Mall.
As she opened the kitchen door that led to our architecturally incorrect back porch, Patty looked perkier than she had when she arrived. “If you have another vision, please do give us a call. It’s so interesting.”
Perhaps it was a trick of sun and shadow through the trees, but suddenly I seemed to see her in double exposure, one form erect and smiling, the other bent over in anguish.
“Patty…when you have these committee meetings, are refreshments served?”
“Of course, but I only have to manage the tea and coffee. People usually bring baked goods.” She stopped stock-still and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my good heavens!”
“You need to be super careful that you know who brought what from now on. Like the airlines, you need to connect each offering with a person who is present among you. No mystery snacks. Promise?”
“You don’t think…the poison person will try again?”
“I do have that notion. I hope I’m wrong.”
“Well, this certainly has been enlightening. I’ll have such a lot to share with Wyn. Thank you, Cass.”
Scruffy scooted by Patty and hit the nearest tree with a sigh of relief. Patty turned and waved again as she got into her car, a black Buick Regal.
“I like Patty,” I said to Scruffy. “She’s rather a dear person.”
Yeah, but she has the manners of a poodle—hogged all the cookies herself and never dropped a bite. What’s for supper, Toots?
“What would you say to a nice beef stew with dumplings?” Already my head was in the refrigerator, taking out beef, carrots, celery. I wished I had the moral courage to be a vegetarian, but having a robust man to feed was a good excuse to ignore the issue. “At least it’s free-range, organic beef,” I justified myself to the dog. “And we won’t tell Joe that I picked these mushrooms myself in Jenkins Park. It makes him so nervous, poor darling.”
Chapter Three
Joe keeps his cell phone at the ready day and night, a minor annoyance. The major pain is when it rings, because its chief purpose is to connect with Greenpeace for yet another summons to an environmental challenge. All right, I have to admit, it’s his job, but Greenpeace takes him away from me at short notice and for weeks at a time. As a Libran, I do like to live a well-balanced life. Of course, Joe would complain that I throw my own life out of whack when I embark on a crime-solving spree. Phillipa says we’re both crusaders and will just have to put up with each other’s quests.
At least it wasn’t the Pategonian toothfish emergency this time. It’s really demoralizing to be abandoned to my fate by someone intent on saving an endangered fish. This newest call had come just as we were relaxing with a favorite old film—Ladyhawk—and a bowl of popcorn.
“I’ll have to leave tomorrow,” he said with a rueful smile. I didn’t have to be a clairvoyant to see that gleam of anticipation lighting up his blue eyes. “I’m shipping on the Esperanza to Miami. You remember that Greenpeace is being brought up on charges for boarding a ship transporting illegally harvested mahogany from Brazil to the United States?”
“They arrested the activists instead of checking out the illegal cargo?”
“Yeah, and all we were going to do was to hang a banner, ‘Mr. President, stop illegal logging.’”
“Well, sure—you dummies had to bring in the president.”
“It’s called the right of free speech and peaceful protest. Anyway, we’re making another run at the scene of the crime to see what happens.”
“Throw your hats in the door, so to speak?”
“In the port. Probably the worst thing will be a media feeding frenzy.”
“You hope.”
“The case against Greenpeace hangs on a hundred-year-old law called ‘sailor-mongering.’”
“I don’t even want to know what that is.”
“It’s what you think—a law against boarding a ship that’s entering the harbor with the intention of accosting the crew. Pimps used to row out to arriving ships and proposition the guys, take them to shore, and after some revelry with the girls, relieve them of their money. Not exactly applicable to Greenpeace. And sympathetic public opinion, I admit, may make a difference, possibly get the charge thrown out of court.”
“So the feeding frenzy is okay by you?”
“Right.”
“You might even, if necessary, stir up the media a little?”
Joe merely smiled, a male version of Mona Lisa’s inscrutable smirk. “It’s all just part of the job, ma’am.”
“So, let’s see. It’s almost Samhain now. Think you’ll be out of jail by Thanksgiving?”
“If this is still a free country.”
“Or at least by Yule?”
“Our first anniversary! Would I miss that?”
That called for a kiss, and the kiss led to a prolonged farewell in the warm, cushioned nest of our bedroom. As always, his compact muscular body and spicy scent were irresistibly sexy. And I was addicted to the gentle strength of his touch. Perhaps the honeymoon is never over for sailor’s wives.
“Do you think that poison is a woman’s weapon?” I asked Phillipa. We were in her spacious kitchen, where she was putting the finishing touches on the fruit breads for the TV show. These were the perfect creations she would display on a buffet at the end of the show, not the ones haphazardly mixed on camera and baked during the taping.
“Hmmm,” she replied, realigning a candied fruit decoration.
“Phil, it’s perfection. Stop messing around, and answer me.”
“Well, it would be my weapon of choice, that’s for sure. Such a simple thing to do, if you know your herbs—right, dear? My personal favorite would be the Destroying Angel mushroom. But, unfortunately, I don’t know a toadstool from a puffball.”
“Amanita. I learned all about mushrooms at my grandma’s knee, so I could teach you, if you like. My experience has been that if you’re not trained in foraging as a child, you’ll never be a confident forager later. No wonder poison as a weapon comes to mind for you, since you’re a professional cook. But what about other women, regular women…”
“…who spend a good portion of their lives in kitchens, preparing foods for unappreciative men to consume? If time’s no object, and a wife can afford a leisurely pace, it could be done simply by loading up the husband with salt, sugar, and saturated fats. Women do that all the time. Perhaps that’s why we have so many merry widows.”
“I had no idea you harbored these murderous impulses.”
“Not at all. And especially not toward my own lean and lovely husband. You asked me a question, and I replied with a creative scenario.
