Murder by Yew

  Mary smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I used to visit here a lot. When I was little, my parents used to tell me to stay away from her, but I liked her. She was nice to me.”

  “What else did she tell you, besides her interest in growing plants not native to this area? I’d love to know why she planted what she did. Her books tell me how and where she planted things, but not the reason she selected what she did.”

  “Well …” Mary frowned slightly as she leafed idly through the notebook in her hands. “I think she was attracted by anything that had a medicinal use. She told me more than once that even the deadliest plant can cure as long as you know what you’re doing. Take those bean plants, for example. She told me castor oil is made from the seedpods. Now, that’s medicinal, but she said it’s pretty dangerous to do it yourself, because the wrong dose and …” Mary grimaced and swiped a forefinger across her throat. Then, as if to explain, she added, “Mrs. Rabichek said I should always know the ingredients I’m using and how much is safe.”

  Edna nodded soberly. “Yes, I’ve seen that caution in several of her recipes. She also wrote that you must label everything, list all ingredients, and don’t forget the date. She insists that dating is important, and not only for expiration information. Growing seasons can vary so much in amounts of sun or rain or soil nutrients that the potency of a single plant can change drastically from one year to the next. It’s what makes the dosage so tricky.”

  Edna felt her face grow warm when she noticed Mary smiling at her and felt she needed to explain her enthusiasm. “I’ve been studying her books and experimenting with some of the recipes—those with safe ingredients,” she hastened to add, “which is one reason I’ve come to realize just how many things around this yard are so toxic.”

  Realizing that she had told Mary enough of what her neighbor probably already knew, Edna turned her head and put up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked at the sky. “Speaking of which, I figure it’s about time for a cup of tea. Want to try my new blend? I’ve added a touch of lemon balm to some chamomile. I think it’s one of my best attempts yet,” she added with a smile.

  Mary pushed herself up from the stoop. “Sure, I’ll try it. Old Mrs. Rabichek made good tea. Have you found her recipe for chocolate mint cookies? They were my favorites.”

  Edna winced. “I think Albert ground my first batch up in the garbage disposal last week. He thought they were awful. Guess I overdid the mint, but it didn’t smell that strong.” As Edna picked up her tools, Mary folded the painter’s ladder. “Want this in the house?” At Edna’s nod, Mary preceded her hostess around to the back door.

  Hurrying after, taking two steps for each of her neighbor’s one, Edna hoped Mary liked visiting her as much as she seemed to have enjoyed “Old Mrs. Rabichek.” She’d never heard Mary refer to the woman any differently and it made her wonder if she’d eventually become “Old Mrs. Davies.” At any rate, Mary was a better sport than Albert when it came to trying her cooking experiments.

  From the patio, the two women entered the house through the mudroom, where Mary left the ladder in a small storage closet. In the kitchen, Edna put the kettle on and arranged homemade cinnamon cookies on a plate while directing Mary to the cups, napkins and a tray. Opening the refrigerator and spotting two tightly lidded canning jars, she looked over her shoulder at her guest. “It’s such a warm day, would you rather have iced tea? I’ve been experimenting with sassafras, and there’s some of my orange and clove mix left.” She held up one of the jars.

  Mary shook her head as she grabbed a few paper napkins from the wooden holder on the kitchen table. “Thanks, but I like it hot.”

  “You got it.” Edna herself preferred hot tea, but Albert seemed to enjoy it iced, and she also kept it on hand for company. When the kettle whistled, she poured boiling water over an herbal mixture in a white porcelain pot, and the two women carried their refreshments back out to the flagstone patio.

  Set in a protected corner, the terrace felt pleasant on this almost-perfect Indian summer day as they sat at a round metal table with its frosted glass top. Edna had just reached for the teapot when Benjamin careened around the corner of the house, followed closely by a black Labrador Retriever and a small boy. The cat flew beneath the table and on toward the back of the house as the dog scampered around the furniture, losing valuable time before dashing after him. The boy skidded to a stop at the sight of the women, and his eyes grew wide. He spun around, about to run back the way he’d come, when a tall, dark-haired man rounded the corner. Tom Greene caught himself before he fell headlong over his grandson.

  Recovered from their initial surprise, the women burst into laughter. Tom looked self-conscious before he, too, began to laugh. “Hello, ladies,” he finally managed to say. “Hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

  Tom was a local farmer who worked for his cousin’s business as a handyman when he wasn’t planting or baling or plowing. He had been doing odd jobs around the Davies’ house ever since they’d moved in. The young boy with him was Danny, his daughter Nancy’s child.

  Twice a month, Nancy Alcott drove down from Cranston with her five-year-old to spend the weekend. The routine had begun shortly before Tom’s wife Jenny died of cancer two years ago. During these weekends, Tom and Danny were inseparable while Nancy spent time with old school friends.

  “Come join us. We were about to have tea,” Edna called to him.

  Tom held up a hand like a policeman stopping traffic. “Please, don’t bother. I really didn’t mean to interrupt your morning, but I was passing by and thought I’d hang those window screens I fixed for you.”

  “Tookee?” Danny tugged his grandfather’s hand. “Tookee, Gampa?”

  “Mind your manners, Danny-boy.” Tom spoke louder and enunciated more clearly when he addressed his grandson. “First, can you say hello to Mrs. Davies and Miss Osbourne?”

  The boy lowered his head as he said, “Lo, Mif Davy. Lo, Mif Aaboo.”

  “Hello, Danny.”

  “Hiya, Danny.” They chimed back in unison.

  Edna tried not to show her concern, but the boy’s difficulty with speech bothered her. Certainly, his family can help him more with his diction, she thought, holding the plate down for Danny to take a cookie. He leaned against Edna’s leg while he nibbled the treat, and she noticed his small hearing aid, not for the first time.

  “Thanks,” Tom said, taking a cookie for himself. “I’ll go install the screens, and we’ll be out of your hair. Where’s Doc? He might want to inspect them.”

  “I’m sure he would if he were here,” Edna said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “but he left for Chicago this morning. Are you sure you won’t sit with us for a minute? I’ve some of my sassafras blend you like.”

  He hesitated. It might have been the offer of his favorite iced tea or Edna’s homemade cookies that persuaded him. “Well, maybe just for a minute. Danny, why don’t you go find Hank and make sure Benjamin is okay?”

  As the boy ran off, Edna stood, patting the chair beside her. “Sit down, Tom. It’ll just take me a minute to get the pitcher.” Hurrying toward the back door, she heard Mary say, “Did you hear about Aleda?”

  In the kitchen, Edna removed the canning jars from the refrigerator and held them up to see how much was in each. Deciding there wasn’t enough spicy orange left to save, but not wanting to waste it, she poured it with the sassafras into a crockery pitcher and filled a plastic tumbler with ice, returning to the patio just in time to hear Tom say, “Want to ride over with me?”

  Edna nearly dropped the pitcher when Mary leaped from her chair as if shot from a cannon.

  “Gotta go.” Without further explanation, she scurried off across the lawn toward her own house.

  Edna stared after her, momentarily speechless.

  “That’s Mary for you.” Tom gave a short laugh. “Always been eccentric. Never know when she’ll run off like a scared rabbit for no reason a’tall.” He reached for another cookie. “You
’ll get used to it.”

  Edna looked at him curiously, almost certain it was what Tom had said that scared Mary off. What had they

  been talking about?

  Two

  “Sounds like you know Mary pretty well.” Edna eyed Tom as she poured his tea. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t spend her morning gossiping, but she was feeling a sense of loneliness with Albert gone for the next several days, and she enjoyed company. Besides, she was intrigued by her neighbor, and Tom might be able to tell her something about Mary.

  He lifted his baseball cap by the bill and scratched the top of his head before settling the red hat back on his salt-and-pepper curls. “Guess I know her ‘bout as well as anyone. She was in my wife’s class back in high school. Three years behind me.”

  Edna thought she saw a flash of pain in Tom’s eyes when he mentioned his wife. After two years, he still wore his wedding ring and seemed to grieve as deeply as ever. She hastily moved the conversation back to Mary. “I get the impression she wasn’t particularly close to her parents.”

  “They were in their forties when she came along. I think she surprised them.” He took the plastic tumbler from Edna’s hand with a nod of thanks. After taking a large gulp, he frowned slightly, paused, and studied the glass in his hand for a second or two, seeming to savor the flavor before swallowing. Then, setting the glass on the table with a small nod and a smile, he slouched back in his chair and continued his narrative.

  “The Osbournes were used to traveling a lot, and having a baby didn’t change them much. They got a relative to come stay with them, kind of a nanny to Mary. Miss Hattie, a second or third cousin of the old man, I think.” He smiled and shook his head—a bit sadly, Edna thought. “Seems like Miss Hattie was as much at sea as Mary’s parents when it came to raising a child.”

  “What about pals? Did she have a close friend? Young girls usually pair up with a best buddy. You know, someone to share secrets with.” A picture came to mind of Edna’s own best friend when she’d been a teenager. “Who was Mary’s confidante?”

  He frowned. “She and my wife, Jenny … well, this was before Jenny was my wife, of course, but they were pretty friendly. Don’t remember Mary hangin’ out with anyone in particular or even datin’, for that matter. Seems her parents had her believin’ anyone gettin’ too friendly would only be after her money.” He set his glass on the table and leaned back in the wrought iron chair. “Old Mr. Osbourne had a stroke ‘bout the time Mary graduated from high school. Kept him bedridden for most of a year. Seemed to age him and his wife. Guess once they stopped movin’, they started witherin’, kinda like plants without sunshine.” He leaned forward to take another cinnamon cookie and popped it into his mouth. Edna waited for him to continue.

  “Miss Hattie, Mrs. Osbourne and Mary. They all waited on the old man. I think Mrs. Osbourne expected him to recover fully. He lived on about twenty years but only ever got well enough to move from his bed to a wheelchair. When he died, his wife collapsed with grief. Word was she wouldn’t let Mary out of her sight. By that time, Miss Hattie wasn’t too well herself, and Mary was pushin’ forty. Mrs. Osbourne died within a year of her husband, but Miss Hattie lived another ten, twelve years. She passed on about four years ago.”

  Edna looked at the brown-shingled house next door. Set back from the road and a good two hundred yards from the Davies’ property, the three-story mansion stood among huge oaks and pine trees. Close to the building, thick lilac bushes reached up almost to the middle of the second story. Edna had not been inside the old house, but she imagined it to be cold and gloomy with so much foliage hiding it from the sun.

  “So she never really had a life of her own,” Edna said almost to herself. “You’d think she’d be lonely, rambling around that big place all by herself. Why doesn’t she sell it?”

  Tom looked surprised at the question. “It’s her home. Been in her family for generations. Besides, where would she go?” he asked, seeming to expect no answer. As he spoke, he reached into a pocket of his jeans and pulled out a resealable plastic bag filled with what looked like brightly colored gimp, beads and a small disposable lighter.

  “What’s that?”

  He laughed, sounding a little embarrassed. “Something to keep my hands busy. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. What are you making?”

  “Bracelets and anklets. I sell ‘em down at Sting Ray’s.”

  “What’s Sting Ray’s?”

  “It’s a beer joint. Place where the college kids hang out. Not much more than a shack, really, but it’s right down on the beach. I’m finishing these up and will drop ‘em off this afternoon. They’re a big hit with the frat guys, for some reason. They give ‘em to their girlfriends.” He laughed again, this time sounding more amused.

  Edna remembered fashioning lanyards out of the same material when she had been a Girl Scout many years ago. It was a pleasant memory. At her prompting, Tom explained how he made the colorful jewelry, starting with a tiny loop, braiding the gimp to the desired length, then attaching a painted bead to finish it off and form a nice little clasp with the loop. Burning the ends of the cord with the lighter served to secure the bead and prevented the braid from unraveling.

  She clapped her hands in delight. “Do you make much money at this?”

  He gave a self-conscious snort. “Nah. I’m not doing it to get rich. It’s something I started when Jenny was after me to give up smoking. It probably brings in about what I’d be spending on cigarettes each week. I save it in a jar, and whenever Danny wants something special, we check the cash to see if we can afford it.”

  Edna leaned forward to watch as Tom took a psychedelic orange and black bracelet from his baggie, chose a neon green bead, and threaded it onto the unfinished end. When he picked up the disposable lighter, he looked behind him as if expecting to see someone standing there. “Where’s Hank?”

  Mystified, Edna glanced around. “I don’t see him.”

  Tom flicked the lighter, but no flame appeared. He flicked it again with no success. As he turned it upside down and shook it, Hank came running from behind the house and leaped up to put his front paws on Tom’s forearm.

  Quickly, Edna moved her chair out of the way as Tom, fending off his dog with one arm, laughingly explained. “Jenny taught him this. It was another way to get me to give up smoking. Every time he hears the lighter, he jumps for it, tries to grab it right out of my hand. Down, Hank. Behave now.”

  Eventually, Tom got the dog to quiet down only by putting the lighter back into his pocket, out of sight. Then, sending Hank off to find Danny, he sighed. “I should have known better. That dog can probably hear a pin drop a mile away.” He reached for his glass. After taking a long drink, he said, “With Doc gone, you gonna be okay here by yourself?”

  Slightly annoyed that Tom might be thinking she couldn’t manage on her own, Edna asked, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Haven’t you heard about the break-ins around town? I don’t mean to scare you, but you know what they say about being forewarned …”

  “I read in the paper about a burglary at the Miller place and that the police think it’s linked to the one at the Robinson’s a couple weeks ago.” She frowned, searching her memory. “According to my cleaning woman, the Millers were golfing in Bermuda, and the Robinsons were at their summer home on Cape Cod at the times their houses were broken into. Seems like only empty places are being targeted. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  He shrugged. “If anyone’s heard that your husband’s away, they might think you went with him. With those trees hiding the house from the road …” His eyebrows went up. “Can’t always tell if someone’s home, you know.”

  She laughed, but he was scaring her. “That’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you think? Of course people are going to know if I’m here. I’ve heard that burglars always scout a place out first. Certainly, they’d know if I was home or not.” She didn’t know if she was trying to convince him or herself.

  Tom
had a nice, almost flirty smile that deepened the creases in his weathered cheeks. “At any rate, I’ll drive by when I can, just to make sure you’re all right.”

  Edna felt a blush come to her cheeks. Not knowing what to say, she leaned forward to pick up the pitcher and offered him more tea.

  His smile broadened, and his eyes twinkled. Sometimes she wondered if he enjoyed making her squirm. “Thanks, but I should find my grandson and get to work.”

  The sun felt warm on her back, and she was enjoying the visit, so ignoring his intentions, she said, “Seems like Nancy’s down early this week. Doesn’t she usually arrive on Saturday?”

  Tom’s large hands dropped to his knees as if they’d suddenly become very heavy, and he stared silently at the ground for a few minutes, the bill of his red cap hiding his expression. Then, as if deciding to take Edna into his confidence, he looked up. “Between you, me and the table here, she’s left her husband.” Worry and concern darkened his eyes. “She was too young to get married in the first place. I told Jen that, but she said we’d make things worse if Nancy thought we were against the marriage.” He sighed. “Now she has Danny. What’s this gonna do to him?”

  “It will be very difficult being a single parent with a hearing-impaired child.” Edna spoke her thoughts aloud.

  Tom lifted his cap and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she was beginning to recognize as a sign that he was either ill at ease or thinking. “Truth be told, Edna, I don’t think she spends enough time with Danny. Nancy was only eighteen when he was born, barely out of high school. Seems like she’s always on the phone to her friends instead of playing with him. His father’s no better. Walt is almost never home, if I’m to believe my daughter. When he is, Danny’s already in bed.”

  Edna shook her head in sympathy. “Has Nancy enrolled him in kindergarten this year? Perhaps he’ll get some attention at school.”