Death Drops (14 page)

“I’m going to the organic clothing store in town.” I told her about what Qigong had found and that I wanted to check it out.

“Want company?”

“You bet.”

A few minutes later, sugar-free
muffin and banana in hand, and with Qigong accompanying us on a leash, Allie and I left Nature’s Way Market and Café and headed for the Good Green Earth, an organic clothing store on Main Street. The town was slowly coming to life, with people window-shopping, running errands, and enjoying the waterfront. We found the Good Green Earth nestled between an insurance office and a T-shirt store.

The owner, Viv Colletto, an attractive woman in her forties with a pixie-like face, wearing an organic lime-green top and matching skirt, greeted us with a smile. The store, which had a minimalist feel, featured bright white walls and dark hardwood floors accented by all types of colorful organic T-shirts, yoga wear, dresses, shorts, pants, and pj’s from companies like Life is good, Earth Creations and SYNERGY. Viv also carried a wide selection of colorful Crocs and quirky Keen shoes. I found myself wanting to update my wardrobe. But now was not the time.

As Viv bent down to pet Qigong, I made introductions and small talk, but I soon got to the point of our visit. I pulled the piece of orange fabric out of my hemp carryall and handed it to her. “Do you carry this brand of clothing?”

She pulled down reading glasses from the top of her head and closely examined the tag. I noticed that her fingers were red and knobby, gnarled like old vines, a classic sign of rheumatoid arthritis. “Sure, we carry this line. I just got tees like this in about two weeks ago. I’ve got them in aqua, salmon, lilac, salamander, and orange.”

Good news. She hadn’t carried it for long, so she might be able to pinpoint who bought it. Of course, the intruder could have bought it anywhere, but I was playing out a hunch. “Have you sold many of the orange tees?”

Viv pushed the glasses back up on top of her head and went around to the counter. She pulled a book out from under the counter and started to flip through it. She seemed to have difficulty moving her fingers. “Can I ask why you want to know?”

I explained what had happened the night of the break-in and what I was hoping to find.

“Playing detective, huh?” She continued to flip through the book.

“Something like that,” I said. “Viv, do you have RA?”

She held out her hands to show me. “Yes, and it’s dreadful. My hands ache all the time. I’ve tried everything.”

“I was just reading about a new study in the
Annals of Internal Medicine
that shows that a Chinese herbal remedy
Tripterygium wilfordii,
or thunder god vine, can help to ease joint tenderness and pain. The people who took sixty milligrams of the Chinese herbal extract three times a day found greater relief than the people who took sulfasalazine.”

She brightened. “That’s what I take. Do you think this thunder god vine might work for me?”

“It’s worth a try. We have it at the store if you want to come over.”

“That sounds good. Thank you. Now let me see what I can find here.” She flipped through a few more pages and stopped at one, put her glasses back on, and ran her finger down to the bottom. “It looks like we sold three in orange.”

My pulse quickened. I looked at Allie, who held up crossed fingers for luck. “Do you have a record of who you sold them to?”

She pursed her lips. “I’d have to go back through the credit card receipts. It might take a while.”

“I hate to ask, but would you mind checking it out?”

She raised her eyebrows. “It’s that important to you?”

“I think it could lead to Aunt Claire’s killer if I’m right.”

She pushed her glasses up onto her head. “Say no more. I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thanks,” I said, grateful. “And, Viv? The thunder god vine is on me.”

Before we headed back to
the store, I took Allie on a quick tour of the town. We started by heading down to the south end of Main Street, past quirky boutiques and a new cupcake store, which was tempting, but I was off sugar. While we walked, I filled her in on the history of the village. Greenport was first settled in 1640 and eventually became well known for its whaling, oysters, and later, commercial fishing. Now it was a popular tourist mecca, especially for New Yorkers, who only had to take a relatively short two-hour ride to reach the East End, and those from Connecticut, who either came here by boat or on the Cross Sound Ferry to Orient Point.

We stopped outside a small gallery with a display of watercolor landscapes. I recognized one of my favorite beaches and was tempted to buy it, but I had too many other economic worries to think about acquiring art right now.

Arts are an important part of Greenport. We’ve been host to many famous writers and artists, including Walt Whitman, the playwright William Gillette, the painter Whitney Hubbard, and many other writers and artists. Galleries occupied numerous storefronts in the village and gallery walks and openings helped to expose artists and their work to the community. When we got to the end of the street, I showed Allie and Qigong the docks, the harbor, and the view of Shelter Island across the bay.

As we walked up Front Street, we passed the new location for the pet store. I felt my heart drop. This was not right. A guy sat on the bench outside smoking a cigarette and looking disgruntled, mean even. I glanced past him into the store. It was all empty space. So, nothing yet.

He appraised us. “You need a dog?”

I pointed to Qigong. “I have a dog.”

He looked at Qigong. “That’s not a dog. That’s a mutt. You want a purebred. That’s the way to go.”

I sucked in a breath. “Where are you getting these purebreds from?”

He shrugged. “Someplace in Pennsylvania.”

Allie touched my shoulder, warning me to go easy. But it didn’t stop me. “It’s probably a puppy mill. They supply ninety-nine percent of pet stores.”

“So?”

I proceeded to tell him about the horrors of puppy mills. After I was done, he seemed completely unaffected. In fact, he shrugged and said, “I gotta make a living, lady.”

“Off the backs of these animals? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He stood up and gave me a suspicious look. “You with those broads who are planning on protesting this store? Those friends of Claire Hagan?”

“Yes, I’m with them. Claire Hagan was my aunt, and she was murdered. You know anything about that?” I was feeling angry and bold.

He ground out his cigarette and snarled, “Nope, and you got one helluva nerve asking me that question.” Then he mumbled, “Bitch.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “You’ve certainly got a motive.”

“Who are you, Jessica Fletcher? Get lost.”

“We’ll leave when we’re ready.” Qigong was straining on his leash. Guess he wanted to get away from the mean man with all the bad karma. So did I.

“I’m warning you. Back off,” he said. “Or else.” He gave us one more mean look and headed back inside.

We tried to shake off
his bad vibes on the way back to the store. I knew he had to be stopped. Aunt Claire would have wanted it that way. But before I could dwell on it further, my iPhone rang. I looked at the display. Randy McCarty. The development executive at Green Focus. Wonderful. I had no good news to share. I took a deep breath, pushed Answer, and said hello.

“Dr. McQuade, Randy McCarty here. I’m checking to see if you’ve found the Fresh Face formula.”

“Not yet.”

There was a long silence. “I can’t impress on you enough how much we need to find that formula before it gets to our competitors.”

We entered the store and Qigong and I headed for the office, while Allie went back upstairs.

“Dr. McQuade? Do you have any idea who might have taken it? It’s extremely urgent.”

I found Jackson Spade waiting for me in my office, and I offered a silent prayer that he would say yes to helping me unravel this mess. “I may have an idea of something I can do to help.”

“Well,” he said. “Please get back to me right away.”

“I will. As soon as possible. Good-bye.” I ended the call and let Qigong off the leash. He quickly jumped onto Jackson’s lap and gave him a good, slobbering kiss.

“He really likes you,” I said.

He scratched Qigong behind the ears. “The feeling is mutual.”

I sat behind the desk and folded my hands on top. Taking a deep breath and trying to be calm, I asked, “So, have you made your decision?”

Before he could answer, we heard shouting outside in the store and hurried outside to see what was going on. We found a trim, track-suit-wearing forty-something brunette standing at the counter, screaming at Merrily.

“But she said this could work!” the woman screamed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Merrily said calmly. “There is nothing we can do.”

“Perhaps I can help?” I said. “I’m the new owner, Willow McQuade, ND. I’m Claire’s niece.”

The woman, her cheeks flaming with anger, pushed a bottle of supplement pills toward me.

“You can shove this where the sun doesn’t shine!”

I looked at the bottle of pills. It was an herbal supplement intended to improve overall health and fertility. “You want to return these?”

“I told you what I want to do with those. Your aunt told me to buy them, since I was trying to get pregnant. Well, big surprise, I got my friend this morning. So this is all a bunch of crap. My husband, Eric, and I have been trying for over a year now. This was my last hope.”

Pointing to the bottle, I said, “This doesn’t guarantee to get you pregnant. Just to give your body a helping hand. It’s not a cure-all. Perhaps if you’re having trouble conceiving, you and your husband need to be tested.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” She turned her back to me, held out her hand, and said impatiently, “I want my money back. Now.”

I motioned to Merrily to do as she asked. She credited her card and the woman turned and left, huffing her way out the door in disgust. I looked at the receipt, which told me her name was Jane Marsh.

“Nice lady,” Jackson said. “Do you get a lot of satisfied customers, McQuade?”

“Very funny,” I said, not liking his implication.

“Seriously,” he said. “A dissatisfied customer could be your best suspect.”

I turned to Merrily. “Are there any other dissatisfied customers that were angry at Aunt Claire?”

Merrily fiddled with the money in the cash register and wouldn’t look at me.

“Merrily? It could help us solve Aunt Claire’s murder. Are there any other customers like Jane Marsh?”

She took the receipt, put it under the money tray, and pushed the drawer closed with a sigh. “There was this one lady, her son was having problems with allergies and sinus infections. What she didn’t tell Claire was that he also had asthma and wasn’t under a doctor’s care. Claire tried to help by suggesting several natural remedies, but then her son had an asthma attack and almost died. She blamed Claire. She used to come in here every few days, ranting and raving, until we had to get an order of protection against her.”

“Who is she?” I asked. “Someone local?”

Merrily nodded. “Yes, her name is Sue Polumbo.”

The woman who had sent Aunt Claire the e-mail I hadn’t yet opened.

I dashed into the office
and clicked on the e-mail icon. The e-mail program seemed to take forever to open, and in the meantime I told Jackson what I was doing.

Jackson agreed. “What’s taking so long?”

“Unfortunately, I think her computer has a virus.” I made a mental note to get a new, superfast computer when I had the funds. I needed it for my writing, the store and café, and my eventual practice here as a naturopathic doctor.

Finally, the e-mail program opened. Sue’s e-mail was right there on top, unopened. “Okay, here it is.” I clicked on it.

Jackson leaned next to me. The smell of his sandalwood aftershave was intoxicating, and I could feel his warm breath on my neck.
Cool it, Willow. Focus,
I told myself. We both read the e-mail. The subject line was blank, but the message was loud and clear:
This IS NOT over. SP.
I did not like the sound of that.

“What isn’t over?” Jackson asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s giving me the creeps. And who is she writing to, Aunt Claire or me? Is it possible she doesn’t know she was killed?”

“Hard to say,” he said, circling the desk and sitting in the guest chair.

I put my head in my hands. “I hate this. I’m the kind of person who likes to feel in control. Now everything seems to be spinning out of my control.” I grabbed a tissue just in case.

Jackson saw that I was getting upset and said softly, “You need to calm down, McQuade, okay?”

I nodded.

“Take a deep breath.”

I did.

“All right, now tell me about your suspects.”

I told him about Janice, Gavin Milton, my trip to the Good Green Earth, and what Mr. McCarty had just said to me on the phone. “I really think Aunt Claire’s murder is connected to the formula.” I rolled my chair back and put my feet up on the desk to ponder this further when there was a loud
c-r-u-n-c-h
!

“What was that?”

I picked up the item I’d just rolled over. It was a Zip drive, amazingly still intact. I handed it to Jackson.

“It’s possible that this was Claire’s and it got knocked to the ground when the police searched the office. But thinking outside the box . . .”

“Yes?”

“The murderer may have used another one like it to copy documents off Claire’s computer and left this one behind by mistake,” he said. “The question is, did he make two copies?” We looked at each other. He got up, came around the desk, and handed the portable drive back to me. “Plug it in.”

I held my breath, plugged it into the USB port, and waited. And waited some more. It was pure agony since so much was at stake. If we found the Fresh Face formula, Aunt Claire’s life’s work could be produced, the store could stay afloat, and we might be able to find the killer and keep him or her away from me.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, afraid I’d pass out from the stress. A moment later, the window for the drive opened. I clicked on the icon. “Now, let’s see what’s on it.”