“It’s possible,” Annie said. By now, she was feeling quite wretched. What if poor Greta was blameless, and she was casting suspicion on an innocent young woman? “I saw a fresh bruise on her face once. I didn’t ask her what caused it.”
The sheriff tipped his hat. “Thank you, Mrs. Duncan. You’ve been helpful. We’ll talk to the girl as soon as we’ve heard what Mrs. Crow has to say.”
“You’re welcome,” Annie said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if Caroline will come home with me for supper, and spend the night.”
The doctor nodded, pleased. “You do that, Mrs. Duncan. I’ll be performing the autopsy in the morning, so the undertaker’s helpers will come for Mrs. Hunt’s body shortly. It would be good if the child wasn’t there to see her mother being taken away.”
• • •
AS it turned out, Annie made supper for both Caroline and Adam—gingerbread pancakes, shaped like gingerbread men, because that’s what the little girl asked for. Caroline was pale and spent from crying. But she brightened up over supper and was pleased when her father sat down in Annie’s rocking chair, took her in his lap, and told her a story about his growing-up years out on Limekiln Road, just west of Pecan Springs. When she fell asleep, he kissed her and put her down in a little bed of soft quilts that Annie made on the floor, next to her own bed.
Afterward, Adam came into the kitchen, and Annie poured him a cup of strong coffee. “Please, sit down,” she said. With Caroline there, they hadn’t had a chance to talk at supper and there were things she needed to know.
He pulled out a chair. “I can’t stay long. I have to go to the depot and telegraph Delia’s sister. It’s going to be a terrible shock to her. I’m sure she’ll want to help arrange the . . .” His voice faltered. “The funeral.” His face was drawn and his eyes seemed sunken in his face. “I’m going to stop at the hotel, too.”
Annie stared at him. “Mr. Simpson isn’t still in town, is he?”
“I don’t think so. But there should be an address for him in the hotel register. I think he ought to know that Delia has died.” He spoke somberly. “Their relationship was more than just friendly, Annie.”
Annie stared at him. “How can you know? Did Delia tell you so?”
“I have the letter he wrote to her the day he brought the chocolates.” Adam clasped his hands around his coffee cup. “Greta said she found it in a wastebasket, although I’m sure she stole it.” He looked away. “She gave it to me.”
“Gave it to you?” Annie bit her lip, thinking that Greta must have hated her mistress even more than she had guessed. “What does it say?”
“Enough so that I can piece together the rest of the story. They were seeing each other regularly whenever Delia went to Galveston. They had obviously been intimate for some time. What’s more, Delia’s sister knew it, and helped Simpson.” He shook his head. “Clarissa never thought I was good enough for Delia.”
“Intimate!” Annie stared at him, her eyes wide. But she couldn’t blame Delia and Mr. Simpson for doing the same thing that she and Adam had done. Perhaps they had been deeply in love—and now Delia was dead. What would Mr. Simpson say when he got the news? How would he feel?
She looked back down at her cup. “Did Dr. Grogan tell you how Delia died?”
Adam nodded. “Poison hemlock seeds. The doctor thinks Mrs. Crow gave them to her accidentally, instead of wild carrot. He blames the old lady for carelessness.” His eyes met hers. “Delia wasn’t using those seeds on my account, I promise you, Annie. But of course, I couldn’t tell that to the doctor. I’m sure he assumes that Delia and I were sleeping together. I didn’t want him to think that she might be—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Everything is all mixed up. It’s a mess.”
There were so many things that needed to be said that Annie almost didn’t know where to start. She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Crow had nothing to do with it, Adam. She didn’t have any seeds, remember? She told Delia where to find them, in the empty lot behind Purley’s. Delia sent Greta to Purley’s for ribbons, and I think she ordered her to gather the seeds while she was there.” Quickly, she reported her over-the-hedge conversation with Greta, ending with, “Mrs. Crow told me that wild hemlock was growing in that area as well, and warned me to be careful. She said she told Delia the same thing. But Delia may not have cautioned Greta, or Greta may not have known how to tell the difference between the two plants. She might have made a mistake.”
And then Adam asked the same question Annie had asked herself. “But what if it wasn’t an accident? What if she did it on purpose?”
There was a long silence. The kerosene lamp over the kitchen table burned with a steady flame. In the distance, Annie heard the mournful wail of the steam whistle as the railroad train neared the depot on its late-night run south to San Antonio.
“I’ve thought about that, too.” Annie bit her lip. “I know that Delia wasn’t very kind to her. I once saw a bruise on the girl’s face after an especially loud exchange.”
“Delia outright abused her,” Adam said flatly. He rubbed his hand along his jaw. After a moment, he added, “If Greta mixed up those seeds deliberately, she might have had another motive.”
“Another motive?”
Adam nodded. “If my wife was cruel to her when I was around, I stepped in. Once, I kept Delia from slapping her.” He slid Annie a guilty look. “Greta misinterpreted that. She thought I had a more personal reason. That I . . . that I liked her. More than that, maybe.”
With a start, Annie remembered
