The Murder of a Queen Bee (13 page)

“Well, around the cottage, most likely, the doc keeps pesticides, herbicides, fungicides to deal with weeds and pest infestations. Could be that there are several species of spiders, insects, snakes, mold, mushrooms, and all manner of plants, perhaps even some that possess powerful neurotoxins. Certain plants can exert a paralytic action or adversely act upon the cardiopulmonary system, causing stoppage of the heart.”

“For example?” Abby eyed him intently.

“The death cap, for starters. Some say it took the life of the Roman emperor Claudius, although it is possible that eating a mushroom painted with a poisonous toxin could have done him in. The death cap has taken more lives throughout history than any other mushroom, but it's not quick. After ingestion, it could take maybe fifteen to sixteen hours to kill.”

“What might someone ingest that would have a shorter action time?”

“You mean fast-acting plants?” He pursed his lips and blew air through them. “You've got deadly nightshade, monkshood, and hemlock, which killed Socrates. Let's not forget
Digitalis purpurea
, also known as foxglove. For generations, it's been grown at the back of flower gardens, but every part of the plant is poisonous. Its leaves look like comfrey leaves, which also has toxic properties. People who are allergic to foxglove could experience fatal anaphylaxis. But I believe there would be signs of an allergic reaction to foxglove contact or ingestion.”

“Like what?”

“Hives.”

“I didn't see any hives on Fiona,” Abby said, deciding to spare him the details about Fiona being clothed and burned, which had limited her view of Fiona's exposed skin. “If Fiona had ingested a plant poison, I think it would have had to be fast acting or at least have taken her life within the few hours given as the time frame for her death.”

“Well,” said Jack, “depending on the poison, the coroner or medical examiner might find traces of it in her body or possibly the by-products. Plant alkaloid poisoning, such as you might see in monkshood, could happen as quickly as within half an hour of ingestion.”

“But wouldn't the medical examiner or coroner need to be looking for those alkaloids?”

Jack turned his gaze on her. “I couldn't say. Do you think someone used a poisonous agent to kill her?”

“My sources in the police department tell me they are taking a hard look at Tom as a person of interest,” Abby said matter-of-factly. “Do you think Tom capable of hurting her?”

Jack trembled slightly and shook his head in an immediate denial. “Not the Tom I know.”

Abby took a slow sip of coffee, giving him time and hoping he might elaborate.

“Fiona loved him, you know. Right up to the last. She believed their marriage would work if he could just break his ties with the cult. I guess she saw something in him that he couldn't see in himself.”

“What was that?”

“Fatherhood. Fiona wanted to start a family. I'm not saying there weren't issues.”

Abby brows shot up. “What kind of issues?”

“Fiona tried to wrest Tom free from the clutches of the commune, which she said of late had become a cult. She told me they blocked her at every turn. But she kept trying. She told me that she thought they had changed tactics and had someone keeping tabs on her.”

“Like a stalker? Did she say who?”

He folded his arms across his chest and stared off into space. “I don't know. Maybe more than one person.”

“Did she ever mention the name Laurent Duplessis?”

“To her,” said Jack, sipping his coffee, “Duplessis was a dalliance, nothing more. But I gather, to him, she was everything good about America. He believed they had a future.”

“I'm sure he did.” Abby reached for the pot and refilled Jack's cup before pouring the last of the coffee into her own. “So why was it so hard for Tom to break free from the cult?”

“Brainwashing and rigid rules. You are required to relinquish all your possessions, money, and all links to the outside world, except if you are making money, which you must give to the compound. Fiona couldn't bring herself to return to such a tight structure and swore she'd never raise a child there. According to her, they were grooming Tom. They had convinced him that he had the potential to be the new leader when the time came for the current cult leader and the commune manager to start new branches throughout the world.”

“Do you mean Hayden Marks and Premalatha Baxter?”

“Yes, those two.” Jack finished the last bite on his plate, dabbed his mouth with the napkin, and nodded. “I can't imagine Tom hurting Fiona. Kill the goose who lays the golden egg? What would be his motive?”

“Yeah. My thought, too. But maybe it was someone else who had the motive and some way to stack the deck against Tom. In effect, forcing him to kill,” said Abby.

Jack shook his head. “No. I can't see it.”

Abby wondered if he knew about the jewelry incident. She took a deep breath and watched Jack's expression closely as she broached the subject. “Tom was caught pawning their wedding rings and jewelry.”

The color blanched from Jack's face. His eyes locked onto hers.

“You didn't know?”

He shook his head in disbelief. “That makes me sick.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Abby said, “Hard to believe, I know. But it's true. I was there.” She rose and collected the dishes, placed them in the sink. “I wonder if you might show me Fiona's garden. I've seen what she grows in front of the house, but she has a patch on the north side, right?”

He ran his hands through his hair and looked up. “Yes. It's lovely.” After pushing his chair back from the table, he rose and strolled from the kitchen to the back door. “Mind the hole there.” He pointed to an opening in the floor large enough for a child to climb through to reach the crawl space beneath the house leading to the rear of the structure. It was partially covered with a rug.

Abby sidestepped the hole. “I've been up here to see Fiona a couple of times and never noticed that hole. Wonder why Dr. Danbury hasn't fixed it.” Abby let the back door slam behind her.

“Because of Paws, Dr. Danbury's cat. The good doctor would forget to feed and water the cat when he was drunk. At least, that's what Fiona told me,” he said, leading Abby to a large area uphill from the cottage, fenced to keep out the deer. “Paws liked hanging out with Fiona, and why wouldn't he? There was all the canned fish in the world in her cupboard.” He chuckled, holding up a large tree branch for Abby to pass beneath.

“I've yet to see that cat,” Abby said.

“The cat wasn't the only creature to enter through that hole, either.” Jack leaned down to unwire the gate.

“As floor holes go, it's pretty large,” Abby said.

Jack wrestled open the garden gate. “Finding a lizard in her shoe,” he said, “freaked Fiona out. Another time, a chipmunk found its way in and raced around the house until Fiona got it to go back out through the hole.”

Abby smiled. Leaning down near a row of parsley, she plucked a green leaf and chewed on it. “So Fiona took in strays of all kinds, not just humans?”

“That she did.”

Fiona's garden had clearly reached it apogee, evidenced by the riotous color of both sun-drenched and shade-loving plants—the latter protected by two apple trees with thick, stubby trunks on the garden's southeastern axis. In the full sun, crimson climbing roses sprawled over the wire fencing, while sunflowers dazzled with their bright yellow blooms.

Pointing to a stand of colorful hollyhocks, Jack asked Abby, “Did you know that evidence of
Alcea rosea
, or the hollyhock, was found in the grave of an early human—a Neanderthal dating back some fifty thousand years?”

“No, I didn't know that.” Abby enjoyed his ability to pull out—seeming out of the blue—facts about common plants, as it enriched her experience of being in the garden with him.

“Foxglove blooming right on schedule . . . late May,” she said, pointing to the purple and white blooms atop four-foot spires along one side of the fence. “And just look at those delphiniums,” said Abby, “just beginning to show color. They're gorgeous.”

“And deadly,” Jack said. “Seeds and very young plants, if ingested by cattle or other farm animals, are highly toxic.”

“And over there, feverfew!” exclaimed Abby. “I love its daisy-like flowers, always so cheerful. And chives, bee balm, and lots of herbs I don't recognize are growing along that row there.”

“Just point to them, and I'll tell you what they are,” offered Jack. He stood near a narrow footpath. With green shoots poking up everywhere, it looked like the others Fiona must have tried to weed without success. As Jack strode the narrow paths, he began to point out to Abby various plants, calling out their Latin names, as well as their common ones. “Fiona favored the old heirloom perennials and open-pollinated plants,” he said. “She liked seed saving, because plant diversity all over the planet is shrinking with every generation, and she wanted to do her part to save some of these old favorites, which soon will be gone forever.”

“Well, I believe she was right about species loss,” said Abby. “It also happens to be my philosophy.”

He stopped and turned to look at her. “I see why my sister liked you so much. Fiona may have been, as you say, a free spirit, but I detect an independent spirit in you, as well. I like women who know their minds, blaze their own trails. I'd love to see your garden.”

His proclamation had taken her by surprise. Abby hoped her expression revealed only her amusement and not her concern that it could be awkward for her if Clay was present. But despite her misgivings, she heard herself say, “Sure.”

They returned to the house. Jack wrote out his cell phone number and, grinning, handed it to Abby.

Abby felt a subtle ripple of excitement. She plucked the paper from between his fingers and tucked it into her back pants pocket. “We'd better get to packing,” she said.

The morning hours quickly passed, and by the time Abby glanced at the clock over the fireplace, her stomach was growling. It was nearly four o'clock. They hadn't eaten since breakfast, unless you counted the stale nuts, crackers, and cheese that had fortified them as they sorted, cleaned, wrapped, and packed each room in turn. Fiona's books had been carefully placed into boxes, and the boxes labeled with the word LIBRARY printed with a black felt-tip marking pen. These they had stacked behind the front door. She had counted out the items in Fiona's dish pattern and had noticed only one cup missing, while the remaining dishware and extra pots and pans had been wrapped and tucked into boxes for Jack to decide how to dispose of them. Fiona's clothing and shoes had gone into bags for the women's shelter and had been piled along the living-room window. Perishable food items and toiletries had gone into garbage bags. Jack would go through everything else when he had the time.

Abby stood and stretched as the CD of Portuguese fados finished. She had listened to the music of the world: country tunes, Peruvian pan flute, Urdu
ghazals
, folk music, Hindi devotional
bhajans
, movie scores, and Gregorian chants. Fiona's eclectic musical taste was nothing short of amazing. Who but such a free spirit could feel inspired by music spanning such diverse traditions and cultures? And Jack seemed to enjoy it, too. He had chosen to spend his life in a discipline that would take him to diverse cultures in the world as he studied plants and their uses. Had they both received some exotic gene in their makeup, or had they been influenced by someone in their formative years? Abby made a mental note to ask him.

Picking up a towel to fold, Abby gazed at Jack, who stood in the kitchen doorway with glasses of iced tea. She put down the towel and sank onto the couch. He handed her a glass and stretched out next to her to sip from his. After catching sight of a picture among family photos scattered about on the floor, he picked it up and stared at it. In a field, a boyish-looking man embraced a young, dark-haired woman who was attempting to tuck a dandelion flower in his hair. The sun seemed to be rising and casting its warmth and glow upon them.

“She met Tom,” Jack said, his voice cracking, “at the Wash and Dry in Boulder Bluff. It's where she landed when she first came to California. She was in a group of women who shared a vision of living a more spiritual life apart from religious dogma. They learned to be midwives and herbalists and earth mothers in every way. It was her journey, and try as I might to dissuade her and point her toward a real education, she stayed with that group.”

“Marching to her own drumbeat,” Abby said after swallowing a sip of the tea. “You have to admire her for that.”

“By their expressions, you can tell they are in love, can't you?” Jack asked.

Abby stared at the image and nodded. “Yes, seems so.”

A moment of silence ensued. Jack swallowed several sips of tea and then announced, “I want to see Tom. Is he in jail or at the commune?”

“Easy enough to find out,” Abby replied.

“I have to ask him,” Jack said. “I have to know.” His tone sounded resolute. He impaled her eyes with a soulful gaze. His expression appeared full of strength and determination.

She nodded in agreement.

“You take her journals. See if you can learn anything. Before we put Fiona in her eternal resting place, let's you and I face him. I will know if he's lying.”

Abby looked up to meet his gaze. “I do hope so, Jack.”