Beware False Profits (28 page)

I was surprised Cilla hadn’t mentioned this to me during our phone call, but I guess I had upset her too much. “If the Joe sitings continue, we’ll have to tell her about Rube.”

“Knowing Rube, he was poking around for clues.”

We talked a little about the house, then Lucy told me to take a nap.

I had to make one more call before I did.

I hated to involve Roussos at this point, but I had promised my husband I would keep Roussos in the loop. And I had a question I still wanted an answer to. Possibly enough time had passed and enough threads had been tied up that he would finally give it to me.

I don’t know how long I waited before Roussos got to the phone. Teddy was still upstairs with Pepper and Cinnamon, and I’d had a three-Kleenex moment. But eventually Roussos picked up.

“Don’t tell me you found a dead body in your attic,” he said when he realized it was me.

“Like you’d be the one I’d call first.”

“Yeah, I know. You’d only call me when the killer was standing behind you with a .45 and a machete. How about Joe Wagner? You got any leads on him? The man’s warehouse burns down, and his warehouse manager dies in the blaze, but he doesn’t come back, even for a day?”

“I can’t help you there. But this is about the Wagners. Would you be interested if I told you I think Chad Sutterfield might have been the real father of Joe Wagner’s son?”

He was silent a moment. “Okay, dazzle me. What makes you think so?”

I was encouraged. I played all the angles, pausing just once for a coughing fit. I finished on a gasp.

“And this would interest me why?” he asked. “We know Sutterfield started the fire in his office. That’s a given.”

“You’re certain?”

“Without a doubt.”

“I guess I can’t interest you in buying this as a motive for Hazel’s death?”

“Sutterfield killed Mrs. Kefauver because he was the father of Wagner’s son?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she figured it out. Maybe she was on to him, and he poisoned her. How was she poisoned? Was it something he might have put in her food?”

“You’re getting better about slipping these questions in. I like it when people grow. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

I felt awful, but I smiled anyway, although I hoped he couldn’t tell. “How can telling me hurt now? You’re so sure you have the murderer. And he’s dead. So what’s the big deal?”

He was quiet long enough to give me hope. “Nicotine,” he said at last. “Ring any bells for you?”

“Nicotine? Like cigarettes?” I thought for a moment. “She was supposed to be a secret smoker. Could she have smoked so much on the sly that it killed her?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Not likely.”

“So how does somebody get poisoned by nicotine?”

“It used to be easier. They sold it over the counter as a pesticide until they banned it in the 1990s. I hear it was good for aphids. But just to make your day I’ll tell you it takes less nicotine than arsenic or strychnine to kill somebody.”

“So what, did somebody sit on top of poor Hazel and feed her cigarette butts?”

“We’re not completely clear. Anything else you want to know?”

“Anything else you’d like to tell me? Like whether you’re sure Chad killed Hazel Kefauver, or the jury’s still out?”

“Sure, I’ll tell you something—”

I knew that tone. “Right. Stay out of your investigation, I know. I’ll get back in touch when I’ve figured out how all your pieces fit together. Be looking for a way to put me on the payroll.”

We hung up simultaneously.

I dissected what I’d learned. I was left with the feeling that Roussos was still investigating. Not only to figure out how Hazel ingested enough nicotine to die from it, but because he wasn’t certain Chad had been the one to supply it. He had actually shared the name of the poison, which surprised me, but I thought, perhaps, he’d done it to see if it rang any bells.

Just as important, he had listened carefully when I told him that I thought Chad was Tyler’s biological father. My opinion? Roussos was still collecting evidence and looking for motives.

“Nicotine.” I tried to imagine the ways a lethal dose of nicotine might be delivered. We had cigarettes and chewing tobacco. We had aids like the patch for people who were trying to quit smoking. Sid had told me about the nicotini, a drink for people who didn’t want to get off their barstools and go outside to light up. Something about soaking tobacco leaves in vodka and adding flavoring.

Yuck.

Could any of these delivery systems be ramped up to poison Hazel? Was there any reason to suspect that Brownie had access to nicotine in a form that might have killed her? Or Chad Sutterfield? Theoretically, I’d gotten involved to help our mayor, but the investigation had taken on a life of its own. Everything was jumbled in my head now. Joe’s disappearance. Hazel’s murder. The fire and Chad’s death. Tyler’s parentage. Nicotine?

For once I was sorry I was such an Internet idiot. There would be information about nicotine poisoning online, I was sure. But I didn’t have the energy to go looking, nor did I want to deal with the consequences. Ed’s computer is possessed. At the very least we need an exorcism.

I tried hard not to fall asleep, but when Junie came home, rhapsodizing about how quickly Rube was completing work on the Victorian, I shared a few perky sentences with her. Right before I closed my eyes.

Teddy looks wonderful in rags. As the official family seam-stress Junie had made the Cinderella-in-the-ashes costume from fabric scraps and burlap. Since Rene and Teddy were the same size, Rene had worn it first. But I couldn’t imagine anyone who could look more forlorn or pathetic than my own daughter.

I was so proud.

After dinner I enjoyed the bedraggled Teddy from across the room. “Promise you’ll come home dressed like a princess so I can see that, too?”

“I wish you could go!”

To preserve the surprise, I hadn’t been allowed to see my daughter in either costume. None of us had realized I wouldn’t see her onstage, either.

I felt as sad as she did. “We’ll watch the videotape, and you can tell me every little thing.”

“I might never be a star again.”

“You’ll always be a star to me.”

Teddy’s not fooled by mushy mommy compliments. By the same token she’s logical enough to realize that my coughing on the parents of her school friends won’t win her any fans. Luckily she had her father, grandmother, and sister to applaud too loudly. By the time they left, she was reconciled to my absence.

I wasn’t glad to see them go, but the silent house was more helpful than the medication my doctor had prescribed. I felt light-headed, and the world and its problems seemed one galaxy away. I didn’t have to converse. I didn’t even have to think. I could lie on the sofa and doze until they returned. Since the parents were putting on a cookies and juice reception after the play, I figured I had a couple of hours to wallow in my illness.

The telephone woke me. I searched for it under the afghan, but my sleep-befuddled brain wouldn’t quite connect the ringing with the proper quadrant of the sofa. By the time I located it between two cushions, I said hello as my caller was hanging up.

I was just as glad I was awake, because I needed to blow my nose again. Always the optimist, I thought if I kept trying, someday I’d be able to use my nostrils for something other than storage. I reached for the tissues only to find that I’d emptied the whole box during other futile attempts.

I was thirsty, anyway. I sat up, then I got gingerly to my feet. If possible, the medication was making me woozier. I wanted my money back.

In the kitchen I yanked a bottle of spring water out of the refrigerator and scouted for a new box of tissues in the pantry. When nothing turned up there, I squatted to look in the cupboard nearest the door and found a stash. Bless Ed, he had prepared for the worst.

I got to my feet too quickly, and a wave of dizziness swept over me. I grabbed the counter to steady myself, knocking a stack of newspapers and the key basket to the floor in the process. Congratulating myself for not breaking anything, I waited until I felt steadier, then holding on to the counter with one hand I gingerly lowered myself until I could reach the basket. One by one I picked up the keys and dropped them back inside. The papers could wait until the gang returned.

I was upright again, setting the basket farther against the wall, when I realized that I had retrieved and replaced Maura’s key along with extra copies of our car and van keys, and keys to the house.

I fished out Maura’s and turned it over in my hand. I was almost sure that the last time I had seen the familiar beaded elephant, it was making nice with my wallet at the bottom of my purse. Who had removed it and put it back in the basket? I was tired and confused, but I was almost sure. Two days ago I’d seen Maura’s key as I rummaged for something at Chad’s memorial service. And since then I hadn’t felt well enough to play musical keys. Proof? The usual extras were here, but my own set of house and car keys was still upstairs in my purse.

I tried to bring details into better focus. I remembered searching for paper to write down Betsy’s address. Maura’s keys had been right there in my purse along with my own.

Odd.

I tried to imagine any reason why Ed would have removed Maura’s key and put it here. Or one of my girls or Junie? This seemed like a small thing, but a small thing that made no sense.

My purse was upstairs. I had dropped it beside the bed when I came home from the doctor’s office. I wondered if I was clearheaded enough for a trip up the steps. The change of scenery might be nice. I could get into my nightgown and under the covers. When she came home, Teddy could still tell me about her success. And while I was up there I could…what? Check to see if the key weighting my hand was a mirage? That I was imagining the whole thing?

Okay, I was sick. The medication was making my head spin. But there was only one explanation. I was wrong. Somewhere along the way I’d dropped Maura’s key in the basket again, and I just didn’t remember.

I would not go upstairs and check for the obvious. I would not.

I was on my way.

I gathered up all my supplies. The new box of tissues, the spring water, the
Flow
, so I would look as if I wanted to be educated and industrious, even if I was sound asleep.

I made the trip without incident and dropped everything at the foot of our bed. Then I sat on the edge and pulled my purse to my lap. Out went the wallet, the pack of tissues, the notepad and pen. Out went my keys.

A beaded elephant winked at me in the light of the bedside reading lamp.

I lifted it out and set it in the palm of my hand. Maura’s, for sure. But this was not the key and keychain she had given me. There were three keys hanging to one side, one obviously a car key. And the elephant? Not red and blue, like the one downstairs in the basket, but red and green.

My head was swimming now. Why did I have two sets of keys to Maura’s house? And why this second one with several different keys?

I had been to Maura’s house, and used my key to let Tyler inside. I had hung around with my children and toured Maura’s garden. Had I seen this keychain on a table or counter and thought I’d forgotten it? Then I’d put the right one in the basket when I got home, which left this one in my purse?

This seemed logical except for one thing. I didn’t remember finding keys at Maura’s. And I didn’t think I would have mistaken this keychain for the one she had given me. The color was subtly different, yes. That I might have overlooked. But there were three keys here. Surely I would have noticed that.

I closed my eyes and smelled smoke. I saw flames leaping toward the sky. I felt myself stumble and nearly fall. My purse tumbled to the ground and the contents went flying.

My eyelids snapped open. “The food bank.”

The three words brought on a coughing fit. When it subsided I tried to remember exactly what had happened the night of the fire. I stumbled while trying to keep up with Roussos. My purse had been unzipped, so everything went flying. Despite the darkness I found everything close by except Maura’s keychain. At the time hadn’t I felt lucky that I spotted it a short distance from everything else? I grabbed it in the dark and stuffed it in with my own keys.

And that was the last time I’d paid the slightest attention to it. I hadn’t changed purses. I had left the keychain inside and never noticed the differences.

Maura had been at Helping Hands.

“When?”

Theoretically Maura could have lost her keys any time. She could have lost them at Mayday!, before or after. But unless she drove to the food bank with someone else, how could she have started her car and driven away? Did she routinely carry two sets of keys? Even so, wouldn’t she have gone back and searched? The keys were lying on the ground in plain sight. I had seen them in the darkness.

And even if she had driven with someone else, wouldn’t she have realized the keys were missing when she got home and tried to let herself in? I was fairly certain no key was hidden outside the Wagner house, because Tyler had waited patiently for me to open the door the day I took him home. He hadn’t looked under a rock or checked the pockets of one of Maura’s dolls.

Wouldn’t she have found a way back across town to search for the keys?

The logical conclusion? Maura had been at the food bank on the night of the fire.

Although I found my rapidly evolving theory hard to accept, puzzle pieces began to fit together. Maura was at the food bank the night of the fire, and so was Chad, who died there. If I was right, twelve years ago Maura had given birth to Chad’s child. I knew Maura was afraid Chad was after Joe’s job, but what else was she afraid of? Chad telling Joe the truth about Tyler? Chad having some sort of hold over her? Perhaps one that was growing increasingly hard to placate?

The police were sure Chad set the fire in the office. But for some reason, he hadn’t been able to get out in time. Had Maura engineered that? How?

I had more questions than working brain cells. Maybe Maura knocked him out and he hadn’t come to in time to escape? Seemed hard to believe. Chad was a large, healthy male, and Maura played the helpless little female to the hilt. But lately, hadn’t I begun to suspect there was more to my new friend than met the eye? I’d seen the stronger woman emerging in a positive light, but could I have been wrong?

What about Hazel? The motive there seemed obvious. Hazel and Joe didn’t see eye to eye. If Chad was a threat to Joe’s job, Hazel, the board chair, was a bigger one. Maura loved her life in Emerald Springs. She loved being the spoiled wife of an esteemed community leader. She loved her house and garden and the hours she devoted to both. Emerald Springs was a small town with limited job opportunities. If Joe lost his job, most likely they would have to move away.

And finally, what about Joe? Had he confronted Maura about Chad? Had she poisoned Joe so she could stay in Emerald Springs without him, the respected widow of a murdered man? Still, if that was the case, why was she so determined not to tell the police Joe was missing? Was she waiting for the body to decompose so when they found him, they would find no trace of poison?

When it came right down to it, how would Maura know how to poison anyone?

My theory was elaborate. My headache was more elaborate. I really couldn’t tell if I was making sense. I needed somebody to listen and tell me if I needed a nap or an immediate trip to either the police station or emergency room.

I dialed Lucy, and this time got her voice mail. I asked her to call me back immediately and hung up. I thought about calling my sisters, but there was too much to explain to catch them up to speed.

Just one more detail. One more clue, and I could call Roussos again. The key just wasn’t enough. I had no proof Maura had dropped it the night of the fire, and not a bit of proof she was there when the fire actually started. I didn’t want to alienate Roussos to the point that he no longer took my calls.

I crawled under the covers and kicked everything at the foot of the bed to Ed’s side. When Ed got home I would show him my discovery. And I would tell him everything else. Ed was the soul of logic. Either he would tell me to stay off the cough medicine, or he would help me figure out what to do next.

I closed my eyes and saw roses. Big, dinner plate roses in clusters at the county fair. Roses in perfect health because they had been tended so lovingly. Maura’s roses, fed with compost and ground-up bones, dusted with dried blood, protected by fox urine and homemade sprays made from botanical combinations. Maura, the organic gardener with a strong stomach.

Nicotine was an organic substance. What had Roussos said about it being a banned pesticide? Could it still be made at home? Was it as simple as buying a pack of cigarettes and soaking them in water? Hadn’t Roussos said the pesticide had been used to kill aphids?

I knew enough about roses to know that aphids were a chronic problem.

One more clue, I had told myself. Now I sat up and dialed the police station. Knowing the nonemergency number by heart? That was almost more frightening than what I had to tell.

When the dispatcher answered I explained who I was and what I wanted, but this time I wasn’t lucky. Roussos was gone, and she put me through to his voice mail.

I recorded what I had discovered since I’d last spoken to him and added my theories. Then I asked him to call me when he got the message.

I had done my duty. More than my duty. Maybe I had done enough to move the investigation in the right direction. And maybe Maura had an alibi as solid and polished as her pineapple door knocker. I really hoped so. But if she didn’t, if she’d been involved in all these events, then I wanted Roussos to grab her and shake the truth about Joe out of her.

For now, whether he did or didn’t, I was finished.

I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion I’d been fighting claim me. My house was locked tight; my family would be home soon. I was safe…

“Holy Nirvana.” I sat up so fast the room did a little dance.

I had two sets of Maura’s keys, yes. But I had forgotten something just as important.

Maura had
mine
.

I had no reason to think Maura could read my mind. How would she know I suspected she had joined the Emerald Springs Sociopaths Society? Yet, if anything I was coming to believe about her was true, Maura was smarter than any of us had given her credit for. And far more dangerous.

I was not safe in my own house.

I tried to think where I could go. Our neighbors are old, and I didn’t want to share my virus with them. I could probably get myself to the church, but Ed had his keys with him so I couldn’t get in unless January happened to be there.