A Taste of Tragedy (7 page)

Morgan was exhausted by the time she left the office. She was in no mood to go shopping, but all she had at home to eat were several Healthy and Delicious Foods entrees in the freezer and nearly nothing in her refrigerator or cupboards. Despite
Preston
’s assurance that there was a mistake with Dexter Fowler’s data, she wasn’t much of a gambler. Until she had proof confirming its safety, she had no intention of eating anything containing MFHG3.

She groaned as she pulled into the lot of her favorite grocery store, disappointed to find no place to park closer than the last row furthest from the building. As she unbuckled her seat belt, a large raindrop splattered on her windshield. The onset of Phoenix’s summer monsoonal season was still months away, but Mother Nature was notorious for ignoring the calendar and seemed to be getting more unpredictable every year.

For several moments, Morgan sat in her crossover and watched the showers intensify. She debated about just going through a fast food drive-thru. Unfortunately, that plan wouldn’t solve the problem of having nothing for breakfast or even the fixings for a cup of coffee in the morning. And, after the day she had, ice cream or raw cookie dough was definitely on her list of essentials.

Retrieving her collapsible umbrella from the side compartment in the driver’s door, she exited the vehicle and made a mad dash across the full parking lot to the store. As she wheeled the annoyingly squeaky cart through the crowded aisles, she was surprised by how many groceries she needed in order to stock the cupboards in her new duplex. She had been so focused her first few weeks in Arizona with buying the duplex, getting settled and up to speed at her job, and making a weekend trip to Sedona, she hadn’t even bothered to buy the necessities.

As she stood in the line waiting to check out, Morgan noticed four carts with Healthy and Delicious Foods entrees or desserts in them, including a dozen items in the heavyset woman’s cart in front of her.

“Excuse me, are those entrees any good?” Morgan asked.

“They are the best. I must confess, my biggest problem is with eating only one for each meal. I often cave to the temptation and have several, especially those sweet tasty desserts. Seems I just can’t help myself. I eat them for breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, even as snacks. They’re so delicious, and I’m always so hungry. Good thing they’re healthy. But, until I get my cravings under control, I can’t expect miracles,” the woman stated while patting her stomach.

“Well, I’ll have to give them a try sometime.” Morgan smiled while trying to push Dexter Fowler’s addictive warning from her head.

Morgan had eaten the entrees for the past week in an attempt to familiarize herself with the product. The meals were good, but she didn’t share the shopper’s enthusiasm and certainly didn’t crave them.

Maybe they do have addictive ingredients and I’ve thankfully not eaten enough to get hooked.

Morgan continued to scrutinize the carts around her. The more Healthy and Delicious Foods items she spotted, the more she had to fight the urge to warn everyone and encourage them to buy a different brand, but she had to have faith.
Preston
deserved the opportunity to discover the truth. Morgan wasn’t sure if she could blindly accept any response that contradicted the information in the e-mails, but she’d cross that bridge when, and if, it came.

If
Preston
’s explanation differed from the messages, she would feel compelled to get an impartial opinion to find out which of the conflicting scenarios was correct. She also needed to talk to Stan Jacobson. Maybe her past marriage made her question things more than most, but the claims were just too serious to brush off.

By the time she paid for her groceries, the rain had let up, for which Morgan was grateful. With her groceries stowed, she began the thirty-minute commute home, trying to concentrate on the traffic and push her bizarre day from her mind. She couldn’t let her imagination run wild. She would get the facts soon enough. She’d have to exercise some patience, which wasn’t really her strong suit.

Pulling up in front of her garage, Morgan reached toward the passenger’s visor for the door opener, only to discover it was gone. Panic nearly seized her. Taking several deep breaths, she thought back to the parking garage at work. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—her car was locked, her alarm never went off.

She got out of the car and walked to the passenger’s side. She ran her hands across the floor mat, under the passenger seat, and down the crack between the back and the seat. Nothing.

Her car had a built in garage door opener button, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to program it since moving. She wouldn’t have removed the opener from her car until that was done. She popped the glove compartment and nothing, including her registration, was missing or disturbed.

Morgan doubted calling 911 and telling them she couldn’t find her garage door opener would get anyone too excited if nothing was missing. She punched the code into the pad near the door, raced back to her car, and locked the doors immediately once inside. Holding her breath, she watched the door slowly rise, expecting the worst.

Every item was just how she’d left it, including her two-thousand-dollar road bike. The new flat screen television she had delivered her first week in town was still in the box. She needed to find someone to help her get it into the house, but she hadn’t had time to focus on upgrading her current small television.

Feeling foolish, she closed the garage door, carried her groceries into the house, and set them on the counter. With her small can of pepper spray clutched in her hand, she searched each room, flipping on every light as she went. Nothing appeared out of place.

Despite finding no reason to indicate anyone had been in her home, she couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that someone had invaded her space. Maybe I’m just still reacting to Aaron rifling through my desk, she thought as she entered her bedroom.

Quickly changing into shorts and a t-shirt, Morgan slid the small canister of pepper spray into her front pocket and returned to the open-concept living room and kitchen. The doormat was a little crooked, something her ex never would have allowed. She had tried to relax since the divorce but often found herself straightening things she knew would annoy him. Ironic, since during the last few months of marriage, she purposely messed with items, leaving drawers ajar or nudging a painting on the wall so it wasn’t level just to irk him. Now, she regretted her childish behavior.

Morgan put her groceries away and then made a salad. Carrying it to the living room, she turned on the television, needing the noise distraction. After finishing her salad, she retrieved her mail from her briefcase and tossed it on her desk. An envelope bumped the mouse and her computer flared to life. Morgan gasped. She hadn’t been home since last Friday morning, having spent the weekend in Sedona, and she hadn’t logged onto her computer that morning.

For several minutes, she stared at the screen. She always logged off her computer when she was done using it for the evening. She had been busy last Thursday night, packing for the weekend in Sedona so that she could leave right after work Friday. Forgetting to log off wasn’t likely, but she supposed it was possible with everything else on her mind. She had been working long hours the previous week, had been getting by on only five or six hours of sleep each night, and had been focused on reconnecting with her past.

Morgan did one more search of her place, this time looking under beds and in closets. Nothing else looked out of place or appeared to be missing. Giving up, she sat down at her desk and opened her mail, shredding the junk and placing the bills in a pile to be paid later. She opened her Internet browser and looked through the recent search history. All the sites seemed familiar. No one had been surfing porn on her computer in her absence.

Typing
Stan Jacobson
into the search engine, it only took a few seconds for numerous hits to come back. Apparently, there were a lot of men named Stan Jacobson in the world. For several minutes, she scrolled through the list, opening links which sounded promising, and reading just enough to see if any could be GCF’s Stan.

An article several years old talked about a Stan Jacobson joining Giant Cactus Foods as the new head of the Healthy and Delicious Foods division. He was fairly young, having only graduated with his MBA six years earlier. He had worked for only one other company where he had launched a similar new product, making it very successful.

She closed the article and kept scrolling. Her fingers froze on a link to a recent obituary. The date was just a little over a month ago. She prayed it wasn’t the same Stan she was looking for as she double-clicked on the link.

A picture of a fairly attractive man filled the screen. The obituary was brief, noting the man had died in
Phoenix
at the age of thirty-six. The obituary stated Stan had relocated from
Dallas
three years ago and no memorial services were scheduled. The article said nothing of any survivors or his employment status. Unfortunately, the previous article about his job with GCF hadn’t included a photograph she could cross-reference. Even without pictures to compare, she feared the deceased Stan was the man she sought.

Devyn walked up the steps of the U.S. District Courthouse in
Cheyenne
,
Wyoming
. She didn’t expect the proceedings to last long. The hearing was just to establish if there was enough evidence to go to trial. The evidence against the two hired thugs who committed murder and burned down a building on a Wyoming ranch was overwhelming, so it was basically just a formality.

As was her custom, Devyn dressed up for court, wearing slim-fitting slacks, a matching blazer, a crisp white shirt, and a little more heel than usual. She had pulled her long blonde hair back into a tidy ponytail at the nape of her neck, and applied a little more makeup than usual. She was pleased with the result, and hoped no one thought the transformation was for any reason other than looking professional for court.

The first person she spotted as she entered the building was Sheriff Gage Harris. The man commanded any space he occupied, whether it was a courtroom, a grocery store, or a remote rural crime scene.

The tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired Wyoming sheriff leaned back against a wall with his knee bent in a casual pose that made her mouth water. He smiled down at a moderately attractive, middle-aged woman who was trying to hold his attention. She was probably just a court clerk, but Devyn had to fight the urge to go over and slug her.

Devyn closed her eyes for a moment and tried to erase his image from her mind. He had an effect on her no other man ever had, and she didn’t particularly like it. Normally, she could be cold, aloof, and distant, but whenever he was near, she turned into a lovesick puppy.

She opened her eyes and looked up to see Gage watching her. He waved a hand in casual greeting and smiled at her in a way that made all coherent thoughts flee from her mind. She struggled to regain her composure as he extricated himself from the disappointed woman, who gave Devyn an icy glare.

Watching him as he closed the distance between them with his long, powerful stride made butterflies flitter in Devyn’s stomach. She cursed her vulnerability and fought to control her raging hormones.

“Wow. I hope this isn’t all for me.” Gage winked.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sheriff,” she stated, feeling as if he’d seen right through her.

“So, how was the drive?”

“No incidents,” she replied, relieved he’d dropped the subject of her attire.

“Good to hear. Let’s get this over with. It was a long drive for the both of us for something that’s a slam dunk.”

Devyn nodded and fell into step alongside him. They entered the courtroom and took their seats behind the prosecutor. She listened closely until she was called to present the evidence gathered by the FBI. As each testimony was heard, she was disappointed to learn nothing new had surfaced during the local investigation that would help with the ongoing case, not that she was surprised. She felt confident Gage would have kept her in the loop of any new development on the local front.

According to the depositions provided by the two suspects, they were simply hired by the man, still only known as Frank, to go to the ranch, release a pig in a manner that appeared accidental, look for research data and some supplements, and then hang back until they verified the pig had succumbed to the elements. They had been surprised by the rancher and things had spiraled out of control from there.

Unfortunately for them, they had decided to torch the barn to cover their tracks, which added a few more charges against them. They were also charged with interfering with law enforcement while a deputy attempted to stop an assassin whose crime spree had begun in a neighboring state. The assassin was linked to a number of other serious crimes involving pharmaceutical and research companies across the country, which was where the FBI had entered the picture.

In little over an hour, all the information concerning the case against the two men was heard. The grand jury determined there was sufficient evidence to warrant indictments of both defendants.

As the courtroom cleared, Devyn spotted Gage talking to several other officers she didn’t recognize. There was no official reason to wait for him, so she gathered up her belongings and headed for the door.

Devyn had almost reached the exit to the building when she heard Gage’s voice call out her name. She paused, not wanting to seem too eager, and then turned slowly toward him. “Did I forget something?”

“No, just thought maybe I could buy you an early lunch before you head back to
Salt
Lake
.”

Devyn looked casually at her watch before meeting his hazel eyes. “I suppose I have time for a quick bite.”

The sheriff smiled and Devyn felt weak in the knees. This has stop
,
she thought as she exited the building.