Nightshade for Warning

by Bailey Cattrell

  When I was finished, she motioned me over by the front door of Scents & Nonsense. Lupe seemed a little surprised when Spence trailed along, but didn’t say anything.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked me. “Do you know what kind of car it was?”

  “Cadillac Escalade. I have the license plate,” I said. From the corner of my eye, I saw Spence’s head jerk up.

  Lupe’s smile filled her whole face. “Good girl.”

  Pointing to an unmarked Ford Taurus that had been part of the police department for so long that it might as well have had the town logo on the side and a light bar on top, she said, “Let’s go sit in my car to talk.”

  Spence stepped forward. “Ellie’s hurt, too.”

  Lupe paused, her eyes traveling over me. “Are you hit?”

  I gave a little laugh. “You make it sound like I was shot.”

  “The car didn’t hit her, but she fell pretty hard,” Spence said. “I don’t think she has a concussion, but she should be x-rayed.”

  “You sound like you’ve had medical training, Mr. Spence,” Lupe said.

  He shrugged. “I’ve been in some dicey situations. Occupational hazard in my old job. You learn a few basics.”

  She considered him, then nodded. “Okay. Ellie, just tell me the license plate number and then we’ll get you checked out.”

  “I’m fine,” I protested as I reached into my purse for my cell. “I just hope my phone fared all right.”

  Gingerly, I removed it. “Dang it.” The screen was crisscrossed with cracks, but when I pushed the ON button, Ritter’s handsome face grinned up at me.

  I accessed the camera function, found the picture I wanted, and handed it to Lupe.

  She stared down at the screen, then up at me, then back at the screen. “You got a picture of it?”

  “Oh!” I said. “Not just now, no. But that jerk driver almost hit me a couple days ago. Then I spied the same SUV parked in front of the Hotel California and took this picture. I was going to text it to you to see whether it would be worth reporting . . .” I trailed off. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Frowning, Spence sidled up next to the detective and looked over her shoulder at the photo. His eyes widened.

  “Because I know this plate number. I’ve been trying to find this vehicle for three days,” she said.

  One side of my mouth drew back. “You mean someone else reported the driver? Jeez, what a—”

  “It’s Blake’s Escalade,” Spence broke in. “That’s why she’s been looking for it.”

  My mouth closed. Opened. Closed again. I looked between them.

  “He’s right,” Lupe said. “Mr. Spence told us he’d used the vehicle the night before Mr. Sontag was killed, but assured us he returned it to the parking lot of the Hotel California.”

  “Right. And I found him in the bar and returned his keys,” Spence said.

  “Did you stay in the bar for a while?” I asked.

  Spence nodded. “Blake left, but I stayed.”

  “Did you hear him argue with anyone?”

  Puzzled, he shook his head.

  So the argument with Vaughn Newton must have happened before Spence came back to the hotel.

  “But a woman asked you which room Blake was in,” I said.

  Another nod. “Right. You were eating dinner with her earlier when I stopped by the table. I told her Blake was in room 344.”

  Lupe directed a speculative look at him. “We didn’t have any reason to disbelieve him about the vehicle, except we didn’t find it in the parking lot the next morning in the course of our investigation.”

  Another of the loose ends Lupe mentioned?

  Spence said, “I’d ridden here from Sacramento with Blake. When his car disappeared, I ended up renting a car for the rest of my stay here.”

  Suddenly, I pointed at him. “Wait. The first time that thing almost ran me down was before I’d ever met Blake Sontag. And I remember seeing the passenger in the rearview window.”

  Light hair, wraparound glasses.

  He ducked his head. “Guilty as charged. Not that I was driving. But I remember Blake almost hitting someone.” His gaze softened for a moment. “I didn’t realize it was you.” Then it was gone with a shake of his chin. “He was a terrible driver.”

  And they were heading south out of town on River Road. “Was that when you went out to see his land?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, that obviously wasn’t Blake behind the wheel today,” I said.

  “Obviously,” Lupe said wryly.

  “So who was it?” I asked. “Whoever took his car the night he was poisoned?”

  We looked around at each other. At least I knew for sure Spence hadn’t tried to run me down. The thought brought a surge of relief completely out of proportion to the situation.

  “Maybe,” Lupe said slowly, “just maybe, your investigating is going a little too well, Ellie.”

  “What do you mean?” Spence said.

  She gave him a why are you still here look.

  “She means I might be getting too close to the truth,” I said. “Because whoever was behind that wheel, a) shouldn’t have the car in the first place, and b) came very close to killing me.” I met Lupe’s eyes and bit my lip.

  His jaw slackened. “You mean it was intentional?”

  “Maybe they were trying to scare you,” Lupe said to me.

  I nodded and shivered. “Maybe. Or maybe they just didn’t get the job done.”

  She looked over my shoulder. “They’re loading Astrid into the ambulance.”

  “Oh!” I turned. “I have to talk to her.”

  “Fine,” Lupe said.

  “Aren’t you going to the hos— I mean clinic?” Spence asked me with a stern frown.

  “I’ll give her a ride,” Lupe said.

  Leaving them to deal with each other, I hobbled over to where Astrid was now being wheeled into the back of the ambulance on a gurney. She saw me coming and tried to raise herself up.

  “Will you stop moving around?” the female paramedic admonished with a smile.

  “Charlie,” Astrid said. It came out Chaahlie.

  I looked sharply at the medic.

  “I gave her a little something to take the edge off the pain,” she said.

  “Oh, right. That’s good.” I patted my friend’s hand. “Don’t worry. Charlie’s fine with Dash out in the garden for now. I’ll check on them before I come see how you’re doing over at the clinic. If we have to figure something else out, we will. Don’t worry.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. “Mmkay. Thank you, Ellie-boo.”

  Guilt stabbed through me. The driver of the SUV might have been aiming for me, but they’d hurt my best friend. A dark red spark of anger joined the guilt.

  The paramedic climbed in with her and closed the doors. I watched them drive away toward the clinic for almost a full block before I turned back toward the store. Spence and Lupe were both watching me.

  Taking a deep breath, I made my way over to them. “I’ll send you that picture,” I said to Lupe.

  She nodded. “Good. Now, let’s get you over to the doc’s.”

  “I have to check on the dogs first, and close the shop.” At this rate, I was going to be out of business. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Can I help?” Spence asked.

  I shook my head while gazing into his verdant eyes. “You’ve done enough. Really.” Standing on tiptoe, I kissed him on the cheek.

  It was possible that his cheeks turned pink, but it was hard to tell with his tan. “No problem. Um . . .”

  I raised my eyebrows in question.

  He looked up at Lupe, who hadn’t budged and was watching us with interest. Then he grinned and shrugged before meeting my eyes again. “I’m goin
g to call you later to check up and see how you’re doing.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to—”

  “Nonsense. I’ll talk to you later.”

  With a nod at Lupe and one last smile at me, he turned and went back across the street—probably to get another sandwich to replace the one in the smooshed bakery bag. I could still see it lying by the parking lot entrance.

  I turned to go inside Scents & Nonsense, only to find Lupe watching me with amusement.

  “He’s cute,” she said.

  I pushed past her. “I’ll be right back.”

  The dogs were looking through the sliding glass door, no doubt wondering what all the commotion was about. Once I went out and gave them some scritchin’s and peanut butter treats and fresh water, they settled down on the patio again. Soon I’d changed into a pair of soft yoga pants and rejoined Lupe out front. I dialed my cell and locked the front door to the shop as it rang.

  When Maggie answered, I said, “Hey there. It’s Ellie.”

  “Good Lord, girl. Are you all right?”

  That was fast.

  “I’m fine. You heard about the attempted hit-and-run?”

  “Nan Walton came in for lunch and told all of us.” Nan was the town’s 911 dispatcher. “Is Astrid okay?”

  “She has a dislocated shoulder at the very least,” I said. “I’m heading over to the clinic now. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could come watch the shop this afternoon, is there? I know it’s not your usual day . . .”

  “Oh, honey. I’m on shift at the Roux now. But I could tell Harris I need to help you out—”

  “No, Maggie, don’t do that. You know how he is about you working for both of us. Don’t make it worse. It’s not a big deal—I just thought I’d try.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll check in with you later, okay?”

  “Okay, hon.”

  Cynthia wasn’t wrong that murder is bad for business. I don’t think she meant it quite like this, though.

  Maggie and I hung up as I stepped out to see Lupe talking with the owner of the sideswiped pickup truck. I went over and got into her car and put on my seat belt.

  “You’re moving like you’re ninety,” she said when she slid into the driver’s seat a few minutes later. “Should I have insisted you ride over to the clinic with Astrid?” the detective asked in a concerned voice.

  “Nah. I fell backward and landed on my behind. I’m bruised but not beaten!” I pasted on a big smile.

  She rolled her eyes and started the engine.

  “Is Larken still at the police station?” I asked as she pulled into the light traffic on Corona.

  Her expression was grim. “She was when I left.”

  “Now, come on, Lupe. She sure as heck wasn’t behind the wheel of that Escalade.”

  “We don’t know for sure it was the murderer, either.”

  I gave her a look.

  One side of her mouth turned up in a wry half smile. “You’ll go pretty far to help your brother’s girlfriend.”

  “You mean like getting my best friend hit by a truck?” I said bitterly.

  She sobered. “Sorry. I shouldn’t joke.” Pulling out her phone, she gave it a voice command to call Max Lang and put it to her ear.

  “Hey, Max? Lupe here. I think you need to let Ms. Meadows go about her business for right now.”

  A loud male voice spoke rapidly. I couldn’t hear the words, but the volume and register increased.

  “I don’t think that’s relevant right now,” she cut in, and told him about Blake’s vehicle almost running Astrid and me down in the street.

  He balked.

  She insisted.

  Finally, she hung up and looked over at me. “He’s letting her go and putting out a watch for the Caddy to all our cruisers.”

  “Which is, what? Three cars?” I asked.

  “Two, actually. So what was that about Tanner Spence and the victim going out to see some land?”

  “Remember I told you that Joyous inherited the family land when Blake died?”

  “Right.”

  “She already had it on the market,” I said. “When Blake got into town, he found out and took it right back off.” I hurried on. “But now it sounds like she might have changed her mind about selling, too. Second thoughts and all.”

  Her lips thinned. “Which you know about because you two are such good friends all of a sudden.”

  “Something like that,” I hedged.

  She looked thoughtful. “So Joyous had a motive.”

  “Maybe, but less so if she’s not going to sell the place now.” If that was even true. Could Joyous be playing me for a fool? I plunged on. “But there were a couple of people who were very interested in buying that land. Once it’s developed, it could be worth a lot of money. Once Blake took it off the market, one of them might have killed him because they knew Joyous wanted to sell.”

  “Who were these people?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Joyous told me one of them was Harris.”

  Lupe’s eyes cut toward me. “Really.”

  “Yeah, but I doubt he was serious. He might have been able to afford the undeveloped land itself, but developing it to the point where he could make a profit would cost a lot more money than he has.”

  “But maybe he could get the money,” she said.

  “Maybe,” I agreed. I didn’t like the idea of Harris being a murder suspect, but it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed my mind. And seeing him twice with Vaughn Newton made me wonder if my ex might have found someone from out of town to fund the project.

  “Who’s the other prospective buyer?” she asked.

  “A guy named Vaughn Newton. He’s the one Blake argued with in the Horseshoe Bar the night he died. I don’t know how he fits into things, but I was at Gold Rush Realty this morning and learned he went out to look at the parcel again with one of the agents. I was about to go out there and see if I could meet him.”

  Lupe looked at the roof lining of the car as if invoking the patience of Job. “Just now?”

  I looked at my watch. “About an hour ago. I was kind of waylaid, you know? I don’t know if they’d still be there. Either way, you could check with Polly at Gold Rush about the guy. She wouldn’t tell me anything, but maybe you can convince her.”

  “Hmm. You think?”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm.”

  Lupe turned on her blinker and slowed as we approached the small parking lot in front of the Poppyville Clinic. She pulled up in front of the door, and I got out.

  “You want me to go in with you?” she called through the open passenger window.

  “You have a killer to catch. I’m good.”

  “You’re going to get those x-rays, right?” Her look was knowing.

  “You bet!” Smiling, I waved and turned to go in. I had a killer to catch, too, and no time for unnecessary medical tests. My plan was to check on Astrid and then head over to the Roux Grill to ask my ex-husband about Mr. Panama Hat Newton.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE clinic was small but efficient, and equipped for urgent care as well as dispensing everyday flu shots to the public. There was a small blood lab for basic testing, and a radiology room where Astrid no doubt had already been scanned and diagnosed.

  The reception area was twenty by twenty-five feet, with maroon carpet, bland art on the walls, and a small play area for the kiddos in one corner. Six boxy chairs upholstered in rough peach-colored fabric lined the walls, interspersed with a couple of tables stacked with donated magazines. It smelled of antiseptic, toner ink, and Zoe Ulrich’s retro Jean Naté perfume.

  The receptionist bounced to her feet behind the check-in counter when I entered, a brunette woman in her forties with a pale face and sunny smile. Zoe had been a staple at the
clinic for twenty-five years. To the best of my knowledge she hadn’t ever worked anywhere else. Like Nan Walton, Poppyville’s 911 dispatcher, she was not above breaking the rules and talking out of school. I could count on her giving me the scoop on Astrid.

  She bustled out to where I stood saying, “Hi, Ellie! We’re all ready for you. I hear you’ve had a fall. Let’s get you into a room.”

  And then I knew why Lupe had given me that look before she drove off. She’d called ahead.

  Dang it.

  I wasn’t getting out of those x-rays after all.

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “Sure thing!” The perky receptionist led me into an exam room and told me the doctor would be right with me.

  “Can you tell me how Astrid Moneypenny is doing?” I asked.

  “Oh, she’s going to be fine. No fracture, thank goodness—just that nasty dislocation. Doctor’s already done a closed reduction. That means she popped that shoulder right back into place, no fuss, no muss, no bother. Astrid’s resting comfortably now.” She leaned toward me with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “She’s pretty doped up, actually. Doctor had to give her a big ol’ muscle relaxant in order to do the reduction.”

  Poor Astrid. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “You hop up there on the table now. Doc will be right in.”

  My backside had gone from painful to numb, but now the pain was returning, a pulsing ache. Ignoring the instructions to hop up on the table, I gingerly sat in a peach-colored chair exactly like the ones in the waiting room, leaned to one side to take the worst of the pressure off, and tried to distract myself with speculation.

  It looked like Spence was off the list of suspects, at least for now. But what about Joyous? I’d revealed an awful lot to her, including the possibility that she was a suspect in the murder of her brother. She’d desperately wanted to get rid of her family land, at least until I convinced her that the things she’d experienced there didn’t mean she was crazy. But before that, could she really have been willing to kill her brother because he wouldn’t sell?