To Err is Cumin by Leslie Budewitz

Author:Leslie Budewitz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: To Err is Cumin: A Spice Shop Mystery
Publisher: Seventh Street Books
Published: 2024-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

The principal difficulty lay in the fact of there being too much evidence. What was vital was overlaid and hidden by what was irrelevant.

—Arthur Conan Doyle, “The Naval Treaty”

WERE THIS MAN AND WOMAN, WHOEVER THEY WERE AND whatever their connection, responsible for Boz’s death and Talia’s disappearance?

The problem, as Detective Tracy would be quick to note, was that all I had was supposition based on vague, unrelated facts. That does not a theory make, let alone a sound basis for investigating or probable cause for arrest.

But it sure was interesting. And I try to be a good citizen. I called Tracy and relayed what I’d learned.

“Spice Girl,” he said a moment later, “I’ll give you points for persistence. But there isn’t anything I can tell you.”

I showed you mine, you show me yours. “Can you at least tell me when the ME thinks Boz died? And how?”

On the other end of the line, Tracy sighed. “Looks like he went into the canal alive, though the body was pretty beat-up. Head injury. Cuts and abrasions. Looks like he tumbled hard on those rocks on the way in.”

How he’d lost the shoe?

“That’s just a theory at this point,” Tracy continued. “As for when, not long before he was found. Call came in right after six thirty a.m.”

Ohmygod. “What about surveillance cameras from the businesses nearby?” I asked when I’d found my voice. “Did you find his phone?”

The silence said what he didn’t.

“Okay, but the Uber records will tell you where Boz picked Talia up, right?” I went on. “That will tell you where the chair was.”

“And then we’re supposed to go on a neighborhood fishing expedition, asking upstanding citizens if they left a chair out for the trash and followed the man who gave a ride to the woman who claimed it, put the fear of God in her, and whacked him?”

“I trust you to be more subtle than that.”

“We’re working on it,” Tracy said, his tone not quite conciliatory but not as combative as it had been. “It’s complicated.”

I hate when people say that, as an excuse to not explain. On the other hand, sometimes life is complicated.

The call ended, and I returned to the shop floor. Two women came in, clearly mother and daughter.

“Wow. This place is fantastic,” the younger woman said, thyme and oregano seedlings from the racks out front in her hands.

“Oh, you know me,” her mother replied. “My spices are salt, pepper, and cinnamon.”

“And poultry seasoning, twice a year,” the daughter added.

I take challenges like that personally. A few minutes later, the daughter had chosen several pure spices as well as the seedlings, and the mother had a jar of our lemon seafood rub and one of Puget Sound sea salt.

“Good job,” Kristen said, complimenting me from the floor where she was unpacking a book shipment. We’d ordered several of the latest James Beard award nominees, along with a few new releases and cookbooks for grilling season. What Sandra calls “bad cooking season,” reminding everyone within earshot that simply throwing raw meat on a hot grill is not cooking.

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