“I don’t think I ever met her.”
“Pamela’ll be here for the funeral, if she can arrange it. Poor woman, the news ruined her vacation.”
“I can imagine.”
“That’s the reason why I’m here. Your aunt had a spare key to Jake’s house.”
“She did? I don’t remember seeing one on the inventory list?”
Louisa leant closer to me. “She and Jake kept a key for each other, in a safe place. We didn’t look inside her potting shed.”
“Right. Do you want me to do that now?”
“I can come back later.”
I did a quick headcount. Apart from Sarah and Noah, the number of visitors stood at four. Reina winked at me. She and Cosmo should be able to cope without me for a few minutes. “Let’s do it now.”
I threw on a coat and led Louisa through the hallway and to the patio door. The potting shed stood next to Aunt Violet’s herb and flower garden. She’d painted it a silvery green.
It took Louisa less than a minute to locate the key inside a toolbox. “Hooray,” she said. Then she frowned. “Did you do that?” She pointed at a few holes in a flower bed.
“No. Why?”
“That’s strange. I seem to remember your aunt grew her purple foxglove there.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything. I’m no gardener.”
Her face grew troubled. “The Latin name is digitalis.”
Chapter eighteen
It took a moment until the penny dropped. “The stuff that killed Jake?”
“Yes.”
“That can be a coincidence, right? Maybe the plants were dead.”
“Maybe.” She sounded as convincing as a telemarketer selling wonder-vitamins over the phone.
“And she can’t be the only one with foxglove in her garden.” I had no idea what upset me more, the idea that someone might have stolen poisonous plants from my aunt’s beloved back yard or that Louisa dared link her name to a murder.
Louisa weighed the key in her hand. “I have to mention this.”
“To whom?” I already knew the answer.
“The police. I happen to – be well acquainted with one of the detectives.”
I could almost hear the air quotes around the “well acquainted”. There was only one explanation for why she was acting this coy. “You’re the law and he’s the order?”
“What do you expect me to do?” she asked.
“How about, come inside with me? Don’t mention it to anyone but your detective.” I needed a chance to regroup with my sleuthing buddies. And to think, logically. Although deep down I was already certain that more bad things were coming.
In the library, Sarah and Noah waited for me to process the books I’d selected for the boy. At least the kid had a smile on his face as he cradled his books. “Thank you, Ms. Merriweather.”
“Call me Bex,” I said. “All my friends do.”
His eyebrows shot up in delight and he giggled. The cookie he’d eaten was supposed to help him deal with the physical and the emotional pain, and it seemed to work. Aunt Violet had cared about him a lot. It was easy to see why.
