an open bottle of Smirnoff vodka stood alongside its cap sporting a purple bow. The tab and a small black bow had been pulled from one can of Clamato juice.
If the sender had poisoned the vodka or the mix, he’d exhibited a bizarre sense of humour by including Eternity. Had he intended to warn Sally, to give her a fifty-fifty chance to suspect treachery and forego the hemlock? Whoever had created the basket had been familiar with Sally’s susceptibility to drama, to the exaggerated gesture. Rhona berated herself for not having had more imagination—not having warned Sally to be suspicious of anything out-of-the-ordinary.
The police photographer interrupted her musings to inform her he’d finished. Although Rhona didn’t really expect the medical examiner, Bert Singh, an old friend of hers, to answer her questions, she asked him, “Can you give me an idea of the cause of death or tell me when she died?”
“No to both questions. Rigor mortis has set in. Since the house isn’t excessively hot or cold, I’d hazard a guess she probably died some time last evening. But I wouldn’t want to swear to it in court until I have more information.” He packed his gear away. “I won’t speculate about the cause until we’ve done the autopsy. We’ll begin immediately.” He zipped the case shut. “The husband and son are in the living room.”
The Staynors, removed as far as possible from the sunroom, huddled in matching rather dirty green brocade chairs. When Rhona entered the room, they rose and faced her with identical sad blue eyes.
Innocent until guilty, Rhona told herself and extended her hand to Mr. Staynor. “I’m sorry about Mrs. Staynor. It’s a terrible time for you, but I have important questions.” She directed her next words to the young man. “We haven’t met.” She extended her hand. “I’m Detective Rhona Simpson. I’m sorry about your mother.”
“I’m Daniel.” The boy gulped and turned away to collect himself.
Rhona surveyed the room, searching for an easily moveable seat. A dark green velvet ottoman with gold fringe and tassels filled the bill. She pulled it over to the two wing chairs. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“Would you rather sit here?” Daniel asked.
“No. This is fine.” Rhona spoke again to Daniel. “Tell me when you last saw your mother?”
Daniel swallowed several times. “I was at my friend Mike’s cottage this weekend. We were late coming home because of the traffic.” He sniffed and his eyes filled with tears. “Because I didn’t especially want to listen to a speech, when I came in the side door and saw the light in the sunroom and heard the TV, I shouted ‘I’m home’ and went upstairs. My mother doesn’t much care about my coming or going, but sometimes . . .” He paused and studied his hands. “Sometimes, Mom wants to talk about life and stuff, and I really didn’t want to have one of those talks.” In a small voice, he said, “I wish I had come in. I’ll never have another chance.” His face contorted, and tears spilled down his cheeks. He took a deep shaky breath, rubbed his sleeve across his face and continued to rub until he gained control. “Do you want me to tell you anything else?”
“There’s a basket of presents on the sunroom table. Was it there on Friday?”
“A basket of presents.” He thought for a moment. “I came home from school and grabbed my stuff. I’m not sure if I even went in the sunroom. Probably not. Mom wasn’t home, and I left a note in the kitchen to remind her where I’d gone. Even if I did go in—there’s always piles of stuff everywhere, and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Thanks. I may have more questions later, but you may go.”
“I think I should stay here with Dad.” Daniel’s voice was firm. “I’m almost grown up, and Dad and I are in this together.”
JJ, who’d slumped in his chair washing and rewashing his hands, roused himself, reached over and patted Daniel’s arm. “Thanks, Daniel, you’re a good kid. I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go and wait for Aunt Bertha. She’ll be along any minute.”
“You sure?” Daniel’s chin lifted belligerently. “My Dad’s a great guy. He doesn’t always talk like everyone else, but he’s okay.”
Touched by the teenager’s protective defense of his father, Rhona smiled at him. “It’s okay Daniel, I’m not the Gestapo.” Mentally, she crossed her fingers and hoped she was telling the truth. The possibility of this young man losing his father as well as his mother saddened her. Police work had its bad moments.
Daniel, with a backward glance at his father, who nodded reassuringly at him, left the room.
“Mr. Staynor, tell me about finding your wife.”
JJ’s hands resumed their washing. He twisted and shifted in his chair. “There isn’t much to tell. I came down about seven. The store is closed Mondays, but I often go in to catch up on orders. I filled the coffee maker and heard the TV in the garden room. Leaving the coffee to drip, I went in to switch the TV off. That’s when I saw her. I said, ‘Sally, what are you doing here at this hour?’ When she didn’t answer, I took a good look at her and realized something was wrong. I touched her—she felt cold.” His hands stopped moving. He sat still and silent.
“And then?”
“I punched in 911 and went upstairs to warn Daniel. I didn’t want him to wake up to a house full of strangers.”
He hadn’t quoted a single line of poetry, and his voice was as flat as a spiked tire.
“What about the basket?”
He frowned and his hands resumed their washing.
“The basket I mentioned to Daniel—the one sitting on the table beside your wife.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“When did you last see your wife?”
JJ’s hands stilled, his chin lifted and he thought for a moment. “Friday night. We’re open late Friday, and I arrived here about nine thirty. Sally called me, and I talked to her in the garden room. She was pretty drunk, but not too drunk to tell me every gory detail of the funeral.”
“How did that make you feel?’
“How did it make me feel? How did it ever make me feel when she twisted the knife, tormented me? Bad. Bloody bad. Like it was my fault, like I should have been able to do something.”
“What did you say when she told you?”
JJ didn’t answer.
Rhona repeated the question.
“I’m not sure.” JJ avoided her eyes. “Probably nothing. Long ago, I read, ‘Be silent and safe—silence never betrays you.’ But I wanted to paraphrase Hosea, ‘You have sown the wind, and you shall reap the whirlwind.’ She loved to mock me. It’s been getting worse and worse.” He paused and shook his head like a bull tormented by insects. “I don’t think we said any more. When I left, she was watching TV.”
Rhona was convinced they’d said a lot more, and he remembered every word.
“And that was it? That was your last contact?”
“The
