Digging Up the Dead (7 page)

“No, of course not.”

Karma almost laughed at the question. Her bank balance was so low she couldn’t face even reading her monthly statement. It was definitely no concern of hers what happened to Sally’s body, she thought. Damned nuisance she’d had the seizure at her house, and what a pity the woman hadn’t left early, as she’d said she was going to when I invited her. What was it she’d said, that she didn’t want to see Graydon Blair again if she could help it after the big quarrel they’d had the other day? Come to think of it, though, it was Oliver who’d started the argument.

At least from today onward she was free of Sally. After a lifetime of bickering over grandfather’s contracts and the continual tension about his royalties with both Sally and Blair, Karma would now own the rights to all of Fuller’s books. If I can get a lot of publicity about the lost manuscript being found, she thought, and with Swenson’s help, we can start cashing in by getting a big publisher. Things are looking up, just as we planned.

It was common knowledge that Hirsch House was a one-man band run by Sally for the past eight years and was on the verge of bankruptcy. Sanderson had been her last big author whose books were considered classics. Karma had been trying without success for years to get the rights back to his works. Maybe she could begin building the Fuller Sanderson Library sooner than she’d expected.

“Miss Sanderson, you do know there’s going to be an autopsy?” said the charge nurse, consulting her files.

“What?”

“Her cardiac arrest was unexpected, and the attending physician was uncomfortable with the manner of death. Soon after you left last night he notified the medical examiner. It’s standard procedure in cases like this. Her body is now at the Santa Ana morgue. We can let you know the results, and perhaps you could arrange for a funeral home to pick the remains up after the authorities are finished with their investigation.”

“What investigation?”

“As we always do in such cases, we’ll be turning over to the police all the necessary materials, such as the death certificate, the autopsy report and the toxicology test results. Then you may claim the body.’

“Look, Miss Hirsch was just a business associate,” Karma said. “Why should I be responsible for her?”

For a few seconds Karma enjoyed the thought of having Sally cremated and sprinkling the ashes on her compost heap. Kind of poetic justice since Karma was convinced she’d cheated her of thousands of dollars in royalties.

“Miss Sanderson?”

“Oh, sorry. I was just trying to figure out the kindest way to treat dear Miss Hirsch’s remains even though I barely knew her. I suppose I could get in touch with the morgue and make the arrangements if I have to. As I said, I don’t know much about her business or her personal life, and right now I have to get back to work.”

“Understandable. It will probably take a while for the autopsy results, as the morgue is really backed up, although in some cases there are priorities. In the meantime, let me know if there is any assistance we can provide.”

The charge nurse rose from her chair and walked with Karma to the elevator, expressing condolences.

Karma returned to the garden center, her mind racing. Sally’s death opened up all kinds of convenient possibilities, the most important of which was that now Karma held all the cards for the ownership of her grandfather’s books. Sally’s death meant there’d be a reversion of rights, in this case to the author’s heir, herself. Then there were the last, lost writings of Fuller Sanderson to be handled.

She’d fire Graydon Blair, of course, when it was all over. She should have done it years ago, when her parents died, but she’d been focused on building up her garden business. She’d no longer have to pay Blair fifteen percent of the royalties, not that they amounted to much these days, but now, with control in her own hands, Blair would soon be out of the picture. Who needs a literary agent when Fuller Sanderson is such a famous name? Well, it used to be, but I sure don’t need that pretentious Blair, she decided.

“Hey, Karma, them cats are still mean. I told you that yesterday.” Sam’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “What’s that the humane shelter calls ‘em? Special needs cats? Don’t know why you ever adopted ‘em. They don’t even catch field mice. Why d’ya let ‘em run all over?”

“Don’t you dare touch them! It’s not their fault they’re arthritic. Running all over? They can barely walk, Sam, so stop complaining.”

Karma stooped down under the desk and picked up one of the two sleeping tabby cats, stroking it gently. Her peevish expression softened as she bent her cheek to the cat’s head and nuzzled it.

“Yeah, well,” said Sam. “I don’t care how cute you think they are, they sure have sharp teeth, and those claws work just fine. Look where they scratched me.”

He pulled up the sleeve of his denim shirt to reveal three deep, bloody parallel red lines on his left arm.

“I’ve had far worse,” said Karma. “Just make sure you put a bandage on those scratches before you go weeding in the giant milkweed patch again. I have told you several times that if any of the sap oozes out, or if you cut the stem by mistake, it’s toxic.”

“Wait a minute, I already got a rash from those plants. Look!”

Sam held out both hands, palms down. On the back of each hand was a small pink rash.

“Oh, Sam, don’t be such a baby. It’s nothing.”

As Tosca was about to insert the flash drive into the laptop, excited to find out what was on it, she heard heavy footsteps coming up the outside steps. She quickly shut down the computer and went to the front door, where the top half was open. She knew it wasn’t Thatch, because he’d gone out fishing on a friend’s boat. When she recognized her visitor, she suppressed a groan. What’s he doing here? she wondered.

“Morning, Mrs. Trevant. Sorry to bother you. May I come in?”

Newport Beach Homicide Detective Wally Parnell’s expression and tone indicated he’d rather be anywhere else than inside her house. A man in his mid-forties, balding, with a trim physique, his long face reminded Tosca, fittingly, of a bloodhound.

“Come in, Chief Superintendent—oh, sorry, Detective. What brings you to the island again? Been quite a while since our last meeting,” she said, grinning when he winced.

They had not parted on the best of terms during the time Parnell was investigating a murder on Isabel Island, and Tosca had been able to discover the killer.

“Are you collecting for the Police Benevolent Fund? I’m very happy to contribute.”

“No, ma’am. We’re interviewing everyone who was at Miss Sanderson’s party, and I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Really? If Karma is complaining about the way we cleaned her house afterwards, well, then that’s not very nice of her. I loathe housework, but it seemed the only charitable thing to do. ”

“It concerns Miss Sally Hirsch’s death.”

“That’s interesting. How can I help you? I’d never met her before the party, but I knew she’d been Fuller Sanderson’s publisher for years and years. We were all sad to hear she died. Oh, now I know exactly why you’re here. It’s about her purse, isn’t it? Well, I haven’t stolen it, if that’s what you’re thinking. ”

“No, ma’am. Miss Hirsch’s purse has been recovered from Miss Sanderson. She brought it into the station yesterday. It’s the manner of Miss Hirsch’s death that we are investigating.”

Tosca sensed at once that the detective’s visit was to be not only an interesting one that set her curiosity meter soaring, but also lengthy, if she could keep him talking long enough. She plugged in the electric kettle and asked him if he’d like tea or mead. He declined both. While he fidgeted on the sofa with his notepad, she made herself a pot of PG Tips black tea, thinking she really must try to find some Yorkshire Gold. She heard it worked best in hard water areas like Newport Beach. The kettle soon boiled, and she warmed the pot with a little hot water, poured it out, spooned the tea leaves into the teapot and left it on the kitchen counter to brew.

“What do you mean, manner of death? It was epilepsy, wasn’t it?” she said.

“Unfortunately not. Miss Hirsch might have been able to recover from such an episode. No. The preliminary autopsy states that her death was unnatural. She was poisoned.”

“Poisoned?
Re’em fa
y!” Tosca’s swear word burst through her lips like a cheer, for which she instantly apologized.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Trevant. I don’t understand your language, and I’m sure my news is a shock to you. But it’s kind of strange that the last time I was here in your house it turned out that the murder weapon was also poison. Coincidence?”

“Surely you are not suggesting I poisoned Sally? Besides, I caught the killer for you back then, remember?”

And now, she thought, I’m going to be on the trail of another one. She practically hugged herself before feeling guilty and silently saying, “Poor woman,” to herself. Then, just as quickly, she hoped that if she solved the crime, it would mean her promotion to criminal reporter and return to the U.K. were in the bag.

“What kind of poison?” she said.

“The lab report says it is calotropin. It’s more toxic than strychnine.”

“Never heard of it, Inspector. Where can you buy it? Where does it come from? Is it a chemical? Can it be made into an insecticide?”

“Mrs. Trevant, I can tell you that it can be derived from the sap of the giant milkweed. I understand that Miss Sanderson planted some of those plants in six homeowners’ yards here on the island. We’ll be talking to them, of course. I don’t see your name on that list, but you were one of the guests at her party, correct?”

“Yes, indeed, I was. The music was exceptional. Have you ever seen a theremin? However, I am sure you are busy and need to get on your way.” She stood up, anxious for him to leave so she could research calotropin on the Internet. “Unless you’d like me to help you interview those six homeowners?”

Parnell squirmed. “No. We thank you for helping us out before, but I‘ve got it covered. Now, if you don’t mind, please sit down, and I’ll get on with the questions. As I said, we’re talking to everyone who attended the party.”

Mind? Tosca could barely conceal her eagerness. What luck! She sat.

“Mr. Parnell, can you tell me more about the poison? How was it administered? Is it sticky stuff? Was it added to the
hors d’oeuvres
? Goodness, I ate several of them, mostly the tiny quiches. Why do you think I know anything? Sorry, I tend to ask questions all at once. Drives Thatch crazy. I very much admire your expertise in these matters. If I knew more about the poison, I might be able to help you,” she added, thinking fat chance, buddy.

Parnell flipped a few pages over in his notepad and began to read.

“Calotropin is like morphine, an alkaloid extracted from flowering plants commonly called milkweeds. The white sap is the poisonous part and is used in pesticides. A fatal dose for humans is not very large, and the symptoms resemble an epilepsy attack with convulsions and vomiting.”

“Of course! So that’s what it really was, not epilepsy. Very Agatha Christie, although she much preferred her killers to use arsenic. Yes, Chief Superintendent, we all saw Sally convulsing, but she certainly didn’t throw up. The only mess on the carpet was the drink she spilled as she fell, and we tried to clean it up as best we could.”

“That was unfortunate,” Parnell said, frowning at her, “because you removed much of that evidence, Mrs. Trevant. Thankfully, forensics was able to get enough of a sample for testing, and the result was that they found the calotropin. Now, I know you are keen on gardening, Mrs. Trevant. I wondered if you have seen anyone collecting sap from their milkweed plants.”

Don’t be daft, she wanted to reply but instead said, “No, of course I haven’t. Who’d know enough to do that? Many of the islanders use Karma Sanderson’s landscape service. She’s here all the time and lives here, as you know. How is the sap collected?”

“All I want to know, Mrs. Trevant, is if you have seen your neighbors who have the plants in their yards doing anything suspicious, as I know you like to, um, observe things.”

“You mean have I ever seen anyone going around with a little cup and collecting it like maple syrup? You say the sap is used in pesticides. I think strychnine is in rat poison, but I didn’t know about calotropin. How fascinating.”

“Yes, now, while you’ve been digging around in your neighbors’ yards and fixing their plants, as I’m sure you have, did you notice if they had sprinkled any rat poison powder or other insecticide in the flower beds?”

“Me?” Tosca’s euphoria at the prospect of having another murder to solve gave way to outrage. “I haven’t been in anyone’s yard lately. Well, only a couple. People do allow their nasturtiums to grow too leggy, don’t you think?”

She realized as soon as she said it that her remark was not appreciated. She watched Parnell’s frown deepen and sought to repair the damage.

“You know, Constable, I haven’t seen any rats around, but we are having a problem with ants lately. I can’t imagine why they take the trouble to walk all the way upstairs to our kitchen, but they do. I’ll show you what I use to persuade them that the neighbor’s house would be far more hospitable.”

She went to the cabinet under the sink and removed a tall can of ant killer. “As stated on the list of ingredients and the warning label, this is apt to be fatal, too. Let me read them to you. They include imipothrin and cypermethrin,” she said, stumbling over the names. “Oh, besides ants it kills crickets, silverfish and spiders.”

“I doubt anyone is going to spray their human victim with enough of this to murder them,” said Parnell as Tosca saw him repress a smile. “It has to be ingested. Now please tell me your version of Sally’s collapse at the party.”

“My version? Don’t be silly, Mr. Parnell. I saw only what others saw. There were lots of people around, and we’d all have the same version, as you call it.”

“Where were you standing?”

“Behind some people. We were listening to the musicians, Karma and Graydon Blair, playing when one of the strings on her guitar broke. Then we heard someone scream. It’s not my fault if someone gets murdered, and I happen to be in the vicinity.”