“Not that again,” Lola said impatiently.
Jocelyn raised a hand as a stop sign. “I’m not talking about Dracula and stakes through the heart and all of that stuff.”
She had our attention. “I saw him last night at the corner of Anderson and Main.”
My little hairs stood at attention. I looked at Lola. “You did? What time? What was he doing?”
She raised her hand again to stifle my questions. “Seven, seven fifteen. Riding in the back seat of a dark car. His face was covered.”
Whoa.
“He appeared disturbed.” Jocelyn took our orders and stepped away.
Lola and I exchanged looks. “She must be disturbed. Not even a mention of Walter,” Lola half-joked. “I suppose Carlos was on his way to the family emergency when Jocelyn spotted him.”
I frowned.
Lola studied me. “What is it?”
“Do you remember what time Carlos called, and what he said to you?”
“He called at the end of Act Two. Before the blackout.”
“So about nine thirty?”
“About. He didn’t say much. Only that he was sorry to miss rehearsal because of a family emergency.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. Then he hung up.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
Lola looked thunderstruck. “I thought so. But the connection was fuzzy. In and out. I assumed he was out of town with the emergency.”
“Why did he call you and not Penny?”
Lola’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t know. Do you think someone was impersonating Carlos? Why would someone do that?”
Why indeed? Jocelyn brought our meal, giving me one last eyeball and a warning. “Remember what I said.”
My cell pinged. It was Bill: have you seen the weather in Chicago? Bad…damn. Waiting for my flight to take off.
He hadn’t left yet? He was supposed to arrive in an hour. It was both positive and negative news. On the one hand, it gave me more time to get my investigative ducks in a row so that I could explain the Carlos case from beginning to end. On the other hand, the longer Bill was delayed, the more vulnerable I felt. Never mind. I had to suck it up. I Googled Chicago weather. The city was in the midst of a terrific rain- and windstorm. No wonder flights were delayed. “Between you and me, a rickety staircase was not the reason I fell,” I mumbled to Lola.
She set her fork carefully on her plate. “You’d better tell me everything.”
“Someone pushed me. Someone knew I was in the house. Someone tracked me there.” I took a bite of my cinnamon roll. “For the record? I don’t think that call was made by Carlos.” Without betraying Bill’s confidence and revealing the witness protection information, I told Lola that Carlos was in trouble, that he probably knew more about Daryl Wolf than he let on, and that there was a good reason he’d changed his name.
Lola called Carlos. No answer. She regarded me coolly. She understood there were things I couldn’t share.
“What if Carlos doesn’t show up again tonight?” I asked.
Lola had been through ELT traumas before. “We’ll have to wait today and see what happens,” she said calmly. “What can I do to help?”
“Thanks. First of all, I want to go home and clean up.”
After assuring her that I was fine, despite the night’s mishaps, and promising to take it easy, Lola dropped me off at my place, where my MC was safely parked in the driveway thanks to Carol.
“Stay put until Bill gets in, okay?”
I waved. I was afraid that ship had sailed permanently.
* * * *
Within the hour, I had texted Henry I was running late, soaked in an Epsom salts bath to soothe my aching body, and dressed for comfort in jeans and a green turtleneck sweater, wincing as I pulled the top over my head. While relaxing in the tub, I’d also organized my thoughts and my day. I was convinced now that Carlos, and perhaps Bella, had been snatched by the second hitman despite the presence of an undercover protector. The actor was in jeopardy. I imagined that the only thing keeping him alive, assuming he was still alive, was the evidence he held against the mob boss. And most likely it wasn’t on his person; otherwise, there would be no need to impersonate Carlos. Someone was buying time.
Henry had told me, like Lola, to stay home; however, there was no way I could sit idle waiting for Bill. I still had to keep the Carlos investigation on the down low. I opted not to text Bill about my incident at the Hanratty house. It was likely Suki had already informed him, so no need to pile it on. No sense in making him worry more than he no doubt already was.
I breezed into the restaurant and casually walked to the bar. “Hey.”
Benny did a double take. “What are you doing here? Henry ordered you to stay home.”
“Just a little bump on the old noggin. Special inserts in the menus?” I asked, all business as usual.
“Wow. I don’t know how you do it. You fall down a flight of stairs one day and you’re back at work the next. What were you doing out there anyway?” He leaned in. “The gossip cops are saying it had something to do with the death in the cemetery.”
I laughed. “Trust Etonville to stir the pot. I went looking for Carlos. He missed rehearsal.”
“Uh-huh.” Benny wasn’t completely convinced.
“Anyway, my trip to the house was pointless. He had a family emergency. That’s why he didn’t show.” Lola and I had agreed to maintain Carlos’s alibi. At least for the present.
“Uh-huh.”
Henry bolted into the dining room. “Benny! Where’s today’s inventory sheet—” He stared at me. His expression shifted from frustration to shock.
“The inventory sheets are on the clipboard, Cheney Brothers double-checked the weekend order, staff schedules are confirmed. And something smells good. Is that French onion soup?” I took Henry’s elbow and steered him, mouth agape, back to the kitchen as the door opened and the welcome bells jingled.
I hid in the kitchen as long as possible, but there was a limit to how much stock organization and inventory I could do. Hanging around while Henry and Enrico whipped up today’s sliders—the last of the specials, BLT avocado on a biscuit—was useless. I had to face the music.
I pushed open the swinging door into the dining room to a wave of chatter that abruptly ended as the occupants of the tables spied my entrance. Taking the bull by the horns, I decided to be proactive. “Hi, everyone. I’m alive, not in a coma. Didn’t break anything.” I grabbed a coffeepot. Did it work?
One by one, patrons gave me “okay” signs and signaled their relief. Despite their love of the rumor mill, the citizens of Etonville were willing to accept reality when it hit them in the face. Most of the time.
“So, Dodie, you don’t think you had a near-death experience?” asked a customer.
Seriously? “Nope. Only a fall down some steps. All good now.”
She scrutinized me skeptically. “We heard that the Hanratty house is alive. Things live in the walls.”
Might have a point there. I moved on to another table.
By three o’clock, my head was thumping, my shoulders and back throbbing. I needed a break. I slumped into my booth with a bowl of onion soup and a couple of aspirin. Lola had texted to see how I was doing, Bill had texted to say that he was scheduled to leave at three central time, four my time, if the wind died down, and Pauli had texted to see if I wanted to talk. You bet. I was about to tap his name in my contacts when my cell rang. It was Bill.
“Hey,” I said as brightly as I could. I was prepared to laugh off my “accident” and downplay my injuries in case Suki had notified him of last night’s disaster.
“We’re boarding in a few minutes,” he said.
“Okay.” I waited. Either Suki hadn’t been in touch or Bill was playing his cards close to his well-muscled chest. A loudspeak
er in the background announced the departure of a flight to Phoenix.
“Got a call from the medical examiner about Daryl Wolf. The initial results of the autopsy indicated a massive heart attack.”
“Right. I remember.”
“Well…I asked him to dig deeper…”
“The more specialized tests.”
“Yes. Gas chromatography-mass spectrometry. The gold standard for forensic substance identification. Anyway, turns out there was a lethal amount of something known as aconite in his system.”
“Aconite?”
“Derived from a potentially poisonous herb. If Daryl Wolf ingested something with aconite in it, he could have died in as little as an hour or so later. Maybe a half hour. Depending on the dose.”
An herb. The only folks I knew in Etonville cultivating herbs were Henry, for the restaurant, and Bella Villarias. “Does this mean Daryl Wolf was…?”
“Murdered. Yeah.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. Were we barking up the wrong tree? Was Bella somehow involved in Daryl Wolf’s murder? I did find a piece of her jewelry in the cemetery….I felt confused and weak all over. I didn’t believe that Carlos was a murderer, or that Bella was an accomplice, despite his having had a meeting with the Grim Reaper in the parking lot on Halloween night and her losing her necklace in the cemetery.
But what if Dracula was brought to a screeching halt because the lead actor became a prime suspect? Lola and the ELT would be devastated. No one was going to be able to take Carlos’s place. Dracula would die a quick death. Stake or no stake.
“Dodie? Did you hear what I said?”
“The restaurant’s noisy and—”
“I need you to do a little investigating for me,” he said.
I was dumbstruck. “You’re asking me to…?”
“That’s right. It’s a simple thing. Contact La Famiglia and find out who was in charge of catering the Halloween party. If the victim was there I’d like to know who cooked, who served…”
“To find out who might have laced the food with aconite.”
“Yes. I’m looping Suki in on this, but I thought you might raise less suspicion. Can you concoct a reason to want this information? You’re pretty good at inventing stories,” he said wryly. “If you find anything sketchy with the La Famiglia staff, I’ll follow up when I get back.”
“Anything more on the second hitman or the runner?”
“Nothing at the moment. Everything calm out there?”
Well… Another announcement from the loudspeaker. This time for the Newark flight. “Carlos didn’t show up for rehearsal last night, and today there’s been no word from him. I’m getting a little concerned.”
“The Dracula production is the least of my worries—”
“It’s more than that. It’s a long story, but I think I can cut to the chase. On Halloween night, Lola saw Carlos with a guy dressed like the Grim Reaper, and she was anxious to find out —”
“What did you say? Losing you.”
A babble of announcements broadcasting departures and cities overrode his voice.
“I gotta go. Text me if you find out anything interesting. Love you,” he said.
“I have some information that—”
The line went dead. Sheesh. I’d kept Carlos’s problematic identity from Bill for too long. He would be in the air soon. I exhaled and typed a text: looked into Carlos’s background (long story) he’s from Chicago (another long story) his name is Mercer (I can explain) think he’s the runner. i’m worried (2nd hitman)??
17
I waited for an explosion from the mobile telecommunication universe. Nothing. Bill must have turned off his cell phone instead of putting it in airplane mode. Maybe he needed to sleep. He’d sounded worn out when we talked these last few days. I was flattered that he’d asked me to help out. He hadn’t done that before. In the early days, he grudgingly accepted my participation. More recently, he began to trust my instincts and share investigative information with me. This was taking my detection contribution to a new level. Before I attempted to contact La Famiglia, better known as conversing with the enemy, I wanted to research aconite.
I Googled the herb and clicked on websites. It had an ancient history as a poison and frequently showed up in fiction as the cause of death. I scrolled through a list of books, movies, and television series where perps used the herb as a murder weapon. Then I read more carefully. It was a plant native to Europe and Asia, its stalks covered with blue flowers shaped like the hood of a medieval monk. Aconite was also referred to as “monkshood.” There were a number of varieties of the plant; all were toxic, though some people believed it had healing properties to cure a wide range of illnesses from colds to coronary disease. It was readily available at health food outlets and pharmacies, both online and in stores, as a powder, capsules, tablets, and liquid. It was the dosage and processing that determined aconite’s toxicity. It could also be absorbed through skin or open wounds. The toxins of aconite were similar to that found in the venom of poisonous snakes.
This was some dangerous stuff. And easy to obtain… life threatening…symptoms include difficulty breathing…irregular heartbeat…no known antidotes to aconite poisoning…fatal.
Whoa. The killer wasn’t fooling around. Then I read the last paragraph on the website. Aconite was also called “wolfsbane.” I leaned back in the seat. Where had I heard that before?
I Googled the name. Up popped a picture and description of the aconite plant and a Wikipedia entry. I skimmed down the page. The fourth link was a reference to the 1931 classic movie Dracula starring Bela Lugosi. That was it! In the ELT production, Van Helsing held up a sprig of wolfsbane to ward off the presence of Dracula. It was supposedly as effective as garlic.
I felt a chill. Whoever had murdered Daryl Wolf had not only had a working knowledge of aconite as a deadly poison, but was familiar with the Dracula legend. First the stake and now wolfsbane…
It was four o’clock. I had an hour or so until the dinner rush. I could head over to La Famiglia and ask a few questions, keeping my expedition off-the-record. Henry was as sensitive as ever about his competition. I’d only eaten there once and he’d had a “conniption fit,” as my great-aunt Maureen would have said.
I walked casually to the bar. “Benny, I need some fresh air. Think I’ll go for a walk.”
“Good idea. Clear your head. You need to take care of yourself.”
Benny was sweet to be so concerned. I slipped on my lightweight coat and waltzed out the door. Once on the sidewalk, I hurried down the block to my car. La Famiglia was across town, a twenty-five-minute walk. I wanted to complete my mission and return to friendly territory by five. I gunned the engine, flew down Main Street, cut over Pinter Drive past the Shop N Go, and made a right turn. Left would have taken me to the cemetery.
As I pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the restaurant, my cell buzzed. Pauli: talk? He was a man of few words. I texted okay and my cell rang.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Pauli cleared his throat, chewing something in my ear. “Like, I took the shot you sent—”
Mr. Chicago.
“—and dug into some databases.”
“Any luck?”
“No record of any arrests. At least not in the federal police databases. They collect data from passports, drivers’ licenses, airports.”
“So he’s not a criminal,” I joked. “Great work as usual. I’m impressed.”
“Piece of cake. Didya know about half the population in America is stored in facial recognition databases?” Pauli asked.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Like, eighty percent of the photos are noncriminal too. Police use ’em to compare surveillance footage with databases of ID photos and mugshots.”
“I had no clue. I simply figured you would know something about
facial recognition.”
Pauli warmed up to his topic. “It’s a biometric ID system, like retina scanning and voice recognition,” he said confidently.
The door to La Famiglia opened, and three women left the restaurant. Which reminded me, I had to get inside soon. “Pauli, thanks for this. If you find anything else in your digging…”
“So…do you wanna know his name and where he’s from?” Pauli asked slyly.
“What? Of course!”
“John Doe from Las Vegas.”
“What?”
“Like yeah. Funny, right?” Pauli cackled.
So Mr. Chicago was John Doe. What was that about? Who would name a child John if their last name was Doe? It had to be an alias. My cell pinged. “Pauli, I have to go. Text me later if there’s anything else.”
“No problem. Gotta bounce anyway.”
Pauli clicked off, and I read my text. Lola: any sign of carlos? might have to cancel tonight’s show. how are u? I texted back that I was fine, had not seen Carlos, and wished her luck. And now I wished myself luck. On the drive here, I’d formulated a plan of action. What did Bill say? Not arouse too much suspicion? I swiped on lipstick, ran a brush through my hair, straightened my coat. Good thing all of my bruises were hidden except for the one on my forehead. My bangs covered the bandage there.
I walked to the entrance calmly. I’d only been here twice before: once to pick up takeout garlic knots and once with Bill—our first almost-date that was a disaster. I opened the door. The rich aromas of Italian fare assaulted my nostrils. The restaurant was mostly empty, certainly less busy than it would be later. La Famiglia was just as I remembered it: brick walls decorated with watercolors of Italian country scenes, an open wine rack, a central oven and cooking area, and a parquet tile floor. The atmosphere oozed old-world gentility, placid and poised. I flashed on the often-frenzied ambience of the Windjammer, the dining room that featured a nautical-themed décor to replicate a nineteenth-century whaling vessel, complete with central beams, floor planking, and a figurehead of a woman’s bust above the entrance. Never mind. I wouldn’t trade its Etonville vibe.
Killing Time Page 20