Catmint Catastrophe: Mysteries of Meri by Sara Bourgeois

Author:Sara Bourgeois [Bourgeois, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-07-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

The interrogation room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on us as Thorn and I stood before Harold. He sat nervously at the table, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm on the metal surface. The tension in the air was heavy, like a taut wire ready to snap.

Thorn laid the stolen catmint gently on the table between us. “Explain this, Harold,” he said, his voice firm but not overly accusatory. The catmint’s delicate leaves seemed to mock the situation, their fragile beauty at odds with the grim reality of the murder investigation.

Harold’s eyes flickered between the catmint and my gaze. I could see the conflict warring within him—fear, anger, and a desperate need for vindication all battling for dominance. He hesitated, swallowing hard as if trying to push down the lump in his throat. I watched him closely, my intuition telling me there was more to his story than met the eye.

Finally, he sighed heavily and began to speak. “I killed her,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I followed Natasha after the gardens closed, hoping for one last chance to convince her to clear my name and reputation.” His words hung in the air, a plea for understanding in a world that had turned its back on him.

Thorn and I exchanged a quick glance before Thorn pressed on. “Why follow her? What did you hope to achieve?” His question was direct, cutting through the emotional turmoil that swirled around us.

Harold’s shoulders slumped as he recounted his tale. “She ruined my life,” he said bitterly. “After she got me fired from Letting House with those false allegations, I had nothing left. No job, no home... nothing.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. I could feel the raw pain emanating from him, the desperation of a man pushed to the brink. “I thought if I could just talk to her, maybe she’d reconsider. Maybe she’d admit she lied.” His words were tinged with a faint hope, a glimmer of the man he once was before Natasha’s actions had shattered his world.

“And did you talk to her?” I asked softly, leaning forward slightly. I kept my voice gentle, hoping to encourage him to open up further, to trust us with the truth.

Harold shook his head, his eyes filled with regret. “I tried,” he admitted. “But she wouldn’t listen. She was more interested in her precious plants than in fixing what she’d broken.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

I leaned in. “We need you to tell us what happened next,” I prompted gently.

Harold took a deep breath, his eyes distant as he began to recount the events. “It was late, past sunset,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw her in her garden, harvesting plants. At first, I thought she was just doing her usual rounds, but then I noticed what she was picking.”

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, wide with remembered fear. “Belladonna berries,” he said, voice trembling. “She’d always warned everyone never to touch them—too dangerous, she said.

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