Chapter Three
Jill Holbrook arrived at the scene to find Mason Dooley leaning against the hood of his squad car, phone pressed to his ear.
From the exaggerated expressions and occasional muttered apologies, it was clear he was immersed in a personal conversation—one entirely unsuited for the proximity of a crime scene.
Jill’s sharp eyes darted to the victim sprawled on the cobblestone street: Chips Hogan lay motionless.
The only sound apart from Mason’s murmurs was the distant cry of seagulls and the low murmur of onlookers.
As Jill approached, fragments of Mason’s conversation floated over.
“Mom, I’ve told you a hundred times, Amy didn’t like me being a cop.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. No, I’m not going to work for her dad’s construction company …
Yes, I know you liked her … No, I’m not seeing anyone else, jeez … ”
Jill crossed her arms and cleared her throat.
Mason’s head snapped up, his expression shifting from sheepishness to panic.
He shoved his phone into his pocket, turning toward her so abruptly that his foot caught on Chips’s lifeless hand.
Mason’s eyes widened as he stumbled and landed unceremoniously on his rear, inches from the body.
“For the love of … Mason!” Jill groaned, extending a hand to help him up. “This is a crime scene, not a therapy session with your mom.”
Blushing furiously, Mason scrambled to his feet, brushing off dirt. “Sorry, Chief. Won’t happen again.”
“It better not. Now, what do we know?”
Mason straightened, adopting a more professional demeanor. “Witness says Chips was staggering and fell face-first onto the cobblestones. No sign of an attacker, no evidence of foul play at first glance.” He gestured to a small gash on Chips’s forehead. “The cut looks like it’s from the fall.”
Jill crouched beside the body, her gaze sharp and clinical. Her attention lingered on Chips’s lips, where a faint, fizzy residue clung to the corners of his mouth. She made a mental note.
“What’s that?” Mason asked, squinting.
“Could be nothing,” Jill said carefully. “Or it could mean poison.” She kept her voice low, glancing toward the growing crowd. “Let’s not jump to conclusions yet.”
Before Mason could respond, Lou Grady, the Halibut Cove Chronicle’s resident bulldog of a reporter, barged through the crowd. His unlit cigar bobbed in the corner of his mouth as he bellowed, “Hey, Holbrook! Got a comment for the Chronicle? Did Chips’s ticker finally give out?”
Jill rose, fixing Lou with a steely glare. “No comment, Lou. Not until the autopsy’s in.”
Lou snorted. “Chips had a heart condition. Bet you dollars to donuts that’s what finally got him.”
“We’ll see,” Jill said curtly, motioning for Mason to follow her. “Let’s wrap this up here.”
The following morning, Jill sat at her desk at the Halibut Cove Police Station, scanning the autopsy report. Her stomach churned as she reached the conclusion: Chips Hogan hadn’t died of a heart attack. The culprit was poison—deadly nightshade, ingested not long before his death.
Mason entered, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. “Anything new?”
Jill handed him the report. “It was poison. Deadly nightshade.”
Mason’s eyes widened. “Poison? Who would …?”
“That’s what we need to figure out. First stop: The Chowder House. Chips had their clam chowder pretty much every night of the week, including holidays. Let’s see what they can tell us.”
The Chowder House was bustling when Jill and Mason arrived. Through the window, Jill saw Ethel Primrose perched on a stool at the counter, chatting animatedly with Audrey and Isabella. As they stepped inside, Jill caught Ethel’s voice mid-monologue.
“I’m feeling much better, but now my arthritis is acting up something fierce.
Can’t even shuffle the cards properly at game night with the girls anymore.
” She noticed Jill and Mason entering the diner.
“Good morning, Chief. Just in time for the breakfast rush. Mason, I was just telling the girls about the terrible pain I have to endure due to my arthritis.”
Mason gave her a confused look. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Primrose.”
“Your mother knows all about it. She will tell you—we play cards every Wednesday. She’s got the patience of a saint, putting up with my constant complaints.”
Mason gave her a polite smile. “She always speaks very highly of you, Mrs. Primrose.”
Ethel beamed. “Well, she’s a gem, that woman. And you—looking more handsome every time I see you. Isn’t he, girls?”
Audrey rolled her eyes but stayed silent, while Isabella smirked.
“I have a table in the back. I’ll get you some menus,” Ethel said.
Jill cleared her throat, stepping forward. “We’re not here to eat, Ethel. I was hoping we could have a chat.”
The warmth drained from Ethel’s face. “This about Chips? Poor man. Meaner than a junkyard dog but a loyal customer. What happened?”
“He was poisoned,” Jill said, watching Audrey’s reaction. Her daughter’s eyes widened, and she paled visibly. “We need to know about the chowder he had for dinner here. According to the autopsy report, it was the last thing he ate. Who served him?”
Audrey’s voice trembled. “I did. But … I didn’t do anything to it, I swear!”
Jill’s eyes narrowed. “Did anyone else have access to the chowder before you served him, Audrey?”
Audrey shook her head. “No. Isabella and I were the only ones working, and most of the customers had already cleared out by the time Chips arrived.”
“He’s always doing that, showing up at the last minute just before we’re supposed to close!” Isabella sniffed.
“Can you walk me through it, please?” Jill asked.
Audrey nodded. “Chips came in. I didn’t even bother giving him a menu because he always orders the same thing. I went into the kitchen and ladled some from the pot into a bowl, and I served him.”
Audrey headed into the kitchen followed by Jill, Mason, Isabella, and Ethel.
“So the poison had to have been put in the pot,” Jill surmised.
“Yes!” Isabella gasped, but then she scrunched up her face. “Wait, no, it couldn’t have been in the pot because I had a bowl before I left. My fridge was empty at home, and Ethel doesn’t mind us eating what’s left here after closing and I was starving. But I feel fine!”
“So if the autopsy report is correct, and he ingested the poison shortly before he died, and this was the only thing he ate, someone had to have slipped it in the bowl.”
“Well, that’s impossible, unless it was one of us who did it,” Isabella declared before realizing what she was suggesting.
“Which is ridiculous! I mean Chips was an annoying, grumpy old man who didn’t care one whit about keeping us here late when we wanted to clock out, but we didn’t want to kill him, right, Audrey? ”
Audrey didn’t answer. Jill could see her mind racing. “Hold on a sec. We did leave the bowl unattended for a minute or two, remember? We were out of Ethel’s homemade oyster crackers, and Isabella and I both went into the pantry to find some.”
“Oh, dear, I knew I should’ve made an extra batch the night before, but my migraine was raging and I just didn’t have the energy. Chips loves my oyster crackers. I’m sure he noticed!” Ethel wailed.
“He did,” Isabella confirmed. “He wasn’t too happy the ones we gave him were store bought.”
“So someone could have slipped into the kitchen and put the nightshade in the bowl during the time you were out of the room,” Jill concluded.
“Yes, I left it on the counter for a minute while Isabella and I grabbed crackers from the pantry.”
Isabella nodded. “It was less than a minute. Maybe a few seconds.”
Jill glanced around, noticing a back door that led out to a back alley. “Do you keep this door locked when the restaurant is open?”
“Yes, of course,” Ethel confirmed. “The garbage bins are out there, and we have a lot of waste we need to clear out to keep the kitchen spic and span. I don’t need any health inspectors downgrading me from my A rating!”
Mason wandered over and opened the door, poking his head out into the alley. “Someone could have been lurking outside, watching, waiting for the right opportunity.”
Jill’s mind raced. “Isabella, did you see anyone when you left before Audrey?”
“No, nobody, I …” She stopped.
A lightbulb seemed to go off in her head.
Jill noticed immediately. “What? Did you remember something?”
Isabella hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Waldo Duggan. He was loitering outside when I left. I said hello, but he didn’t respond. He just turned his back on me. He’s always had it out for us.”
“I know Waldo well,” Jill remarked ruefully, shaking her head.
Ethel’s eyes narrowed. “That man’s been claiming for years that we stole his family’s chowder recipe. But everyone knows your mother Maggie gave me that recipe. It’s been in the Holbrook family for generations. He’s just bitter.”
Jill exchanged a glance with Mason. “We’ll look into it,” she said. Turning to Audrey, she softened her tone. “Audrey, this isn’t your fault.”
But Audrey was already spiraling, her eyes brimming with tears. “I served him. I didn’t notice anything. What if … what if I …?”
Jill reached out, awkwardly placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Audrey, listen to me. We’ll find out who did this. You couldn’t have known. None of this is on you.”
Audrey nodded, but her expression remained distant. Jill’s heart ached, knowing that her words could only do so much. As the tension in the diner hung heavy, Jill resolved to uncover the truth—for Chips, for Halibut Cove, and for her daughter.