Free Snoop to Nuts by Elizabeth Lee

sifting through things, coming up with what really happened at the fair. And to tell the truth—the way this one is going, we need all the help we can get.”
    He watched as I thought over what he was saying.
    “She was going a mile a minute over at the sheriff’s office,” he said, coaxing.
    “That’s when she fell apart. Think it all sank in, that people could suspect she’d do a thing like that.”
    “What we’ve got is maybe one hundred and fifty people who were there in the Culinary Arts Building at the supper or during the judging. What we don’t have is anybody who doesn’t have high praise for the pastor. Got no motive . . .”
    “Except a disgruntled old lady mad at losing a blue ribbon.”
    He went right on. “Got no way the poison was administered . . .”
    “Except in a disgruntled old lady’s Texas Caviar.”
    Now he sighed. “He could’ve eaten something right before coming to the judging. And then there’s the possibility we’ve got a crazy person on our hands. Somebody who really wanted to kill a whole lot of people and just got the parson.”
    I thought awhile. “Did you find anybody in town buying ant poison? Or no—have to be ether or alcohol . . .”
    “Don’t need to look. We know what killed him. ME called a while ago. Spotted water hemlock. The root ground up and put into whatever it was the parson ate.”
    I leaned against the counter. “Hemlock? Like Socrates?”
    Hunter spread his hands. “The homegrown kind.”
    “Spotted water hemlock, eh? Grows right here in the swamps along the Colorado. Plain old
Cicuta maculate
.
Cicutoxin—
the stuff even wild hogs know to stay away from. Where the heck would the parson have gotten ahold of such a thing?”
    I saw Hunter’s face and felt a chill run up my back. He wasn’t looking anything like normal.
    “You’ve got something else to tell me, don’t you?” I demanded. “They tested Meemaw’s dishes. Is that it?”
    He nodded slowly, pain—like lightning—written across his eyes.
    “Well?”
    “That first dish? The one the judges tasted? Traces of alum. Nothing else. No poison but somebody was out to sabotage her, for sure. Gotta take a look at that. The other one. The one Miss Amelia gave to the parson . . .”
    “Oh, no,” I moaned and waited for the worst.
    Hunter nodded. “Loaded with ground spotted water hemlock root. Just enough to kill the man.”
    He kicked hard at the old wooden floor with one of his boots. “I’ll be out to the ranch in the morning.”
    “Can’t I do it? I mean, bring her in. Be easier on all of us.”
    “Sheriff said it would look like we’re going easy . . .” Hunter looked sick to his stomach.
    No sicker than I was feeling.
    “I’m gonna warn her,” I said.
    “Wouldn’t expect you to do any less.” He turned to leave.
    “And Hunter,” I called after him. “You know I’m never going to forget this. What you’re doing to my family. Anybody who goes after them is no friend of mine.”
    His face was blank, as if he didn’t dare show a single emotion. I felt a little like that, too, wanting to hold everything in, and then wanting to scream at him not to ruin what we’ve got going between us—this new thing that felt a lot like . . . I don’t know . . .
    When he turned and walked away, it was like a part of me was with him, a part being ripped out of my body as the door closed.

Chapter Eleven

    Jessie stuck her head in the door of my office just a little after eight. She had two bottles of beer in one hand and rattled them at me as she walked in and pulled a metal chair over to my desk, where I had been sitting for about an hour with record books open and unseen in front of me.
    We hugged, as usual, with me holding on to my friend a little longer than was usual. I was feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t usually indulge in self-pity, but tonight I was up to my ears in it with my work behind schedule; my grandma headed for prison—or worse, maybe to