Chapter 8 #2
Sara Lee picked it up and read the title. "Agatha Christie. The Pale Horse." She caught her grandmother's eye. "I don't remember reading this one."
"It's about a murder that occurred using poison," June said, not at all surprised by Mister Smee's selection.
The cat had an uncanny ability to find relevant books for whatever mood June was in, and she'd long since stopped questioning it.
She settled into one of the reading chairs, gesturing for Sara Lee to take the other.
"In the book, it's disguised as natural causes. "
"You think Raymond was poisoned?" Sara Lee's voice rose slightly as the words were slowly pulled from her.
"I think," June said carefully, organizing her thoughts, "that the Sheriff wants this to be simple.
Alcohol poisoning, accidental death, case closed.
But I've seen too much of life to dismiss oddities when I see them.
" She glanced over to see the orange and white cat squinting toward the sun coming through the window as though his world was complete with just a sunspot.
“You know, Nana June… Mister Smee is just a cat. There’s no special skill he has with investigations.”
June chuckled as she shrugged. “We never know what instincts animals have. What they sense… what they’ll do.
” She leaned forward, her voice taking on a softer quality.
"Now, back to our remembrances. The flask smelled wrong.
It wasn't just bourbon or bitter. But there was a sweet hint of vanilla.
And there was a torn piece of newspaper in his jacket pocket.
" She closed her eyes briefly, bringing back the exact image.
"Was it something incriminating or just something he picked up?" Sara Lee asked.
"I don’t know. But if it was from him to someone else, why was it in his pocket?
And if it was from someone else to him, when was it given to him?
” June pulled out her notebook again, flipping to a fresh page.
"We need to keep track of everything. What we know, what we suspect, what we need to discover. "
"Shouldn't we tell Sheriff Gordon what we suspect?"
June considered this carefully. It was a fair question, and one she'd wrestled with herself.
"Not yet. Our suspicions are simply those of two observers.
Gordon's already convinced himself this was an accident.
Unless we have real evidence to suggest otherwise, he'll dismiss anything we bring him.
And he'll just wait to see what the medical examiner says, and those tests can take days, if not longer. "
Mister Smee interrupted with a wide yawn, stretching his paw toward the Christie novel. June rubbed his head affectionately, then opened the book to a page she'd marked years ago during a previous reading.
"Oh, my. Listen to this," she said, and read aloud, "Very few of us are what we seem."
The words hung in the air between them… Agatha Christie's wisdom is as relevant now as when she wrote it.
"You think… someone in Meadowlark Creek… isn't who they claim to be," Sara Lee said slowly.
"I think Raymond wasn't just drunk and mean at the festival.
He was recognizing people. Saying things that suggested he knew secrets about multiple people.
" June stood, energy returning to her movements despite her earlier weariness.
"People with secrets are dangerous when those secrets are threatened. "
"So what do we do?"
"We learn more. We talk to people. Very carefully and very casually." June began organizing her thoughts into a plan. "And then we’ll slowly begin to connect the dots. I think I'll talk to Ted tomorrow. He will have knowledge that exceeds mine when it comes to the Melton boys."
Sara Lee's anxiety and excitement were both visible on her face. "We're really investigating a murder."
"We're investigating a death," June corrected gently but firmly. "Whether it's murder or not, we won't know until we dig deeper. But yes, we're investigating."
She returned to her desk and began writing in her neat, precise handwriting at the top of a fresh page. Raymond Melton - June 1st.
Below that, she created columns with clear headers, including names, motives, and opportunity. And lastly, a column for her own observations.
She began listing everyone who had confrontations with Raymond, adding what they knew about each person.
"We need more information on all of them," June said, her librarian's instinct for research taking over. "Background, connections to Raymond. And we need to find out what was on that torn newspaper in his pocket."
"How?" Sara Lee asked.
"We start tomorrow. We observe. We listen. We ask innocent questions that might reveal not-so-innocent answers." June looked at her granddaughter seriously. "This has to be careful, methodical work.”
They spent another hour planning their approach, deciding who to talk to first and how to gather information without arousing suspicion.
June had always been good at getting others to open up, at asking the right questions in the right way.
And as a teacher, Sara Lee had a great understanding of people and their emotions.
“I can talk to Barb,” Sara Lee volunteered, then sighed. “It’ll seem weird, but I’ll do it.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” June agreed. “And maybe it will be good for Barb to have someone to talk to.”
By the time they finished, the sun had set, and the study had grown dark. June switched on a lamp, casting warm light over the bookshelves.
“Our clue-review lasted a long time today,” Sara Lee commented, standing and stretching her arms over her head.
June nodded as she also stood, a little slower and with less vigor.
Mister Smee, no longer able to sleep in a sunspot, moved to the small settee and curled up, purring contentedly, as if solving mysteries was the most natural thing in the world.
June smiled at him fondly. Perhaps for a library cat, solving mysteries is natural.
Or maybe just coincidental. June kept an open mind when it came to Mister Smee’s instincts.
Pippi lifted her head from her cushion on the floor, looked at the other occupants of the room as if checking that everyone was accounted for, then lay her head back down with a contented sigh.
"I hope we can do some good," Sara Lee said quietly.
June reached over and squeezed Sara Lee's hand, feeling the warmth of connection, the bond between them that had only strengthened since they'd lost Sara Lee's parents. "We'll search for the truth, sweetheart. Wherever it leads. And we'll do it together."
As they headed to bed that night, June felt different from the way she had that morning. The horror of finding Raymond's body was still there. That image would stay with her, she knew. But it had been joined by purpose, determination, and the satisfaction of having a clear path forward.
Someone in Meadowlark Creek might have committed murder. But many others had suffered Raymond's cruelty and hadn't acted on their anger. They deserved understanding, not suspicion.
June changed into her pajamas and sat on the edge of her bed for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Mister Smee jumped up and curled at her feet. He generally divided his nighttime routine between her and Sara Lee’s bed, and tonight she was glad for his purring comfort.
Her mind ran through the list of suspects they compiled.
Judge Melton with his inheritance motive.
Lucy’s anger. Helena and whatever secrets Raymond had held over her.
Jerry, with decades of resentment over ethnic slurs.
Bob and his business problems. Diane and that look of unexplained terror on her face.
Any of them could have had reason to want Raymond dead.
But as Agatha Christie had written, Very few of us are what we seem. Tomorrow, they would start finding out who was hiding what. And which secret was worth killing for.
June lay down, pulling the covers up, hearing Pippi’s toenails clicking on the wooden floor as he wandered into her room. Through the wall, she could hear Sara Lee moving around in her room, probably still too keyed up to sleep.
They would both need rest, and June would need all her wits about her.
But for now, she let her mind wander through possibilities, through connections, through the accumulated knowledge from all her years of watching people, understanding them, seeing beneath their surfaces to the truths they tried to hide.
But June had spent a lifetime learning to read people as carefully as she read books.
And she would use that skill now to find the truth about Raymond's death.
Whatever that truth turned out to be.