“Sure,” Sara said.
“So, needless to say, she expected her husband to be around for a very long time. His death was a total shock.”
“Of course,” Sara said.
“She told me that Abner’s car crash occurred at just after six on a Thursday evening. It was early May. they live in Wyoming, and had just had a bit of a spring storm.”
“Six? That’s earlier than Matt’s,” Sara noted.
“Yes. The mine was out on a remote road, about an hour from home. His car skidded off of the side of the road, maybe due to the snowy conditions, the wife said.”
Sara jotted down notes as Cinda continued. “The vehicle tumbled down the mountain side, and came to a stop at the bottom. He had one of those fancy computer services in his car that call for help when there’s an accident. That’s the only reason, she felt, that he was found so quickly. It didn’t matter though. The first responders couldn’t do anything to bring him back. They said he was dead on arrival.”
“From the impact of the crash?” Sara asked.
“Exactly,” Cinda said. “The wife said that there was an autopsy done. It showed that his neck was broken in two places, and he had a fracture to his skull, and several broken ribs.”
Sara felt nauseated as she took in these gory details, but she didn’t want to wimp out before getting more information. She took a sip of tea to fortify herself, and then asked, “What about a toxicology report? Did they test his blood for substances, like drugs or alcohol?”
Cinda nodded. “I asked about that, too. The wife said that he was perfectly clean.”
“No sedatives?” asked Sara.
“No,” Cinda said.
“Shoot,” Sara said. She looked down at the notes she’d taken while Cinda spoke. “Other than the fact that it was a car accident, nothing else is lining up. I mean, his was early in the evening—before dark, even. He didn’t have sedatives in his system.”
“Why are you so hung up on sedatives?” Cinda asked.
“Because, I was able to get the results from Matt Ferris’s tox screen—don’t ask how, please—and it turns out he had taken sleeping pills six hours before his crash.”
“Like, in the middle of the day?”
“Around five. That’s just an approximation.”
“What a weird time to take sedatives,” Cinda said.
“I know,” Sara agreed. “That’s why it stands out to me as suspicious. I was thinking maybe that might be a pattern in all of these deaths.... You know, maybe someone drugged the victims and then staged car crashes... but Abner’s death seems almost legitimate.”
“And totally different from Matt’s,” Cinda said. “I mean, it was earlier in the evening, and the road conditions were bad.”
Sara placed her pen down, and bit her lip, thinking this over. The circumstances surrounding Abner’s death were not what she’d expected. A theory had been percolating in her brain, and it involved drugs and a staged vehicle crash. Now she questioned that theory.
Maybe I have it all wrong, she thought, placing the pen and pad back onto the coffee table.
“You look upset,” Cinda said.
“No... no. I’m not upset... I mean, it’s a good thing that Abner and Matt didn’t die in the same way. Maybe it means that there isn’t a serial killer out there after all. These deaths could just be a string of unfortunate events.
Cinda sipped her tea, swallowed, and then said. “She said she didn’t recognize those names, either—Byron, Davis, and Lucy. Or HiTech Minerals.”
“A dead end,” Sara said flatly. “Did she say anything else interesting?”
“Not really,” Cinda said. “The rest of the time that we were talking, we mostly shared tips about Paleo eating. She’s been doing it for two years now. And her husband, before he died, was totally Paleo for four years. Can you believe it? No refined sugar or flour for four years.”
“Sounds awful to me,” Sara said, thinking about the dinner rolls that she’d heated up to go along with the soup. They’d been delicious split in half, with a slab of melting butter in the middle.
“I know,” Cinda said. “It does sound pretty awful. I’m thinking of changing diets, and doing South Beach for a while. It’s less extreme.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Sara said politely, though at the moment she couldn’t care less about her friend’s diet. She was too preoccupied with the possibility that she’d been chasing figments of her imagination around all day. Is it possible that all of this was just one big mistake? she wondered.
Cinda took another swallow of tea, and then said, “What about you? Did you find any hot clues? Or did you only find a hot prince?” She laughed at her own joke.
Sara was too deep in thought to laugh along. Did she find any clues? Anything substantial?
There was the security footage at the guard house. On the day that Matt died, the footage had been tampered with. Someone replaced the real footage with video taken on a different day. Why?
Then there was the suspicious name on the list of visitors that had entered Peak Mine. Ronald Fries. Surely that wasn’t just a coincidence.
To top it all off, she had the results of the toxicology report. Matt had sedatives in his bloodstream at the time he died.
Yet Gabrielle said that he didn’t take medicine.
“I think I found some clues,” she voiced aloud to her friend. “But I just don’t see how they add up. I was really beginning to think that Matt had been drugged, and then his accident was staged. I was even beginning to wonder if Lucy might have something to do with it. I found out today that she takes prescription sleeping pills.”
Cinda bit her lip. “I wish I could help,” she said. “But that was really all that I found out. I’m not sure where we could go from here. Is it possible that all seven of the deaths really were just accidents?”
“I don’t think so,” Sara said. “If that was the case, why would the security footage at Peak Mine be mixed up? One minute, Matt is wearing a striped tie. The next, its polka dotted. Someone tampered with that video.”
“Maybe they had a reason to,” Cinda said. “I heard that Jeremiah stole a stapler once, from the supply closet, and took it home with him. It was caught on video, and he had to go to a class about company budgeting and supplies after that. Maybe someone at Peak Mine realized that the videos would be scrutinized, after Matt’s death, so they did a bit of a cover up. It could have even been something little that they were covering up—like a security guard scratching a car by accident, or a meet up between lovers. Someone with access to the videos realized they had to cover up their misdeeds.”
“Lovers meeting up in a parking garage?” Sara asked.
Cinda wiggled her eyebrows. “You never know!” she said playfully. Then she sighed. “I’m just saying, Sara, that there are plenty of scandalous things people do that they’d want to cover up, and it doesn’t necessarily add up to murder.”
“Point taken,” Sara said. Cinda’s logic was actually making her feel better. At first, she was disappointed to think that all day she may have been investigating a crime that never really happened. But now, considering the implications, she realized it really was a good thing.
Maybe there wasn't a serial killer out there on the lose. Maybe Byron, Davis, and Lucy were just normal people with everyday issues and problems.
And who doesn’t have issues? Sara thought. Look at me. My stepmother hates me, and does everything she can do to keep me from being successful. If it wasn’t for her, my life would be so much better.
Just because Fiona is manipulative, jealous, and does unfair things doesn’t mean she’d kill.
And just because I’m hiding my lack of education from my co workers, that doesn't make me a killer.
We all have issues. We all have secrets.
With that, she stood and stretched. “It's a relief, actually,” she said.
“I’m sorry that we didn’t figure out something more exciting,” Cinda said.
/> “No, really, it’s fine,” Sara insisted. “I’m a business reporter, not an investigative reporter. I was getting in over my head. It’s actually really nice to think that maybe those deaths were purely accidental.”
“And your day wasn’t a complete waste,” Cinda said. “You did get to spend time with your prince.”
“A prince,” Sara corrected. She grinned. “That’s right. I did. And I’ll see him again tomorrow night.”
“I hope that you have a killer date,” Cinda said.
Sara grimaced at her friend’s choice of words, but let it slide. “Thanks, Cin. I do, too,” she said.
10
“There,” Sara whispered to herself, as she typed out the last sentence of her article, at 3:59 the next day. “That should do it.”
The article presented the facts that she had collected about the sale of Peak Mine. She stuck to that sale in particular, instead of going off track and talking about the other mines that HiTech had bought up. It was a focused article. She titled it “Sand Hills In for Complete Company Buyout of Peak Mine”. Though the article was a bit bland, there was absolutely nothing speculative in it.
No conspiracy theories here! she thought to herself, as she gave the concluding paragraph a quick read through.
It may be boring, but at least I’m not putting out a theory that isn’t even true.
That would be completely embarrassing.
She hit send.
Her roommates, as usual, were out working at their various blue-collar jobs. They were such hard workers that they didn’t even take Saturdays off.
Sara hummed to herself as she sashayed around the kitchen, preparing dinner for her housemates. Once that was done, it was time to get ready for her date.
She took a long bubble bath, and followed it up by rubbing a soothing lavender lotion into her skin. Because she didn’t go out on dates often, she had no idea what to wear. She settled on a pair of fitted jeans, a white sleeveless top, and a gold locket that Cinda had given her for her thirtieth birthday. She left her dark hair down, but used a curler to add a few waves.
When she exited her bedroom, she hurried to the door. She loved her roommates, but didn’t want to be questioned about her date. Her nerves were sizzling as it was, and she didn’t want to add fuel to the fire by answering a bunch of questions about Amir.
She grabbed a light jacket and slipped out the front door, and sat down on the little swing that was hanging from the porch ceiling.
It was 6:50, and she enjoyed knowing that she had a few minutes to calm herself by looking out over the garden before Amir was scheduled to arrive.
The evening was beautiful. The air soft, warmer than usual, and she found she was comfortable in her minimal layers.
As the swing rocked her gently back and forth, she watched the sun sink lower in the sky over Dayton.
7:00 came and went.
She waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Is he stuck in traffic? she wondered. She checked the clock on her phone. 7:20.
Yes, I bet that’s it. He does live in Washton after all. There could be construction work, an accident, or a traffic jam somewhere between here and there. I need to relax. He’ll get here.
7:35.
Is he lost? she wondered. He has my number. Why hasn’t he called?
Maybe he lost my number. Maybe I should call him.
She pulled out her phone again and dialed his number.
It went to voicemail after the fourth ring: “This is Amir Malick. I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. You can also reach my personal assistant.” He rattled off the number for his assistant.
Sara frowned and returned her phone to her purse.
Great. He’s not picking up.
The idea that Amir might be driving down a street near by, peering at addresses in the fading light, cursing himself for being late, slowly faded.
Am I getting stood up? Sara wondered.
Now her giddy nervousness turned into anger. Seriously? He was so nice yesterday. Now I’m old news?
She raked a hand through her curled hair. Here I was getting all dressed up for him—and he’s too busy to even show up?
He did say he had a ton of contracts to read through. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he’s just working and he lost track of time. I know how that can be. I’d better give him a few more minutes.
8:00.
I should give up, she thought sadly. He’s not coming.
Her shoulders slumped, and she had to fight back a wave of sadness that came over her so suddenly and intensely that it scared her. Why am I getting so emotional over this guy? she thought. I barely know him.
She recalled the first time she saw him, in the parking lot of the guard house at Peak Mine. She remembered the way he lifted his glasses, and pinned her with his intense blue eyes.
The guard house. The mine.
The sky was darkening at a rapid rate. The sun had sunk below the mountains, and its light was quickly disappearing, leaving in its wake a dark, faintly luminous blue canopy over the city.
An image of the security guard flashed into her mind, and words that the guard said floated into her consciousness: “We don’t have security guards on duty overnight, so it’s up to the cameras to catch any funny business.”
She checked her phone again. It was now 8:10.
Is Amir on the mine property by himself? she wondered.
She jumped up off of the porch swing. Is he in danger?
She paced across the porch. He’s the owner of the only REE mine that HiTech Minerals doesn't own. The Smith family is still in town. What if they go after Amir next?
They are due to fly out on Monday. That means that tonight would be the night that they kill him.
What if they poison him with a drugged pastry? What if they stage a car crash, just like they did with the others?
Wait! I’m being paranoid again. The pastries aren’t poisoned. I sound like a crazy person. She reached the end of the porch and turned on her heel. Again, she raked a hand through her hair.
But what if... what if one of the Smiths tried to kill Abner with a poisoned pastry? What if, for some reason, things didn’t go as planned?
Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. Abner was on the Paleo diet! He didn’t eat processed flour! Even if he did receive a gift box stuffed with six golden, flakey perfect, tempting pastries, he wouldn’t touch them.
He couldn't.
His strict Paleo lifestyle wouldn’t allow it.
Her heart began to pound as she realized what this might mean.
Maybe the difference in Abner’s death had thrown her off of the trail of breadcrumbs. Maybe his death was the one exception in the pattern. If they kept digging, what would they find?
She called Cinda. Though she was simply pacing on her porch, she felt out of breath when she reached voicemail.
“Cinda! It’s me. I need a favor. I know it’s Saturday night and all, but I’m hoping you can help me with some more research. It’s important. Can you try to get into touch with people who knew the next two dead miners on our list?”
She knew the names by heart now, having read over the list at least a hundred times. “Joan Beilor and Lok Chu. Look for patterns, just like before. Ask about a box of pastries!”
She hung up, and then frantically called Amir’s voicemail again.
It went to voicemail, and this time she copied down the number of his assistant. Her hands trembled as she dialed the number.
When the assistant picked up, Sara felt rushed and slightly panicked as she spoke. “Hi, this is Sara White. I’m a friend of Amir’s. I was supposed to meet him this evening at seven o’clock, and he never showed up. I’m worried about him. Have you heard from him today?”
“Yes, I...” the personal assistant hesitated, clearly unsure about how much information she should give out.
Sara bit her lip. P
lease, just be honest with me, she thought.
“I spoke with him just this afternoon,” the assistant replied after a minute. Her tone was detached and business like. “If you like, I can take a message and get it to him. You said your name was Sara... White, was it?”
Sara picked up the skepticism in the assistant’s tone. It implied that she was unfamiliar with Sara’s name, and doubted the claim to friendship that Sara had made.
“No, I don’t need you to give him a message,” Sara said. “I need to talk to him—now. He could be in danger. It’s a very long and complicated story. I know that he’s probably not mentioned me before; we just met yesterday. He asked me out on a date tonight, but he didn’t turn up.”
“Something must have come up for him. I’ve very sorry.” Now there was pity in her tone. It was another emotion Sara had little use for.
“You don't understand,” Sara said. “I’m not crazy.” Am I? she wondered.
“Riiight,” the woman said slowly.
“He could be in danger!” Sara repeated. “His life is on the line. Don’t you care?” Now she knew she sounded crazy, but she couldn't help it.
“I wish I could give you some more information,” the assistant said politely. “But I suggest if you have concerns of that nature that you call the police. As I said, I talked to Amir just this afternoon. He sounded just fine to me.”
“And that was the last time you talked to him?” Sara pressed.
“I’m sorry, I have to go now,” the assistant said carefully.
She thinks I’m psychotic, thought Sara, as she listed to the phone click and the line go dead.
Maybe I should go to the police.
Her whole body felt energized by anxiety. She couldn’t stand still. First, I’ll check on the Smiths. If they’re at home, maybe this is nothing. Maybe I’ve let my feelings for Amir fuel my imagination. Maybe I am paranoid.
If I can see all three of the Smiths, I’ll feel better.
She rushed to her car and peeled out of the driveway. It felt good to be on the move, and she found herself speeding on the way to the hotel. Her heart pounded as she pulled into a parking spot on the street in front of the hotel and exited her car.
Snow White and the Seven Murders Page 9