First order of business was getting rid of those tea stains on the rug, if she could. Salt and club soda.
She picked up the cluster of dead ants with a disgusted snarl.
That's when Allie Griffin's mind went to the mundane detail again. Blind she was to the stains on the rug, which, if she really wanted to abstain from self-delusion, were most likely permanent. Now she was one hundred and fifty percent focused on that dime-sized cluster of dead ants. Sugar ants. Dead sugar ants.
No one had touched the apothecary sugar bowl that day.
In addition to Tori Cardinal bringing her own tea leaves and infuser, did she bring her own sugar as well?
She had just finished cleaning the stain when her doorbell rang.
Detective Tomlin was standing on her doorstep, holding up a badge. Suppressing exasperation, she ushered him in.
Her mother used to say that you know you're getting older when the cops start looking younger. Such was not the case with Detective Harry Tomlin. Standing in her house, in plain clothes, the detective displayed his years freely in the form of a rapidly receding hairline and a gut that wanted nothing to do with the shirt that held it hostage. He had steely eyes that never seemed to move within their sockets; instead, the detective pivoted his head in the direction he wished to look, when he wanted to look. He was also shorter than she remembered, and he reminded Allie of her uncle when she first noticed that he'd gotten older and smaller.
"Ms. Griffin, living in this town, I'm sure you’re no stranger to gossip."
"I guess not." He was beginning to irritate her already. Was she no stranger to gossip because she was a woman? She left that thought behind for the moment.
"Well, people are talking about the recent event here as a murder. We don't like it when private citizens do that."
"You don't?"
"No we don't, ma'am. It makes our job tough." Walk, swivel, walk, swivel.
"I can imagine it must. Can I get you something?"
He stopped and turned around. "There's truth in the gossip. We have reason to believe Tori Cardinal's death was a homicide."
Allie Griffin was innocent. So why was her stomach filling with hot flutters?
"Ok."
"The coroner found a lethal dose of cyanide in her bloodstream."
"Ok."
"Death occurred approximately five minutes after the initial ingestion."
Allie took a breath, pursed her lips and exhaled through her nose. "And so you're here to conduct a thorough search."
"That's right, ma'am. My subordinate is on his way with a court order. We'd also like you to come down and answer some questions."
"I'm a suspect?"
"No ma'am. No one is." Walk, swivel, walk.
"You're not searching now, Detective, right? You couldn't possibly be searching now, could you? Without a court order I mean."
His chest shook once with a condescending chuckle. "Ms. Griffin, do you keep a diary or a journal?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
"Is there anything in there that might lead us to think you had a motive for killing Ms. Cardinal?"
"You're kidding me, right?"
"Then you have no cause for worry."
"I see. And so it would be evidence of what now?"
"You're getting awfully defensive."
"Oh, gee, over my private property that you have no right to be handling? I guess I am. Imagine that."
"Don't get snippy with me, sweetie. We do have a right."
"Not yet."
"We will have a right in five minutes. Are you afraid we might find out who your secret crush is? Because I won't tell anyone. Hand to God."
"No, Detective. I'm just saying that what you have here is a raven and a writing desk."
His face twisted up.
"It's from
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
. That's a book. We were reading it for our book club. Ever read it?"
"I don’t have time for this." Swivel, walk.
"I think you will, Detective. In the story, the Mad Hatter asks Alice, 'How is a raven like a writing desk?' and of course she can't answer, and neither can he, because there is no answer."
Swivel.
Allie continued. This time getting right in the surly detective's face. "But now that didn't stop Lewis Carroll's fans from badgering him for an answer. So he was forced to make one up. Being Lewis Carroll, it was a clever answer, but it was still made up after the fact."
Tomlin stared. "Is it my turn to talk yet?"
"Almost. Now, here we have things that don’t add up, and so we have to be extra careful to avoid crafting our answers to suit the facts, no matter how clever they may be, rather than letting the facts provide their answers to us. Understand? That's all I'm saying, Detective. It has nothing to do with my secret crush, and everything to do with protecting personal privacy and avoiding having you embarrass yourself with sloppy habits in criminal detection. Now, if you'll excuse me, your crack staff is about to get fingerprint powder all over my sugar bowl."
At this, two uniformed men approached the door and knocked. One of them was Sgt. Beauchenne. He tipped his hat to Allie. "I'm sorry, Ms. Griffin, but it's my duty to inform you that we have a warrant to search the premises."
"You want me down at the station?"
Beauchenne looked at Tomlin. Swivel.
"I'll take you down there right now. Just a few questions to fill in some blank spaces. No need to worry."
"My cat will need her shot in two hours. Can I get back in two hours?"
"It'll take as long as it takes," yelled Tomlin from the kitchen.
She thought about June Brody pacing the library stacks.
And down the rabbit hole she went.
– I'm not being detained here am I?
– No ma'am, you're free to go whenever you want. You just can't go home yet until they're through at your house. Shouldn’t be long.
– Am I going to need a lawyer?
– You're welcome to retain a lawyer if you like, but I can tell you that you do not need the services of a lawyer at this time.
– But I will.
– That's not for me to say.
– Sergeant?
– Yes ma'am.
– My cat needs her insulin.
– Very well, ma'am. The team should be finishing up soon.
– They're touching all my stuff, aren't they?
– I'm afraid so.
– And they'll let me know if they take anything, right? Or if I'm under suspicion or arrest? I mean, I'd know by now, right?
– Ma'am, you have nothing to worry about at this time. By the time they're finished, you'll be free to return to your house. Now, you still haven’t told me what you think of this room.
– You asked me that already and I asked you what it had to do with anything.
– I just want to know what you think. I designed it myself.
– Really?
– Those fish there, the two blue ones, they're called Tang fish. They're the most expensive fish in that tank. We feed them the good stuff. The others get hash.
– They’re pretty.
– So?
– So, what?
– What do you think of the room?
– I like this room, sergeant. I like it very much.
– It's not what you expected, right?
– Definitely not. I'll give you that. I pictured one of those cement bunker types like the one Hitler probably killed himself in.
– Well, I want you to feel at ease, Ms. Griffin, which is why I brought you in here.
– Allie, please. And I appreciate that.
– This is not an interrogation.
– I know.
– So do you have anything to add about the case?
– Mmm, no.
– Alrighty, I think we’re about done. I just want to check one more thing...hold on, I have it in my notes. It's a sign you're getting old. I used to have a photographic memory. Now the photographs are yellow and blurry. Hang on...here it is. Ah yes. Witnesses say they saw Ms. Cardinal fetch a tea apparatus of some sort...
– An infuser.
– From her bag. And she brought this and her cup into your kitchen where you were.
– That's correct.
– Did you find that odd that she did that?
– No, I found it annoying.
– Tell me about the tea she brought.
– She said it was Fujian Jasmine. To be honest with you, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was really Lipton's Decaf.
– Why do you say that?
– Because I don’t think it had to do with what kind of tea she wanted. I think it was just her way of exerting a little power and control over me.
– Why would she feel the need to do that?
– Because it's her way. She has to be in control of the room wherever she goes.
– Mm hmm. Ok. Uh, it looks as though they're finished at your place. Would you do us a big favor and come to us with any questions or concerns you might have regarding this case?
– I will.
– It was a pleasure talking with you, Ms. Griffin. Your husband was a bigwig around here, wasn't he?
– He was chief of thoracic surgery at Fletcher Allen.
– Outstanding. My nephew had his gall bladder taken out there.
– Outstanding.
– Well, you have a wonderful evening, Ms. Griffin.
– Allie, please.
– Allie.
– You have a good evening as well, sergeant.
– Frank.
– Frank.
#
The Metzger twins, sharing a mutual interest in fundraising, had founded Verdenier First, Vermont's most successful not-for-profit organization, in 2005.
Sitting in the sisters' kitchen, Allie realized that was where their similarities ended.
Like many sets of twins, they'd evolved radically opposing personalities over the course of their lives. Allie realized she'd never really sat down and gotten to know either of them. Here it was plainly obvious how different they were. Jill was slightly more in control, a businesswoman, and somewhat calculating in her methods. Jenny, on the other hand, was the people person, the face of the company. It made sense. One of the two had to be socially engaging in order to be so successful. You don’t get people to give up their gold by being off-putting.
A large round table made from a single piece of found wood sat sternly in place before a panoramic picture window that looked out on acres of woods behind their house. The Metzgers had lived alone, together, for twenty years now, Jill on one end of the house and Jenny on the other. The kitchen, here in the dead center of the place, served as a sort of neutral zone separating the two distinct and, in Allie's observation, conflicting styles of décor in the house.
Here the three sat, discussing plainly the town's business, the non-profit business, and this business of murder.
She kept her eyes on the quieter of the duo. Jill's eyes, magnified slightly by the thick lenses she wore, remained restless throughout the conversation and focused on odd details; a fault in the tabletop, a tiny wrinkle in her pants in need of a sudden smoothing-out, the burp of the coffee pot sitting on the huge marble-topped island that separated that gorgeous wooden table from the rest of the professionally-stocked kitchen, which gleamed from stainless steel appliances while being simultaneously muted by rustic wooden utensils.
"We had a barn cat," said Jenny, bringing over a large Mason jar filled with sugar to the table. "Daddy supposedly loved that cat. He always told us he did. I hated it. It was a mangy little beast. Anyway, one day I heard gunshots—"
"That's enough," said Jill. "She's always telling this story and telling it wrong."
"Daddy shot that cat. I know he did."
"You can’t prove it, Jennifer, now stop it."
"Stood there with a smoking gun in his hand and tried to tell us that some intruder had come and shot at it."
"There was no smoking gun. Anyway, you hated that cat."
"Just because I hated the cat doesn't mean it deserved to get shot. He was drinking something awful that day. I smelled it on his breath that day in the barn."
"You're creeping out our guest, Jennifer, now silence!"
Allie slurped her coffee loudly. Both girls turned to her.
"I'm sorry," she said, putting a napkin to her mouth.
"Try a cookie," said Jenny. "I made them myself."
"They're from a mix," corrected her sister.
"A mix, whatever. I still made them myself."
Allie took a cookie and bit into it, finding that she didn’t have enough saliva in her mouth to process the bite. This was nervous business, dealing with someone she suspected was the murderer of a woman in cold blood, and in her very own house. She washed the dry bite down with another slug of coffee while Jill picked up the Mason jar and brought it back into the kitchen, grabbing a small sugar bowl to bring to the table in its place.
Allie saw this opening in the conversation as her only chance before things got any more awkward than they already were. "I've been trying to understand what went on while I was out of the room," she said, fingering the ring handle of her coffee cup. "I don’t want this to sound like an investigation, but could either of you tell me what happened right before Tori fell down?"
It was Jill who spoke first. "I remember she got up, mumbled something, and she had her phone in her hand. She looked confused, incoherent." She shrugged. "And then she collapsed and knocked aside your table."
Allie stared at the woman for a moment. She'd heard about this technique that interviewers use, staying silent for a moment after someone finishes talking. She'd seen Diane Sawyer do it.
It worked, for Jill Metzger continued. "Tea went flying everywhere."
"Oh, there was tea everywhere," said Jenny. "That's what I remember. Like it was in slow motion. All that tea. We had a hand-loomed rug. Remember that one in the playroom that Daddy brought back from India? Jilly threw up all over it. When we were little, of course. And that was the end of that. We got such a beating for it. Neither one of us would tell. That's all I could think of when I saw that tea splatter everywhere. I thought, 'that rug can be thrown out now.’"
Jill nodded, apparently embarrassed by her sister.
"It was relatively easy to clean," said Allie. "Salt and club soda. Patience."
"Well, aren’t you the resourceful one?" said Jill, a half-smile attempting, and failing, to hide the irritation on her face.
Allie rose from her chair. "Ok, so she gets up like this. She's got the phone in her hand. Collapse. What was going on right before that?"
"Well," said Jill, "you went out of the room at that point I think."
"That's right. You'd asked me for some honey for the tea."
"Is that so? I guess I did. I don’t remember much about what happened before the girl...it was a terrible sight."
"I understand. Well then, I want to thank both of you."
"It was our pleasure," said Jenny. "You should come over more often."
On the way out, Allie employed the tactic she'd rehearsed a number of times in her house.
"Oh, there's just one more thing," she said, turning around slowly. She'd learned it from watching old episodes of
Columbo
on Netflix. She wasn't sure what it would accomplish. Catching them off-guard perhaps? "You said she mumbled something. Was it something about her lawyer by any chance?"
"Her lawyer?" said Jenny. "As a matter of fact, I think—"
"I heard 'liar,'" interrupted Jill. "At least that's what I thought it was. But who knows? I thought I heard her say something about a 'liar.' She
was
incoherent."
"Thank you both."
"Anytime," said Jenny. "Come again soon."
Jill said nothing.