A Suspicion of Strawberries (Scents of Murder Book 1) (9 page)

“What about Mike Chandler? Didn’t you want to talk to him?”

“I do,” I admitted, “but I thought maybe Charla’s fiancé might shed a little light on that lawsuit. I know, I know, there’s confidentiality and all, but cases in court are usually a matter of public record. Maybe he can save me the red tape of going to the courthouse and requesting a transcript of the proceedings.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Plus, I’m chicken when it comes to talking to Mike. Angry men scare me, and Mike Chandler is one angry man.” I didn’t need to remind Di about the time I saw Mike throw a pallet of peaches across the farmyard last summer. Di and I had made our weekly pilgrimage to Chandler’s Farmer’s Market. I’d caught a glimpse of him by the peach groves, his face red as he shouted at an employee. Then, there were the bitter words at Honey’s.

“So, you’re going to wait to go to Chandler’s until Ben gets home again?”

“That’s the plan. And the longer the murderer thinks no one suspects what they did, the more relaxed they’ll get.” At least I hoped so.

Chapter Eight

The leather-covered loveseat squeaked underneath me as I crossed my legs. I’d donned a skirt and my favorite blouse on Tuesday morning, which was Robert’s first available appointment. The offices of Robert Robertson, Attorney-at-Law, extended to a twelve-foot ceiling, where a fan clanked and spun way above our heads.

I’d never dealt with a lawyer, other than having Steve’s cousin Drew help me when I launched the soap business. The connection practically made Drew family in Greenburg genealogy, and we’d drawn the papers up one night after a fish fry at Di and Steve’s house.

In contrast, Robert’s office screamed money and power. Was that what had attracted Charla to Robert? And Kaitlyn to Robert. . .and who knows who else? Even Kaitlyn hadn’t seemed impervious to Robert’s charms, and that was six months into another relationship.

“Di, you didn’t need to come with me.” Although deep down, I was glad.

“I didn’t mind tagging along. You can do the talking, and I’ll watch him answer. Then we can compare notes.” Di seemed more excited than someone ought to be in such a place. Soft music played somewhere, the sound of classical violins. It made me want to curl up on the squeaky leather and go to sleep.

The door opened to Robert’s inner sanctum.

“Mr. Robertson is ready to see you now, ladies.” His receptionist greeted us with a flat voice.

I had told the receptionist I needed to speak with Robert about a legal matter concerning the store. This secured me a prompt appointment, without my lying to the man.

Di’s eyes grew round as marbles, and I choked on my breath when we entered Robert’s office. We shook hands with him, and I tried not to stare too hard. Robert gestured to a pair of wing-back chairs facing his mahogany desk. I settled onto the leather chair, which groaned as if in response to Robert’s appearance.

I should explain. Greenburg is not completely a hick town. We have a few urban touches, even on the Tennessee River. A few men like Robert get manicures (though they probably drive to Jackson to get one) and possibly wear pink shirts when they get a wild hair. But these men do not wear makeup of any kind. And today Robert wore it badly.

The area under Robert’s left eye had been carefully covered with some kind of concealer, but I didn’t miss the hemorrhage from a ruptured blood vessel in his eye. A bruise still glowed from under the flesh-colored cover-up on his left cheek. The effect wasn’t toned down any by his neutral suit and coiffed hair. I wanted to turn the ceiling fan up a notch to see if his hair moved at all.

Daddy would have said a real man doesn’t try to hide his wounds. But to Robert, image was probably everything.

“So, Ms. Clark, how may I help you today?” The words rolled off his tongue like honey. Aside from the black eye, I could see how Charla fell for his polished Southern charm. Just a year or so past thirty, with the promise of aging well with a great head of hair.

The man could have been an A-list actor on the big screen. I’ve heard that practicing law is a form of acting, so I supposed a man like Robert enjoyed being a star on the small stage that was our county. I felt Di press the tip of her shoe onto my toes peeking out the front of my sandal. It dawned on me that I was staring. This jogged my brain back to the purpose of our visit.

“First, I wanted to say. . .” I focused on his nose, which was a very fine nose. “. . .I’m sorry about what happened to Charla. I don’t know how she could have had such a reaction—she and I mixed that scrub together. . . .”
Great, Andi
. Rub salt in the wound seeping from his broken heart.

“I don’t blame you at all. Around here, we’re attempting to continue life, life without her.” He sighed and gave me a sad smile. I sensed that his thoughts were light-years away from the office. “So, what exactly is the purpose of your visit?”

“Well, I needed to ask you about my business. I’m wondering if there might be ramifications to the accident with. . .with Charla.”

“Legally?” His eyebrows rose, making his black eye more prominent.

“Yes. I have insurance on my inventory, as well as liability insurance to cover accidents, if someone slips or falls, for example. But I don’t own my building. I rent. Would my landlord be subject to any litigation?” I felt Di’s gaze on me as I spoke. A drizzle of sweat snaked down my spine. If Robert ever ran for office, the ladies would swoon.

“That’s hard to say, really. Anyone can file a lawsuit nowadays.” His drawl wasn’t fooling me, though. He seemed like he didn’t really want to talk. Right then I realized that if I really wanted answers for these questions, I could have chosen another lawyer. Robert probably realized the same thing. Might as well go for broke, since my pretense for coming just crumbled.

I glanced at Di and leaned forward. “What would you say if I thought someone tampered with the scrub for Charla’s party? My store was broken into that morning, and cash was stolen from the drawer. I think that could have been a cover for someone putting strawberry in the scrub, knowing it would give Charla a fatal allergic reaction. Can you think of someone who would do something like that?”

A gurgling noise came from Di’s throat. I shot her a soft glare.

“Ms. Clark, I knew Charla probably better than anyone.” Robert paused, his gaze flicking downward to the right. I tried to remember what I’d heard once about body language. “She might have been flighty in high school and college, but like all of us, she was desperate to be loved. And I loved her. I also respected her. Men often pressure women to compromise. . .themselves. But I didn’t pressure her. Throughout her life, I’m sure her beauty and charm made a lot of people jealous.” This was not new information to me. Momma had definitely been right about Charla being misunderstood, if what Robert said was true.

“I know that, Mr. Robertson. But can you think of anyone specifically who might have hated her enough to kill her? Someone who went to an awful lot of trouble to do it quietly, and make it look like an accident?”

He looked at his desk as if he’d rather tend to the papers scattered across its surface.

“There was a former boyfriend,” Robert finally said. “When Charla broke up with him, he really scared her.”

“Who?” The muscles in my back twinged, I’d sat so far forward in the chair.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” His features closed up.

I pounced on my chance. “What about Mike Chandler? I heard she sued him last year for allegedly trying to poison her.”

“Oh, that.” He waved my question off, as if he were brushing a fly from his beloved desk papers. “It’s true, she did sue him. And yes, he was the man she was afraid of.”

“Did this case actually go to trial?”

Robert's eyes made a series of rapid-fire blinks. “Last September. The judge dismissed the suit as frivolous and hearsay.”

“I wonder if Mike could have nursed a grudge all this time.” I ignored Di’s sharp glance. “If you could tell me, please, how did Mike allegedly try to poison Charla?”

Robert gave another slow sigh. His secretary had said the first consultation was free when I scheduled the appointment, but still I hoped he didn’t have the inclination to start charging me by the hour.

“I don’t see what relevance her lawsuit against Mr. Chandler has to her death.” Now Robert looked bored.

“I’m not saying there is a direct connection; I’m just trying to get some questions answered. If you’d just tell me, I wouldn’t have to track the information down through the courts. Or the newspaper.” I wasn’t sure about the newspaper angle, but I figured a Thacker would make sure they were in the news.

“All right. Charla came to my office in tears last summer, after she’d been released from the hospital. She’d had a severe allergic reaction. She said Mike did it after she threatened to break up with him.”

“So how did he supposedly try to poison her?”

“With strawberries, of course.” Robert’s eyes shone bright. “I helped her file a restraining order against Mike. I couldn’t help falling for Charla. One thing led to another, and we were together ever since.”

I made what I hoped sounded like a sympathetic noise. Yes, we would definitely check out Mike’s story. But I decided to try another angle when Robert started shuffling papers as if we weren’t there.

“Well, thanks for your time. I appreciate your help and advice.” I scrambled to my feet. “By the way, Mr. Robertson, where were you last Saturday morning?”

He stood and placed both hands on the desk.

“My best man, groomsmen, and I were at the River Valley Country Club, playing golf. You can verify this if you want to. We played golf from seven until I got the call. . . .” A wave of grief rippled over his face.

“Where’d you get that shiner?” I made no effort to disguise my stare. Someone had decked Robert but good.

“I fell in the shower.”

“And where were you the night before Charla’s party?”

“You know, none of this is really any of your business.” He shook his head and gestured to the door. “Have a nice day.”

When Di and I stepped to the front office, I glanced back over my shoulder toward Robert’s open door. He was scoping us out as if we were walking the beach. Then, he winked at me.

Di waved her arms in the parking lot. “He’s covering up something. I just know it!”

“I almost want to apologize. I was pretty nosy there at the end.” I moved to whirl around and head back inside the building, but Di caught my arm.

“Oh, no, you don’t. He didn’t want us there, his answers to your legal questions were vague, and I can hardly blame him for being irritated, even if I don’t believe him.”

“Di, he was checking us out when we left, too. Some grieving fiancé—ugh!” I rubbed my arms. “Part of me feels like going back and letting him know what I think about that, too.”

We didn’t speak as we roared down the road in my Jeep and back to the bank, where Di was due at work. She hopped out once I pulled up to the curb.

“You should call Jerry,” Di suggested as she grabbed her purse from the floor of the Jeep. “I wonder if Robert’s black eye has a better explanation than falling in the shower.”

“I thought of that. In fact, I’ll head right to the station and see if Jerry can tell me anything.”

“Well, call me and tell me what you find out.”

I grinned and waved, leaving Di standing on the curb.

Greenburg PD was its usual hive of small-town activity, which meant Jerry was on the phone, another officer was filling out a small mountain of forms, and Anna, the clerk, was corralling clusters of people into the waiting area. The fax machine spit out paper, its sound covered by murmuring voices.

“Morning, Andi.” Anna motioned a young couple to a bench by the counter. “Here to see Jerry?”

“Yeah, just for a minute.” I could see him behind the glass that separated his office from the main part of the station. He caught my eye, waved, and shifted his concentration back to the phone.

“Go ahead. You’re practically family anyway.” She refocused her attention on the others in the room.

I rounded the corner to Jerry’s office in time to hear, “And that’s all I have to say about the matter. Have a nice day.” Jerry hung up the phone with a clatter. He glanced at me as I entered. “You didn’t happen to bring anything from Higher Grounds, did you?”

“Nah, I skipped a trip this morning. Had an appointment.” I shook my head when Jerry gestured to the chair at the desk. “I won’t be long. I just have a couple of questions.”

“Go ahead. I have a few minutes. Maybe ninety seconds, but I need a breather.” He sat down on his wooden chair, which complained with a squeal.

“Have you heard anything from the lab?”

“About. . . ?”

“My scrub, Jer.”

“No, it’s still waiting its turn.”

“Well, I discovered something interesting in my main container of scrub. Strawberry seeds. I think someone found a way to get strawberry into the cherry scrub. Someone who knew Charla was allergic.”

“At the very least, that would be a mean prank.”

“At the very most, it would be murder, or perhaps involuntary manslaughter since she died, even if whoever did this hadn’t meant to kill her.” The realization dawned on me. What if whoever did this had only meant it as a cruel prank that backfired?