The Extinguished Guest (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 2) (14 page)

I nodded, but in the back of my mind I still tossed the idea around. I couldn't help
it. I was bristling with curiosity about the phone call Boris was expecting. An impulsive
nature like mine was very hard to keep in check. I'd had to deal with the consequences
of that fact my entire life.

Crystal had the master key to his room. I could come up with some excuse to borrow
it while she was busy frying chicken for supper. Supper was at 6:30. I'd surely be
back in the kitchen by then. I assumed Boris would return to the parlor after taking
his phone call and partake in the social drinking before the guests gathered in the
dining room for supper. If I remembered right, the bed in his room was like mine.
It was a large, four-poster bed, set high off the floor, with a dust ruffle hanging
quite low. I didn't think Boris could bend over far enough to peer under the bed,
even if he wanted to.

And didn't I owe it to Stone to help him in any way I could? He'd certainly sacrificed
a lot to help me when Wendy had been abducted in New York the previous fall. I managed
to convince myself that when it was all over and nothing bad had happened to me, he'd
see the whole thing differently.

* * *

I was still feeling a bit weak from the tansy oil poisoning, so I took a short nap
in the afternoon. Following a series of nightmarish dreams, I woke up drenched in
sweat. None of the dreams made any sense at all, but they were enough to scare me
in to a wide-awake state. In one dream Cornelius, who was dressed only in a g-string
and cowboy boots, was chasing me down an alley.

I shook my head to clear it and took several deep breaths. I then quickly showered,
changed, and went downstairs to help Crystal prepare the evening meal. If nothing
else, the power nap had boosted my energy level.

Happy hour wouldn't begin for another hour, but Rosalinda, Cornelius, and the Poffenbargers
were already having drinks in the parlor. This wasn't unexpected, for there was little
else to do at the inn except indulge in social drinking and visit with other guests.
Our guests seemed to be well schooled on drinking and idle chatter.

"Getting a head start on happy hour?" I asked the group in a cheerful voice.

"For now we're just having some lemonade to wash down a few crackers," Patty said.
Otto nodded, as he executed an open-aired quasi-toast in my direction. Cornelius followed
suit, and Rosalinda nodded also but kept her glass tightly clutched between her hands.
She was taking no chances on letting her drink make an escape.

"Otto, as a botanist, you might be just the person I need to answer a question for
me," I said. I sat down on the armrest of the sofa as I spoke.

"I'll do my best, Lexie," Otto said.

"As I'm sure you've heard, I somehow ingested a toxic substance called tansy oil last
evening. Oddly enough, the same substance was found in Horatio Prescott's system during
his autopsy."

"You don't say! I'd heard about your experience, but I didn't know Horatio had been
poisoned, too. How extremely odd!"

"Yes, I thought so, too. What can you tell me about tansy oil? I've never heard of
it before." Otto knew all about the toxic quality of the autumn crocus, so I hoped
he was well versed in tansy oil, as well. I wasn't disappointed.

"Tansy is an herb which was once regarded by gypsies as a cure-all for numerous medical
conditions like expelling tape worms, preventing miscarriages, and easing dyspepsia."

"Dyspep—?"

"Indigestion. But tansy oil can be highly lethal. As little as one or two tablespoons
can cause death. Tansy oil is high in thujone, a poison that causes convulsions, seizures,
vomiting, organ degeneration, or even respiratory arrest." Otto spoke in a monotone,
as if reciting information from a textbook. "Tansy is also known as bachelors' button
and scented fern."

"Are you kidding? I have bachelor button plants in my flower garden. Where would one
purchase tansy oil around here? I assume the extraction of the oil is a complicated
procedure an average layperson like myself wouldn't even try to attempt."

"The oil is extracted by steam distillation. I imagine most people would obtain it
through a specialty store." Otto said this in a tone indicating he obtained his own
toxic oils by steam distillation, and looked down upon anyone who had to stoop to
buying their tansy oil at a store. He went on to say, "I'm sure the Rockdale Farm
and Ranch Supply store has a limited herb section, so it's possible they might carry
it, but I doubt it. You might ask Cornelius, though. He's one of the managers of the
store and has worked for them for years, since they first opened their doors."

Hmm. So Cornelius might have easy access to tansy oil? Could the Don Juan of manure
be acting out of retribution for the loss of his beloved Ethel? I put "visit Farm
and Ranch store" on my mental list of things to accomplish tomorrow.

"The Latin name for tansy is 'tanacetum.'" Otto continued, but I had tuned him out.
My mind was racing ahead to other matters I needed to attend to.

Patty swallowed the last of the cheese crackers on the snack tray and yawned. "Shut
up already! Ms. Starr doesn't care what the Latin name is, nor does anyone else in
the room. You can be so utterly boring, Otto. Sometimes, I don't know why I put up
with you. No one is impressed with your ability to recite tedious details."

I hated myself momentarily for agreeing with Patty. I felt bad I had caused Otto to
be subjected to Patty's sharp tongue, but Otto seemed unaffected. He was accustomed
to insults and the brash treatment he received at regular intervals from his wife.

I smiled at Otto and said, "Thanks for the info, Mr. Poffenbarger. I was fairly confident
you'd be able to answer my question. Relax and enjoy your lemonade, everyone. I need
to help Crystal with supper. Hope you all like southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes,
gravy, and zucchini squash."

"I, for one, am not at all hungry," Patty said. "The stress of this whole ordeal has
put me 'off my feed,' as they say. But despite my lack of appetite, I guess I'll have
to try to eat a few bites. For the sake of my health, you understand."

"Of course. I understand. I'm sure you'll manage to get something down, Mrs. Poffenbarger,"
I said, exiting the room.

* * *

Crystal was in the kitchen paring potatoes. She looked fresh and energetic. I felt
like a slug with salt raining down on me in comparison. I needed something other than
coffee to perk me up, something cold and refreshing. Lemonade sounded good to me.

"Do we have any more lemonade, Crystal?"

"No, except for a few cans still in the freezer. I just served the last of it to Mr.
Walker and the Poffenbargers."

"And Rosalinda? Isn't she drinking lemonade, too?" I asked, reaching into the refrigerator
for a can of Diet Coke in lieu of lemonade.

Crystal chuckled and said, "Not hardly. But I'm sure there's so much vodka and so
little orange juice in her screwdriver that it looks like lemonade. Rosalinda's happy
hour started just after lunch, Lexie. I can't believe she's still conscious."

"She was clinging to her glass as if it were the only thing keeping her upright."

"I can well imagine. How are you doing, by the way?"

"I'm much better. I'm sorry I wasn't around to help you this morning," I said.

"No problem. And it's not like you could help it. I'm just sorry to hear about what
happened to you last night. I couldn't believe it when Stone told me all about it
early this morning right after I arrived," she said, placing the pan of potatoes on
the stove and the paring knife in the dishwasher as she spoke. "I'm lucky Stone was
up and about early today. I forgot my key at home. I sat it down on our kitchen table
at home while I opened the back door to let the dogs inside, and then I forgot and
left without it."

"Maybe we should consider hiding a spare key under a flower pot or something. Any
one of us could accidentally lock ourselves out," I said.

"Yeah, maybe we should," Crystal said. She moved around the room like a ballerina
while I staggered around it like a wild boar on tranquilizers. Crystal glanced at
me, concern showing on her face, although she made no comment about my sluggishness.
I was still feeling the effects of the tansy oil I'd ingested the night before.

"Why would anyone poison you?" Crystal asked. "Who would want to do something like
that?"

"I wish I knew," I said sincerely. I sat down heavily on the chair Crystal offered.

"By the way, Lexie, I found something that might be of interest to you while I was
cleaning the guest rooms this morning."

"What's that?"

"I found this," she said, pulling a thick manuscript from a kitchen cabinet. She placed
it on the counter beside me.

"Is this Mr. Prescott's book?" I asked, in a soft whisper.

"Yes, but it wasn't in Mr. Prescott's room," Crystal whispered back. "It was in the
Poffenbargers' room, inside Otto Poffenbarger's suitcase. I found it when I picked
up the suitcase to vacuum under it. The weight of the manuscript caused the suitcase
to plop open, and the papers scattered all over the floor. I put them all back in
order and brought the manuscript down here to hide in the cabinet. I didn't want Mr.
Poffenbarger to know I was the one who confiscated it. I'm still worried about what
will happen if he finds out. Whoever's responsible for all that's happened is obviously
capable of doing anything to anyone who gets in his way."

"That's true," I said. "But it's interesting that Otto would have Horatio's manuscript
in his baggage. Otto's writing a book similar to the one Horatio was writing."

"I know. That's what Stone told me this morning. Which is why I thought it was odd
to find the manuscript in Mr. Poffenbarger's suitcase."

"I think it's odd, too. You don't suppose—?"

"I don't know," Crystal said, still whispering.

"Why don't you put this back up into the cabinet for now, okay?" I said. "I'm going
to talk to Stone and see if he thinks we should alert the authorities. I'll be back
shortly to lend a hand in the kitchen. And don't worry about Mr. Poffenbarger finding
out. We won't tell him it was you who found the manuscript in his bag and turned it
over to us."

"Thanks, and take your time. I shouldn't need much help with supper, Lexie. I'm ahead
of schedule as it is. I'd rather you took it easy tonight. Put your feet up and rest
a while after you speak with Stone. You had a nasty experience yesterday, and you
don't want to overdo it and bring on a relapse."

I knew she'd been speaking with Stone. He'd made the same comment, verbatim, just
minutes earlier. I thanked her, left the kitchen, and detoured back through the parlor
to find Stone. By now, Rosalinda was asleep, or passed out, in the over-stuffed chair
facing the fireplace, and Cornelius was lounging in the chair across from her. The
Poffenbargers were just rising from the matching couch. Patty let out a loud grunt
as she hoisted herself off the cushion. "We're going to go back to our room to shower
and freshen up. Maybe I can work up an appetite before supper," she said. I forced
a smile in response to her comment and turned toward her slim husband.

"Otto, remember telling me yesterday that Mr. Prescott was writing a book about the
proper way to go about restoring historic homes, a book similar to the one you're
working on?"

"Yes, of course, I remember."

"The investigators indicated they'd like to look at the manuscript for potential clues,
but they haven't been able to locate it. Have you any ideas where he usually keeps
it?"

"I've never known him to leave home without it," Otto said. "I'll bet money he brought
it with him to the inn to work on in his spare time. I know he was being pressured
by the publishing house to complete it. The investigators must have overlooked it.
It's surely in his room or, at the very least, somewhere here at the inn. I'd suggest
they search this entire place again."

Otto sounded so sincere, I found it difficult to believe he could have snatched the
manuscript from Horatio's room. Would he have said Horatio wouldn't have arrived without
it if he didn't want anyone to know it was missing? Would he suggest the investigators
should search the entire inn again if the manuscript was in his possession, in his
unzipped luggage where it could be easily detected? It didn't make any sense to me
at all. But could I trust Otto Poffenbarger? Could I trust any of the Historical Society
guests? There was at least one person here I couldn't trust; that much was obvious.
As Crystal had said, that particular person was capable of doing anything to anyone
who got in his way. And somehow I had to determine who the person was before he made
another attempt at killing me—and possibly succeeded.

Chapter 11