Case of the Poison Powder Chapter 8
Margaret Mitchell Mysteries - The cozy cousin of Carson Crime Files
The Case of the Poison Powder
(Miss Chapter 7? Find it Here) Or start with the first chapter!
Chapter 8
Margaret dialed Olu Jalloh’s number from her office, Spotty dozing in his cushion beside the file cabinet. While the phone rang, she did the thing she always did during difficult calls: reorganized the pens on her desk by color. Blue, black, red, green. Then by size. Then back to color.
Katherine called it her “nervous tic.”
Margaret called it “staying focused.”
The phone rang three times before a tired male voice answered.
“Mr. Jalloh, this is Margaret Mitchell, your wife’s attorney. I need to ask you a few questions.”
She’d arranged the pens by manufacturer now. This was a bad sign.
A heavy sigh. “Yeah, okay. The kids are with my mother-in-law, so I’ve got time.”
“Where were you on the night of January 8th?”
“Home. Bedtime routine with the kids—bath, books, prayers. Then I watched the Ravens playoff game. They lost to the Steelers.” His voice held bitter exhaustion. “Seemed fitting.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
“The kids were here, but they’re three and five. I called my sister in Philadelphia around 9:30 PM, talked for about twenty minutes. You can check the phone records.”
Margaret made notes. No adult alibi. “Have you ever met or spoken with Nick Liu? He’s the R&D director at AgroSynthetics.”
“Never heard of him. Sade didn’t talk much about work beyond her immediate coworkers.”
“Has anyone contacted you about purchasing pesticides? Large quantities of chlorpyrifos?”
“What? No. Why would they?” He sounded genuinely confused. “Ms. Mitchell, I teach high school history. I don’t know anything about chemicals.”
“I had to ask.” Margaret tapped her pen against her pad. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Jalloh, I believe your wife is innocent.”
A long pause. “I hope you’re right. For the kids’ sake.” His voice dropped. “Look, I’m a lot of things. A cheater, a bad husband. But I need Sade’s income. This house, daycare—I can’t afford any of it without her salary. If she goes to prison, we lose everything.”
“I understand. Thank you for your time.”
Margaret ended the call and stared at her notes. Olu had motive for divorce, but no apparent means to pull off the theft. And more importantly, he had no apparent connection to Nick Liu.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d skipped lunch again. She checked her watch. Three-thirty. Too late for lunch, too early for dinner. The filing deadline for the Rodriguez case wasn’t until five, and she was already prepared.
“Come on, Spotty. Coffee break.”
The terrier’s ears perked up. Field trip meant car ride, and car ride meant potential for dropped food items. This was Spotty’s favorite equation.
Ten minutes later, Margaret pushed open the door to Sweet Thing Bakery, the bell jingling cheerfully. The place smelled like cinnamon and butter. Spotty’s nose went into overdrive.
“Margaret!” Donna Harris looked up from behind the counter, flour dusting her dark hands and forearms. She’d been running this bakery for twenty years, and Margaret had been a customer for at least fifteen of them. “And Spotty! Come here, handsome.”
Spotty pulled Margaret across the black-and-white checkered floor, his little paws clicking with urgency. Donna came around the counter to crouch down, letting him lick her fingers enthusiastically.
“He remembers me,” Donna said with satisfaction.
“He remembers everyone who’s ever given him food,” Margaret laughed. “It’s his superpower.”
“Smart dog.” Donna straightened, wiping her hands on her apron—pink gingham today, with embroidered cupcakes marching across the front. “What can I get you? And don’t say black coffee. You need actual sustenance.”
Margaret surveyed the pastry case. Apple turnovers, still warm. Chocolate croissants. Lemon bars that made her teeth hurt just looking at them. And there, on the second shelf, her weakness: blueberry scones with that perfect crispy-crumbly texture.
“Blueberry scone,” she admitted. “And yes, black coffee.”
“Two scones,” Donna corrected, already reaching into the case. “You’re too thin.”
Margaret didn’t argue. She settled at the wobbly table by the window, and Spotty arranged himself at her feet in perfect crumb-catching position. The first bite of scone was buttery perfection.
Her phone rang. Chris Webb from AgroSynthetics.
“Mr. Webb?”
“Ms. Mitchell.” His voice came through slightly breathless. “I know you were looking for Nick Liu. He’s here. In the office. Right now.”
Margaret was already standing, scone abandoned. “I’m on my way.”
She left money on the table, grabbed Spotty, and hurried to her car. Finally—a chance to question Nick Liu face-to-face.
She was about to dial Katherine’s number when “Chris Webb” flashed on the screen. The security manager from AgroSynthetics.
“Mr. Webb, hello.”
“Ms. Mitchell.” His voice came through slightly breathless, like he’d been hurrying. She heard the crunch of sunflower seeds in the background. “I know you were looking for Nick Liu. He’s here. In the office. Right now.”
Margaret’s pulse quickened. “He is?”
“Just showed up about fifteen minutes ago. Walked in like nothing was wrong, went straight to his office in R&D.” Another crunch. “Thought you’d want to know.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Webb.” Margaret was already walking to her car. “I’m about twenty minutes away. Can you—”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t leave before you get here. He seems... off. Jumpy. Like he’s looking over his shoulder.”
“Just keep your distance, please. Don’t approach him or let him know I’m coming.” Margaret cranked the engine and pulled away from the curb. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She ended the call and immediately hit Katherine’s number. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail.
“Kat, it’s me. Nick Liu just showed up at AgroSynthetics. I’m heading there now. Chris Webb is keeping an eye on him. Call me back as soon as you get this.”
Margaret tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and pressed the accelerator. Her mind raced faster than the car. Nick Liu. Finally. The elusive R&D director who’d been conspicuously absent, who had the technical expertise to bypass security cameras, who had access to that storage room.
Why would he come back? If he’d stolen the pesticides and framed Sade, why risk returning to the facility?
Unless he needed something. Unless there was unfinished business.
Or unless he had nothing to hide.
Stay tuned for Chapter 9, next week!
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Margaret Mitchell, her white terrier Spotty, and her gang at the local nursing home tackle Baltimore mysteries with pluck, perception, and palaver.
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