Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

followed the surprisingly spry woman down a long hall into a small but well-appointed kitchen.
    “How much longer are you going to be?” demanded May of the small man currently kneeling on the floor with his head in the oven.
    “Just about done, ma’am. Just have to replace this one...there! Finished.” He stood up slowly and wiped his fingers on an already-dirty rag sticking in his belt.
    “Fine. Let me get my checkbook.” May’s heels click-clicked down the hall once more.
    I leaned against the counter and smiled awkwardly at the repairman who gathered up his tools.
    May returned momentarily, checkbook in hand. “Help yourself to a drink, Miss Harris, if you’d like. This will only take a moment.”
    A large pitcher of what appeared to be orange juice sat on the counter, or I could get some water from the tap. I didn’t think the offer included my rummaging through the refrigerator or cupboards for something else. I turned to reach for a glass on a small tray on the counter and saw something that made my heart race—a blender. Bingo! The woman had a blender. I felt ecstatic. But then I remembered that I also had a blender, as did just about everyone I knew. The only difference being that all the other residents of Indian Cove possessing the appliance did not have a relative who had a bottle of liquor laced with the mush of a jequirity bean.
    Down the hallway, the old woman argued with the repairman over the price of a screw or some damned thing while the poor man looked as if he would like to stick her head in the oven—preferably with the gas on and pilot light out. I stood there trying to fathom a way in which I could shove the blender under my sweater and sneak out of the house undetected, when May followed the man to the front door.
    Not believing my luck, I pulled the blender to the edge of the counter and took the container off the base. I quickly unscrewed the bottom managing to dislodge the lid and almost dropping it before catching the damned thing. I pulled the blade out from the bottom of the container and looked at it closely, removing the rubber band or washer or whatever it was called. The machine was clean, but the band felt moist as if it had been used or cleaned recently. Deep in a crevice of one of the blades I spied a minute piece of something squishy. jequirity bean mush! Or a multitude of other substances, I thought dejectedly. How was I going to find out? I started to search for a baggie to put the mush in but then the front door slammed and a few seconds later the click-click of the heels came back down the hall. Screwing the pieces together as quickly as I could, I had it back in place on the counter just as May came in to the kitchen.
    “I was just admiring your blender,” I said out of breadth. “I’m in need of a new one myself. This seems like a very nice model. Do you use it often?”
    May gave me a peculiar look and said, “No. Not often. Why don’t we go into the living room?” After taking seats across from each other, May added, “My son Larry also mentioned a visit. You’re certainly very busy for a Sunday.”
    “It’s important I get to the bottom of this. You should be anxious for this whole thing to be over and the guilty party to be put behind bars.”
    “I was under the impression that our police force had everything under control.”
    “Well, yes, certainly, but they can’t be everywhere at once,” I said with a wave of my hand and a smile. Why I smiled, I had no idea because John Van der Burg would surely kill me as soon as he found out how I spent my Sunday morning.
    Then to my utter astonishment, May agreed with me.
    “I do agree it’s important to get to the bottom of this. It’s a terrible thing. Kenneth and Lillian are just heartbroken.”
    “Mrs. Brissart is as well.”
    “And well she should be!” May spat out. “She got her own grandson killed.”
    My anger boiled and I had only been in the house a few minutes. Quickly regaining control, I looked straight into May’s face. “How’s that, Mrs. Estenfelder?”
    “It’s common knowledge, young lady, the poison was meant for Roberta.”
    “So you’re saying it would have been better if she had died?”
    May raised a perfectly arched eyebrow—one that consisted more of waxy crayon than hair. “Now don’t go putting words into my mouth. I wish my sister no ill will...”
    “You just want her to sell the land?”
    May paused for a moment and put her hand to her heart. “Well,