The Perils of Peaches (Scents of Murder Book 3) Page 4

  “Mr. Bradley, you can’t come in. We’re not quite finished yet.” Jerry stepped forward to block the man’s progress.

  “Well, your lead investigator asked me last night if I could think of anyone who’d possibly want to harm my uncle or steal from us.” He yanked off his dark sunshades, the skin around his eyes puffy, the whites of his eyes a pale tint of pink. “That foreign doctor. Mukherjee. She had it in for him, because he knew too much.”

  “Now wait just a minute, Franklin—” The words burst from my mouth.

  “Andi, stop.” The heat of Jerry’s glare crackled between us. “What are you talking about, Franklin?”

  “He was talking about canceling her contract and finding another partner for her side of the business.” Now Franklin directed his own glare at me.

  “I’m … I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I don’t see what Dr. Mukherjee getting axed from the practice would have to do with this. Because she told me—” I stopped myself short. Barkha could defend herself, and it wasn’t my job to tell either of them that Barkha had contemplated breaking her contract and leaving the practice.

  “Told you what?” both men asked in unison.

  “I’m sure she’ll tell you everything, Jerry. Because it’s not my place.” I shrugged and felt a trickle of sweat snake down my back. “Never mind.”

  “Chief,” came a voice beyond us, in the waiting room. “We’re ready to release the crime scene. We’ve got everything else we came back for.” One of the detectives approached, peeling disposable gloves from his hands.

  Jerry nodded. “I’ll let Dr. Mukherjee know so she can notify the office manager. Franklin, meet me at the station and we’ll talk. I’m sure they have a lot to do here in the office.”

  Surely Jerry couldn’t be entertaining thoughts of Barkha’s possible involvement in Dr. Bradley’s death. “Jerry …” Another look from him silenced me. Yes, of course he must be considering anyone who worked closely with Dr. Bradley. A good officer would, and should. I, of all people, knew that appearing innocent didn’t mean someone wasn’t guilty.

  I thought of Charla Rae Thacker, murdered by her own sister a few years ago, right here in Greenburg.

  Which made me wonder if Franklin pointing the finger at Barkha wasn’t convenient for him. With the sun beating down on all of us, I clutched the digital recorder, then tucked it into my purse.

  “Franklin, where were you on Friday night between six and eleven?” I couldn’t resist asking him. “Don’t you look at the family members first, Jerry?”

  “I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Franklin’s cheeks bloomed red. “I met some friends at the Hickory Pit for dinner, then we went out to the river. If you must know.”

  Jerry nodded. “You’ll have to give an official statement, of course, and so will they.” Then he shot me a withering look. “Andi, I don’t need your help. Go work on your soap, spoil that baby, and let us work.”

  Now my own cheeks blazed with heat. No fair, Franklin pointing a finger at Barkha. But he’d called her that foreign doctor. I gritted my teeth.

  “Fine, Jerry. I understand.” Of course my brother-in-law was right, and the fact galled me. Besides my home, there was one other place of refuge that would settle my rattled nerves, so I stomped to the Jeep and left the men standing at the office doorway.

  There’s a lot to be said for aromatherapy. I smiled as I entered Tennessee River Soaps and tried to shake off the gloom that followed me from Bradley Medical.

  The scent of soap made a delightful symphony, Peachy Keen taking turns with Cherries Jubilee. Three years in business now, but that didn’t make it easier for me. If only Tennessee River Soaps could expand.

  My arms ached to hold Hannah, but it was good to have a couple of hours to work without distraction before I headed home. Jerry was right. I needed to cool my jets for a while. On Mondays, I kept the shop closed to work on inventory and Internet orders.

  I entered the workroom after I turned on my computer and downloaded the latest orders online. I’d leave the printout for Sadie, my assistant, to box up the orders and ship them when she arrived later in the afternoon.

  A new scent was in order. Something pretty, exotic. Not fruit-scented. Barkha needed cheering up, and I would concoct a scent she’d appreciate. Spicy, with a hint of floral tones. But not too heavy. Besides, customers had started asking for something a little different.

  I pulled out a product catalog just as the phone rang. “Tennessee River Soaps.”

  “Andi, we need to talk.” Jerry’s voice had an edge to it, a little sharp yet not painful.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s about your peach baby food.”

  I closed the catalog. “What about it?”

  “I need you to come down to the station right away. And bring a list of ingredients too.”

  “I don’t understand.” What interest could the PD have in my peach baby food?

  “It’ll take longer for me to explain. Just come down.”

  Peach baby food. I went to the computer, and within two minutes I had a list: peaches, sugar, water. Easy enough. I printed the list, grabbed my purse, then locked up the store.

  I entered the Greenburg PD and stopped at the front desk. “Fleta, Jerry called and asked me to bring a list of my peach baby food ingredients. Could you please let him know I’m here?”

  “Sure thing.” Fleta picked up her phone. “Chief, your sister-in-law’s here. Yeah? Got it. I’ll send her back.” She waved me past the desk.

  “Thanks.” My palms sweating, my unanswered questions fighting for their chance to be asked, I found my way past a room of four cubicles, where uniformed officers glanced my way, then went back to their paperwork.

  Jerry motioned for me to enter his office, separated from the other work spaces by a glass wall. I opened the door, the metal knob cool to my fingertips. I ignored the fact that my pride still smarted after the exchange I’d had with Franklin, and Jerry sending me away like a scolded child.

  “That was fast,” he said as I slapped the list of ingredients onto his desk and sat down.

  “I didn’t speed, either.” The quip came easily as breathing.

  Jerry’s dimple winked at me, then disappeared. “The crime scene team found some interesting contents in Dr. Bradley’s trash can. Five empty jars of your baby food. The M.E. also found some interesting contents in the good doctor’s stomach.”

  “Oh. My baby food. I thought it was a joke, really.” I shrugged. “A joke I didn’t get, especially coming from Dr. Bradley. He, um, would eat it sometimes. Especially the peaches. You’re not saying …”

  “I’m not saying your baby food had anything to do with his death. But we’re investigating everything he ingested before he died,” Jerry said.

  I nodded. “That’s right. He ate lunch at Oat Grass. I know that much.”

  “Supper too. So don’t think it’s your baby food. Not just yet. The jars and lids are being tested, to see if there’s any bacteria that might have been present.” Jerry sighed, then picked up the list. “That’s a short list.”

  “It’s good pure food.” My face flamed. “And I sterilize the jars and lids before canning the food.”

  “I’m sure you do, especially since Hannah eats the food you make.”

  “And she’s never gotten sick from it,” I blurted.

  “I know.” Jerry pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “Listen, Andi, I’m doing my job. You know that. I’ll notify you if anything turns up in the tests. I’m not expecting it to. But I’ll get this list faxed to the M.E.’s office. You’re not the only one, either. The owner of Oat Grass is bringing me a list of ingredients for Dr. Bradley’s meals as well.”

  “I hope you find the answer, Jer.” I stood. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

  He shook his head. “Thanks for coming. If I need anything else, I’ll let you know.”

  With that, I left the police department and ent
ered the humidity outside. I headed back to my store. My baby food couldn’t have done something to Dr. Bradley. Inconceivable. Except for the niggle of worry that maybe there was some odd sort of bacteria that had grown in the jar.

  However, didn’t botulism only make you sick to your stomach? Barkha would know.

  I dialed her cell phone and got her voice mail. “Barkha, it’s Andi. I had an interesting call from Jerry, about my baby food. If you get a chance, please call me. I need to know if there’s any bacteria or anything that could be in peaches that could hurt someone. Or kill them?” I grimaced. The words poured from my mouth, and I hoped I didn’t sound like I was babbling too much. Maybe I was, because the voice mail beeped and cut off my call.

  Instead of heading back to Tennessee River Soaps, I continued on to Bradley Medical. If the crime scene had been cleared, then likely Eunice was already back in the office, working on the books. Patients needed to be rescheduled. I, for one, wanted to take a closer look at the medical offices. What if the officers had missed something? Not likely, but the very idea that my baby food might have done something to Dr. Bradley turned my own stomach.

  I stopped short when I got to the reception desk. Eunice’s tight, curly “poodle-do,” as she called it, had been colored a vivid magenta instead of the dark steel gray it had been the week before. Goldtone earrings that resembled miniature hubcaps swung from her ears.

  “I know, I know,” Eunice said, her eyebrows darting up her forehead. “It’s not quite a respectful color, what with poor Dr. Bradley dyin’, but I had to get a good shade to feel better. What a tragedy. Still can’t believe it. He was just here, and now …” She snatched up a tissue and dabbed her eyes.

  “Can I see his office?” I asked. “Just for a minute.”

  Eunice waved me along. “I haven’t gone in there yet. Don’t know if I can right now.”

  I pushed open the wooden door and entered the office. The scene made me shiver. An elegant carved maple desk, stacked with charts. A telephone next to them, and yawning space where his computer used to sit. A series of framed photographs of the Mississippi Gulf coast graced the walls.

  In between patient visits, when he thought he had the recorder paused, he would go on talking about the coast. He’d ask Eunice to make sure his condo was free on certain weekends.

  As much as I’d heard the man’s voice, I never really knew him personally. Not that he encouraged any sort of a friendship with anyone.

  He kept his pens neatly tucked inside a clay jar, with a sticky-note pad next to it. Beside that was a curious miniature grandfather clock; while I stood there, it chimed the half hour. Dr. Bradley’s chair had been left a good distance behind the desk, probably from when EMS had pulled him out of it. I wondered, though, if Barkha had moved him when she tried to examine him before the ambulance arrived.

  I pulled open his desk drawer and found a jumble of items in the center top. The two lower drawers on each side contained his personal files. No time to look through those. Nothing looked disturbed. One of the top drawers held a sleek-looking digital camera, a tin of breath mints, and some computer disks.

  I made myself stop investigating. Jerry had information to sort through, and he probably was going to figure out what happened. In the space of a few minutes, I’d learned more about him than I knew when he was alive.

  I was blinking back tears when I entered the reception area, and Eunice waved me over to her desk behind the counter.

  “No, we don’t want any meals delivered today. I’m sorry … we’re still closed. Uh-huh. Thanks anyhow.” She hung up the phone. “That earthy-crunchy café is going to lose money without Dr. Bradley ordering every day. Though I can’t see what the big deal is. I usually get the hankerin’ for a juicy burger. But Oat Grass makes some great salads.” Despite her peppy conversation, she snatched up a fresh tissue and again dabbed at her eyes.

  I thought of the digital recorder in my purse. “I’ll have Dr. Bradley’s final reports ready as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t worry. I know you will. And poor Dr. Mukherjee. She’s going to be swamped with all these reschedules. She’s on her way in now. Plus that man who lurked around here Friday might be back. He makes me nervous.”

  “Who? Tushar? Barkha‘s friend from Atlanta?”

  Eunice nodded. “He faced the lion in his den, and I’m not sure what went on. They got loud enough talking, but I couldn’t make much sense of it because I kept having to go answer the phone. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. Greenburg needs a doctor, especially now with Dr. Bradley gone. And then there’s the Greenburg health fair coming up soon.”

  “Who’s in charge of the health fair now that Dr. Bradley is, well … gone? Dr. Mukherjee assured me she’s not going anywhere, but I wonder if she’s going to take over for him.”

  She sank against her chair like a deflating balloon. “Oh, I imagine she will. And I’m so relieved. I overheard her talking to someone about leaving the practice.”

  “Well, she’s not leaving. She told me so yesterday at lunch. So don’t worry about that.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have said anything. After all, it was only talk.” Eunice shook her head. “I just don’t know what’s going on. People are already calling about Dr. Bradley’s funeral. I have no idea what to do.” A stack of charts loomed behind her on top of the filing cabinet.

  “Well, you could tell them to call the funeral home listed in the obituary in the newspaper, and don’t you worry about it.” Eunice tended to get in a tizzy when she was stressed, and I didn’t blame her, working for Dr. Bradley. If he were here, he’d probably be scolding her about the unfiled charts. I picked up a chart and started filing.

  “Such a sweet girl you are.” Her words made me smile. I hadn’t been called a girl since the last time I got in trouble with Momma.

  “Thanks. If you need more help, let me know.”

  “I sure will.” Eunice blew her nose. “I’m so afraid about what’s going to happen here. I might still have my nursing credentials, but I’m not as fast as those young things. I can’t see as I’d get another job as good as this one. I have no idea what I’d do if the practice closes.”

  “Don’t worry.” I tucked the last file into its place and closed the drawer. “If the office doesn’t stay open, you would make a great home nurse. Couldn’t you do that? I don’t know how it works, but I bet you could help people who are homebound by giving them shots or setting out their medicines.” I tried not to look at my watch. The hour had crawled along, and I missed Hannah already.

  “What a good idea. I’ll have to look into that. But I’ve kept you too long. You go ahead and go. I can handle it here now. Just had a moment.” She blew her nose as more tears filled her eyes.

  “Are you sure? I can stay for a while longer.”

  Eunice shook her head.

  “Okay. See you later.” I left the office. The sun outside made me grab my sunglasses once more. Eunice sure seemed upset at Dr. Bradley’s death, one of the few who did, probably. In fact, I would venture to say she cared for him, more than an employee would ever care for an employer. And the man probably never even noticed.

  You can’t strangle a dead man. But I sure wanted to, the more I typed Dr. Bradley’s final recording. He went on and on about a patient’s aching back or runny nose or cough or high cholesterol. He had a horrible habit of setting the recorder down without hitting the pause button. The recorder continued to do its thing while he rustled papers on his desk until he found the lab results he was looking for. Or the phone would ring and he’d chat. Sometimes with Franklin, and those conversations usually involved him telling the guy no about something. His nephew’d had a recent fender bender, and needed money for his insurance deductible.

  Or else sometimes I’d hear the door to his private restroom close and the sound of water running. No wonder he wasn’t finished dictating reports by suppertime on Friday. He took more time walking around the room than describing the important details of pa
tient visits.

  At this rate, I could let the sound file run and check on Hannah, who finally napped. I probably wouldn’t miss anything. But the clinking noise in the background had me puzzled.

  Of course—the sound had to be Dr. Bradley using a spoon to scrape the sides of the glass jar of my peach baby food. Honestly, I didn’t mind people sampling a jar. After all, Gerber’s Hawaiian Delight was like eating a luscious dessert. But no one seemed to take my baby food seriously. And Dr. Bradley eating a jar as a snack? I shook my head.

  He must have hit the pause button when his nephew entered his office on Friday afternoon. But then not long after his nephew left, I heard Dr. Bradley go out and snipe at Dr. Mukherjee and I while we talked in the reception area. Then he settled back down at his desk to eat and dictate. On and on went his endless chewing of whatever it was he’d ordered from Oat Grass for supper. Evidently he’d never learned not to talk with food in his mouth. The miniature grandfather clock on his desk chimed nine.

  Dr. Bradley finally hit his stride, droning on about someone’s bowel problems and his intention to send them to a gastroenterologist. Then he paused and set the recorder down again. Rustling papers. He yawned. Then he drifted off to snore, the sound louder than what Ben sounded like when he had a cold. The snoring stopped when he coughed, murmured, then settled into a semi-quiet doze.

  The office door clicked open, but I didn’t recall Dr. Bradley getting up, because his chair didn’t make its usual squeak. Then came a rustle of fabric. A grunt.

  “What—” Dr. Bradley’s voice.

  The door slammed.

  Now his chair squeaked. “No.” The sound of something heavy flopping onto the desk. Then came mumbling.

  After that I heard nothing else except the soft whir of Dr. Bradley’s computer fan.

  Barkha had called me about the breakin just before eleven, not quite two hours after Dr. Bradley stopped dictating. Those sounds happened a little after nine, which I knew because of the desk clock’s chimes.