Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

terrible, none of them would want it known.”
    “Seems that way to me,” I said.
    “Unless,” Sam added, “Bradley was killed by his girlfriend. She would have no reason to kill his grandmother.”
    “That’s right!” Mary-Beth leaned on the back of my seat. “So there might be a few different things going on here that we haven’t thought about. Jeez, Alex, I don’t envy you. You have your work cut out.”
    “I guess I do,” I said contemplating this last bit of information.
    The minivan continued on its journey north to the towns of West Cornwall and the covered bridge over the Housatonic, on up to Falls Village. We drove a little while longer, through an area crisscrossed with stone fences made when farmers cleared the earth for farming, before finding a roadside park and settled in for our picnic.
    Everyone grabbed something from the back of the van and brought it to an area not far from the river. I grabbed a chair from the back of the van and brought it out for Meme, and then the rest of us each took a corner of the blanket and started to pass the food around.
    “Getting back to the subject of murder,” Mary-Beth said when we settled down, “I think the discovery of two poisons is very interesting.”
    “How so?” Millie asked.
    “Well, it lends itself to all sorts of possibilities, doesn’t it?” explained Mary-Beth. “I personally think it indicates two people plotting murder rather than one. Though separately, not together. Which is a bit mystifying.” She leaned back on her elbows and crossed her legs at the ankle. “One person would have to be awfully devious to think up two different poisons.”
    Millie shook her head. “What better way to throw the investigation off than to cast suspicion on another party with the introduction of a totally different substance.”
    “Well, someone is certainly partial to poison. Boy, I sure am glad I moved out of Indian Cove years ago.” Mary-Beth shook her head and sat back up and took another bite of her ham and cheese sandwich.
    “I’m a little intrigued by your theory, Sam, of Kendra killing Bradley. I never considered her myself,” I said.
    “Lovers’ quarrel,” Sam said.
    “But this looks like a premeditated murder. Could she stay mad long enough to find just the right moment to poison his food?” I asked.
    “Maybe she just couldn’t stand it anymore.”
    “Then why not just break up?” Millie asked.
    “Maybe she wanted Bradley’s money,” Mary-Beth said, “but they weren’t married yet. If she did kill him, she should have waited until after the ceremony.”
    “I can’t think of murder anymore with all this good food around. This pasta salad is great, Millie. Sam, try this.” I passed a forkful to my sister.
    “Oh, I will, just as soon as I’m done with my potato salad.”
    A ski lift, lodge, and several skiers could fit on the mound of potato salad Sam attempted to consume. And no doubt would.
    “Enough about murder! What good stuff do you have to tell us?” I eyed Mary-Beth gold ball earrings firmly placed in her lobes just like always, dark hair cut short in a sort of updated Dorothy Hamill look, and rich brown eyes always bursting with mischief.
    “I second the motion,” Meme said from her chair where she sat with a baseball cap firmly placed over the little veil hat, and a pair of sunglasses resting on her nose. “No more murder.”
    “Why do you always think I have some gossip to spread?”
    “Well, do you?” I asked.
    “It just so happens that I heard something interesting.” Mary-Beth leaned back on her elbows again tilting her face up to the sun. She closed her round, doe-shaped eyes. “Now let me just think a minute what I told you the last time.”
    “It’s been almost a year ago since you enlightened me with something tantalizing.”
    “Has it been that long?” Mary-Beth asked. “Right, I told you about how Jane and Mike broke up. And you know, this is all very apropos with the murder of Bradley Brissart.”
    “How so?” I questioned my friend with more than a bit of skepticism.
    “Well, Mike used to mow Mrs. Brissart’s garden one summer way back when, when that gardener of hers broke his leg.”
    “Mr. Kaminski,” I said.
    “Who? Oh, yes. The gardener.”
    “I don’t remember that.”
    “Alex, he did. Trust me. So, you see, it’s all connected.”
    “Uh-huh,” I gave Mary-Beth a half smile. “Continue.”
    “I ended my story last time with the breakup of Jane and Mike.