Death in a Turkey Town: A Chloe Boston Mystery by Melanie Jackson Page B

always right. She opened a drawer by the oven and pulled out some serving tongs. Her gaze was alarmed.
    “What is it?”
    I carefully lifted the lid, grateful it wasn’t a wire bale kind of jar and looked inside.
    “That looks like foxglove,” I said softly. Althea peered beside me.
    “Is it?” she sounded more perplexed than worried. “These herbal teas all look like potpourri to me. I only drink them because I need to lose weight.”
    “That’s digitalis—heart medicine. Enough of it could kill you. Or Mom and Aunt Dot,” I added, feeling a blast of sudden rage. “Get me a plastic bag. I am sending the canister in for a fingerprint check and will have the tea analyzed.”
    I turned to my cousin whose own face had gone white.
    “What?” she whispered.
    “Listen to me. Maybe this is another joke—like the stairs. But this one could do more than get you hurt. Or the moms. You need to be careful from here on out. You need to make sure that your mom—and mine— are careful too. Lock the doors any time you are out. No eating any cakes left on the doorstep or in your car. No accepting candy that arrives in the mail without a return address. No touching edible engagement gift whose cards have fallen off. If something looks at all off—food wise—any wise, don’t touch it. Call me. Or Dale.” I made myself add that, though at the moment the glitter on the canister rather incriminated Althea’s fiancé. Unable to leave it, I added: “But if you call Dale at the station it will make it official, so you need to think before you do that.”
    Althea nodded, still looking about the same shade as her enormous and tasteless wedding gown. She fetched a plastic bag for me and I wrapped the canister and then got out my phone. I didn’t know who to call first. Dad and Alex were together—with my dog! But I needed to get the canister checked for prints and the tea to the lab right away, and the only one who could do that outside of channels was the Chief. That meant that he got the first call.
    “Where are the moms?” I asked Althea.
    “Book club at the library. They’ll be there until three.”
    “Okay, start tearing the kitchen apart. Put on those rubber gloves. Throw out anything that’s open and put aside anything else that has glitter on it. I am counting on you to explain things but not terrify them. I doubt there is anything else wrong in the kitchen. This is just in case, okay? We need to be smart, not scared. Can you do this?”
    Althea nodded and I stepped outside to make my call.
     
     

Chapter 10
     
     
    No fingerprints on the canister. I didn’t expect there to be, unless we were dealing with an idiot madman who never watched television and didn’t know to wear gloves. The Chief looked grim as I shared the news—all the news, Althea’s first injury, the missing gun and my seeing Gordon reading about poisons in the book store. He was unhappy, but he didn’t question my reasoning and got the tea off for analysis immediately. The Chief asked if I knew which gardens in town had foxglove and I could think of two—Mitzi’s and Tara Lee’s, but I pointed out that anyone could take digitalis from their yards or get plants at the garden center.
    Lastly, I confessed that I seemed to be unable to investigate the case properly because I was too involved with many of the suspects and maybe because I was still shaken by what had happened in San Francisco. The Chief, who is usually tactful, actually laughed at me. He said I was doing more than fine and get back out there and find the murderer.
    I called Alex as soon as the Chief and I were done and asked if he and Dad could meet me at home. Dad suggested the coffee shop instead, so he could press the flesh, but I told Alex that this was about the murder and we needed to speak in private. After he relayed the message, Dad agreed to meet at my place and help finish up the leftovers.
    Dad and Alex were no more thrilled with my news than the Chief had been and