18. A Young Detective's Adventures: The Mystery

My balcony looked directly onto the garden, and I saw a young woman I hadn't seen before on the porch. She was tending the plants and carefully and slowly touching each one. That must be the daughter, I thought; at the same time, I made my decision to start my investigation with her.

The house was quiet as I passed through the halls and found the door that opened onto the garden. As I approached the garden, the girl looked up quickly and said in a frightened voice, "Who's there? Who's there?"

She looked right at me, or I should say right through me.

"My name is Dwight Smith. I'm a guest of your father."

"You must be with the police," she said. "My father said someone was coming to investigate." She turned back to her plants. "I didn't recognize your step and you frightened me. But now I will know it, and you won't be able to surprise me anymore. You may ask me questions if you want. I know all about police investigations. I have listened to a lot of stories about famous detectives. Dwight Smith is such a common name though. It won't sound very romantic in the newspapers when they write about all the famous crimes that you solve.

I laughed and said I didn't expect to find many crimes in Flagstaff.

"Then why are you here? You don't believe that these women whom my father married really died an accidental death, do you?" She didn't wait for an answer. I think she had already lost any faith she had in me.

"Nothing on earth is an accident. My blindness is not an accident. These plants are not an accident. Those women my father married were not part of this hill. They were not part of the scheme of things; it was obvious they had to be taken away, like a weed in a garden."

"This has a beautiful flower," I said, hoping to express my interest in the garden when I really wanted to hear more about this blind girl's hatred of the two intruders, her stepmothers.

"Where? Let me feel. Yes, it may be beautiful. It has a very delicate smell. But it's very poisonous, you know."

"Why do you have poisonous plants in your garden?"

"Oh, I have lots of them. Sometimes the most beautiful, innocent flower is deadly. Can you see the foxglove there?" She pointed toward some tall plants with purple flowers.

I began to think about the second wife, who died from food poisoning. I looked around the garden to see if there were any other dangerous plants I could recognize.

From the porch, Ms. Ryan was calling for us to come in to tea.

I did not sleep well that night. I listened to every sound. And there were lots of them. I decided I would not spend another night in that house. I planned to finish my investigation and leave that morning. I would let the Chief figure out who killed the wives. But I knew he didn't really want to know. Nobody wanted to know. And maybe they weren't murdered. It all could have been accidental: a missing plane, food poisoning, a fall. But what if someone fixed the motor of the plane so it would malfunction at a certain point; what if someone put some poisonous leaves in the food; what if the third wife was pushed off the cliff rather than fell? Did the same person kill all three? Or was the first an accident and the second two murders? Were the last two wives killed by one person or by two different people?

I left the Fitch house without saying thank you to my hosts. I ran down the hill and stopped a passing car. I had a lot to tell the Chief. I wondered how much he already knew.

The car that picked me up stopped in front of the police station; inside I was told the Chief was away for a few days. My tale would have to wait. I spent the afternoon at my desk trying to piece the story together. At five o'clock, I had finished my report and returned to Mrs. Johnson's house.

It was just like being home with my mother again. She handed me a letter that had been delivered by hand in the afternoon.

Dear Mr. Smith,

We always had such a quiet life on the hill. When my father was alive, he never allowed visitors. Darjo was the only person my father had confidence in; he never had any in me. Nor in my choice of a husband. When he died of a heart attack after my marriage, I blamed myself and was overcome with guilt. I would have killed myself, but I had a little daughter to take care of and a husband I loved. To keep the land and the money, my husband and I were prohibited by my father's will from living together. It seemed that the only way to provide for my daughter and husband and still stay close to the land I loved was to "disappear". Small plane crashes are very convenient.

It was a very difficult life for both my husband and me.

Fortunately I had the comfort of the good Sisters of the Valley who sheltered me. I never had to worry about their talking to someone about me.

My husband was not a good businessman, as my father had suspected. He began to lose our fortune, and we were faced with selling the land I loved and perhaps separation. I reluctantly agreed to his plan to marry a wealthy woman. That plan was helped along by the efforts of Ms. Ryan, a very capable woman who was my best friend in school.

One wife led to another, and you know the rest. What you don't know is: how did those women die? and why did we call the police in?

Mrs. Munsing was letting her suspicions run in unpleasant directions, and we could never take such a crazy person into our confidence. We thought we could appease her with a police investigation. We felt safe leaving the investigation to our local police; we had not counted on your cleverness, however. The Chief of Police is a kind soul, but not very intelligent. He was more concerned with keeping my husband's goodwill than in doing his duty. Besides the deaths were accidental in a manner of speaking.

Mrs. Munsing herself killed the second Mrs. Fitch, but only by her own stupidity. She mistakenly used the leaves of a poisonous plant instead of mint in the lemonade she gave the second Mrs. Fitch. But was that her fault really? I grew the plant and my blind girl picked the leaves and gave them to Mrs. Munsing. The rest was fate.

The death of the third Mrs. Fitch was fate as well. She became frightened when she saw me coming toward her down the narrow cliff path. She took an unfortunate step backwards and fell off the cliff. Could I really be to blame?

I'm sorry we won't be able to answer any more of your questions. You got more information than you need, anyway.

We wish you every possible success in Flagstaff.

Warmly,

Amelia Fitch

From The Great Preposition Mystery, ed., Lin Lougheed,

Washington, D.C., 1981.