Queen Anne's Lace Page 22

  “Mrs. Hunt had been ill since last night, I’m told,” the doctor said. “But she’d had gastric problems earlier in the year, and that’s what she thought it was at first. Nausea, vomiting, the usual abdominal pain. This morning she experienced cardiac symptoms. And then convulsions, seizures, coma.” He shook his head. “All very typical, I’m afraid. Even if I’d been called earlier, I couldn’t have done much to help. Of course, under the circumstances, there’ll be an autopsy. We’ll know more when that’s done.” There was a flicker of lightning to the east.

  Convulsions, seizures, coma. Annie couldn’t quite make sense of what the doctor was saying, but she managed to gasp, “Typical . . . of what?”

  “Why, of hemlock poisoning,” the doctor said, over the growl of thunder. “I’ve seen it before, you know. Probably every doctor in this country has seen it, one time or another. But I didn’t have to guess. There was the evidence, right there in the drawer of Mrs. Hunt’s bedside table. An envelope with some of the seeds still in it. Both seeds. All I had to do was look at them and I knew what had happened.”

  “Both . . . seeds?” Annie whispered, trying to understand.

  “Yes, both. But after all these years, I should have thought Mrs. Crow would be more careful.” He was still frowning at Annie. “You’re pale. Before you take little Caroline, I advise you to go home and pour yourself a stiff drink. You look like you can use it.” He looked up at the sky as if he were surprised. “Why, bless me, I believe it’s going to rain.”

  “Wait, please,” Annie said, putting out her hand. “I don’t understand. Hemlock poisoning? How is that possible? And what does Mrs. Crow have to do with it?”

  The doctor climbed into the buggy and picked up the reins. “Because Mrs. Crow is the one who supplies the local ladies with wild carrot seeds—as a contraceptive, you know.” He frowned. “The envelope in Mrs. Hunt’s drawer had Mrs. Crow’s name on it. The old lady must have somehow gathered poison hemlock seeds by mistake. They look quite similar to the untrained eye, although if you know what you’re doing, it’s not hard to tell the two apart. Mrs. Crow is quite experienced. She should not have confused the plants.”

  “Wild carrot?” Annie whispered. And then, suddenly, she understood. She had heard the tales: poison hemlock was sometimes mistaken for wild carrot, with fatal results. But it was usually the leaves and the roots that people ate. In fact, she had read of it not long before, in the Austin Weekly Statesman. A lady in East Texas had found wild hemlock growing in her yard and served up the frilly green leaves as a salad. Her error had killed her, and her husband had barely survived.

  “Yes, wild carrot.” Dr. Grogan lifted the reins. “I need to fetch Sheriff Atkins. And then we’ll go see Mrs. Crow.” He frowned darkly. “I really would not have thought that the old lady could be so careless. Perhaps she needs new spectacles.”

  “Please wait!” Annie cried breathlessly. “It wasn’t Mrs. Crow’s mistake, Dr. Grogan! She didn’t give Delia those seeds. She didn’t have any! Delia sent—”

  But her words were lost in a sharp crack of lightning, followed by a sudden loud thunderclap. Startled, Gracie jerked and began to move forward. The doctor raised his voice. “You be sure and get that little girl, Mrs. Duncan. I don’t think her father is in any shape to handle the child tonight.”

  As the wind whipped her hair and her skirts, Annie stood watching the old man drive away, her heart thudding hard in her chest. She was thinking that she knew two things with certainty. First, that Mrs. Crow had not given Delia the seeds that killed her. And second, that Delia had sent her hired girl on an errand to Purley’s, where the wild carrots—and the wild hemlock—were growing in the same empty lot.

  And there was a third thing, although Annie shuddered when she thought of it. Mr. Simpson had been in Pecan Springs for several days. Men often boasted about their conquests, especially when they had too much to drink. What if he had inadvertently let it slip in one of the many saloons in Pecan Springs that he had come to town to see Delia Hunt? What if he had bragged that they were engaged in a dalliance? Hearing that, would people think that Adam—

  The wind was suddenly cold and the rain began to pelt down. As Annie ran for the shelter of the house, a swirl of questions whirled like dry leaves through her mind.

  What if word got around that Simpson and Adam’s wife had been having an affair? Wouldn’t they believe that Adam was jealous? Would they whisper that jealousy was a powerful motive for murder?

  And that those fatal seeds were the perfect murder weapon?

  * * *

  • • •

  WHEN the doctor and Sheriff Atkins drove up in front of Mrs. Crow’s a half hour later, Annie was standing beneath her umbrella, waiting for them. The rain had diminished to a fine drizzle, and by this time, she had recovered her breath and was filled with a steely determination. She was going to tell them what she knew. And they were going to listen—before they accused Mrs. Crow, or Adam, of poisoning Delia Hunt.

  And listen they did, perhaps persuaded by the look on Annie’s face and the combative set to her shoulders. Doctor Grogan and the sheriff, a man in his late forties, with a badge pinned to his vest and a gun on his hip, stepped down from the doctor’s buggy and heard her out. It took Annie only a few minutes to relate what Greta had told her about finding the pecan tree behind Purley’s, where the wild carrot and the poison hemlock were said to grow in the same vacant lot.

  At the end, she said, “I think this was a terrible accident. I believe Mrs. Hunt sent Greta to get those seeds. And I doubt if she cautioned Greta about those plants—or that if she did, Greta could tell them apart. Apparently even experienced people can be fooled.”

  The sheriff considered this for a moment. “Thank you, Mrs. Duncan. That casts a somewhat different light on the matter.” He turned to the doctor, who was tying up his horse. “Agree, Grogan?”

  “It’s entirely possible,” the doctor said. “I would be frankly relieved to discover that Mrs. Crow isn’t responsible for Mrs. Hunt’s death. But let’s hear what she has to say before we talk to the hired girl.”

  “Yes, the girl.” The sheriff tipped up the brim of his Stetson. “What did you say her name was, Mrs. Duncan?”

  “Greta is the only name I know,” Annie said.

  “Greta Higgens,” the doctor said. “Tom Higgens’ oldest daughter. Lives with her mother on the other side of the tracks.” He drew his brows together. “I did think it was a bit odd that she didn’t send for me right away when Mrs. Hunt began having convulsions. Not that I could have done the poor lady much good,” he added thoughtfully. “But I wondered why she delayed. The girl, I mean.”

  Annie took a deep breath. Yes, Greta could have accidentally confused the two plants. But what if it wasn’t an accident? What if she had done it deliberately? She hated the thought, but Delia was dead and a little girl was left without a mother. Out of fairness, the whole story had to be told, no matter how unpleasant it was.

  “There’s something else,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I think Greta found Mrs. Hunt to be a demanding mistress. I sometimes heard her—Mrs. Hunt, that is—voicing her displeasure with the girl’s work. Other neighbors might have heard it, too,” she said, not wanting to be the only one raising the issue.

  “I see.” The sheriff gave her a searching look. “Were there any physical blows that you know of?”

  “It’s possible,” Annie said. By now, she was feeling quite wretched. What if poor Greta was blameless, and she was casting suspicion on an innocent young woman? “I saw a fresh bruise on her face once. I didn’t ask her what caused it.”

  The sheriff tipped his hat. “Thank you, Mrs. Duncan. You’ve been helpful. We’ll talk to the girl as soon as we’ve heard what Mrs. Crow has to say.”

  “You’re welcome,” Annie said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if Caroline will come home with me for
supper, and spend the night.”

  The doctor nodded, pleased. “You do that, Mrs. Duncan. I’ll be performing the autopsy in the morning, so the undertaker’s helpers will come for Mrs. Hunt’s body shortly. It would be good if the child wasn’t there to see her mother being taken away.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AS it turned out, Annie made supper for both Caroline and Adam—gingerbread pancakes, shaped like gingerbread men, because that’s what the little girl asked for. Caroline was pale and spent from crying. But she brightened up over supper and was pleased when her father sat down in Annie’s rocking chair, took her in his lap, and told her a story about his growing-up years out on Limekiln Road, just west of Pecan Springs. When she fell asleep, he kissed her and put her down in a little bed of soft quilts that Annie made on the floor, next to her own bed.

  Afterward, Adam came into the kitchen, and Annie poured him a cup of strong coffee. “Please, sit down,” she said. With Caroline there, they hadn’t had a chance to talk at supper and there were things she needed to know.

  He pulled out a chair. “I can’t stay long. I have to go to the depot and telegraph Delia’s sister. It’s going to be a terrible shock to her. I’m sure she’ll want to help arrange the . . .” His voice faltered. “The funeral.” His face was drawn and his eyes seemed sunken in his face. “I’m going to stop at the hotel, too.”

  Annie stared at him. “Mr. Simpson isn’t still in town, is he?”

  “I don’t think so. But there should be an address for him in the hotel register. I think he ought to know that Delia has died.” He spoke somberly. “Their relationship was more than just friendly, Annie.”

  Annie stared at him. “How can you know? Did Delia tell you so?”

  “I have the letter he wrote to her the day he brought the chocolates.” Adam clasped his hands around his coffee cup. “Greta said she found it in a wastebasket, although I’m sure she stole it.” He looked away. “She gave it to me.”

  “Gave it to you?” Annie bit her lip, thinking that Greta must have hated her mistress even more than she had guessed. “What does it say?”

  “Enough so that I can piece together the rest of the story. They were seeing each other regularly whenever Delia went to Galveston. They had obviously been intimate for some time. What’s more, Delia’s sister knew it, and helped Simpson.” He shook his head. “Clarissa never thought I was good enough for Delia.”

  “Intimate!” Annie stared at him, her eyes wide. But she couldn’t blame Delia and Mr. Simpson for doing the same thing that she and Adam had done. Perhaps they had been deeply in love—and now Delia was dead. What would Mr. Simpson say when he got the news? How would he feel?

  She looked back down at her cup. “Did Dr. Grogan tell you how Delia died?”

  Adam nodded. “Poison hemlock seeds. The doctor thinks Mrs. Crow gave them to her accidentally, instead of wild carrot. He blames the old lady for carelessness.” His eyes met hers. “Delia wasn’t using those seeds on my account, I promise you, Annie. But of course, I couldn’t tell that to the doctor. I’m sure he assumes that Delia and I were sleeping together. I didn’t want him to think that she might be—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Everything is all mixed up. It’s a mess.”

  There were so many things that needed to be said that Annie almost didn’t know where to start. She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Crow had nothing to do with it, Adam. She didn’t have any seeds, remember? She told Delia where to find them, in the empty lot behind Purley’s. Delia sent Greta to Purley’s for ribbons, and I think she ordered her to gather the seeds while she was there.” Quickly, she reported her over-the-hedge conversation with Greta, ending with, “Mrs. Crow told me that wild hemlock was growing in that area as well, and warned me to be careful. She said she told Delia the same thing. But Delia may not have cautioned Greta, or Greta may not have known how to tell the difference between the two plants. She might have made a mistake.”

  And then Adam asked the same question Annie had asked herself. “But what if it wasn’t an accident? What if she did it on purpose?”

  There was a long silence. The kerosene lamp over the kitchen table burned with a steady flame. In the distance, Annie heard the mournful wail of the steam whistle as the railroad train neared the depot on its late-night run south to San Antonio.

  “I’ve thought about that, too.” Annie bit her lip. “I know that Delia wasn’t very kind to her. I once saw a bruise on the girl’s face after an especially loud exchange.”

  “Delia outright abused her,” Adam said flatly. He rubbed his hand along his jaw. After a moment, he added, “If Greta mixed up those seeds deliberately, she might have had another motive.”

  “Another motive?”

  Adam nodded. “If my wife was cruel to her when I was around, I stepped in. Once, I kept Delia from slapping her.” He slid Annie a guilty look. “Greta misinterpreted that. She thought I had a more personal reason. That I . . . that I liked her. More than that, maybe.”

  With a start, Annie remembered the girl’s bright eyes and eager expression when she talked about Adam. “Did she tell you that? How do you know?”

  “She made her feelings clear the night she gave me the letter. She was . . . well, seductive is the only word I can think of. I was caught off guard. I wanted to get that letter away from her because I couldn’t be sure how she might use it. I didn’t want to reject her outright and send her away in a huff. So I . . . well, I played along.” He gave Annie a straight, hard look. “But I was only trying to make Delia lay off the girl, Annie—I swear it. I have no romantic feelings toward Greta. Anything else is a product of her imagination.”

  “I believe you,” Annie assured him. “I told both the doctor and the sheriff that Mrs. Crow had nothing to do with it, and that Delia may have sent Greta to collect the seeds. I also told them that Greta wasn’t happy with the way Delia was treating her.” She took a breath. “You need to tell the sheriff that Greta imagined that you were attracted to her, Adam. That could be another reason for her doing it.”

  “No!” Adam shook his head firmly. “If I tell him that, I’ll have to tell him about the letter Greta gave me—and what’s in it. Don’t you see how complicated this is, Annie? If the sheriff decides that my wife was murdered, Greta isn’t the only one who will be under suspicion.”

  “Don’t, Adam.” Annie put her hands over her ears. “Please, please don’t.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes on hers. “I had an opportunity, too, you know. My store is next door to Purley’s. I could simply step out my back door, gather some of those poison hemlock seeds, and put them in the envelope in the drawer of the table beside Delia’s bed. The letter from Simpson—and the fact that I have it—gives me plenty of reason to poison my wife.”

  “I don’t see how,” Annie protested helplessly. “You didn’t know anything about the hemlock seeds—about how Delia died, I mean—until the doctor told you.”

  “That’s only my say-so,” Adam said. “I could just as easily be lying.” His voice was flat, expressionless. “What’s more, our relationship may come out. Yours and mine. The other night in the stable, Greta gave me to understand that she knows about us—at least, that she knows I’d been coming to see you. She wasn’t going to say anything to Delia because you’ve been a friend to her. But if she’s pushed, maybe she’ll change her mind. If she tells them about Simpson’s letter . . .” He shoved his chair back and stood up. “I have to go to the telegraph office, Annie. Clarissa needs to know what’s happened. I’m sure she’ll get on the first train out of Galveston tomorrow.”

  Annie stood, too, and went to the kitchen door with him. “I’ll be glad to keep Caroline here, Adam. She’s no bother at all, and she likes to play at making lace with the girls in the workroom.” She managed a smile. “Actually, she’s quite good. Her little fingers are nimble, and she understands the patterns.”

 
; “Could you?” He sounded relieved. “That would be a big help. I’m going to give Greta a couple of weeks’ salary and let her go. Now that I’m alone in the house, it’s not a good idea to have her around.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “The next few weeks are going to be hell, Annie. But we’ll come through it somehow, I promise you. Don’t give up heart.”

  He bent and kissed her quickly and left.

  * * *

  • • •

  ADAM thought he was prepared for what was to come, but he could not have been more wrong.

  Caroline was staying with Annie, and Adam had closed his tack and feed store until after Delia’s funeral. Clarissa was to arrive on the evening train, and he would meet her at the station. He had already made the necessary arrangements with Lloyd Butler, the local undertaker, and Reverend Childers, the pastor at the Congregational church Delia had sometimes attended. But the funeral couldn’t take place until Dr. Grogan completed the autopsy and released Delia’s body for burial. And he still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Simpson. The man seemed to have disappeared.

  Burial. Adam still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. He and Delia had not made each other happy in recent years, but she was still his wife, and the thought that he was about to bury a beautiful young woman whom he had once loved filled him with a deep, dark ache that seemed to invade his very bones. Why had this happened? How had it happened?

  This afternoon, he was wandering aimlessly around the house, looking sadly at Delia’s decorative touches—doilies, embroidered pillows, pictures on the walls—remembering the happy times of their marriage, and regretting his many shortcomings as a husband. Perhaps, if he had paid her the attention she needed, she wouldn’t have fallen for Simpson. If he had loved her more, spent more time with—