An Unthymely Death (22 page)

He stared at me. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.” I put a teaspoon of tea leaves into a tea ball and dropped it into a cup. “Somebody shot Mavina Miles beside the Maypole. We found her about nine-thirty, but it took a while for the cops to get there and tape off the crime scene. They finally took the body away and allowed us to move the Maypole to a different location. The scene is still off-limits, of course.”

“Mavina Miles? Do I know her?”

“Probably. She works at the Pecan Springs Library. The short, plump, middle-aged one who frowns a lot.” The kettle, already hot, began to steam, and I poured the boiling water into my cup.

“Oh, yeah, that one. When she checks out my books, she looks at me like I’m
stealing
them.” McQuaid leaned back in his chair. As he’s a former homicide detective, crime isn’t news to him. “Any leads? How about clues?”

“No leads,” I said. “There might be a clue, if I could figure it out.” I jiggled the tea ball in my cup, inhaling the lemony fragrance. “She was holding a tussie mussie. With violets.”

McQuaid stared at me. “A what?”

“A little bouquet made up of herbs and flowers that have secret meanings,” I replied. “Violets represent love and loyalty.” I dipped a spoon into the honey, and then into my tea. “I wonder if the tussie mussie was a gift from a friend.”

McQuaid raised one eyebrow.

 

“Or maybe it was designed to decoy her to her death,” he said alliteratively. He finished his sandwich and beer and I sipped my tea. We were both silent.

Finally, I got up and rinsed off our dishes. “I’m sure the tussie mussie must mean
something
,” I muttered, frowning. “I just have to figure out what.”

McQuaid put his arm around me. “You will,” he said, and kissed my neck softly. “I’m sorry about Mavina, China. She always made me feel like a criminal, but I’m sure she was a perfectly nice lady.”

And with that, we called it a night.

 

 

The next morning was bright and cheerful, and when Ruby and I got to the park, a few people were beginning to filter in. We quickly set up our booth—herbal items from Thyme and Seasons and New Age-y things from Ruby’s Crystal Cave—and settled down to the business of making sales and talking to people.

But not for long. We’d only been open for a half hour when Sheila Dawson, Pecan Springs’s chief of police, put in an appearance at the booth. Actually, wherever Sheila goes, she puts in an appearance. She’s tall, blond, and willowy, with the classy look of a Dallas deb. But don’t let the look fool you. There’s plenty of muscle power packed into that slender frame. Today, she was wearing plain clothes (if that’s what you could call her silky pink slacks and embroidered tunic) and her badge wasn’t visible. I gathered that she wanted to blend into the crowd, as much as she could, anyway. In Pecan Springs, where everybody knows almost everybody else, that’s a challenge for anybody, especially somebody like Sheila.

“I need your help, China,” she said, without preamble. “I want you to go with me to talk to Mavina Miles’s niece. I thought she’d be more comfortable if you were there. You know her, don’t you?”

“Esther?” I said. “Sure. She’s over there, at the Children’s Art Tent.” I turned the booth over to Ruby, and Sheila and I went off together.

“I understand that Esther and her aunt didn’t get along very well,” Sheila remarked.

“They’ve been estranged for years,” I said. I added, thinking of inheritance, “But she’s still Mavina’s closest relative.” The estate probably didn’t amount to much—a house, a car, a bank account. But in my former career as a criminal defense attorney, I had learned that most motives for murder can be spelled g-r-e-e-d.

Esther was helping three little girls make lavender hearts. She looked up as Sheila and I approached her. I introduced Sheila, who said, “I’m sorry about your aunt. Would you mind taking a break? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Esther’s pretty face darkened, but she only shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know,” she said. “But I’ll try.”

We walked away from the booth and stood in the shade of a large live oak tree. “Were you here at the festival last night?” Sheila asked.

“I was at a friend’s party all evening,” Esther replied, “on Hawthorne Street. Lots of people saw me there.” Her voice was a little sarcastic. “I guess that’s what you cops call an alibi. Will it do?”

“It’ll do for now,” Sheila replied quietly, “if you’ll give me your friend’s name and address.” She paused. “Did your aunt have any enemies that you know of?”

“Or admirers?” I added, thinking about the violets in that tussie mussie. “Someone who might have given her flowers?”

 

 

Esther’s smile was thin. “Aunt Mavina made it her business to know everybody else’s business, and most people resented it when she poked her nose into their private affairs. She probably had dozens of enemies. And I can’t think of a single admirer.” She paused and added, coolly, “You probably already know that I’ll inherit her estate, so I might as well tell you that it’s substantial. Her father left her some real estate in San Antonio when he died twenty years ago, and it’s worth quite a bit now.” The smile got thinner. “It’s a good thing I have that alibi, huh?”

And that was all we got out of Esther. Sheila walked with me back to the booth, where she bought a couple of herbal bath scrubbies. When I handed the bag to her, she said, “What do you think, China? About Esther, I mean.” She paused. “San Antonio real estate makes a pretty substantial motive.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I suppose you’ll check out her alibi.”

“Right—although if the party was a big one, it’s not much of an alibi. I’ll let you know if we turn anything up. In the meantime, keep your ear to the ground, will you?”

“Glad to,” I said. “Enjoy your scrubbies.”

“Sure.” She grinned. “Even a cop deserves a nice bath every now and then.”

The next couple of hours were pretty hectic, with lots of customers stopping by the booth to talk about herbs and check out what I had for sale. By midmorning, I had sold every pot of basil I’d brought. I was also completely out of rosemary, which is not only a fragrant herb but a deer-proof landscaping plant, as well. The resinous taste makes it unpleasant to the deer, while its fragrant blue blossoms attract every bee within commuting distance. Rosemary is a hands-down favorite around Pecan Springs, where it’s a challenge to find a plant that you love but the deer don’t.

Finally, sales slacked off a little and Ruby and I had time to pour a couple of paper cups of the pink lavender lemonade that she had brought. We sat down in our folding chairs, relaxing in the sunshine and listening to the music coming from a nearby booth. But the minute I sat down, my thoughts flew straight back to last night and the sight of Mavina Miles, clutching that tussie mussie. I thought for a few minutes, then put down my cup and stood up.

“That was a short break,” Ruby said, surprised. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to a lady about violets,” I said. “Hold the fort, Ruby. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Sandra Green owns Blooms and Blossoms, the only florist shop in town. Today, she was selling bouquets and individual flowers at her booth, only a few paces away. When I came up, a couple of young girls were buying a bunch of daisies. They walked away, giggling as they pulled off individual petals and whispering, “He loves me, he loves me not.”

“If you’re looking for daisies, you’re out of luck,” Sandra said, pushing her brown hair out of her eyes. “I’ve just sold the last one. Can I interest you in a bunch of carnations?”

“I’m more interested in violets,” I said. “Do you have any?”

Sandra shook her head. “I had two dozen last week, but they’re all gone now.”