“Yes. He’s been missing for hours, and I’m worried something terrible has happened.”
“Let his officers look for him,” Ellen said, extracting her hand from her husband’s. “I can’t understand why you’ve come here at this hour. Aquariums.” She sniffed. “How am I supposed to know who owns an aquarium?”
“Sonya does,” Michael said. “You know she does.”
I was beginning to understand. “Ellen, are you saying you didn’t tell Gilroy about Sonya’s aquarium?” I was ready to spit nails. “Mr. Lambert, is Sonya’s aquarium a saltwater one?”
“Yes, how did you know that? It’s fifty, sixty gallons, with coral, yellow tangs—those are an almost neon color fish with—”
“Why didn’t you tell Gilroy?” I blurted out, fixing my eyes on Ellen. “And where is Sonya right now? Where?”
Ellen’s expression went from anger to astonishment. “I thought she was with you. I told her what you said about her staying with you, and she was thrilled. She knew you were having a Christmas party too. I couldn’t talk her out of going. She hasn’t been to a party outside my or Micah’s house in years. Are you telling me she’s not at your house?”
“She’s not, Ellen. She never came. I promise you.”
“I’ve been at Rachel’s party all night,” Julia said. “I would know if Sonya had been there.”
Ellen’s astonishment changed to alarm. “But she left hours ago.” Tears were beginning to form in her eyes.
“Did she walk?” I asked.
Ellen shot to her feet. “I can’t stop her from walking. She walks everywhere. Michael?”
“I’ll get our coats,” Michael said as he dashed out of the dining room.
“Sonya seems used to walking, even in the cold,” I began, trying to calm Ellen.
“If you hadn’t filled her head with stories about Oliver,” she said in a clipped, angry tone.
“I didn’t tell her stories. I told her, and you, to be careful until the police arrested someone for Micah and Farley’s murders.”
“Farley?” Ellen said, her head jerking. “No one told me he was murdered. I thought he had a heart attack. That’s what everyone’s saying.”
Michael marched back to the dining room and handed Ellen her coat.
“He was murdered by the same poison that killed Micah,” I said, hoping to shock her into helping me find Gilroy. “Something called palytoxin. Aquarium coral is loaded with it.”
Michael went rigid, his face a frozen mask.
CHAPTER 12
Julia and I watched from my car as the Lamberts backed out of their driveway so fast they nearly sideswiped their mailbox. It was snowing again, and I feared the roads were becoming slick, making my search for Gilroy all the more difficult.
“Should we follow them?” Julia asked.
“They don’t know where Sonya is,” I answered. “They’re going to drive around in circles, just like we’ve been doing.”
“Ellen was very strange. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that. She’s usually sweet, but she was so argumentative, and all we were doing was trying to find the chief. And what’s this nonsense about aquariums? According to Michael, Sonya has one. So why not just say so? Honestly, there’s something very odd going on.”
As Julia talked, images flashed in my mind. Gilroy in a serious car accident. Gilroy mortally wounded, caught off guard by the killer. And still I sat there, unable to decide what to do next.
“Do you think Ellen knew where Chief Gilroy was?” Julia asked.
I shook my head. “All she knows is that Sonya may be a killer. But I agree with you, there’s something very odd going on in that house. What’s the relationship between Ellen and Sonya? Ellen is too young to be Sonya’s mother.”
“Unless Ellen gave birth at age eight. Anyway, Sonya’s parents are dead,” Julia reminded me.
“So she and Micah said.” I recalled the two women at the wreath-making party. How Sonya appeared more at ease with Ellen than with any of Ellen’s friends, and how Ellen had risked being charged with a crime to hide evidence and then hide Sonya in her house. Whether or not Sonya had begged Ellen to stay, as Ellen had claimed, the woman had put herself on the legal line by deceiving the police. “They’re not sisters, either. They don’t look or sound anything alike.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Why is Ellen so anxious about Sonya? She lied to the police to cover for her. Twice. If you thought a friend was a cold-blooded murderer, would you risk arrest to protect her?”
“Not on your life.”
“Exactly. Who would? But Ellen is doing just that. We’re missing something, Julia. Something glaring. They are not just friends. Let’s go.” I headed east for downtown, the snow swirling in my headlights’ beams. I had a favor to ask of Underhill or Turner, and I had to ask it in person.
I found a spot directly in front of the station and marched inside, startling Turner at the front desk. “Is Underhill still searching for Gilroy?” I asked.
“You bet.”
“It’s about time,” Julia said, walking in behind me.
“I need a favor, and I need it fast,” I said, mustering as much confidence and authority as I could. “I think it might help find Gilroy.”
“If it can help, ask away.”
“Do you have access to databases that other people might not have? Like hospital birth records?”
“Yeah . . .” Unsure of what law I was about to ask him to bend or break, Turner began to waver.
“I wouldn’t ask you if this wasn’t extremely important.”
Turner logged on to his computer, angling the screen away from me so I couldn’t see the site he had navigated to or the password he keyed in. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, you should.”
“Name?”
“Sonya Quinn.”
“One of the suspects,” Turner said, typing out her name.
“She’s forty-four years old. Probably born at a Fort Collins or Loveland hospital. I need to know who her parents are.”
Two minutes later Underhill had found her. “Here we go. Fort Collins.”
I leaned on the desk, trying for a look at his monitor. “Is Ellen Lambert listed anywhere on the birth certificate?”
“Nope.” Underhill cocked a brow. “This is weird, though. Her father is Oliver Morris.” He looked up from the screen. “I’m sure it’s the same Oliver Morris because his address on the birth certificate is Juniper Grove.”
I was speechless.
Julia wasn’t. “What on earth? I thought her father was dead. In all the time I’ve known him, Oliver has never said a word about being Sonya’s father. Never the slightest hint—not in all the times we’ve talked. Honestly, the secrets people keep.”
That explains Oliver’s willingness to risk arrest by tampering with crime-scene evidence, I thought. He had never let Sonya know he was her real father, but he had protected her like one. “Can you check Sonya’s adoption records?” I asked.
Turner’s answer was to start typing. “Seeing as we’re making progress, why not?”
My head was beginning to throb. I fidgeted with a stapler on the desk and then started to rearrange the ornaments on the Christmas tree Turner had butchered.
“All right if we have coffee?” Julia asked.
“Help yourself, Mrs. Foster.”
“What have you done to this tree?” I asked Turner. “Garlands are supposed to dangle from the branches, not wrap around the trunk like a tourniquet.
“I thought you liked it,” Turner said, continuing to work the computer keyboard.
“I’m sorry.” I let my hands fall to my side. “I can’t keep my hands still.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I get it.”
Turner was an okay guy. So was Underhill. They wanted to find Gilroy almost as much as I did, and Turner was breaking the rules, and possibly the law, to do so.
“Here we go,�
�� he said triumphantly, his dimples showing. “Sonya’s adoptive parents. Glen and Marcia Quinn.”
“Never heard of them,” Julia said, passing me a paper cup of steaming coffee.
“Hang on,” Turner said. Deep into his hunt, his fingers raced over the keyboard. “We need more information,” he told me, his chair creaking as he leaned back. “It’s easier to find death certificates. Both Sonya’s parents died in a car accident. Looks like Sonya was about twenty-two at the time, which explains why she went on to live on her own.”
“Have you seen the name Ellen Lambert on anything?” I asked.
“Not a word to Gilroy or Underhill,” Turner said as he resumed typing. “I’m looking through every database I have.”
Although I was too anxious to feel tired, I drank my coffee. I was going to need the caffeine for the night ahead.
“I found her,” Turner said. His expression told me he wished he had dug into Ellen Lambert’s background earlier. “Her maiden name is Morris. She’s Oliver’s sister.”
I though Julia would spit out her coffee.
“That explains why those two have been willing to break the law for Sonya,” I said. “They’re family. Boy, did they have me fooled.”
“And me,” Julia said. “Do you think Michael Lambert knows?”
“I’m guessing he does. It explains why he’d go out in a snowstorm to track down an adult woman.” I shifted my gaze to Turner. “So who is Micah Shultz?”
“Schultz was Marcia Quinn’s maiden name,” Turner said. “So Micah would be—”
“Sonya’s uncle by adoption,” I said. “He really was her uncle.”
Julia sank into one of the lobby chairs. “Did Sonya kill Micah and Farley? I can’t bring myself to believe it, Rachel.”
In truth, neither could I. Everything pointed at Sonya—the poison, her aquarium, the fact that she had been at both murder scenes. Everything, that is, but my instincts. “Sonya was crushed when Micah died in front of her. She wasn’t faking that. She isn’t capable. I don’t think she killed Micah or Farley, but Ellen and Oliver might have. And the question is, how far would they go to protect her?”
“Oh, I don’t like this,” Julia breathed.
I glanced at my watch. “Almost midnight,” I said. I struggled against tears. Me falling apart wouldn’t help Gilroy. “Turner, did you, Underhill, or Gilroy tell Ellen about the lab results on Micah Schultz?”
“The palytoxin, you mean?” Turner asked. “No, but Underhill told Oliver Morris yesterday afternoon.”
I could have hugged him. And strangled Underhill.
“Morris brought some cookies to the station while Gilroy was out,” Turner continued, “and the sugar loosened Underhill’s tongue. Though between you and me, it doesn’t need much loosening.”
I wandered to where Julia was sitting, cradling her coffee. Beyond the station window, snow swirled and danced in the wind. “That’s why Oliver picked up the syringe by Farley’s body,” I said. “He found out what palytoxin was, suspected Sonya, and wanted to protect her.”
“How does that help us find Gilroy?” Turner said.
I wheeled back to the desk. “I think he went to see Sonya. Maybe to check out her aquarium for himself. He didn’t believe Ellen.”
“Her coral. Would Sonya . . . ?” Julia began, too horrified to finish her question.
No, no, no. She would never. “You have my phone number, Turner.” I tugged on Julia’s coat sleeve as I made for the door.
“Drive carefully,” he called. “Gilroy would kill me if something happened to you.”
When I reached my car door, I clicked open the lock on the passenger side and pulled out my phone, hoping for better reception in the open. Julia hopped in and I dialed Sonya one more time. She answered.
Almost immediately, the connection went bad, but before I lost her, she said something about Gilroy and told me where she was: sitting on the front steps of my house.
I drove east on Main Street as fast as the snow and Julia would let me, ignoring stops signs and the red light where Main met Blossom Road. The only traffic I encountered was a lumbering truck as I rounded the corner onto Finch Hill Road. Julia grabbed her seatbelt with both hands as I passed him, sped down the road, and lurched to a stop in front of my house. “There she is,” I said.
“Go on,” Julia said, waving me ahead.
I rushed for my steps, straight up to Sonya. I was shocked by the state she was in—hatless, shivering and sweating at the same time, her cheeks a brilliant pink, her hands tucked under her armpits for warmth. She looked as though she’d been outside for hours. “Come inside before you freeze to death,” I said, helping her up from the step.
“Sonya, what on earth?” Julia said, shutting the door behind us. “You’re in a dreadful state.”
“I’m okay,” Sonya said. Her hair hung in thick, damp strings, her hands—I now saw they were bare—were as pink as her cheeks.
“Hot lemon water,” Julia said. “That’s the thing.”
As Julia rummaged through my refrigerator, I handed Sonya a fresh terry towel from a kitchen drawer. “Dry your face and hair,” I said.
Her fingers were rigid with the cold, her hands unable to make a fist as she drew the towel across her face. “Chief Gilroy needs help,” she managed.
I latched on to her arm. “What happened?”
“We had a car accident. Though it wasn’t really an accident. A truck smashed into us on purpose and his car went down the side of the road. Way down in a canyon. I couldn’t wake him up for a while.”
I shuddered. “No.”
“But when I did wake him up, I told him I was going for help. He told me to stay with his car. He said it was too dangerous to get help. But I wasn’t hurt, Rachel, because I was in the back seat. So I left.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Julia said. “Oh, my goodness.”
“He saved my life when someone tried to kill me outside my apartment,” Sonya went on. “So I have to save his.”
My mind was in a whirl. I was thrilled beyond words that I knew what had happened and terrified that Gilroy was seriously hurt—or worse. “Where is he, Sonya? If I drive, can you show us?”
“Yes, I’ll go. We were on Cedar Avenue, near where the road goes right after the canyon cut.”
I was flabbergasted. “That’s seven or eight miles from here.”
“Your house is a lot closer than Ellen’s house or the police station,” she said, “or I would have stopped there first. I was kind of getting cold.”
“You walked all that way?” Julia asked as she set a glass of lemon water in my microwave. “There’s almost a foot of snow in some places.”
Sonya nodded. “I told you I like to walk.”
CHAPTER 13
Julia, who was often wiser than me when it came to emergencies, told me to call the station and have Turner contact Underhill. He had a heavy SUV and chains, she pointed out. I’d only end up going off the road. After I called Turner, I walked Julia to her door. The snow was beginning to pile up, and I hadn’t cleared my porch steps or walk, making them treacherous.
There was no sense in both of us driving Sonya to the police station, I told her. I promised to call her as soon as I could and then headed downtown with Sonya in my front seat, warming her hands by holding them up to the heaters. If Gilroy was down the side of a canyon, and it sounded like he was, Underhill would need her to show him the exact spot.
“What did you mean when you said someone tried to kill you outside your apartment?” I asked her, making my way down Finch Hill Road.
She blew on her hands and stuffed them in her coat pockets. “He came to see me. He wanted to see my aquarium.” Her chapped lips cracked a little as she smiled. “He said it looked good.”
“Was he looking at the coral?”
“The fish and the coral, yeah. He found out the coral was injured, so I’ll have to call a vet. It had a big cut in it like one of the fish attacked it.”
“Did he look
at your syringes?”
“I can’t believe someone stole my syringes, Rachel,” she said. “Why would somebody do that?”
In her innocence, she was thoroughly heartbroken that anyone would invade her home and take something she used to keep her beloved fish healthy. At that moment, I could have kicked myself for thinking Sonya had hurt anyone. While I’d been consumed with finding her motive for murdering Micah and Farley, the real killer had been busy going after Sonya and running Gilroy off the road.
“Did you tell Gilroy someone stole them?”
“Yeah, I did. He said he promised to get me some new ones. He’s going to buy them himself.”
“And how did Chief Gilroy save your life?” I asked. “Who tried to hurt you?”
“I don’t know who it was, but he fired a gun at me.”
“What?”
“Rachel, it was incredibly loud. I didn’t know guns were so loud. It scared me. Chief Gilroy grabbed me and pushed me in his car. He told me to get down on the floor, and then they shot at him too.”
“Was he hit?”
“No. He drove away fast, and he told me to stay down until he said I could get up. I wanted to go to Ellen’s house, but he said no. He said he knew a place in the foothills where I could stay, and he told me that when I got there, I couldn’t call anyone to say where I was. Not even Ellen. And after we drove for a while, the truck hit us. His ankle was hurt bad, Rachel, and he had blood all over his face.”
I felt as if my composure would shatter at any second. I spotted Underhill’s SUV in front of the station and pulled so quickly to the curb that I slid into it. “Let’s go,” I said, racing ahead of her.
Underhill, looking as tired and cold as Sonya, was waiting for us at the front desk, ready to go. I had barely stepped inside when he ordered me to go home and then pivoted Sonya back to the door.
On her way out, Sonya touched my arm. “He had blankets,” she said. “When he fell asleep again, I left a bunch of blankets on him.”
Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Box Set 2 Page 9