estranged since clashing over Mother’s treatment. I hadn’t expected a warm, sisterly embrace, so her ice-princess attitude was not a surprise. Janice, Ms. Passive-Aggressive, gave me a nasty look and refolded her hands firmly on her lap.

Mr. Matthews rounded the desk and sat down. The space was decorated in generic blues and browns, with an oversize desk for Matthews, one guest chair, and two couches. The art on the wall was mostly by local artists, including one by my cousin, who’d achieved local fame for his seascapes.

The energy in the room felt stagnant. Perhaps Matthews didn’t have many clients, or the ones he saw had issues. I always tuned in to the feeling of a place. While Aunt Claire’s store felt light and vibrant, this office felt dark and oppressive. I decided that smudging the room, the practice of burning dried sage and allowing the vapors to clear the space of bad energy, would certainly help.

Mr. Matthews interrupted my musings by saying, “The reason I’ve asked you here is to make you aware that there are some surprises in Claire’s will. I thought it was best to get them out of the way immediately.”

“Surprises?” Natasha, a petite brunette like my mother, arched a carefully manicured eyebrow. “I’ll bet this has to do with that ridiculous fight last September when you were in the hospital,” she said, turning to my mother, who’d sat down next to her. “What did she do, change the will?”

In case this was true, I plopped down in the office chair. I wanted to be as far away from them as possible when the stuff hit the fan.

“She did,” Mr. Matthews said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them before putting them back on. He blew out a sigh. “She came to me in October and said she wanted to make some changes.”

“I don’t believe this,” my mother said. “She must have been feeling particularly vindictive.”

“Don’t talk about her that way,” I said vehemently. “She was never vindictive. I’m sure she felt she had her reasons.”

Mr. Matthews picked up a sheaf of papers and looked at me. “She wanted to give everything to you, Willow.”

I gulped. “Everything?”

“I don’t believe this,” Natasha said, drilling me with a nasty look. “You always were her favorite.”

I shot back, “You didn’t help matters any when you barred her from Mom’s hospital room. You completely took over and pushed us away. She was very hurt.”

“I did it for Mother’s own good,” Natasha huffed. “She was causing a nuisance.”

“She was trying to help,” I replied. “You made her feel excluded, like she was in the way. She had a right to be there.” I dug my fingers into the leather chair.

Natasha waved my comment away. “If I hadn’t protected Mother, who knows what Aunt Claire would have recommended? Mother had a heart condition. She didn’t need any of
Aunt Claire’s quack remedies; she needed good, solid medical care.”

“She was just trying to offer alternatives,” I said, now really peeved. “That’s what she believed in. But she never would have hurt Mother.” My phone rang, and I looked at the caller ID. It was the store. I ignored it—I had enough to handle right now.

Mr. Matthews cleared his throat to get our attention. “In this, her last will and testament, she’s left Nature’s Way Market and Café to you, Willow, along with the rights to an anti-aging cream called Fresh Face she’d been developing for Green Focus Nutraceuticals.”

I was surprised. I knew I had a special place in Aunt Claire’s heart, but how did she think I could manage the business from L.A.? Had she expected me to move to Greenport? I considered the possibilities. It seemed as if I might have a choice to make, and soon.

“This is outrageous!” Janice stood up and pointed to herself. “Claire always indicated that I was to get the store and café. I’ve slaved for over ten years helping her build the business. And the formula—that could be worth millions! Fresh Face was her own exclusive blend. You’re not going to get away with this! I’m going to contest the will.” She shook her fist in my face. “You have some nerve! First you kill her, and now you’re trying to take everything she had!”

“What?” My mother gasped.

“Now, wait a minute,” I said, taking deep yoga breaths known as pranayama, trying to remain calm. “I did not kill her, but I do think that someone may have added something to the flower essence formula she was taking. I believe that’s what killed her.”

“Why would anyone want to kill her?” my mother asked. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Aunt Claire received a clean bill of health from Dr. Murphy two days ago. She was a very healthy woman, in great shape for sixty-seven. She didn’t eat meat and always was careful to eat plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables and take vitamin supplements. She didn’t smoke, she didn’t drink. When I left her yesterday morning, she was taking these drops, this flower essence,” I explained. “When I found her, the bottle was on the floor beside her.”

“It also makes sense that you’re a suspect, since you found her,” Janice sneered. “That’s what the police think.”

“What?” I felt my stomach drop.

“The first person at the scene is always a suspect. My cousin Bobbie told me. She’s married to Kenneth, Detective Koren.” She pointed to Mom and Natasha. “The cops also want to talk to
you,
because of the fight you had with her.”

My sister stared at me with narrowed eyes. “And who told them about that? As if I didn’t know.”

Mom put her hand to her chest and sucked in a breath. “Oh, my lord.”

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked, putting a hand on Mom’s shoulder.

She locked eyes with Natasha, a worried look on her face. “I feel a little strange. Are they going to arrest us?”

Natasha gritted her teeth. “Now look what you’ve done, Willow, and with her heart problems. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Shame was something I was accustomed to when it came to my mother and sister. They tried to use it to control and dominate and make themselves feel superior, but I didn’t buy into it. I got up and went over to sit next to my mother. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell the police—it just came out. Are you okay?” It was hard to tell if this was real or if she was just putting on a
show. Imaginary chest pains were not beyond her, as she had pushed the heart attack button more than once since September to get what she wanted.