We checked every online order and in-store purchase paid with a credit card and found none of them to be missing, so they’ve all been ruled out. That only leaves the paid-in-cash purchases, of which there are eight. So far it’s been a dead end. Shoddy bookkeeping, and cash doesn’t leave much of a trail.”
“Keep checking. They had to mean something to the kil ler if he brought them himself. We’re sure Allison Tisdale didn’t pay cash for them herself?”
“Why would she?” Moore asked. “If she bought them for the open house then wouldn’t she want a record of them? Write-offs and all that?”
“Agreed, but make sure. Show her picture at the local flower shops. What about the honey?”
“Nothing special there either,” Moore continued. “Reg ular store-bought, every-day household honey. Nothing added to it. We’re running tests to see if we can track where it came from or where it was sold, but I’ve a feeling it’s so ordinary that we won’t get any help from that angle.”
“Any guesses as to why it was there in the first place?”
Moore motioned at Tippin from across the table for him to continue.
“Um, uh . . . There’s nothing really all that special about honey, but . . .”
“Go on,” Parks encouraged.
“There are a few things. It’s a symbol of sweetness. We use it here in America as a term of endearment. Hey, honey. Hon. Et cetera. Um, in ancient Egypt and some Middle Eas tern cultures, it was used as a way to embalm the dead.” Tippin looked up and shrugged. Parks was impressed. The kid was doing a good job so far. Tippin looked back down to his computer screen and continued. “Min, the fertility god of Egypt, was offered honey.”
“Make a note to ask Tanaka about that,” Parks said to Moore. “Please, God, don’t tell me she was pregnant. An ything else?”
“The Mayans regard the bee as sacred.”
“Noted. Next?”
“It’s a symbol for the new year in Jewish traditions.”
“Noted.”
“The Christians have several mentions of it. ‘Land of milk and honey.’ Stuff like that.”
“Okay,” Parks said as he looked at his empty mug, which he didn’t recall finishing. “I think we have all we’re going to get out of this topic. Rachel, make sure we run all the tests and get me the results when they come in.”
“Will do.” Moore nodded.
“And, Tippin, good job. Get your findings and add them to the murder book. Not sure there’s anything of note there, but you never know. What about the pills found on the body?”
“Tanaka was right,” Moore began. “One tablet of Perc odan and one of codeine. From what we could determine, Allison Tisdale wasn’t taking either. Neither she nor her husband has ever been prescribed either pill by any of their doctors, and Tanaka said she didn’t find any trace amounts in the victim’s bloodstream.”
“So it could be assumed they were left there by the killer. On purpose.”
“It’s a good assumption. But why?” Moore asked.
“That is one of the many million-dollar questions about this case. We’ll make a note of it. What about the house i tself?”
“It’s worth seven point three million,” said Tippin, once again taking the reins in the conversation as he began to type away on his computer, clearing the screen of the honey i nformation and bringing up a new file. “It’s been on the market for five months, though the previous owners haven’t lived in it for six. They’re currently down in San Diego, something to do with the owner’s job. They haven’t been back since they turned the house over to Allison Tisdale to sell. She had it overhauled and fixed up—painted, fumigated, cleaned, et cetera—back when she first inherited it, but otherwise there have been no worker-type people anywhere around the house for three months.”
“What about gardeners?” Parks asked. “That yard was maintained. You can’t tell me Allison Tisdale was out there every week mowing the lawn in her pearls and
“Keep checking. They had to mean something to the kil ler if he brought them himself. We’re sure Allison Tisdale didn’t pay cash for them herself?”
“Why would she?” Moore asked. “If she bought them for the open house then wouldn’t she want a record of them? Write-offs and all that?”
“Agreed, but make sure. Show her picture at the local flower shops. What about the honey?”
“Nothing special there either,” Moore continued. “Reg ular store-bought, every-day household honey. Nothing added to it. We’re running tests to see if we can track where it came from or where it was sold, but I’ve a feeling it’s so ordinary that we won’t get any help from that angle.”
“Any guesses as to why it was there in the first place?”
Moore motioned at Tippin from across the table for him to continue.
“Um, uh . . . There’s nothing really all that special about honey, but . . .”
“Go on,” Parks encouraged.
“There are a few things. It’s a symbol of sweetness. We use it here in America as a term of endearment. Hey, honey. Hon. Et cetera. Um, in ancient Egypt and some Middle Eas tern cultures, it was used as a way to embalm the dead.” Tippin looked up and shrugged. Parks was impressed. The kid was doing a good job so far. Tippin looked back down to his computer screen and continued. “Min, the fertility god of Egypt, was offered honey.”
“Make a note to ask Tanaka about that,” Parks said to Moore. “Please, God, don’t tell me she was pregnant. An ything else?”
“The Mayans regard the bee as sacred.”
“Noted. Next?”
“It’s a symbol for the new year in Jewish traditions.”
“Noted.”
“The Christians have several mentions of it. ‘Land of milk and honey.’ Stuff like that.”
“Okay,” Parks said as he looked at his empty mug, which he didn’t recall finishing. “I think we have all we’re going to get out of this topic. Rachel, make sure we run all the tests and get me the results when they come in.”
“Will do.” Moore nodded.
“And, Tippin, good job. Get your findings and add them to the murder book. Not sure there’s anything of note there, but you never know. What about the pills found on the body?”
“Tanaka was right,” Moore began. “One tablet of Perc odan and one of codeine. From what we could determine, Allison Tisdale wasn’t taking either. Neither she nor her husband has ever been prescribed either pill by any of their doctors, and Tanaka said she didn’t find any trace amounts in the victim’s bloodstream.”
“So it could be assumed they were left there by the killer. On purpose.”
“It’s a good assumption. But why?” Moore asked.
“That is one of the many million-dollar questions about this case. We’ll make a note of it. What about the house i tself?”
“It’s worth seven point three million,” said Tippin, once again taking the reins in the conversation as he began to type away on his computer, clearing the screen of the honey i nformation and bringing up a new file. “It’s been on the market for five months, though the previous owners haven’t lived in it for six. They’re currently down in San Diego, something to do with the owner’s job. They haven’t been back since they turned the house over to Allison Tisdale to sell. She had it overhauled and fixed up—painted, fumigated, cleaned, et cetera—back when she first inherited it, but otherwise there have been no worker-type people anywhere around the house for three months.”
“What about gardeners?” Parks asked. “That yard was maintained. You can’t tell me Allison Tisdale was out there every week mowing the lawn in her pearls and
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