“Possibly what we’re seeing indicates a health concern or a disabling problem of some sort, possibly one that causes discomfort, pain or some type of embarrassment such as a tic, a tremor or a deformity,” I continue to explain to Marino but it’s directed at her. “We might infer that this person has an atypical belief system—in other words delusions—about the healing power of plants and other things that occur naturally such as metals.”

Copper.

“The hops plant is actually a cousin of cannabis and has been used to shrink tumors, to help with sleep.” I set the pomander on top of the dresser. “I suspect Chanel or someone staying here has suffered from insomnia, anxiety, depression or some other mood instability.” I imagine Carrie’s reaction if she’s listening.

She’s not a good sport about narcissistic injuries. She handles them poorly. Usually with murder.

“But medical marijuana doesn’t fit with that. It’s not a superstition. It’s not quackery,” I add. “Is that where it’s been kept? Not exactly a foolproof place to hide it.”

Marino has the small closet open and I notice very little hanging inside, just a few shirts and jackets and cedar planks to discourage moths. He’s lifting a mahogany apothecary box by its tarnished silver handles. He sets it down on the rug and opens the faded red-velvet-lined lid. It’s not locked. It doesn’t appear there was a concern about someone possibly stealing Chanel’s medication assuming this was hers.

Inside the box the wooden partitions and tiny drawers are filled with eyedropper bottles of cannabis tinctures and infused chews, and plastic containers of bud. Indica. Sativa. Various blends of cannabidiol (CBD). I pick up a bottle. The company name is Cannachoice. There’s nothing on the label that might tell us where it was manufactured but I agree with Marino’s earlier assessment.

“This isn’t from around here.” I return the bottle to its proper drawer. “I’m pretty sure there are no dispensaries in Massachusetts selling anything like this, and there’s no way caregivers are getting access to tinctures of such high quality. I seriously doubt you could find anything like this on the entire East Coast. Maybe someday but not now.”

“I’m guessing California.” Marino is back to assuming the wealthy well-connected mother is the source.

“It could have come from there or Colorado. Possibly Washington State.” I pick up another bottle, a blend of fifteen parts CBD to one part THC, and the plastic seal around the neck is broken.