Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

washed his hands trying to get pumpkin slime from his fingernails. “This case should be easy. We know who all the suspects are. No matter which one turns out to be the killer, they all wanted the same thing. And I can’t think of a better punishment than eternal confinement with each other.”
    “What about the poison? Any idea who could have gone out to the tool shed and taken something? Any suspicious fingerprints?”
    “So far, nothing in the shed has cyanide and not a jequirity bean in sight. The mud on the welcome mat was just mud. Could have come from anywhere in the yard. Or any other yard in the area for that matter. I don’t know if I’m interrogating suspects for two crimes or one, or if I’m looking for the same person for both poisons. Though Jim thinks we’re looking for two people. The poisons do differ significantly, so he’s probably right.” John wiped his hands on a towel and leaned against the sink. “I did have an interesting chat with June.”
    “Oh?” I asked hoping she hadn’t mentioned my visit.
    John proceeded to go into the details of his talk with Mrs. Brissart’s sister while I listened with rapt interest.
    “I asked her if she was aware of the conditions of the land.”
    “You mean about the two surviving sisters inheriting?” I asked.
    “Yes. She hemmed and hawed, pretending she didn’t know about it. So I explained it all, about the land being owned by her, Mrs. Estenfelder, and Mrs. Brissart, and how they must be in complete agreement for it to be sold. And if one of you should die, the land reverts to the other two. Meaning that if Mrs. Brissart had died from eating one of the cookies, May, along with Mrs. Doliveck, would be the sole owner of that sizable piece of property. Kenneth would have no claims.”
    “What did she say to that?” I asked John,.
    “She said that, yes, she had heard something about that when their father died and his will was read.” John looked at me and rolled his eyes. “I bet she has a copy of the damned thing somewhere in the house. Probably framed and hanging over her bed.
    “What else did she say?”
    “Accused me of making her a prime suspect. To which I agreed. Along with May. Then she proceeded to tell me why May would be a better suspect and I should investigate her.”
    I put up my hand. “Wait. I thought those two were like peas in a pod. Are you saying she tried to cast suspicion on her twin sister?”
    “It certainly sounded like that to me. She told me that May had two sons who would benefit nicely if their mother inherited the rest of the land and was able to sell it to the developer.”
    “What about her? She has a daughter with two teenagers to support and Marsha told me that she could really use the money.”
    “I said as much to her and she accused me of accusing her daughter of murder. Said she was going to call the captain and have me fired.” John laughed.
    “I’m very surprised that June is not presenting a united front along with May.”
    “I got the same thing from May, if you can believe that. When money is involved old ties are quickly forgotten.”
    “It seems their together act is just that, an act. I think either one would turn on the other if the circumstances were right. Which it seems they’re already doing.”
    I thought about my visit with May. The way the woman handled the repairman, making him account for every nut and bolt, did not give credence to her usual portrayal of a wilted flower.
    John finished putting the plates on the table and then leaned against the counter eating a piece of cheese that hadn’t made it onto the pizza. “They really seem to hate Mrs. Brissart.”
    “Do they really hate her? That’s a strong word,” I asked wondering if John knew about Charles, and if I should tell him.
    “Yes, I think they do, though in truth, it might be more jealousy than anything else. Mrs. Brissart was clearly Daddy’s favorite. After all, he gave her the house and surrounding land.
    I stood in front of the oven, lost in my thoughts for a moment. “Too bad May and June don’t have a rose garden filled with lots of bugs in need of a quick spray. Something like that might contain cyanide, wouldn’t it?”
    “Roses. Why do you ask about roses? And how do you know neither one of them has a rose garden?” John looked at me with an expression that I thought better suited to an interrogation of say, Charles Manson. I never gave John enough credit, poor guy. He was, after all, a cop.