The Prophet

“But she’s been dead for years.”

“There was talk within our community about a visit Shaw made to a root doctor once, a man known to sell powders and elixirs for nefarious purposes. Shaw was interested in acquiring an extract made from white baneberry. Every part of that plant is poisonous, but the berries are particularly lethal. They contain a carcinogenic toxin that sedates the cardiac muscles. It’s highly desirable as a poison because there’s no nausea or vomiting that might arouse suspicion, and the berries are sweet-tasting. Death would come quickly, especially in someone whose heart was already weakened. Shortly after the rumors surfaced, Shaw’s wife died.”

I stared at the ghost in shock. “You can’t possibly think he poisoned her. She was ill for a very long time. Her death was hardly sudden or unexpected.”

“We may never know. It’s unlikely an autopsy would have been performed on a terminal patient that suffered heart failure,” he said. “And if she was cremated, there’s no chance of an exhumation.”

“I still can’t believe it. From everything I’ve heard, Dr. Shaw was completely devoted to his wife right up until the very end.”

“Maybe he thought death would be a kindness to her. To both of them.”

“You’re talking about euthanasia. Mercy killing,” I said.

“Yes. But in the eyes of the law, it would have been murder.”

His blunt words sent a chill through me and I stood there shivering as dusk crept upon us. In my mind, I kept seeing Dr. Shaw’s face when he returned to his office after his confrontation with Gerrity. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost and he’d called out a woman’s name. Sylvia.

Was his guilt conjuring strange visions of his dead wife?

At least no one can accuse me of murder, Gerrity had said to him.

My pulse quickened as the damning puzzle pieces fell into place. I didn’t want to believe it, of course. I was very fond of Rupert Shaw. I admired and respected his work. But I couldn’t ignore what seemed to be staring me in the face.

Was it really going to be that easy to uncover Fremont’s killer? Somehow, I doubted it.

“If Gerrity knew that Shaw had obtained the extract, he certainly had ammunition for blackmail,” Fremont said.

“Yes, but how do you figure into all this? That’s the question. Even if Dr. Shaw poisoned his wife, what motive would he have for killing you? You’ve obviously done some research into this plant. Did you confront him with your suspicions?”

“I don’t remember any such confrontation.”

“Think hard. You have all these memories of Dr. Shaw and Gerrity and even Regina Sparks. The rest is still there. You just have to somehow tap into it. Is it possible Dr. Shaw followed you to the cemetery that night?”

“Anything is possible. I’m standing here talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Yes, that’s a good point.” I glanced down at my phone, idly checking the time. “I can’t even imagine Dr. Shaw poisoning his sick wife out of mercy, let alone shooting a cop in the back.”

“Maybe you just don’t want to imagine it. He is a friend of yours, after all.”

“That could be part of it,” I conceded.

“You’d be surprised what a man is capable of when he’s cornered.”

“So, how do we find out the truth? From what I saw yesterday, Dr. Shaw is in precarious health, both mentally and physically. I don’t want to be the one to push him over the edge. Especially when I’m not convinced he’s guilty of anything more than eccentricity.”

“Talk to Gerrity. If you catch him by surprise, he may give something away.”

“The last time I caught Tom Gerrity by surprise, he pulled a gun on me,” I said with a shiver. “I’m willing to help you move on, but I’d rather not go with you.”

“You need to talk to Gerrity,” he insisted. “I feel very strongly about it.”

“Will you be there?”

“If I’m needed.”

That wasn’t much comfort.

“There’s something else I want to talk to you about,” I said. “This is even more of a long shot than the autopsy report, but it’s been bothering me. I can’t seem to let it go. You told me one of the last things you remember was meeting a woman. Her perfume was still on you when you died. Even now you can smell it on your clothing.”

Maybe it was my imagination, but I sensed a sudden tension in him. “What about it?”

“Can you describe the scent? Is it flowery? Musky? Woodsy?”

“It smells like darkness,” he said.

That wasn’t much help. “Does the name Isabel Perilloux ring a bell?”

I had expected him to dismiss the name immediately. After all, there was nothing but my jealousy connecting Devlin’s brunette to Fremont’s murder. But to my surprise, he grew very pensive, and I could have sworn I felt a cold breath down my neck.

“Do you know her?” I pressed.

“I can’t recall her face, but I see her hands.”

His words unnerved me and I caught my breath. “You see as in a premonition? Are you having a vision? Or maybe it’s a memory. She’s a palmist. Maybe you went to her for a reading.”

He was silent for another long moment. “She has blood on her hands.”

My heart was pounding very hard as I gazed at his silent form. “Literally or figuratively?”

“Keep your distance from this woman,” warned the ghost Prophet.

He lifted his head, pinning me with his shuttered eyes. “She has killed or will kill in the very near future.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Keep your distance from this woman. She has killed or will kill in the very near future.

All the way home, those two sentences kept running through my brain, but could I trust Fremont’s premonition? After all, if he could see blood on Isabel Perilloux’s hands, why couldn’t he see his own killer?

Then again, maybe he had.

Maybe Isabel was the killer. Maybe it was her cloying perfume that still clung to his clothing.

I’d been gone all day, so Angus was eager to go out. But rather than wait for him in the backyard as I normally did, I left him to wander about on his own while I went to my office and opened my laptop. Ten minutes later, I’d learned little more about white baneberry than Fremont had already told me. The plant was common throughout the eastern part of the country, the berries resembled old porcelain doll’s eyes (hence the nickname doll’s eye plant) and the roots were sometimes ground up to make a tea. It was also used in mojo bags and banishing spells.

More food for thought. Maybe Dr. Shaw’s interest in the extract was strictly from a necromantic perspective. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to poison his wife but to drive off evil spirits.

Strange how I grasped at the flimsiest straw to clear Dr. Shaw even as the evidence against him mounted, but I was more than willing to indict Isabel on a ghost’s premonition. And even worse, on the scent of her perfume.

Checking the time, I reluctantly shut down my computer and went to lure Angus inside with the rattle of his food bowl. While he ate, I showered, dried my hair and then dressed in jeans and a new sweater for my dinner with Ethan and Temple.

A little while later, I parked near the wharf and drew on my jacket as I walked up East Bay to Queen Street. Ethan was already at the restaurant when I arrived. He’d snagged a window table and sat gazing out at the evening traffic, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hello there.”

He looked up with a start. “Amelia! I’m glad you could make it.” He motioned for the waitress as he rose to