Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

“He’s such a sweetheart. Well, that’s certainly good news.” She took off her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair in my office before continuing. “Detective Maroni came by my house last night to get the key to the house. He said they needed to do another search of the yard.”
    “That’s odd. It seems like they did quite a bit of searching yesterday. I wonder what they wanted. John never mentioned anything when I spoke with him.”
    The bell out front rang and, knowing that Millie was occupied, I got up to go check. A few seconds later, I walked into the office with John. He and Chantal exchanged pleasantries.
    “Mrs. Bradbury, have you heard from Mrs. Brissart?”
    “No, I haven’t. I’ve called Mrs. Platz’s sister’s home in Hartford several times, but never got an answer. I’m beginning to worry. They don’t have an answering machine, I’m afraid. And neither Mrs. Platz nor Mrs. Brissart has a cell phone.”
    “We’ll have to keep trying. I’m sure she’d like to be here for Mr. Kaminski. In her absence, perhaps you might be able to help me with something.”
    Chantal looked at me and then turned back to John. “Sure, if I can.”
    “I talked with Mr. Kaminski last evening. He was quite shaken, but I think he’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure the attack was by the same person responsible for putting the cyanide into the cookies.”
    “Are you sure?” I asked.
    “Reasonably sure.” John told us what had happened. “Poor Mr. Kaminski. Never knew what hit him. He just heard the crunching of leaves and then got bopped on the head.”
    “So he didn’t see anything?” I asked.
    “No, but he definitely heard someone approaching.”
    “What was he doing out there?” Chantal asked.
    “He got up early, as usual. Guess he’s a morning person. It was still dark. He made a cup of coffee and took it out on the porch and sat there drinking it and looking out over the plants. Said he heard a dog bark in the distance. The folks in the area tend to have dogs they keep inside, especially when it gets cold, so he wondered about the barking dog but didn’t pay much attention.”
    I folded my arms in front of me. “How did he get hit on the back of the head?”
    “He told me he sat there for about a half hour looking over the garden toward Bradley’s tree house and he started to think that maybe Bradley had some belongings up there and no one bothered to check. So he walked over to the tree and climbed a few steps. He said he could see something white. Couple pieces of paper.”
    “Could he see what was on the papers?” I asked, wondering what all this had to do with cyanide and jequirity beans.
    “Not up in the tree house, so he came down and walked a ways toward the house where it was lighter. He had his back towards the house holding the paper above his head trying to get the light to hit it just right.”
    “Could he make out anything?”
    “No, but not because he couldn’t see but because it was all in French.”
    “French? Are you sure?” I asked.
    “Said he remembered it from the war. Saw a lot of it then in the newspapers and stuff.”
    “Then what happened?” Chantal asked.
    “That’s when he heard the leaves crunch. He said something odd, though. He said he didn’t really think he had been hit all that hard but then he fell and he hit the rock and that was that.”
    I looked at John. “What do you make of it?”
    “I called Detective Maroni and we searched Mrs. Brissart’s house again, but to tell you the truth, I’m not sure what we’re looking for. Maybe Mr. Kaminski got it wrong and he wasn’t sure what he saw. What would papers written in French have to do with anything?” John asked.
    That’s when Chantal let out a yell.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

    “Of course! The family history. Those papers in French were probably research that Bradley had done or maybe found,” Chantal explained.
    “Did Bradley speak French?” John asked.
    “A bit. He had it in high school and college. We tried speaking with each other a few times, but he was rather rusty. That happens if you don’t have a chance to use it. Doesn’t matter how long you took it, if you don’t practice, it just goes.”
    “Could he read it?”
    Chantal folded her hands in her lap and thought a moment. “I’m not sure, but reading is easier than speaking, at least for me. Though my French is pretty good on all levels thanks to my mother.”
    “Mr. Kaminski said the papers looked like