“I checked her head,” I volunteered, opting to keep my distance from the body. It felt intrusive to insert myself into this situation with Hunter officially on the clock. “I couldn’t find any open wounds. She went down hard. I thought she tripped.
“Kurt was here. He must’ve seen something in her expression because he asked her if something was wrong before she dropped,” I continued, remembering. “That’s what had me go to her.”
“Could’ve been a stroke?” Hunter asked Dave.
“I’m not ruling that out, but there are other signs,” Dave said.
“What signs?”
“Well, for one, she was foaming at the mouth.”
“I would assume drool is possible with a stroke. I mean, I’m not a doctor, but I’ve seen stroke patients. Drool is sometimes a thing.”
Dave shook his head. “This is different. From the samples I’ve gathered, I’d say she ingested some sort of toxin. We’ll need the state lab to perform tests — maybe even the FBI lab, if they’re not too busy. I’d wager she was poisoned.”
My heart skipped. Even though it wasn’t my place to insert myself into the conversation, I couldn’t halt myself. “Who would want to poison Martha?” I blurted out. “I mean ... she owns the Yarn Barn. Do you think there’s some seedy Shadow Hills underbelly where the crocheting crew is concerned?”
Hunter shot me a quelling look, though I didn’t miss the trace of a smile. “I don’t want to make light of this situation, but Stormy has a point. Why would someone want to poison Martha?”
Dave shrugged. “I’m not the cop. I’m just telling you that the foam indicates she might have been poisoned.”
Hunter shifted his attention to me. “Was she with anyone in the restaurant?”
I racked my brain. “She was sitting with the regular crew at the big table. You know, where all the regular business owners sit. They all have breakfast here every morning. Not all of them every day, but a regular group is always here.”
He nodded. “I know the group you’re talking about. Did she act weird when you were waiting on her?”
“She seemed fine. She was complaining about some yarn that the town knitters wanted that was really hard to get. Oh, and she was raising a stink about one of her neighbors walking by the bay window in front of her house wearing nothing but a towel.”
Hunter bobbed his head. “Mary Carlisle. She’s been calling to narc on her weekly for almost a year.”
“I don’t know Mary.”
“She married Alex Carlisle, from Kalkaska. Martha always thought that was a commentary on something. She said it wasn’t appropriate to marry a woman from a town that boasts a ten-foot-long fiberglass fish in the middle of downtown. Apparently the fish reflects poorly on the people.”
It took everything I had not to laugh. We were standing in front of a dead body.
“I doubt Mary Carlisle killed her over that. Besides, I recognized everybody at that table. I’m certain she wasn’t there.”
“Okay, well ... .” Hunter turned his eyes to Dave. “I guess we’ll push forward with this as a possible poisoning. I need you to transport her to the morgue and get the county on it as soon as possible.”
“Absolutely,” Dave agreed.
He turned back to me. “I need you to show me where she was sitting. If her dishes are still around, I’ll need those.”
The ramifications of what he said chilled me. “You don’t think I did this?”
He made an exasperated face. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know you didn’t do it. But someone else might’ve slipped something onto her plate.”
“That seems like a long shot.”
He just looked at me.
“Okay. I was busing the table. There’s a good chance they’re still there.”
I led him through the restaurant. Those inside seemed curious but didn’t pry. Thankfully, Martha’s dishes remained on the table. I stood to the side and pointed to them.
“Do you want me to get a bag?” I asked.
“That would be great.” He stopped me before I could disappear into the kitchen. “It’s going to be okay,” he reassured me. “I know what Dave said, but the odds of this being a poisoning seem long. We’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so. She was a nice woman. I think I’ll be haunted by the way she died.”
“Well, then we’ll definitely figure it out. Trust me. This will all make sense eventually.”
The one thing I could always do was trust him.
3
Three
I found Grandpa in my apartment after my shift. I knew the moment I spied my uncle behind the grill that Grandpa had taken off. I hoped it was because he was avoiding Phoebe. My mind was fully on Martha’s death when I climbed the stairs ... and found my bathroom door shut.
“Really?” I called through the door, annoyance bubbling up. “This is my apartment!”
Grandpa didn’t respond, but the familiar rustling of a newspaper acknowledged that he’d heard me.
“Fine.” I threw my hands in the air and stalked to the couch, scooping up the small ball of fur I’d adopted — although had yet to name — and planting him on my chest before throwing myself on the cushions. “Do you believe this?”
The kitten opened one eye, stretched, and immediately went back to sleep.
“You’re not much of a roommate,” I muttered as I scratched behind his ear.
With nothing to do but lament my lot in my life — my grandfather’s constant need to take his afternoon constitutional in my bathroom often had me frothing at the mouth these days — I forced my mind to Martha. I couldn’t understand why anybody would want to hurt her. She’d always seemed like a nice, if occasionally crabby, old lady. I knew nothing about her that would suggest she should be a target.
I was still sorting through the morning’s order of things when my grandfather exited the bathroom.
“There’s a bathroom downstairs,” I reminded him.
“I own this apartment. This is my bathroom.”
“Whatever.” I heaved out a sigh and decided to redirect the conversation. “What can you tell me about Martha Madison?”
Rather than immediately respond, he scratched his cheek. “So, she is dead? I heard people talking. I thought they might’ve been mistaken, but when the ambulance didn’t take off right away I figured that was the case.”
“She’s definitely dead.” I thought about the way her body had suddenly ceased convulsing in my arms. “The paramedic, Dave Bates, seems to think she was poisoned.”
Grandpa’s eyebrows practically flew off his forehead and he dropped the newspaper on the floor as he jerked. “Are you serious?”
“No, I thought it would just be a nice rumor to start. Speaking of rumors, I’m almost positive Phoebe has been spreading gossip around town about Hunter and me. It’s not even true gossip. Nothing happened between us when he was still with Monica.”
“As much as I love hearing about the romantic travails of you and Hunter — and for the record, I don’t want to hear it, but you keep flapping your gums, so I feel as if I’m being held hostage by your hormones — I would like to focus on Martha.”