Thyme of Death

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Authors: Susan Wittig Albert
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths
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one.”
    “Arnold—” I stared at Ruby. “You
mean, you think that an illustrious city father and the owner of the town
newspaper would murder—”
    Ruby spoke with dignity. “The owner
of the newspaper and the chief lobbyist for the airport. He’s been
courting the developers for months, China. He’s spent all his spare time and a
big hunk of change trying to convince the City Council that the airport would
be good for growth. Jo was standing between him and that airport, and the
Coalition was getting stronger every day. He wanted her out of the way. And
somebody was in that house, remember? That’s what Meredith says.”
    I frowned. Ruby’s arguments made a certain
kind of sense. But Arnold Seidensticker was a cautious, conservative man with
an enormous sense of his own and his family’s importance. It was hard for me to
picture him pouring sleeping pills into a woman who would probably die of
cancer before she could do more than set back his schedule by a month or two.
    “Arnold Seidensticker doesn’t wear
perfume,” I said.
    Ruby sighed. “Well, then, Lila
Seidensticker.”
    I hooted derisively. Lila was Arnold’s
wife, a skinny platinum blonde with arms like diamond-circled soda straws and a
mouth the color of a freshly painted fire hydrant. She was a total dingbat. But
Arnold wasn’t a dingbat. Nor was he a man to be trifled with.
    I leaned forward. “You listen to me,
Ruby. Lay off that murder stuff. If Arnold Seidensticker hears you defaming his
sacred name, you’ll find yourself sued for slander in nothing flat. What’s
more, there’s not an attorney in this town who’d touch your case. And you still
haven’t told me how you think the murderer got the pills into her. Assuming of
course, there was a—”
    Ruby cocked her head. “Listen,” she
said. “Somebody’s having an argument.”
    “You bet your sweet bippy somebody’s
having an argument,” I replied warmly. “In my professional opinion, people who
go around making unsupported accusations deserve to—”
    Ruby gave me a patient smile. “Not us, silly. The argument’s coming from back there.” She gestured in the
direction of the cottage. “Listen.”
    I listened. I heard an angry voice,
loud and getting louder, coming from the open window of the guest cottage ten
yards away.
    “It’s Roz yelling at somebody,” Ruby
said.
    “She must be yelling at Jane,” I
replied. “Her agent. She came to bring Roz her new TV contract.”
    Ruby raised her eyebrows. “It sounds
like Roz doesn’t want to sign it.”
    “—not going to renew,” Roz
was saying, “and that’s that. Period. Paragraph. End of script.”
    I grinned. Roz’s voice was strident
but clear, no sign of Munchkin breathiness. That answered my question. Roz was
definitely a woman of many talents.
    Jane’s voice was much lower, a
steely thread. “You’re crazy, Rosalind. Giving up this contract for a man! You’ve
lost your mind!”
    Roz laughed, but her answer was
knife-edged. “Don’t you wish you could, Jane? Don’t you wish you were
involved with the man who—”
    “Can that crap,” Jane said savagely.
“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. This contract is worth
four million dollars! And do you know why? Because I upped the ante, that’s
why! I made them sweat. Four million, you’re getting. Four million!”
    “At fifteen-percent agency fees,
that’s over a half million to you,” Roz retorted. “That’s what we’re talking
about, isn’t it? You’re into me for commissions on residuals at fifteen
percent. But that’s peanuts compared to what you think is coming, isn’t it?
When I say no contract, I’m killing the goose that laid your golden egg.”
    Jane’s voice vibrated, low. “I earn
my commissions.”
    Roz paused. I could barely hear what
she said next, but there was no mistaking the accusation in it. “Are you sure
you’ve earned it all, Jane?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “I’m talking about the

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