Ink and Shadows(Secret, Book, & Scone Society #4)(72)
Nora was fascinated. “How does it work?”
McCabe’s gaze swept over Nora’s sandwich wrapper. Seeing that she’d finished her breakfast, he said, “It initiates a purging of the stomach, which is usually helpful if someone has ingested poison.”
“Did Celeste eat or drink something laced with wolfsbane? I know she makes her own herbal tea.”
“There were no cups or plates in the sink, so we can’t tell how the poison was administered. There’s a tin of tea leaves in the kitchen, which we’re having analyzed. As for herbs, Ms. Leopold grew rows and rows of them. Veggies too. I couldn’t believe it.” Reaching for a much thicker file folder, he opened it at an angle, using the cover to block Nora’s view of the contents. The fingers of his right hand moved up and down like a cellist plucking the strings of his instrument as he sifted through the stack of paper. Finally, a glossy color photo slid free from the stack and McCabe handed it to Nora.
“This looks like the Very Hungry Caterpillar’s idea of heaven,” she said, studying the neat rows of plants. The pots were arranged by size and every plant was labeled. There were dozens of seedlings and at least thirty full-sized plants. Nora pointed at one of the low-hanging light fixtures. “Is that a special bulb?”
“If you’re a plant, yes. The room is lit by full-spectrum fluorescent bulbs, which cost around fifteen bucks a pop. They must work because Ms. Leopold’s garden was thriving. I might have a black thumb, but I know a healthy plant when I see one.”
As Nora drank her coffee, she thought about Celeste’s ability to create. Not only was she a talented sculptor, but she also made household products, food, and, wine. She could grow plants—another form of creation—and had curated a selection of soothing products to sell in her shop. Nora had never met anyone like her, and she wished she’d been given the chance to know her better.
McCabe dipped back into the file folder to retrieve a typed list. Tapping the corner of the grow room photograph, he said, “In case you were about to ask, we didn’t find any wolfsbane. Lots of vegetables. Carrots, spinach, kale, salad greens, mushrooms, scallions, tomatoes, and the garbage pail in the corner is full of potatoes. The smaller pots are the herbs. Basil, chives, cilantro, ginger, parsley, garlic, rosemary, lavender, oregano, and mint. On top of all this, there are two lemon trees and a few medicinal plants, like aloe and echinacea.”
“No mustard plants?”
Though his voice betrayed no emotion, a divot appeared between McCabe’s brows. “No. Whoever poisoned Ms. Leopold must have brought in the wolfsbane and the mustard. The killer could have promised the mustard antidote in exchange for the location of the mysterious book. Ms. Leopold would have felt the wolfsbane’s effects right away, and if her killer told her which poison he’d given her, she’d have known that she had seconds to make a decision.”
Nora felt a tightening in her throat. “I’m sure she wanted to keep the book out of her killer’s hands, but that’s probably not what kept her from taking the mustard. She told me that Beck was a liar, so she probably didn’t expect him to honor his word. More than that, I don’t think she wanted to live. Grief and guilt had hollowed her out. She could continue living without her daughter or exit through the door Wolf Beck had opened for her. I think she chose the door.”
McCabe squeezed Nora’s arm. “I’m sorry that she suffered. I’m sorry that you were there to see it. But I’m also glad that she wasn’t alone.”
All Nora could do was nod. If she spoke, the torrent of emotions trapped inside her would come hurtling out.
Looking for a distraction, she gathered up the remains of their breakfast, stuffed it into the takeout bag, and dropped the bag into the wastebasket in the far corner of the office. She didn’t return to her seat.
McCabe stood up, crossed the room, and grabbed his hat from the hook on the back of the door. “Let’s get that book.”
*
Nora’s heart thundered in her chest as she climbed the stairs to Celeste’s apartment. She knew she would soon be assaulted by memories of Celeste’s death. The sights and smells were going to bring back every terrible detail, and Nora was dreading it.
McCabe used a penknife to cut through the sheriff’s department seal that stretched from the surface of the door above the lock to the frame.
He pushed the door inward, and the landfill stench of rotting food rushed forward to greet them. Nora followed McCabe into the kitchen, waiting in the threshold as he picked his way over the debris-strewn floor to the opposite wall. Light flooded the room, and Nora could see that someone had used clear plastic sheeting to make a pathway. This kept investigators from tracking milk, wine, raw eggs, jam, and other bits of food into the rest of the apartment.
As she moved through the kitchen, Nora noticed evidence markers and the crushed bodies of plants.
Joining McCabe in the living room, she bent down next to the large fern Celeste had handled with such tenderness during their potluck dinner. The plant was now stretched out on the floor. Some of its fronds were torn. Others were folded at odd angles. Half of its roots were still covered in soil, but the exposed roots hung like limp hair in desperate need of a wash.
“I hate leaving them like this,” Nora whispered. She touched one of the fern’s feathery fronds and knew what Celeste would want her to do. “Can we save some of these plants?”