Drizzled With Death (10 page)

My father had been his best friend since early childhood, and he had spent as much time in our house as his own for years. The same could be said in reverse for my father, and the loss of the elder Matthews had hit him hard. The death of the Matthewses was one of the reasons the Sap Bucket Brigade’s fund-raiser was such a popular cause. My first thought was to realize what a terrible position Lowell was in. My second was to feel even angrier at whoever had done this thing and had brought this sort of mess to our community.

“I wouldn’t respect you as much if you didn’t. It can’t always be easy to do your job, and everyone appreciates that you do it anyway. Besides, I wouldn’t want it said that you were showing us favoritism because of your relationship to the family. It would make people wonder if there really was something to worry about when they bought our syrup if the investigation wasn’t proper. Fire away.” I patted his hand and he gave me a half smile that didn’t really light up his face like it usually did.

“Tell me about the syrup and how it got to the grange from your place.”

“Well, as you, and everyone else in town, probably know, we donate the syrup for the contest every year. We actually put up twenty-five special glass bottles shaped like New Hampshire as a souvenir for the participants since Grampa always wins.”

“People were saying Alanza was giving him a run for his money until she keeled over.”

“People can say whatever they want. Grampa will be winning until he’s eating loaves and fishes with Jesus. Besides, Alanza slowed down a couple of plates before she dropped out of the race entirely.”

“But witnesses said she was starting to look dazed and disoriented before she actually fell face-first into her short stack. The poison could account for the slowdown. I’ve heard a number of people mention she could have taken the pewter pitcher from Emerald this year.”

“No one’s said that in front of me.” I was stunned and felt heat prickling under my collar. After everything Grampa and Grandma had done for the town, did anyone actually believe he would kill someone to keep winning a trophy?

“Well, they wouldn’t, now would they? But that doesn’t stop them from saying it when your back is turned or when they think they are trying to help the police find out who did it. But back to the subject. Who handled the syrup?”

“We all did. It was part of this year’s batch, of course. We filled the bottles and set them aside until they would be needed months later. They go into one of the cupboards in the sugarhouse. Then, we pulled them out along with all the larger plastic jugs that get used on the tables for the regular fund-raiser participants. Everybody helped load up the jugs and then all the rest of the family went over in the minivan to help set up the tables, put out the jugs, and to generally be helpful.”

“When was this?”

“Friday night. We always do it the night before, because that way, if there is a problem at the grange, like not enough tables or dirty chairs, there is plenty of time to resolve it.”

“So you didn’t go to the grange?”

“No. I told everyone I had a migraine, but really they were all just driving me nuts with Christmas cheer. I wanted to hear myself think without someone humming carols in my ears.”

“So you didn’t actually see what happened with all the jugs and such.”

“No. You’ll have to ask someone who was there. But it would be the same as always, I’m sure.”

“So the jugs just get left out on the tables unattended overnight?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t they? No one steals them and there has never been a problem before.”

“But if someone could get into the grange, they could have accessed the jugs?”

“Definitely. They are just left sitting out.”

“How would the poisoner know which one was Alanza’s?”

“That’s easy. Her name was one it. All the names were on them. The bottles have a ribbon with a paper maple leaf attached to it with the contestant’s name written on it. They served as a place holder.”

“So, clearly labeled. And no one switched them?”

“I don’t see why they would. The ribbons were tied off short so as not to leave a dangling piece to drag into someone’s pancake plate. And all the jugs were identical so it wasn’t like a contestant would have wanted to swap for some reason. All of them were grade B amber syrup.”

“So the best time to take care of adding the poison was after the jugs were put in position and before the event started in the morning.”

“I’d say so. The family got home around nine thirty, quarter to ten, I think.” I remembered huddling under the cold covers in the dark and having a hard time drifting off to sleep, but I hadn’t consulted the time.

“What about safety caps or something? Wouldn’t Alanza have noticed if her bottle had been opened?” Lowell looked thoughtful and I had to think for a second about it, too, but then it came to me how easy it would be to pull it off.

“We do use caps with those twist-off lower rings that show the cap has been opened. But we don’t use an inner seal on the syrup. Maybe we should but it has never been an issue before now and the extra steps never seemed necessary.”

“So no inner seal like those pieces of plastic film covering the opening but under the cap itself.”

“That’s right. All someone would need to do would be to twist open the cap, cut off the lower ring left behind, and replace it with a new cap that matched the others. Alanza would never have noticed a thing.” Creepy. Now there was something else I was going to need to consider when it came to modernizing the operation. I really resented how evil made so much more work and cost for the rest of us. When I thought about all those little plastic pieces of film degrading and turning into pollutants because some people wanted to hurt others, I just wanted to screech.

“So who would know that?” Lowell asked.

“I suppose anyone who had ever participated in the contest or had been the one to open a jug for the first time at the fund-raiser or had ever bought our syrup would know there was no inner film. I’m not sure the average person would remember, though.”

“But someone who wanted to kill Alanza might have noticed.”

“Or someone who makes syrup. None of us use the film. It just doesn’t seem worth it.” Or it hadn’t until now.

“Other sugar makers had reasons not to like Alanza, too, didn’t they?”

“Some did. She didn’t make anyone happy when she stopped allowing some of the smaller operations to tap her trees.”

“Didn’t Jill Hayes and her brother have permission to tap there?” Lowell asked.

“I believe they did but so did quite a number of other people.”

“We don’t know if any of the stored syrup has been tainted. I suggest you suspend sales until we can get to the bottom of this,” Lowell said. “I need you to show me where the syrup is stored so I can get Mitch to start rounding it up for testing.” Great, more reasons for Mitch to be relieved he had broken up with me. But if it was the only way to stay in business, then I had to act more mature than I felt and get on with it.

“Follow me.”

I walked back to the storage area, knelt before the cupboard, and retrieved a contest bottle. These special bottles were made of clear glass and shaped like the state of New Hampshire. The caps were always a deep green as a nod to the family name. Grampa never worried about the expense of anything; he worried about the value. He had the bottles custom-made as a consolation prize for all the other contestants.

I dug around in the back of the bottom shelf and felt a ruffle-ridged side of another New Hampshire bottle. I pulled it toward me and saw exactly what I’d expected. I bent even farther into the cupboard and pulled all of them out. When we bottle syrup in early spring, we don’t know how many people will sign up for the pancake contest in November. It varies wildly from year to year with the only consistent contestant being Grampa. So, to be better safe than sorry, we fill twenty-five glass bottles every year. They are all the same. Every year.

Most of the time we have around six to eight contestants, but a few times we’ve needed all twenty-five. One year we even had to dig into the leftovers from the year before but that was because there was a family of twenty-six competitive eaters who happened to be staying at Roland’s inn just in time for the competition. Grampa didn’t eat for three days after that year’s contest, and truth be told, he didn’t eat pancakes for over a month. Grandma was a little insulted, then worried, that it took him so long to get back in the game.

I ran my eyes over the bottles. All had identical dark green plastic caps. I ducked back down for plastic jugs of the sort we donated for the larger tables. These were brown plastic, with dark brown caps. We donate the grade B because most people enjoy the pronounced maple flavor. Besides, there’s a lot more of it to be had, so it makes good business sense to donate what’s not in short supply.

Every one of the jugs was consistent with its type. I explained all of it to Lowell and he made a bunch of notes. We put it off as long as we could, but finally we both ran out of reasons we weren’t ready to head to the house to deliver the bad news to the family.

Lowell had them all go through their versions of the syrup
delivery. Everyone said just about what I would have expected. They placed the syrup on the tables, locked up the grange hall, and returned home. Everyone was in bed by just past ten since the next day needed an early start. By the time they were done telling what they knew, my family looked grim.

Grampa slouched in a chair, one of his bandanna handkerchiefs draped over his knee, which meant he was choked up. I guess it must have been the Greener Pastures involvement that did it since he certainly wasn’t keen on Alanza when she’d been sucking down breath and spewing out vitriol.

Grandma stood behind his wingback chair, a firm hand squeezing his shoulder. In our family it was not an unusual event to see tenderhearted Grampa’s eyes tear up. Grandma’s, on the other hand, never did. I didn’t like to give any thought to the sorts of things that would crack her stoic exterior. She looked like she had bitten down on a lemon, and a moldy one at that. My mother sat on the antique camelback sofa I couldn’t bring myself to sit on since the incident at church on Sunday, fingering the dowsing pendulum she wears around her neck.

Loden paced near the long window facing the oak tree with the swing and the most perfect sledding hill on the property. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, but I could see the outline of them clenching and unclenching. Celadon looked like she’d had a portion of Grandma’s lemon but had dunked her bite in vinegar before she popped it into her mouth. Fortunately, the children were not in the room. I expected Celadon had sent them out when she heard the syrup might be involved. Little pitchers have big ears, and while the children aren’t inclined to be naughty, they might not be able to resist mentioning what had happened. It was sure to be all over Sugar Grove before the end of the next day, but still, we didn’t need to blow wind in the gossip ship’s sails.

“We don’t know if any of the stored syrup has been tainted. I suggest you suspend sales until we can get to the bottom of this,” Lowell said.

“You don’t really think we’ve sold something poisoned, do you? Could anyone else be hurt?” Grampa crumpled his handkerchief in his gnarled hand.

“Emerald, I don’t. I think Alanza was deliberately poisoned, and Dani has come up with a good way to determine if the bottle was tampered with. Why don’t you tell them?” Lowell gestured, giving me the stage. I suddenly felt a bit shy, as if I were nine years old again giving an impromptu piano recital to a group of my parents’ friends at a dinner party. But it was a good idea and would put everyone’s mind at ease.

“Lowell is going to check the syrup bottle Alanza had at the breakfast and check the ring around the neck for color and style. If it isn’t the same as all the others, we’ll know it was tampered with individually.” Everyone nodded in understanding since they were all familiar with the way the bottles were capped.

“But what if it is the same as the others?” Mom asked, rubbing her pendant a bit faster.

“Then we’ll have to start testing everything. We’ll need to recall the syrup sold online and at the shop,” I said, hating to hear the words come out of my own mouth.

“We may need to contact media outlets,” Celadon added, practical as usual.

“We’re hoping it won’t come to that. The best thing we can do now is to check the evidence. I’ll drive over to the state lab tomorrow as soon as they open to check the ring on Alanza’s bottle with the other ones. Hopefully, there won’t be any worries about your stock after that.”

“What about actual access to the grange itself?” Loden asked. “Was there any sign of a break-in?”

“No, there wasn’t. As a matter of fact, that was one of the first things Mitch checked for once we suspected her syrup had been tampered with,” Lowell said.

“So it may come down to who else had access to a key?” Celadon asked. The family has a key, which of course they would since Grampa and Grandma have been on the grange facilities committee since my father was a toddler. But they would have locked up when they finished.

“It looks like it. Any idea who did?’ Lowell asked.

“Easier to ask who didn’t. Not only have the locks never been changed, I’d be willing to bet it was the most copied set of keys in town. We have at least three sets to the place at our house alone,” Grampa said. The grange was one of many buildings in town where keys were handed out like beads at a Mardi Gras parade.

“Each board member always has a set, and most people stay members for life. No one thinks to ask their loved ones after they die for their keys back, so sets go missing from time to time. It’s not like there is anything worth stealing in there so no one seems to care,” Grandma said.

“Just about everybody in town either has a set or is related to someone who does. Myra, Hanley, Roland, Jill, even Alanza herself would have had a set somewhere in her house since Lewis Bett was a key holder. Just about anyone in the fire department could have used the set they have at the station,” Grampa said.

“Don’t forget, Mindy Collins has one because she uses the hall for Scout meetings,” my mother added, shaking her head.

“That doesn’t exactly make things easier.” Lowell let out a long sigh.

“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t. There could easily be fifty or more sets of keys rattling around Sugar Grove,” I said. Any of those people could have let themselves in to tamper with the syrup.

“There must be some way to narrow it down,” Loden said.

“Considering the tamper-resistant seal angle, I’ll start with grange members who also make syrup.” Lowell said his good-byes and my mother walked him out. I walked myself to the kitchen for a snack.

Celadon followed me to the kitchen and scowled as I started to fix myself a plate of ham with all the trimmings. “How can you eat at a time like this?”

“I’m hungry.” I put two biscuits instead of my usual one onto my plate to make my point. “Besides, starving myself isn’t going to fix the problem.”

“There wouldn’t be a problem to fix if you hadn’t decided to take it upon yourself to open the business in the first place.” Celadon began yanking dishes out of the drainer and slamming them into place in their cupboards.

“Are you saying I’m responsible for Alanza’s death?” I put down the biscuit I’d been slathering with maple butter.

“I’m saying Grampa looks like he’s on the verge of a stroke, Grandma’s about to spit nails, and Mom hasn’t stopped talking about bad luck and curses since Saturday.”

“But we’ve always donated syrup, even before I started selling it.”

“But selling it is the point. Now there may be poisoned syrup all over the country. And that is definitely your fault.”

“But you heard Lowell. He thinks it was just Alanza’s bottle that was messed with.” I pushed my plate away, suddenly feeling more queasy than hungry.

“I heard Lowell trying to be reassuring once he saw how distressed Grampa was. I also heard him tell you to suspend sales until he figures out what is going on.”

“What I’m hearing is a big ‘I told you so.’”

“I did tell you. But I guess it was too much to expect you to listen to reason.”

“Just because you don’t approve of something doesn’t make it a bad idea.”

“Tell me how it was a good idea for someone with an environmental science degree to start a business.”

“People from all walks of life start businesses every day.”

“People with experience start businesses.”

“I have experience.”

“You can’t count selling Girl Scout cookies.”

“Don’t forget my lemonade stand.”

“That’s great, make jokes while you drag our name through the mud. You only started the business because you felt guilty about Dad’s heart attack.” Celadon smacked a wooden spoon down on the counter so hard the bowl snapped off. Then she stomped out of the room with footfalls so heavy she rattled the glasses in the cupboard. And to think, back in the sugarhouse when Lowell delivered the news about the poison, I thought the day had gotten about as bad as it could. The house felt too small to be in at the same time as Celadon. I grabbed my keys and headed for the Stack.

• • •

I was a couple of miles from home when I noticed Graham’s
state-issued vehicle pulled over to the side of the road. I slowed to a roll that would have come in second in a walker race at a hip replacement facility. I had just about given up looking for the driver when I saw a leg thrashing about from above. I came to a complete halt and craned my neck up into the limbs of an apple tree that had sprouted up alongside a tumbledown stone wall. All through New Hampshire it is possible to spot the remains of long abandoned farms. From bits of wall that no longer mark out boundaries to apple trees on the edge of dense woods, you can read the signs and imagine what life was like before refrigerator trucks brought produce from warmer climates, before people bought all their clothing ready-made at the mall.

Graham’s right arm wrapped around a limb that didn’t look up to bearing his weight while his left reached toward something that looked like a teddy bear that had been run through a laundry wringer. If that teddy had claws like a garden rake. The creature was moving slowly enough that the entire race between them looked like it was being replayed in slow motion by a sportscaster with a sense of the absurd. Graham inched out farther and farther on the steadily narrowing limb, but with each inch, he moved forward, the furry guy moved, too, and remained just out of reach.

I hopped out of the car just in time for Graham to fall at my feet, sprawled on his back, blue eyes looking up at me. I don’t know who was more surprised, Graham or myself. I reached out a hand to help him up and then reassessed. The last thing I wanted was to be pulled down on top of him when he overbalanced me. Well, maybe not the actual last thing, but since it had been hours since I’d brushed my teeth, it was pretty far down on the list. I stuffed my hand down into my jacket pocket and willed it to stay there. He scrambled to his feet with no need for my assistance whatsoever.

“What is that thing?” I asked, politely not mentioning his fall.

“A three-toed sloth.” Graham brushed at a twig sticking out of the loops of his navy sweater. The twig left a snagging hole, which would surely have upset the knitter if it had been seen. I had to conclude Graham had not knitted it himself nor had he ever disrespected a hand knit in front of the knitter. A grandmother, perhaps who was only too happy to tell him how many hours were involved in creating something to supply his comfort. No one made that mistake with my grandmother’s hand knits. I still had pristine sweaters, mittens, and hats from childhood in my closet because of just the same sort of behavior when I was still a preschooler.

“Three toes, huh. Per foot or all together?”

“According to the Internet, they’ve got three per foot.” I looked up and tried to do a count of my own. You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet. The creature looked like it had gotten its neck tangled up in a taffy-pulling machine. The reason for the sloth’s tree selection became clear as it reached its neck slowly toward a withered apple barely clinging to the far end of the branch. I held my breath, hoping it wouldn’t end up like Graham, flat on its back, a dazed look in its eyes.

“Well, no matter how many toes it has, it seems to have beaten you hands down.”

“Apparently, I am too heavy for that tree.”

“It looked like that tree actually bucked you off like you were in a bronco-riding contest.”

“I don’t think of tree farmers as the sort of people who attribute animation to their crops.”

“You have a lot of experience with sugar makers?”

“I’ve known a few.”

“It doesn’t look like you’ve had much experience with trees, though. And yes, I am certain there is a lot more going on in the natural world than human beings like to believe. It would make it harder for us to make the choices we do if we gave trees and plants credit for having some sort of consciousness.” I felt my collar getting hot. I didn’t usually spout off my convictions to others. I preferred to offer information in a way that was palatable to the average modern person. I darted a look up at Graham, checking to see if he was likely to call in the guys with the white coats. Instead, he just nodded and looked thoughtful.

“You’ll have to tell me more about how you reconcile your beliefs with a willingness to puncture trees and draw off their vital fluids for your own profit when I’m not up to my gun holster in runaway critters.” He sounded a little snarky. I wondered if he was just embarrassed I’d seen him fall or if I had been too combative in all our previous encounters. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t gotten enough sleep and still had too many animals to round up and not enough help in doing so.

“At the rate you’re going, that’s a conversation you’ll have to anticipate for a long time to come.”

“Not if you do your part and help out an officer in distress.”

“Help out how?” My eyes were drawn to the claws at the ends of each of the three toes. Any desire I’d ever possessed to be a good citizen abandoned me as fast as it did whenever the church nursery was looking for volunteers.