Cat's Got Your Arsenic Read online

  “I’m second-guessing my decision to go snowshoeing tomorrow,” she muttered, her breath rising in a mist.

  As Ember reached the threshold of the structure, a large shadow suddenly blocked out the light. Looking up, she saw Sheriff Walker in the doorway, his large frame filling the space.

  “Why am I not surprised to see you here?” the sheriff growled.

  He always dressed in jeans and a department shirt, typically rounding out the outfit with cowboy boots and hat. That night, however, he’d replaced the boots with the proper gear, and a fur-lined leather jacket hid his badge. Sheriff Walker was holding his cowboy hat, and his black hair and skin were quickly flecked with big white flakes of snow.

  He looked mad.

  Although Ember wouldn’t be totally surprised by a sarcastic greeting, given their history, the anger was unexpected. It had to be something more than a typical medical call.

  “I had someone drop off a sick cat that I think belongs to the owner, Miss Huntsman. I tried calling first, but she didn’t answer. I thought I’d stop by on my way home. What’s going on, Sheriff?”

  His features softening, Sheriff Ben Walker rubbed a hand over his head before replacing his hat. He took two long strides down the steps and stopped in front of Ember. “Delilah is up at the main house,” he explained while pointing at the lodge. “Is it a black cat with a white spot on its back?”

  Curious as to how the sheriff was familiar with the cat, Ember bit her tongue and simply nodded. Maybe they knew each other? She noted how he failed to mention why he was there.

  “Come on,” he continued, moving toward the lodge. “I’ll take you. I’m sure she’ll be happy to know Sweetheart is safe.”

  Ember was about to laugh at hearing the stern man say such a name, but he’d moved out of her line of sight, and she saw a foot. Sliding forward before Walker could stop her, Ember mounted the first of the two steps and craned her neck to get a better look inside.

  She wished she hadn’t.

  THREE

  To say the man died a grizzly death would be an understatement. At first glance, it appeared to be some sort of violent murder. However, as Walker yanked her back from the threshold, the poignant odor of vomit hit Ember, and she noticed a bowl by the bed, as well as a towel. There was an assortment of antacids on the nightstand.

  “What the―” She gasped. Spinning, she stared with wide eyes at Walker while wrinkling her nose and fighting back the urge to gag.

  “What is it with you and crime scenes, Ember?” Walker demanded. “That could be contagious. I don’t need you to complicate things any further, okay?”

  Nodding, Ember displayed the appropriate amount of chastened. “Sorry. I didn’t know there was a body in there. I figured the ambulance had come and gone.”

  “It did,” the sheriff confirmed. “But without a living patient.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A regular guest. Looks like he got sick very sudden―” Stopping, the sheriff crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “Don’t you have a cat to return?”

  Ember did her best not to grin. It had become almost second nature for them to collaborate over scenes such as this, even though Sanctuary was typically a very safe place. Walker claimed not to be superstitious, but he always made an effort to point out how the recent rash of deaths coincided with Ember’s return.

  After retrieving the cat from her truck and checking on Daenerys, she followed Sheriff Walker along the freshly shoveled pathway running between the cabins. The snow had let up enough to improve visibility to the point that she could see partway across the lake. A nearby dock was decorated with lights that reflected off the water. It was frozen along the edges, though it was never safe to venture out too far on it.

  The lodge loomed like a beacon, every window in its two stories glowing. Smoke rolled from a central chimney, and the front door stood open, the silhouette of a tall woman in the swath of light pouring from it. It had to be the owner, Delilah Huntsman.

  Ember didn’t know much about the woman except that, like Ember, she’d grown up there but left some time ago, only to have recently returned. Mel seemed impressed by her, saying that she wasn’t what you’d expect based on her cooking. Whatever that meant. Ember had seen her driving from a distance a couple of times and once as she darted from the coffee shop to her car. Otherwise, Delilah did her pie deliveries very early, prior to Ember opening the clinic, and spent the rest of her time at the resort.

  Mel had taken care of the cat’s well-check a few weeks before, and Ember remembered her talking about the heart-shaped spot on its back. Hopefully, it was the right cat.

  “Ben!” Delilah called out as they approached. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  Ember found it curious that she used Walker’s first name, confirming her theory that they knew each other.

  “I’m sorry, Del,” Walker placated. “I don’t have much more to tell you.” Glancing sideways at Ember, he set his mouth in a firm line and looked defeated by the fact that he’d have to reveal more than he wanted. “Unfortunately, you were right. Allen Swenson was beyond help. The medics believe he passed away earlier this afternoon due to some sort of illness. When was the last time you saw him?”

  Delilah didn’t look surprised by the news. From what Walker said, it seemed safe to assume that she’d found the body.

  Ember shifted the cat carrier and tried to be nondescript. She wanted to hear what Delilah had to say.

  “I saw him just this morning on my way to deliver pies to Nature’s Brew. He was going to have his breakfast and then make the final visits for his trip.”

  “Allen is a contractor for a large farming supply company, isn’t he? Comes through here a few times a year?” Walker had pulled out a notepad and was scribbling in it.

  “Yes,” Delilah confirmed. “But this was the first time I met him. He arrived Thursday and was checking out this evening. I don’t know if he has family. Are you going to try and get ahold of someone for him?”

  Although visibly upset, the resort owner was still composed. She was a large woman. Not overweight, but tall and broad with well-defined muscle. In just about every way, Delilah Huntsman was the exact opposite of what Ember had expected.

  Until that moment, Ember hadn’t considered what she did expect. Perhaps a grandmotherly figure who liked to look after others and spend the rest of the time baking, even though Mel had told her she was in her early forties like her Aunt Becky and Walker.

  Delilah’s hair was black and styled in a pixie cut with extra layers that whipped around her strong jawline. One of the sections over her forehead was dyed a lively purple. She wore a bright-red body-hugging t-shirt that revealed two full sleeve tattoos on her arms. They were primarily made up of flowers and mountains, but it still helped to complete the overall biker-chic image.

  Combined with her mannerisms and how she spoke, Ember was reminded of an intense version of her Aunt Becky. That was saying a lot.

  Delilah focused on Ember for the first time, her icy-blue eyes flashing. “Who are you? What’s this?” She gestured to the cat carrier. “This isn’t a good time for a visitor,” she added with a sarcastic twist, turning back to Walker.

  Yup. Just like Becky. “I’m Dr. Ember Burns,” Ember interjected, stepping forward and offering her hand. “A neighbor dropped off a cat at my clinic earlier, and I believe she belongs to you.”

  Delilah’s whole demeanor underwent a transformation. Ignoring Ember’s hand, she dropped to her knees and gently took the carrier. “Sweetheart?”

  Setting the cage on the floor, she opened the door and scooped out the small cat. It began to purr at once. Snuggling it under her chin in a move well-practiced, Delilah looked up at Ember, her eyes moist. “What happened to her? Why is she wet?”

  “I bathed her,” Ember explained. “She was found vomiting in some bushes. I think she must have gotten into something. I pumped her full of fluids and some medication. I think she’ll be okay. She hasn’t be
en sick for over an hour now.”

  Standing, Delilah continued to coo to the happy feline. After crossing the large front room, she lowered Sweetheart onto a plush cat perch and then covered her partway with a nearby blanket.

  Ember glanced awkwardly at Walker as they remained at the entry. He still had a hand on the front door and appeared to be ready for a retreat at any moment. Mushy scenes weren’t really his thing.

  “Come on,” Delilah ordered, waving an arm as she moved beyond the cat bed and into the open kitchen. “I just put some coffee on.”

  “Um, I need to get back,” Walker replied. “The coroner from Great Pines will be here any minute.”

  “Wait!” Delilah barked. “Do I need to be worried about this? Should I notify the other guests of a possible contagion? Ben, he’d thrown up blood all over the place!”

  The sheriff ran his free hand over the top of his head. “Now, Delilah, I’m not a doctor. I expect the coroner can give us a better idea, but I wouldn’t think that a man could contract and die of a virus in such a short time. You said he was fine this morning?”

  Delilah nodded.

  “Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Walker said. “Hang tight until we get a better idea of what happened. I think it’s probably some sort of medical issue that led to an internal hemorrhage.”

  As Walker made a hasty departure, Delilah turned to Ember. “You’re a doctor. What do you think?”

  Ember accepted the invitation and sat at a large wooden table while the other woman went about pouring two cups of coffee.

  “I’m not a medical doctor,” Ember answered and cringed at the look she was given in response.

  “I know that,” Delilah said, her words crisp. “But don’t you go through most of the same classes as an MD? Come on. Did you see that room? What do you make of it? Maybe I should go pull out the masks and Lysol.”

  Ember had to study Delilah’s face to make sure she was joking. Her sarcasm was worse than Mel’s.

  Oh my gosh. The personality of a roided Aunt Becky with the sarcasm of Mel. What have I gotten myself into?

  “Sheriff Walker is probably right,” Ember finally answered. “Even a bacterial illness would take longer than that to manifest to such an extent.”

  Delilah took a long sip of her coffee as she handed the other cup to Ember. Looking at her sleeping cat, she frowned again. “What do I owe you for taking care of her? I really appreciate it. That silly thing means the world to me.”

  Ember added some cream and sugar already set out on the table to her coffee. “I’ll have Mel bring the invoice by. It’ll be less than a hundred. Just a basic visit and some fluids. The clinic was still open, and we take drop-ins on Saturday’s.”

  Delilah gave a curt shake of her head in agreement before turning around. Then she began opening and slamming several cupboards as she removed a large bowl, utensils, and an assortment of ingredients. After tying on an apron with the phrase “Have you kissed a chef today?” on it, she silently started mixing.

  Ember watched in quiet admiration. Cooking wasn’t her strong suit. It was clear by the skillful movements that it was second nature to Delilah. Though it was an odd time to make a pie.

  As if reading her thoughts, Delilah paused and turned back to Ember. “I bake when I’m upset.”

  Ember peered at the older woman over the top of her mug. Then, before she could stop herself, her eyes flitted around the kitchen, taking in the multitude of pies, cookies, and other pastries lining the vast counters.

  “It’s been a rough week.” Her voice was deep for a woman, and the edge of extra emotion emphasized the truth behind the statement.

  Delilah sat the bowl down and went to the extra-large stainless-steel fridge. After pulling out a bag of apples, she yanked a formidable butcher knife from its block and started slicing.

  Ember was impressed with the room. She may not be much of a cook herself, but she could appreciate a professional setup. Everything was top of the line, from the granite countertops to the hundred-dollar knife the other woman was wielding. At one of their weekly girl lunches, Becky had told her that Delilah had professional training and was a certified chef.

  That thought reminded Ember that she was due at her aunt’s house for dinner in less than an hour. She took one more swallow of the tasty coffee and then rose. Maybe she could buy one of the fresh pies to take as dessert. Even though she’d been scoffing at Mel earlier, they really were amazing.

  Crossing to the nearest counter, Ember surveyed the choices: apple, pumpkin, cherry, blueberry. Blueberry! Stopping, she looked back at the cat, remembering the ugly scene from a few hours before.

  “Delilah,” she asked as a small prickle of apprehension stirred in her chest. “You said that Allen Swenson was about to eat breakfast when you last saw him this morning. Did you happen to see what that was?”

  “Well, of course I did,” Delilah answered. She wiped her hands off on her apron and set them on her hips before turning her full attention to Ember. “I gave it to him. Blueberry pie was his favorite.”

  FOUR

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Becky Stratton’s mouth hung open. Her green eyes were wide as she pushed herself back slowly from the dinner table. “You think the pie killed him?”

  Ember had just finished explaining why she was late for dinner. Her Aunt Becky and Uncle Paul sat opposite her, while the ten-year-old twin boys were seated to either side. Her niece, Elizabeth, was fourteen and bore all the glorious traits of a young teen. She was currently eating dinner in her room so as not to suffer the hideousness of her brothers Tim and Bret, according to Becky. It was a normal night at the Stratton house.

  “I didn’t say the pie killed him,” Ember said calmly. “I think something in the pie might have made him sick, which may have led to his death. It’s just too much of a coincidence that the cat had the same symptoms and, based on what she threw up, ate the same thing.”

  “Cool,” Bret interjected.

  “Are we going to barf up blood and die too, Mom?” Tim, the more cautious of the twins, gasped. “’Cause we ate blueberry pie yesterday!” He was nearly yelling, the panic evident in his voice.

  Ember fought a surge of guilt as Becky turned a scornful eye on her. The message was clear. Time to back up the conversation. “Uh, no, Tim. Whatever it was worked really fast. You’d have been sick right away.”

  The young boy’s eyes got even wider, and he looked pleadingly at his mom.

  Burying her face in her hands briefly to gather herself, Becky sighed and then stood and walked around the table. After scooping another large serving of sweet yams onto Tim’s plate, she bent and gave him a hug.

  “What Ember meant to say,” she began, looking pointedly at Ember over Tim’s head, “was that you don’t need to worry about anything. I’m sure Delilah makes a great pie.”

  Releasing the squirming boy from her embrace, Becky moved on to Bret, whom she also gave a quick squeeze. “But the only pies eaten around here are the ones I make myself!”

  “What does Ben think?” Paul Stratton asked, ignoring his wife’s attempts to placate the boys. “Sounds like maybe rat poison to me.”

  “Paul!” Becky scolded. “Can’t we talk about this later? Besides, it can’t be rat poison.”

  “Why not?” Paul looked at his wife with raised brows.

  “Because while it causes internal hemorrhage in people,” Ember answered, “it has a different effect on cats.”

  Nodding, Becky went back to her seat. “That’s right. Contrary to popular belief, in cats and dogs, rat poisoning first presents with neurological symptoms.”

  “Sheriff Walker thought rat poison too,” Ember said to Paul. “I honestly don’t know what could have had that kind of a devastating result so fast. Obviously, if the cat got into the same thing, she didn’t ingest nearly as much. But it had to be very toxic.”

  “Cool,” Bret repeated, smiling at his brother, mocking him.

  Ember had a feeling that there
was a long stretch of “killer food” pranks on the horizon for poor Tim.

  “So, tell me about Delilah,” she said to Becky while spooning some tater tot casserole onto her plate.

  Clearly grateful for the change in subject, Becky happily dove into a detailed history. “Delilah Huntsman was one year behind Ben and me in high school. She and Ben dated for a couple of years, but he broke things off the summer before his senior year. You know how things are in high school,” Becky lamented, stirring the peas around on her plate. “Especially in a small community. It was ugly for a few months, and rumors flew. But after Ben and me…um, after we became good friends partway through our senior year, things settled down.”

  “Why don’t you just say you and Sheriff Walker had the hots for each other?” Elizabeth said happily as she walked through the dining room and into the adjoining kitchen.

  “Ewww!” Tim howled.

  “Cool,” Bret whispered.

  Ember, her face pinched with concern, glanced sideways at Bret. She was afraid she’d armed the conspiring lad with enough material to last him a month. It would probably be a while before she was invited to dinner again.

  “Elizabeth Stratton! Where do you learn to talk that way?” Becky scolded.

  The teen, who had been digging around in the fridge, reemerged with a pie tin in her hand. Beaming at her mother, she set it on the counter and went to retrieve a plate. “It’s the way everyone talks, Mom. Geez, it’s not like I cussed or anything.”

  Without a word, Becky rose from her seat and approached her daughter. Ember was concerned for a moment that it was going to turn into a full-scale confrontation, but instead of arguing, Becky quietly took the pie and proceeded to dump it into the garbage.

  “Mom!” Elizabeth wailed. “I was going to eat that!”

  “We’ve had too many sweets lately. Eat an apple.”

  Paul was studying his wife, and Ember saw the moment when awareness crossed his features.

  “But I thought you said you made the―”