Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

be my last meal.
    “So, when are you going to tell me all about this murder you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in, Alex?” Mary-Beth teased from the back seat.
    I told the group what I learned so far ending with my visit to J.T.’s office the day before.
    “So that’s where you went to in such a hurry. I could have gone with you,” Sam said sounding a bit hurt. “What’s he like?”
    “Well, let’s just say that he is a modest little man who has a good deal to be modest about .”
    “Is that your opinion or Winston’s?” Sam asked cutting her eyes at me.
    “Winston’s. I think J.T. is a complete jerk. I’m not as eloquent as Winnie.” I adjusted my sunglasses and ran a hand through my short hair. “I feel guilty telling you all I know. John told me to keep my lip zipped. I seem to vaguely remember him saying something to the effect of ‘Alex, we are not a team where murder investigations are concerned. This is my area of expertise. Just let me handle it.’”
    Meme gave a short cackle from the back seat. “He knows you’re going to tell us. He just has to say something to cover his butt.”
    “Well, I’m certainly not going to tell him,” Mary-Beth offered. “Do the police have any concrete suspects?”
    I hesitated, wondering if I should share the Mrs. Brissart-as-the-culprit theory. Why not, I rationalized. If Mrs. Brissart was guilty, everyone would know soon enough, and if she wasn’t, well, then it didn’t much matter. “John is looking at Mrs. Brissart as a possible suspect.”
    “The grandmother?” Mary-Beth asked.
    Sam momentarily lost control of the car, though it was hard to notice. “Still? Alex, he can’t be serious.”
    I shook my head. “I’m afraid he is. Though I think he’s faltering on that front. I think even John would admit there’s not much to go on. And while I don’t think for one moment she could possibly be guilty,” I continued, “June said a few things about her that seem to be totally out of character with the Mrs. Brissart we all know and love.”
    Sam pulled into the second lane to pass an elderly couple pulling a camper. “Like what?”
    “Well, June says Mrs. Brissart throws her relationship with Charles in June’s face every chance she gets. That’s a petty, vindictive thing to do. I don’t see Mrs. Brissart acting like that.”
    “June could be lying or she’s just so consumed by her own hatred that she perceives Mrs. Brissart to be acting that way,” Millie said.
    “I’m sure that’s it,” I mused, “but I would sure like to know what happened to Charles and if he’s still around.”
    “A grandmother couldn’t kill her grandchild,” Meme said in such a soft voice that everyone turned to look at her—even Sam.
    Mary-Beth took Meme’s chubby hand. “Mrs. Redmond, we didn’t mean to upset you.”
    I reached to the back seat and patted my grandmother’s arm. She had tears in her eyes. “Meme, John doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Of course Mrs. Brissart didn’t kill her grandson. He’s just trying to cover all bases.”
    “You said something about the family history,” Millie said as she passed the container of food to Meme who smiled and took a little quiche.
    “I printed up a copy for myself and took it home to read.” I paused for a moment while I chewed on a carrot stick. I reached for another and continued, “It’s all very interesting, but I don’t see how it fits into things.”
    “Maybe it doesn’t. I mean, maybe it’s not the long ago history. Maybe it’s something more recent,” Mary-Beth suggested.
    “Like what?” I asked, turning in my seat.
    “Maybe Bradley found out something about one of his aunts or cousins. Like an abortion or a prison term.”
    “Would someone kill over an abortion?” Millie asked.
    “Probably not. But if something like that happened to May or June, I know they would want it kept quiet. You know, Mary-Beth,” I said, “It could be something like that. I’ve read the history and there’s nothing there as far as I can see. It just might make sense that while doing the research, Bradley found out something a little closer to home and modern times.”
    “All this makes sense if Bradley was the intended victim all along, but didn’t you say something to me over the phone that the police think it was Mrs. Brissart they were after?” Mary-Beth asked. “If so, then why does John suspect her?”
    “Good question. He’s a cop. He suspects everyone. That’s the