Digging Up the Dead (12 page)

After six o’clock, when she assumed the absent homeowners would now be home, Tosca called at Arlene’s house, hoping to catch her in. She took the carton of strawberry ice cream with her, knowing how much Arlene liked it.

Her friend, swathed in an outsized black and white striped butcher’s apron, opened the door with kitchen mittens on her hands. An aroma of cookies baking wafted out.

“Hi, you’re just in time to try my new recipe,” said Arlene. Tosca handed her the carton. “Oh, no,” said Arlene. “Ice cream? Wish I could have some, but the doctor says I eat too much sugar. Tom will appreciate it, though.”

“Aren’t those cookies you’re baking full of sugar?”

“No, I’m using honey instead. It seems to have changed the consistency, though, and they’ve spread all over the baking sheet into one huge cookie. Come on in. I need to cut them into squares before they cool.”

She stood aside to let Tosca walk by and go into the kitchen.

“Arlene, are you doing anything this evening?”

“No, not really. Tom’s got his poker night next door, and I was going to watch a TV movie. Why?”

“Would you mind taking a walk with me to a few neighbors’ homes here on the island?”

“Tosca, you’ve got that look in your eye. What’s going on?”

“You’ve lived here a long time. I’d like you to tell me if you know the people at the houses where I took some photos today.”

“Why did you do that?”

“We know Sally was poisoned by a plant with stems that ooze toxic sap. I found quite a few yards around here that have them. They’re called giant milkweeds.”

“Wow, are you sleuthing again? How exciting. You mean, go out after midnight and prowl around?”

Tosca laughed. “No, no, nothing as dramatic. I mean now, while it’s still light, if you can.”

Arlene opened a drawer, removed a knife and turned to the baking sheet. “Okay. Let me cut these apart, and we can go.”

She stacked the cookie squares onto a tray, removed the apron and took a jacket from the hall coat stand as they left the house. They walked several blocks to the nearest address Tosca had written down and stood across the street from it.

“Do you know the people who live there?” said Tosca.

“No, never met them.”

“Let’s see if anyone’s home.”

There was no bell or door knocker, so they rapped on the door. The house was a one-story cottage with a small front yard of grass. Two trees supported a hammock slung between them, and beneath the front window were three stone slabs on which sat pots of flowers. A milkweed plant was among them.

The door opened to reveal a young child. She was holding a spoon, her mouth surrounded by gobs of what appeared to be blueberry ice cream.

“Hello, pet,” said Tosca. “Is your mummy home?”

At that moment an elderly woman appeared behind the girl.

“Marci, go back into the kitchen.” The girl turned and left, and the woman looked inquiringly at Arlene and Tosca.

“Sorry to bother you. Are you the homeowner?” said Arlene.

“I’m Marci’s grandma.” She crossed her arms. “There’s a sign right there on the window that says ‘No Soliciting.’”

“No, no. I’m one of your neighbors, Arlene Mindel. I live down the street, and this is Tosca Trevant, visiting from London. We’re not selling anything. We just want to ask about those two big plants over there.”

“What about them?”

“Did you see who might have cut the stems?”

The woman walked over to the pots and peered at the slashes.

“Well, upon my soul. Students again, I suppose. They’re always playing around in the hammock. I don’t know why Patty leaves it out here. Maybe they cut the stems of these plants for what they think is fun.”

“So you don’t know who may have damaged them?” said Tosca.

“No, sorry, no idea.”

Tosca thanked the woman, and she and Arlene left, deciding there was no further information coming from the household.

“How about here?” said Tosca, indicating the next address on her list. In the front yard a giant milkweed was planted in a waist-high clay pot.

“Yes, this is Cynthia and George Stanowski’s house. They’ve lived here for many years. They’re an elderly couple with no children. Do you want to meet them?”

At Tosca’s nod, Arlene rang the front doorbell. A large woman with short, white hair opened the door and peered at the visitors.

“Oh, it’s you, Arlene, didn’t recognize you at first.” Her voice was scratchy but soft. “Would you like to come in? Excuse the mess. We just got back an hour ago from staying with friends in Carmel.”

“Thank you, Cynthia. This is my friend, Tosca. She’s staying with her daughter here on the island.”

Tosca closed the screen door behind her as they entered straight into a living room. The television was on, and a man whom Tosca assumed was George sat in a recliner, his feet on the raised footrest.

“Don’t get up,” Arlene said quickly. “We can’t stay long, but Tosca has a question or two, if you don’t mind.”

George picked up the remote from a side table and turned the television sound off, looking at the visitors curiously.

“Questions?”

“Yes,” said Tosca, “about the new plant in your garden, the giant milkweed.”

“Oh? Karma brought it over a couple of weeks ago. She does our landscaping, such as it is. Nice flowers, aren’t they? We’d never seen one before. She told us it was from India. Why?”

“Have you noticed that the stem has a gash in it?”

“No, we’ve been away. I haven’t taken a good look at the yard yet since we got back.”

“Then you must have missed Karma’s party last week.’

“Yes, we were sorry we couldn’t attend, but we’re going to donate to the Sanderson library. Sounds like a worthwhile project. My parents were friends with Fuller and Abigail, but after they died we didn’t keep in touch with his son, nor with Destiny.”

“Wasn’t it sad about that woman’s death at the party?” said Cynthia. “My neighbor told me about it when we called in to see if everything was all right at our house. She’s been keeping an eye on it for us. Was it a stroke?”

“No,” said Arlene. “We’re told she was poisoned.”

George swung his legs off the footrest, and Cynthia put her hand over her mouth.

“Poisoned? That’s shocking,” said her husband.

“Yes,” said Tosca, “with giant milkweed sap. That’s why we’re here asking about your plant.”

George and Cynthia both spoke at once, assuring Tosca and Arlene that they had been away and knew nothing about poisonous sap.

Deciding the visit was another dead end, Tosca and Arlene thanked the couple, took their leave and continued on to the third address.

“Ah, this is where Sunny lives,” said Arlene. “She’s a librarian at the Newport Beach library, and she belongs to our bunco group. Let’s see if she’s in.”

A small cottage set between two others of the same size, its small front yard was filled with dozens of small and large pots. The women entered through the small gate and inspected the pots.

“There’s the one with the cut stem,” Tosca said, pointing to a tall terra cotta jar.

No bell or door knocker was in sight, but the front door was open behind the screen door. Arlene called out, “Sunny, are you home? It’s Arlene.”

A short young woman appeared, holding a kitten against her shoulder.

“Arlene! How nice to see you. Let me unlatch the screen door. Come on in.”

Tosca was introduced, and she quickly gave the reason for their visit, explaining about milkweed plants and their toxicity to both humans and animals. She told Sunny that the stem on the plant in the large jar outside her front door had been slit.

“Slit? How strange. Let’s go out, and you can show me.”

The three went outside, and Tosca pointed out the damage.

“I’ve never noticed it,’ said Sunny. “When do you think it happened?”

“Maybe a week or so ago,” said Tosca. “It looks quite fresh, just like the cuts to the other ones we’ve seen on the island. They are all recent plantings.”

“Do you think Karma may have done it by mistake, at least in mine, when she was putting it in? I’m usually at work when she comes here.”

“You weren’t at her party, Sunny, were you? I didn’t see you there,” said Arlene.

“No, Karma invited me but I was in San Diego, visiting my sister.”

Tosca and Arlene took their leave, noting they only had two more houses to check out and hoping their owners were in.

Five streets over, facing the bay and the peninsula, with a sweeping view of the harbor, they stopped at a three-story stone mansion on a double lot. It towered above its neighbors, which were equally as palatial but not as tall or imposing. The front yard included two tiered rock gardens in opposite corners, a large grass area and three planters, one of which held an exceptionally bushy milkweed.

“Oh, yes,” said Arlene, looking up at the copper-topped cupola on the roof. “This is where Betty and Sol Bernstein live. A nice couple. They built this house a couple of years ago. She’s a big donor to the arts. Didn’t you meet them at Karma’s party? They were both there.”

“No. Sally became ill before I had the chance to talk to everyone. Let’s see if they’re home. Oh, look. Wave, Arlene. We’re on
Candid Camera
.” Tosca pointed to the four small black security cameras positioned above the doorway.

While Arlene reached up to the shiny brass lion-head that served as a knocker on the front door and banged it twice, Tosca went over to examine the plant she knew so well by now. Careful not to touch the large vertical cut in its thick stem, she reflected that the killer might have gathered enough of the poison from just this one plant.

Could it be that the others had been slashed to draw suspicion away from the Bernstein’s milkweed?

A woman’s disembodied voice came through a small box on one side of the doorframe.

“Yes?”

“Hi, Betty, it’s Arlene. I’d forgotten you have a security system. Can we talk to you for a moment?”

“Oh, of course, dear. What a nice surprise. Just a second, I’ll be right there.”

The tall door was pulled back, and a woman appeared. Her tightly coiffed, stiff hairdo and full-length blue jacquard gown gave Tosca the impression of a duchess awaiting friends for tea. Betty invited her visitors in.

Tosca was introduced, and she and Arlene were led into a library. Floor to ceiling cherry wood bookshelves lined the walls with volumes of books interspersed with knickknacks. A baby grand piano occupied one corner, a music stand to its right.

“Wasn’t Karma’s party fun, that is, until Sally became ill?” said Betty. “I had just mentioned to you, Arlene, that she seemed to be drunk, but now we know she was sick. I can’t believe she died.”

“Yes, it was very sad. Tosca was at the party, too, and wants to ask you something.”

“Really?” Betty turned to Tosca, her eyebrows raised. “How can I help you?”

“I know it’s a bit of a cheek asking you this, but I wondered if you or your husband had any dealings, business or otherwise, with Sally and her publishing house. I seem to remember that you told me Sol collects first editions.”

“Good heavens, yes, that’s right. He’s in Japan at the moment, chasing down some rare book, and he’s always asking Sally if she knows of any serious book collectors who have Fuller first editions. She always says no, but Sol suspects she must have the entire collection, knowing the longer Sally keeps them, the more they’ll be worth. Let me show you his collection; he’s real proud of it.”

She led them through the hall and into a study where a tall, glass-fronted cabinet stretched from one side of a wall to the other. On the shelves were hundreds of hardcover books, most leather bound, with several of the titles in gilt. A few paperbacks were evident in pristine condition.

“Sol heard a rumor that Sally might close up shop because she was broke,” said Betty, “and we were willing to pay a hefty sum for the first editions.” She turned to Arlene. “You seem to know so much about the Sandersons. Have you heard anything about the estate and its contents? She must have left a will. I wonder who’s the beneficiary? I bet she owned all of Sanderson’s first editions. I know Sol would do anything to get his hands on them.”

Tosca was taken aback by the callousness of the reply and was momentarily thrown off course.

Arlene answered, “Betty, we know that Sally was in financial difficulty, but I have no idea about a will.”

“My husband is obsessed with buying a first edition of
The Total Surrender.
Have you read any of Sanderson’s books, Tosca?”

Tempted to reply that she owned every single one of Sanderson’s first editions just to see Betty’s reaction, Tosca instead changed the subject.

“You do know that Sally was poisoned? And that it was with the sap from giant milkweed plants? You have two pots of them in your front garden. I noticed that the stems have been cut. Traces of the sap are still there where it’s been collected. It was put in the White Russians she drank.”

Betty gaped at Tosca and straightened up in her chair. “Good heavens, you don’t think either Sol or I know what’s in our yard, do you? Karma comes in every week and takes care of it. We have no idea what the plants are or what they’re called.”

Arlene stood up, clearly upset. “Of course you don’t, dear. We’re just trying to figure something out, that’s all. Tosca gets a little carried away sometimes. She’s English, you know.”

“Cornish.” Tosca spluttered the word as she, too, stood up and held out her hand. “Thank you for a fascinating conversation. Much food for thought. By the way, with such a valuable collection in the house, you are smart to have installed security cameras outside. I wonder if we might take a look at the tapes?”

“The tapes? Sol takes care of all that.”

“Perhaps we can have your permission to view them at your security company offices?”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask my husband when he returns.”