Page 3 of Hoodoo House
Henry smiled. “That’s what Gramma Carol calls it. It’s a gross thing he likes to drink before bed. I wouldn’t drink it if you paid me.”
“Do you know what’s in this tonic?”
“I think there’s brandy, but you have to ask Gramma Carol.”
“And you usually bring it to Mr Tull before bed?” Sergeant Bowen asked.
“No. Gramma Carol does. I’m usually in bed before ten and that’s when Mr Tull has it. At ten p.m. sharp, but I was up late looking at the stars, so I said I could take it to him.”
Sergeant Bowen carefully noted the time.
“You said ten p.m. sharp. So, I gather Mr Tull is strict about schedules?”
“Yes ma’am. He’s strict—I mean, hewasstrict—about a lot of things.”
“What sorts of things?”
“When I didn’t bring his afternoon coffee at two p.m., he would yell ‘Discipline is the only thing that stops us from sliding back to the stone age.’”
Sergeant Bowen smiled. Her inspector had said something similar that very morning.
“And last night when you brought him his tonic, were you on time?” she continued.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you didn’t wait to see if he drank his tonic?”
“No, ma’am, I didn’t. Mr. Tull told me to leave him alone.”
A low growl sounded from Henry’s stomach.
Sergeant Bowen closed her notebook. “I won’t keep you and your stomach much longer. Was there anything at all that you can think of that was…different this morning?”
Henry smiled. “I got Gramma Carol real good with a math joke. I told her I like pi.”
“Good one,” Sergeant Bowen said, pretending she got the joke. “Okay, anything else you remember from last night or this morning?”
“No, ma’am. Not that I can think of right now.”
“Thank you, Henry. You’ve been very helpful. Would you get your Gramma Carol for me?”
“Sure,” Henry said, then disappeared out of sight.
Sergeant Bowen walked back into the writing room and looked out through the window to see if there was any sign of the coroner or forensics team. Behind her, someone cleared their throat and Sergeant Bowen turned and saw the woman who had let her into the house earlier…Mrs Cameron.
Sergeant Bowen studied her for a moment. Mrs Cameron was old, mid-eighties the sergeant guessed, around one-hundred-and-seventy centimetres with a weight of seventy kilograms. Mrs Cameron dressed the part of a housekeeper with a loose-fitting dress that came down to her ankles, a white apron and comfortable black running shoes. Her white hair was unevenly cut short and parted on the left side. She had probably cut it herself.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Mrs Cameron, do you know if Mr Tull had any medical issues?”
“All I know is he took pills every night with his tonic. I’m not sure what they were for since he bragged about how healthy he was. He went running every morning at dawn, at least in the summer months. In the winter he’d bundle up and head out for a brisk walk.” She folded her arms. “He had the nerve to say that if Mr Pritchard had taken better care of himself, he wouldn’t have dropped dead like he did.”
“Mr Pritchard?” Sergeant Bowen asked
“That was the previous writer-in-residence at Hoodoo House,” Mrs Cameron replied.
“And exactly what did Mr Pritchard die of?” Sergeant Bowen asked.
