Book Club Killer by Mary Maxwell Page A

Brock plans to change his
will once he and I get married. Instead of millions of dollars and two plush
houses, she’ll end up with a big, fat zero!”
    After another remark about having
lunch, she walked toward the far side of the restaurant. I hurried back to the
booth where Ben and the boys were anxiously waiting.
    “Mom!” Sam whined. “You were gone
for an hour!”
    I gave his nose a little tweak.
“More like two hours,” I said. “And I bet you were a patient little man the
whole time!”
    Ben grumbled. “Hardly,” he said
under his breath. “He’s been counting the seconds since you left.”
    “I want ice cream!” Sam said.
“That’s why!”
    “Then let’s go,” I said, taking his
hand.
    I hugged him as we got up from the
table. There was nothing better than the excitement of a young child to remind
you that, despite the evil and dark forces behind Rosemary’s death, there is
still hope and goodness in the world.

Chapter 16
     
     
    “Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan,”
Detective Ford said after I answered the droning phone the next morning at
eight. “Hope I haven’t called too early.”
    “No, it’s fine. I’m actually home
from work today, so…” I waved at Ben as he rushed out the door with his
briefcase and travel mug of steaming coffee. “What’s going on?” I continued.
“Have you figured out what killed Rosemary?”
    “Yes, I’m afraid we have,” Ford
said solemnly. “The toxicology report came in late yesterday afternoon from the
lab. It looks like someone put strychnine in the dip that your friend sampled
at your house.”
    I felt my lungs constrict and my
body go limp. I quickly pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat down
before I collapsed.
    “And you’re sure about that?” I
finally said in a quivering voice.
    “Yes, the tests were conclusive; it
was a fatal amount of poison, enough to kill dozens of people.”
    My mind flashed back to Sonja’s
brother delivering the package from Olive Street Café. I saw the red cap he was
wearing, the slack expression on his face, the paper bag in his hands.
    “What did they say at the
restaurant?” I asked.
    “One of our other detectives
interviewed the manager, kitchen staff and the person who took the order placed
by your husband,” Detective Ford answered. “None of the employees remember
spinach dip being included in any of the delivery orders that day. And I spoke
to your husband’s assistant, Rachel Fitzgerald.”
    I conjured an image of Ben’s admin.
She was a short redhead with twinkling blue eyes and a calm, confident manner.
Since he’d already told me that Rachel had both placed and canceled the order
for the Brock Truscott dinner at our house, I interrupted the detective and
asked if he had any solid leads.
    “About the person responsible?” he
asked.
    “Yes, who do you think put the
poison in the dip?” I said. “And why did they bring it to our house?”
    The silence that followed seemed to
be endless. But eventually Ford cleared his throat and asked if he could call
me back.
    “Does that mean you don’t have any
ideas?” I asked.
    “No, Mrs. Sullivan,” he said
slowly. “It just means that our investigation is ongoing. I can tell you that
the housepainter who allegedly stole money from Rosemary’s house is not
involved in her death.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “One of my partners went to
interview the man after Rosemary’s husband provided us with his name,”
explained Ford. “While the man confessed to sending a couple of aggressive letters
to Rosemary and her husband, there was—”
    “How can that be?” I interrupted.
“You just told me that he isn’t involved in her murder?”
    “That’s correct,” the detective
answered. “He sent the threats, but he didn’t have anything to do with the
poison. It turns out that the housepainter was arrested after a bar fight in Texas
a couple of days before Rosemary was poisoned. He couldn’t make bail, so he was
still behind bars in