CHAPTER FOUR
Roderick stared at the elderly woman, her head tilted to one side, her hands folded on her lap. She was wearing a simple cotton shift, just like she always did. Her things were old, but never dirty and always placed neatly in the small home.
She looked as if she were sleeping in the old rocker but the lack of a pulse and the ashen skin color told him otherwise. As if she were alive, he brushed the hair away from her face and felt the sting of tears coming to his eyes.
In his mind, he was replaying the first time he’d met her.
Mike inspected all the equipment one more time and then checked on the men who were rolling the hoses. They were all relatively young, physically fit, and some of the best firefighters in the state.
Several were married, several more were single but they were all dedicated to their new role and more than happy to be there. They’d all been happy to be there. Especially Roderick.
Compared to their city roles, it was quiet being part of the Belle Fleur fire department team. Most men were able to stay in their own homes at night, leaving just two men at the station to drive the equipment should it be needed.
In the last two weeks there had been only two calls. One was Mr. Couvillion who was bitten by his pet pig. Of course, he was trying to retrieve his watch from the pig’s mouth but nevertheless it was a reckless thing to do.
The second call was Mrs. Martin. She was eighty-six, spry, completely aware of what was happening around her but she was also lonely. She’d call someone now and then just to keep her company. Anything to chase away the loneliness.
He remembered meeting her that first time and instantly feeling a kinship with her.
Roderick, sat with her for five hours, playing cards and watching Wheel Of Fortune, challenging one another to guess the puzzle first. Roderick hated to admit it but she’d won every damn time and he had tried as hard as he could.
Which is why when the news came through that Mrs. Martin was found dead on the front porch of her small cabin, no one believed it.
Especially not Roderick.
“I’m not buying this,” he whispered. “She was in great health, just lonely.”
“Brother, she’s in her eighties. It could be anything,” said Mike.
Roderick looked around the porch, standing and walking from one end to the other. It wasn’t very long. It only took him a few steps to cover the distance. He inhaled deeply and his brow furrowed.
“Do you smell that? Vanilla and something else. Maybe almond?” he asked Mike. Mike inhaled as well and then looked around the small yard. He stepped off the porch and walked to the back of the house, then around to the front again.
Roderick touched Ms. Martin’s arm, gently caressing her skin.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t hear, ma’am,” he whispered. He pulled back and felt something sticky on his fingertips. Just as he was about to bring it to his nose, Mike screamed at him.
“Don’t!” he yelled. He reached inside the medial kit and grabbed the rubbing alcohol, cleaning Roderick’s finger tips. He’d been wearing sterile gloves but Mike didn’t seem to care or think that it was enough.
“What’s wrong?” he frowned.
“Oleander. There was Oleander in the backyard and someone had burned some in a small fire,” said Mike.
“Why would she grow it and then burn it? She was smart. She knew that could kill her. And rub the sap on herself? I don’t think so,” frowned Roderick.
“I don’t think so either,” said Mike. “I think I need to call Luke.”
“Why them?” asked another firefighter.
“Because we handle fires, they handle murders.”