The Case of the Poison Powder Chapter 2
Margaret Mitchell Mysteries - The cozy cousin of Carson Crime Files
The Case of the Poison Powder
(Miss Chapter 1? Find it Here)
Chapter 2
Margaret sat in her car outside Shady Glenn, engine off, hands still on the wheel. Through the foggy windshield, the brick facade stared back at her. Spotty whined impatiently from the backseat.
“All right.” She opened the door. The terrier burst out like a furry cannonball, wagging his tail with such enthusiasm that his entire back half wiggled. Spotty had exactly two modes: asleep or convinced he was late for something very important.
Right now, he was definitely late.
Margaret smiled as she slipped his special canine visitor vest over his head, a process Spotty tolerated with the martyred air of a nobleman forced to wear peasant clothes. The vest read “THERAPY DOG” in cheerful letters, though “CHAOS AGENT” would have been more accurate. She’d adopted him from the shelter three years ago, and he’d been systematically destroying her throw pillows ever since while also healing hearts at Shady Glenn.
The automatic doors opened with a whoosh, releasing the smell of floor cleaner and lavender air freshener trying to mask institutional life. Wheel of Fortune blared from the lobby TV. Pat Sajak’s cheerful voice competing with someone’s gospel music playing down the hall and what sounded like Mrs. Henderson’s afternoon opera hour. The place was never quiet—one of the things Margaret actually loved about it. Her mother’s memory care wing was hushed and careful, but here in the main building, life was loud and gloriously messy.
As they rounded the corner of the big stone fireplace, Margaret saw Miss Linda resting in her wheelchair, rigidly upright even while she dozed off. The sound of Spotty’s paws clicking across the floor caused Linda to open her eyes.
“Spotty, you rascal, get on up here!” Linda was now fully alert, arms outstretched like a child waiting for Christmas morning.
Spotty skittered to a halt at her feet and waited. A nurse hurried past with a laptop cart, one of those rolling computer stations the facility had installed last year during their “digital transition.” She was muttering under her breath: “I know I entered Mrs. Patterson’s meds this morning, but the system says I didn’t. Now I have to go back and—” She noticed Margaret and switched to a professional smile. “Good afternoon, Ms. Mitchell!”
Margaret watched her wheel the cart toward the medication room, still grumbling about the computer system eating her entries.
Linda sniffed. “Technology. In my day, you wrote things down with a pen and that was that. None of this clicking and deleting nonsense.”
Margaret chuckled as she picked up the wiggling mass of white fur and gently placed Spotty on a pillow in Linda’s lap.
“How are you surviving the criminals and miscreants, Margaret?”
“One motion at a time, Miss Linda. But after a day of filing motions in court, your brand of miscreants is a whole lot more charming.
Linda’s eyes sparkled. “Speaking of criminals—they gave us chicken again. I’m convinced they’re trying to turn us into poultry.”
Margaret laughed warmly. Complaining was one thing that Linda did very often and very well.
A mechanical whir announced Cheryl’s arrival. Her motorized chair zipped around the corner at inadvisable speed.
“Early bird gets the worm!” Cheryl cackled, executing a sharp turn that would’ve impressed a NASCAR driver. The former race car enthusiast, who’d driven in the Powder Puff Derby in the 1960s and never let anyone forget it, treated every hallway like a speedway. She wore a silk scarf today, tied jauntily around her neck, and her lipstick was the same bold red she’d probably worn at Daytona.
“You nearly flattened us!” George Mitchell’s gravelly voice echoed from the hallway. Margaret found her father navigating his wheelchair with painstaking care, Tony shuffling behind in his own wheelchair, propelling it backward with his feet.
“Here, Dad.” She kissed his thinning hair and grabbed the handles. After settling her father, she returned for Tony, who’d stopped mid-hallway, staring at the wall.
“Marget!” His face transformed into a gap-toothed grin as he rocked his chair forward and back like a metronome. Tony’s cardigan was buttoned with the top button in the second hole, and he wore two different colored socks, one argyle and one striped. He’d been a mathematics professor before his stroke, and even now he counted things compulsively, tapping his fingers: one-two-three-four-five, one-two-three-four-five. “Angela’s putting up the decorations soon. The ones with the little bells that go tinkle-tinkle.” Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “That’s how you know Christmas is coming.”
“Christmas was weeks ago, you old crackpot,” Linda called out.
Margaret wheeled Tony into the circle. “But it’ll come around again, won’t it?”
“That’s right!” Tony beamed like she’d confirmed a universal truth.
Linda rolled her eyes.
Everyone exchanged the usual small talk while Spotty made his rounds. Complaining about the food, debating The Price Is Right. Seeing the residents’ bright smiles warmed Margaret’s heart every time.
“How’s Mom?” she asked her dad quietly.
George shrugged. “She’s happy today. The nurse has been giving her lots of cookies.”
Margaret laughed. “I’d better go check on her. Y’all behave yourselves while I’m gone.” She winked at Cheryl. “And no drag racing in the hallways, you hear?”
Cheryl cackled as Margaret made her way down the familiar hallway, Spotty’s little paws clicking softly against the linoleum floor. As she reached her mother’s room, she paused to take a deep breath before gently pushing the door open. Candace Mitchell sat by the window, staring out at the garden below, her once bright eyes now clouded with confusion.
“Scarlett, is that you?” Candace turned her head slowly, a flicker of recognition lighting up her face.
“Yes, Mama, it’s me,” Margaret replied, slipping into the role more easily than she would have liked. She crossed the room, placing a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder.
Candace’s face broke into a soft smile, her fingers reaching up to touch Margaret’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home. Have you checked on the farm? I heard Rhett had some trouble with the horses.”
“Everything’s fine at Tara, Mama.” The lies came easier now. “The fields are green; the house is standing.” She’d learned not to correct her mother back to reality. Meet her where she is, the doctors said. Don’t argue with the delusion.
Candace nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. Her gaze shifted back to the window. “Do you remember when you were little, Scarlett? How we used to sit by the fire, and I would tell you stories about Tara?”
Margaret smiled at the memory. “I remember, Mama. You always had the best stories. You made everything seem so real, like I could reach out and touch it.”
Candace’s eyes softened, a rare moment of clarity passing over her. “You had such an imagination. Always asking questions, always dreaming. I knew you’d do great things. You’ve made something of yourself, even in these hard times. I’m proud of you, Scarlett. So very proud.”
Margaret’s throat tightened as the moment of clarity passed, but she kept her voice steady. “Thank you, Mama. I just want to make you happy.”
“You do, my darling,” Candace whispered, her hand reaching out to cup Margaret’s cheek. “You always have.”
Margaret leaned into the touch, eyes stinging.
“I’m tired now, Scarlett. Will you get the girls to come help me?”
“Of course, Mama,” Margaret said softly, pressing the red call button beside the bed. While they waited, she straightened the photographs on the nightstand, pictures from a life her mother no longer recognized. Law school graduation. Family vacation to Yellowstone. Mom and Dad’s fortieth anniversary.
Ashley arrived, and Margaret kissed her mother’s forehead. “Goodnight, Mama.”
“Tell Rhett I’ll talk to him tomorrow about those horses.”
Margaret and Spotty made their way back to the common area. The familiar sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air. Margaret smiled in spite of her heavy heart when she saw Linda, Cheryl, Tony, and her father, George, huddled together by the fireplace.
“Margaret!” Cheryl called out, her voice rising above the others. She was perched in her motorized chair, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “We were just talking about you!”
Margaret raised an eyebrow, amused by Cheryl’s eagerness. “Oh? Should I be worried?”
Linda, sitting primly in her wheelchair, waved a dismissive hand. “Only if you’ve been stealing pesticides from agrochemical companies.”
Margaret’s attention snapped back to her current case. “Oh?”
Tony leaned forward, his eyes wide with the thrill of the gossip. “There was a story on the news, Marget. A woman got arrested for swipin’ a whole lotta pesticide—pesticide!”
Margaret’s stomach flipped. “You saw that?”
“Channel 7, noon.” Linda declared matter-of-factly. “She worked at the company—what was it?”
“AgroSynthetics,” George supplied, his lawyer’s mind still sharp despite his failing body. “They said she was caught red-handed, but the news didn’t say what she planned to do with it.”
“Well,” Cheryl chimed in, her gray eyes twinkling, “I reckon she was going to use it in her own garden. Prize tomatoes need serious pest control.”
Linda scoffed, shaking her head. “Nonsense! If she was going to use it for her garden, why steal so much? No, no, it’s much more sinister than that. I bet she was going to poison her cheating husband. Men like that deserve a good dose of something nasty.”
Tony gasped, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You think she was going to...to kill him?”
Margaret couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. “I hate to break it to you all, but I know Sade Jalloh. She’s a good woman who’s been caught up in something she didn’t do. She doesn’t have a garden, and she’d never hurt anyone—least of all her husband.”
Four pairs of eyes swiveled to her.
“You know her?” Cheryl breathed.
“I’m representing her.”
The group fell silent for a moment, absorbing this new information. Then Cheryl leaned in closer, her voice low and dramatic. “So, if she didn’t steal it for herself, then who did? Maybe she’s taking the fall for someone else.”
Linda’s eyes narrowed, and she nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Maybe she was framed! It’s always the innocent ones who get caught up in these things.”
Margaret felt a surge of warmth for these dear souls. “She does have an alibi, you know. So, it’s possible someone else is responsible.”
The room erupted with excitement, the seniors talking over one another as they theorized about who could have framed Sade.
Cheryl waved her arms to quiet the group. “Maybe it was someone at the company. You know, those big companies are always up to something shady.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Linda said, unconvinced.
“Is it?” George steepled his fingers—a gesture Margaret had seen a thousand times. “An inside job makes sense—but that doesn’t mean it was her inside job.”
Margaret felt something click. George had always been a steady presence in her life, inspiring her to follow in his footsteps as a criminal defense attorney.
“Margaret,” Linda’s voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. “Do you think the police will figure out who really did it?”
“I think the truth has a way of coming out, one way or another.”
Linda nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Well, whoever it is, I hope they get what’s coming to them. And I hope your client goes free. It’s not right, blaming an innocent woman.”
Cheryl grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Leave it to Margaret. If anyone can prove her innocence, it’s you.”
Margaret’s smile softened as she looked around at the group. “Thanks, hon. That means the world coming from you. All of you. I’ll do everything I can for her. I promise you that.”
As the conversation drifted to lighter topics, Margaret let herself relax into the moment. The room was filled with warmth and laughter, and surrounded by the people she cared about, the weight of her responsibilities felt a little lighter.
Stay tuned for Chapter 3, 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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