Miles drove them over to Ezra's house, not far from downtown Bradley. It was a small house with a very large yard, very fitting for someone who was a botanist. Miles dawdled behind Myrtle as they set out down his front walk and she rang the doorbell.

The door opened and Ezra looked out a bit suspiciously. He relaxed when he saw Myrtle and Miles. "Well, hello, you two! What a pleasant surprise."

Myrtle smiled. "We thought we'd pop in for a little visit, Ezra. Are you in the middle of anything?"

"Not at all. Just making the rounds watering my plants. Come on inside while I finish up."

They followed Ezra inside. He was a thin man in his forties with a very intellectual manner. Despite the age difference and the fact Myrtle had taught him long ago, she almost considered him a contemporary due to the fact he was such an old soul. He was the kind of person who puttered around with his plants, gave talks at the library and garden club, and spouted interesting facts about things he'd read. It was how Miles had gotten acquainted with him, too, being interested in a variety of arcane subjects.

Ezra's house was full of books. So full of books, in fact, that he'd run out of places to keep them. They were stacked in piles against the walls and, in many cases, had plants sitting on top of them as if they were makeshift tables. There were just as many plants as there were books and the plants all looked healthy, thriving, and happy.

He got them settled on the screen porch at the back of the house. The space was full of hanging plants and plants on the floor and tables. There was soft jazz music playing from a speaker. He beamed at them. "Now, let's see. I don't do the hosting thing very often, but I want to do it right. Can I get you both some coffee? Or I have water."

Then he trotted off for a few minutes after getting their answers and returned with a tray of waters and some store-bought cookies.

They were munching on the chocolate chip cookies when Ezra turned to Miles. "Are you going to take part in the chess tournament?"

Miles nodded. "I'm planning on it. Are you?"

"Absolutely. I always like playing with a variety of different people and this will give me the best chance to learn something new. I'm not in it to win, of course. I'm not that kind of chess player," he said with a chuckle. He turned his gaze on Myrtle. "And Miss Myrtle? I know exactly how good you are at chess."

She shook her head. "Maybe I'm decent at chess, but I'm afraid the interest isn't really there. I'll cheer on the two of you at a distance. I believe my daughter-in-law is going to be there, too. She's a novice and is trying to learn the ropes. She sounded pretty excited."

Miles looked anxious again at the thought of Elaine playing chess with him.

Ezra took a sip of water and gave Myrtle a thoughtful look. "As I recall, Miss Myrtle, chess isn't the only thing you're good at. I believe you're also an excellent investigative reporter."

Myrtle preened at this. Her crime stories in the paper were her most-favorite to write. However, Red and Sloan, the editor of the paper, often conspired to keep her writing a helpful hints column. She was glad to be recognized for her more-important journalistic efforts.

"Well, thank you, Ezra. That's very kind of you to say."

Ezra continued slowly, "So I'm wondering if this visit might also have something to do with the death of Luther Cobb."

Myrtle beamed at him. "An excellent deduction! Our visit is partly to do with that, yes. I was wondering if my son might have come by and had a conversation with you about Luther's death."

Ezra nodded solemnly. "He did. At first, I thought our conversation might simply be focused on the botanical aspects of Luther's demise. But then Red started asking questions that led me to believe he might consider me a suspect in his death."

Myrtle waved a dismissive hand at the thought of her son. "Red is prone to making wild assumptions, Ezra. Don't worry about it."

Ezra relaxed at Myrtle's pronouncement. "That's good. I realize it might seem a little suspicious that I happen to have the deadly plant in question in my greenhouse out back."

He gestured toward the building behind them. It was a good-sized structure and also seemed chockful of plants of every description.

Miles cleared his throat. "They've identified the plant that killed Luther, then?"

"That's right. Or rather, I suppose I did. Red and a Lt. Perkins brought me a photo of the pie in question. I recognized the lovely berries right away."

Myrtle suddenly recalled one of Ezra's talks she'd attended. "Nightshade?"

Ezra gave her a pleased look. "An excellent deduction of your own, Miss Myrtle. Yes, belladonna or deadly nightshade."

"I was at your very informative talk at garden club when you discussed the plant. I couldn't place the berries at first, but being with you has jogged my memory. I can't remember exactly what you said about the effects of consuming it, though. Except that it would be fatal, naturally."

Ezra chuckled. "You don't remember because I didn't discuss it. Tippy was already giving me an askance look for discussing poisons at all. I have the feeling she was devoutly hoping the topic would shift swiftly to marigolds. I decided talking about the effects of belladonna wouldn't be appropriate for a garden club luncheon full of ladies of a particular age."

Miles had a protective hand to his throat just thinking about nightshade.

"And those effects are?" asked Myrtle sweetly.

"Well, he wouldn't have felt well. My understanding is that he consumed a good amount of the pie. He'd have known fairly quickly that something was wrong—but with the hallucinations he might have experienced, it could have been tough for him to be lucid enough to call for help." Ezra paused. "His wife wasn't around?"

Myrtle said thoughtfully, "I got the impression that she was around, just not with Luther. She was in another part of the house or yard."

"Right. So he'd have also had a speedy heartbeat, possible mental incapacitation, and then a coma. It all would have happened fairly rapidly."

Miles said, "So he really might not have called for help."

Ezra shrugged. "Or maybe he called for help, but not very loudly."

"And you have belladonna here?" asked Myrtle.

Ezra nodded. "The police were very interested in it. Unfortunately, we came to the conclusion that some of my plants had been harvested. That likely made me seem even more suspect. It's actually rather late in the year for the berries to still be around, but the weather has remained unseasonably warm."

Miles knit his brows together. "Your greenhouse isn't locked?"

"Why would it be? No one has expressed an interest in it before. But I've made sure the yard is fenced in and inaccessible for any kids who might happen by. As I told Red, that was always my concern—that children might visit and come in contact with some of the poisonous plants. Preventing a murderer from accessing them was far from my mind. No one should be on my property," he finished indignantly.

Myrtle studied the fence. "I suppose someone could scale the fence, if they were determined."

"That was Red's conclusion, too. It's a six-foot fence, but anything would be possible with a small ladder. And my yard backs up to the woods, so it would be easy enough to do if you were motivated."

Miles said slowly, "I'm not sure I understand how a murderer would know about your belladonna. Or even be able to identify it."

"Oh, that's pretty easy. I had that recent talk—"Beer with a Botonist." He pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked a bit discouraged.

"I must have missed that one," said Miles.

Ezra smiled at him. "You should try coming to the next one. They're so much fun. I have a variety of beers and then talk plants."

"Surely, no matter how popular the talks were, there would be a limited number of people for Red to speak with, though. People who were interested in poisoning someone," said Myrtle.

Ezra gave her a rueful look. "Unfortunately, it was posted online. And it had lots of views. At least Red should have a lot of different suspects besides me."

"I can't imagine that you're a very serious suspect," said Myrtle. "Did you have an alibi at all? Anything to keep Red from investigating you much further?"

"Sadly, I don't have an alibi at all. I was at home, puttering around with my plants as per usual. I had no idea that I would need an alibi at all or I'd have been speaking to people at the grocery store or something. However! I think anyone would attest that I don't know how to bake. I might be able to manage cookies, but a pie would be completely outside my purview."

Miles said, "Myrtle has determined that the pie was store-bought."

Ezra slumped a bit at this. "That's a pity. I suppose anyone could have doctored a store-bought pie." He was quiet for a moment, in thought. "How much of this pie did Luther consume? He would have had to eat about ten or twelve of the berries for the poison to be fatal."

Myrtle pulled out her phone and opened the photo of the pie. She held it out for Ezra and Miles to see. "Unfortunately, we don't have a photo of the pie after Luther consumed it. But I'm supposing he must have eaten a good deal of it to have perished from in the manner he did."

Ezra asked, "May I see the photo up-close for a minute, Miss Myrtle?"

She handed her phone to him and he gently took it from her and studied it. "I see. So whoever the killer is took no chances. The pie is full of berries. Luther would have been scooping them out with every mouthful. That must have taken some time for the killer to doctor the purchased pie to that extent. They would have had to scoop out the original berries, added these, and then re-baked it with a new crust."

Ezra passed the phone back to Myrtle and Miles glanced at it as it went by. He said, "These berries—they must have tasted fairly sweet then? They're not bitter?"

Ezra gave him a wry look. "You'd think that nature would have ensured that something so dangerous would taste sour or bitter. But the berries from the deadly nightshade plant are very sweet. And, of course, they're attractive, too. They don't look like something that shouldn't be eaten. I'm sure Luther probably enjoyed every single bite."

Myrtle asked, "There's no way that the perpetrator intended the pie simply to be a warning, is there?"

Ezra shook his head. "It's pretty doubtful, considering the number of berries that were in the pie. I could see that if they'd just put a few berries in. But with this number, it seems certain that they planned for the recipient to die." He sighed. "And now I've got to look into locking up my greenhouse."

Myrtle tilted her head to one side and regarded Ezra thoughtfully. "It occurs to me that someone might have poisoned Luther to kill two birds with one stone."

Ezra raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure I like where you're going with this, Miss Myrtle. Am I one of the two birds?"

Miles nodded. "It does make sense. Perhaps someone was unhappy with both Luther and with you. By poisoning and killing Luther, they'd rid themselves of him. But they'd also make you a prime suspect."

"Precisely," said Myrtle. She shot Miles an irritated look. She believed sidekicks should be seen and not heard.

Ezra looked a bit shaken. "Well, that's a pretty terrible thing to consider."

Myrtle said, "You know Miles and I think you're a wonderful person, Ezra. But are there people who might consider you an enemy?"

Ezra balked at the word. "I wouldn't think anyone would consider me an enemy."

"An adversary, then. Perhaps just a mild antagonist of some kind." Myrtle suppressed a sigh. Ezra could be entirely too focused on his plants and not as much on the world around him. And, maybe, people who didn't care for him and wanted to set him up.

He was quiet for a moment, taking a couple of sips of water as he considered the question. "Well, there's Olive."

"Olive? Is that Olive Fuller?"

Ezra looked leery. "Oh gosh. Is she a friend of yours? Please don't tell her I mentioned her."

"I certainly won't tell her anything of the sort! I'm very discreet," said Myrtle.

Miles gave her a dubious look at the mention of discretion.

"But you do know her?"

Myrtle said, "Olive Fuller is a member of my garden club. I'm not exactly her best friend. My main impression of her is that she is a very knowledgeable member and takes lots of notes during our meetings. If she showed up at one of your talks, I'm sure she might leave with reams of information about local poisons."

"Okay." Ezra still hesitated. "I can't imagine Olive would do something like this, though."

"Just tell us what your issue with Olive is and let us decide," said Myrtle.

"And this won't go into the newspaper?" asked Ezra, still stalling.

"Certainly not! I can't put hearsay in the newspaper. The paper would be sued and that would be the end of it."

"Okay," said Ezra again. He sighed. "The truth of the matter is that Olive is my neighbor. She and I have butted heads a few times over landscaping."

Miles frowned at this. "Landscaping," he repeated slowly, as if he couldn't picture a less-acrimonious subject.

"That's right. Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous."

"Not at all," said Myrtle breezily. "There have been plenty of days when I've wanted to kill my neighbor Erma over her invasive crabgrass."

Ezra looked relieved to hear this. "Well, in our case, it isn't crabgrass—it's a tree. Olive wants more sun in her backyard so she can better grow a variety of plants. I suppose she's heard about these plants during the garden club meetings. Anyway, she and I talk from time to time about native plants. Usually our conversations are very interesting. But when she wanted to cut down this lovely tree, I couldn't seem to help myself."

Myrtle said, "And Olive objected to this?"

"To the point she wanted to set you up to take the fall for a murder?" added Miles doubtfully.

"When you put it that way, it does sound rather silly," admitted Ezra. He spread out his hands. "But that's the only person I can think of that I had any sort of clash with recently."

Myrtle nodded and then stood up. "Thanks for this, Ezra, and for the cookies and drinks. Miles and I should probably head on out—we've had a long day."

"Still barely sleeping, Miss Myrtle? I don't know how you're always so alert during the day."

"Oh, I manage to collect some sleep here and there," said Myrtle with a shrug. "Maybe I'll sleep better tonight since I've been so active today."

"Hope so." He walked them both to the door and gave them a cheery wave as they left. "See you both later."

They got back into Miles's car and Miles headed off down the street. "Home?" There was that hopeful note in his voice again.

Myrtle shook her head. "Let's run by the newspaper office so I can discuss my story with Sloan."

"I presume you're not talking about this week's helpful hints column."

"Indeed I'm not. I'm talking about the piece I'll be writing about the mysterious circumstances surrounding Luther's death." Myrtle said this as if it was a fact.

Sloan, however, when they got there, appeared horrified. "Miss Myrtle, that's not a very good idea."

"No, it's an excellent idea," said Myrtle firmly.

Sloan shook his head. "If we had the police corroborate what you've told me, then that would be fine. But it sounds like we're going off of hearsay. A poisoned pie? It all sounds like trouble to me."

Myrtle produced the photo of the pie on her phone. "I do have a picture of the offending pie."

Sloan gingerly took the phone from her. He looked at the picture somewhat fearfully, as if the strange berries might leap out at him. He shook his head again. "We can't run it, Miss Myrtle. But what we can do is run a piece on Luther Cobb and mention all the facts that can be backed up. The time he was found, where he was, etc."

Myrtle had a confounded look on her face. Sloan didn't usually push back whatsoever. Even when Red sternly instructed him not to allow Myrtle to write crime stories, Sloan always capitulated whenever Myrtle announced she was going to write one.

Sloan said miserably, "Sorry. I have a bad feeling about this one. I think running a story without the police verifying the information would end up biting us."

Myrtle said, "All right. I'll see what I can do about getting the police to comment on the details of the crime."

Sloan and Miles both stared at her. Miles said, "Myrtle, Red won't give you any information."

"Then it's a good thing I'm such good friends with Lt. Perkins," she said with a smirk. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She rang his number, putting the call on speaker.

A moment later, he answered his phone. Myrtle said, "Ah, Perkins! It's Myrtle Clover."