Deadly Devotion

by Sandra Orchard

  A silver-haired businessman stopped beside the table. “Pardon me for interrupting. You wouldn’t happen to be any relation to Gwen Baxter, would you?”

  Kate spluttered into her tea. She hadn’t heard that name in over twenty-five years, not since Mom reverted to her maiden name after Daddy’s death. “Yes, Gwen was my mother.”

  Julie’s brow scrunched in understandable confusion, but thankfully, for once, she didn’t blurt out the questions that had to be racing through her head, starting with, Why did your mother change her name?

  If this guy knew about Dad’s arrest and Kate didn’t cut him off, everyone in the tea shop would learn her dirty little secret, which meant everyone in town would hear the rumor by nightfall. And wouldn’t that go over well with the powers who held the purse strings on her research project?

  There were a few disadvantages to living in a small town.

  The bell over the door jingled, and in walked none other than Herbert Harold III, the illustrious owner and editor of the Port Aster Press.

  Terrific. If he caught wind of the juicy gossip, she’d be tomorrow’s extra-special edition headline. If only she’d snuck off to work this morning like she’d intended and laid low until Tom arrested Edward, none of this would have happened.

  “You’re the spitting image of Gwen,” the gentleman gushed. An observation Kate had heard many times over the years. “Your mom living around here now?”

  “No, she died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. After your dad—”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Call me Peter.”

  “Nice to meet you, Peter, but I’m afraid I’m already late for work.” Kate swallowed her tea in one gulp, tucked her muffin into her purse, and threw Julie an apologetic glance.

  “Yes, of course, sorry to keep you. Perhaps I’ll see you again sometime.”

  The suggestion sent an icy chill through her despite the hot tea burning her throat. If he talked to others about her family’s skeletons, she’d be served up as the special of the day for a solid month. Longer if no better news cropped up. “Are you in town for long?”

  “Not this time. On my way out now, as a matter of fact, but if everything goes according to plan, I’m sure I’ll be back.”

  Wonderful. She couldn’t wait. Not.

  After pacing the floor half the night, thinking about where he might uncover a telltale slipup that would give him the ammunition he needed to take Crump down, Tom decided that the coroner’s office was the logical place to start. Early in the morning, he followed the maze of corridors through the hospital’s basement to the cramped quarters of the county’s forensics team.

  The clerk at the front window, who had the unsavory job of logging all the bodies, sent Tom to the supervisor’s office in the back. The office was miniscule and doorless—an ego-deflating blow to a guy who’d spent half a decade in medical school to get here. The kind of demoralization that might justify accepting a little palm greasing if the opportunity arose.

  Tom rubbed his nose in a vain attempt to get rid of the stomach-curdling smells swirling up his nostrils.

  The slight thirty-something doctor looked up from the report he was scrawling. His milky coloring suggested he rarely ventured outside. “May I help you, Detective?”

  “Yes, I have a few questions regarding your report on Leacock, Daisy—apparent poisoning.”

  “Well, I’d offer you a seat, but as you can see, we’re a little short on space here.”

  Tom looked around the eight-by-eight room for a place to park himself, but the boxes occupying every square inch of available floor space didn’t look strong enough to support his weight. He leaned on the door frame instead. “You stated in your report that Daisy died from thiophene poisoning.”

  “That’s correct. According to her medical records, she had high blood pressure and arthritis but was otherwise in good health. No evidence of trauma to the body. The information’s all in my report.”

  “Isn’t thiophene a phototoxic chemical, not one that you’d expect to cause death?”

  The coroner tilted his head from side to side, his lips a tight line, as if he was reluctant to agree. “Generally speaking, yes. However, you wouldn’t expect peanuts to kill people, yet every year hundreds of people die from eating them.”

  “So you’re saying Miss Leacock had an allergic reaction to the poison?”

  “No, I merely cite that as an example of how we can each have a different response to the same stimulus. Forensics is a science, Detective. I stand by my conclusions.”

  “In your report, you noted the presence of hemolysis. What is that?”

  The coroner tossed his pen on the desk and kneaded the muscles in the back of his neck. “Simply put, it means the red blood cells were breaking up. You don’t need to understand the process. That’s what they pay me for.”

  “But there are other poisons that weren’t tested for?”

  “Of course. The department can’t afford to test for a fraction of the possible poisons. As it was, we tested for some fairly obscure ones based on the herbs you found in the victim’s home. And, I might add, we got the results back to you in record time.”

  “Yes, we appreciate that.”

  “Well, let’s hope the mayor shows his appreciation with an increase in funding.” The coroner’s tone suggested that there was an or else behind his words. “In a strange twist of fate, Leacock may have done her community a greater service than if she’d lived to develop her newest herbal remedy.”

  “How so?”

  “By reminding the public that negative reactions to herbal mixtures are not uncommon. Sometimes they are downright deadly.”

  Tom propped his elbows on his desk and rubbed his fingers over his forehead in slow circles. His chat with the coroner had raised more questions than answers, and after hours of poring over police reports from four counties, he still wasn’t convinced Edward was guilty of anything more than trying to swindle the old woman and then covering up the evidence. Except since Daisy had known Edward wasn’t really her nephew, charges of swindling would never stick.

  A rush of greetings hailed the chief’s late arrival.

  Tom shoved the reports on Edward into a folder and slipped it beneath the robbery file he was supposed to be working on.

  Hank detoured off the direct route to his office and zeroed in on Tom. “Afternoon.” Hank glanced at the open file. “Made any headway on those cases?”

  Tom leaned back in his chair and pasted on a confident expression. “Some.”

  Hank hovered over the desk.

  “Was there anything else?” Tom asked in his best impression of wide-eyed and innocent.

  Hank’s grunt suggested he wasn’t buying the act. His gaze slid to the open file a second time before he stalked to his office.

  So much for having an ally on the force. Around the squad room, clusters of officers downed their afternoon coffees while swapping stories. At least with the collective cold shoulder Tom had gotten from everyone else in the department since his arrival, he didn’t have to worry about anyone other than Hank scrutinizing his actions too closely.

  Tom stuffed the Leacock file back into his drawer. He knew the contents by heart anyway. Not a shred of evidence connected Daisy to a grow-op. Edward burning one of her journals made him look guilty, but of what? Murder? Or simply of wanting to keep his con a secret? And how did Darryl Kish’s wife fit into the picture?

  If the fear in Kate’s eyes hadn’t gripped Tom’s heart as fiercely as her white-knuckled fingers had gripped her steering wheel, he might’ve written off the apparent tail on her car last night as a coincidence. It hadn’t helped that he’d wanted to tug Kate into his arms and assure her everything would be okay. Not exactly the feelings of an impartial detective.

  Although he hadn’t missed how her eyes had continually strayed to his as if she too felt an attraction. Years of police work should’ve inoculated him to the effect of what probably amounted
to nothing more than a short-lived case of hero worship.

  If not for the fact the case was supposed to be closed, he’d pull himself off the investigation. Gaining a clear perspective of whether or not the marijuana leaf in Daisy’s notebook, Edward’s con game, and Daisy’s death were related was difficult enough without throwing a volatile mix of chemistry into the investigation.

  At least his concern that explosives might be headed for a Memorial Day event in less than two weeks had been unfounded.

  Tom reached for the phone to check in with his dad. The internal line buzzed. Tom connected and Hank’s voice resonated over the line.

  “Get into my office. Now.”

  Tom groaned. He didn’t have time to deal with whatever had tied Hank’s boxers in a knot this time. Tom stepped into Hank’s office and closed the door.

  Hank stood behind his scarred wooden desk, staring out the window toward the clock tower across the street.

  The tower bells pealed their rendition of the Westminster chimes, and then a mournful gong counted off the hour.

  “I told you the Leacock case was closed.” Hank’s fist tightened around a slip of paper curled in his hand.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why are you harassing her lawyer for details about her will?”

  Tom pressed his lips together. He should have known the lawyer would snitch.

  The veins in Hank’s neck bulged. “Well?”

  “Since we last spoke, I’ve learned that Edward is an heir to Daisy’s estate. Kate expressed concern about his trustworthiness, given the time line between his arrival in town and Daisy’s death. I simply wanted to set her mind at ease.”

  “Yesterday Miss Adams thought Leacock stumbled onto a grow-op. Today she thinks Edward killed the woman for her money. What will it be tomorrow? Her boss killed her because she caught him dipping into the coffee fund?”

  Hank’s wisecrack hit too close to the niggling concern Tom had so far ignored. “I know it seems like Kate is going off on a hundred different wild goose chases, but we do the same—gather evidence against a few possible suspects until we narrow in on one. And you’ve got to admit Edward’s sudden stake in Daisy’s estate looks suspicious.” Tom didn’t mention what else he’d learned about Edward. Hank didn’t need any more fuel with which to burn Tom for disobeying orders.

  “I told that woman to stay out of trouble. The last thing I need is a civilian questioning the competency of my department.”

  “Perhaps if you allowed me to sift through the evidence she’s foun—”

  “You have been doing that. Without my permission. Against my orders, in fact. You’re on thin ice here, Parker. Just because we’re old friends doesn’t mean I won’t fire you for insubordination.”

  “Understood,” Tom said with a healthy dose of boot kissing in his tone. Clearly, Hank felt threatened by more than Kate’s investigation. From the way he was throwing his weight around, he seemed worried Tom would steal his job.

  Hank strode across the room and held open the door. “I want you on those other cases. Now get out of here.”

  Outside Hank’s office, Carla actually gave Tom a sympathetic look. “Your dad called. Said it was urgent.”

  Tom’s thoughts flashed to Kate. If Edward had slipped past Dad’s surveillance . . . Tom rushed to his desk and punched in Dad’s number.

  Dad picked up on the first ring.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure Kate’s as safe in that lab of hers as you’d like to believe.”

  “Is Edward on his way there?”

  “No, Edward’s still over an hour away.”

  “How do you know?”

  “If I told you, you’d have to arrest me.”

  Tom pictured his dad slipping a GPS locator into Edward’s pocket or affixing it to his car. “Okay, never mind. I don’t need to know.”

  “I called in a few favors and got the scoop on the lady who tailed Kate last night.”

  “And?”

  “It seems the Kishes have some cash flow problems. Last year, Darryl lost a research grant for his project to Leacock’s. Another application is coming up for consideration, one that wouldn’t have had a chance if not for her death.”

  “You think Darryl killed Daisy to clear the way for his grant?”

  “Money is the most common motive for murder. Darryl pulls in a decent salary, but his personal account is overdrawn, and despite the steady stream of customers into A Cup or Two, the store’s credit rating is in the toilet.”

  Tom shuffled around the files on his desk, searching for his car keys. How could he have ignored his niggling suspicion of Darryl and let Kate walk right into his lair? “We’ve got to get her out of there.”

  “If Kish is our man, yanking Kate will only alert him to our suspicions. Kate thinks Edward killed Daisy. As long as Kish knows that, he has no reason to silence her.”

  “But he won’t know that, because we told her not to tell anyone.”

  9

  With the curtains drawn, the research lab felt like a tomb. The polished marble floors and stainless steel counters only added to the chilly feel of the place. Kate buttoned her lab coat and turned up the heat. One glimpse of her pasty reflection in the metal vent hood and a sour taste slid down her throat. She looked like a walking zombie.

  A little sunshine might make her feel better, but until Tom arrested Edward, the curtains would stay closed and the lab door locked. With any luck, Edward wouldn’t spot her VW parked behind the implement shed. Not that she believed in luck. She closed her eyes and winged a prayer heavenward for the hundredth time today, painfully aware that she was just plain ignoring the elephant in the room.

  Oh, who was she kidding? It was a great big woolly mammoth. A mammoth that had been around since the day Dad was ripped from her life. A mammoth she’d just as soon usher straight back into its cage rather than let snort about lancing open scabbed-over wounds.

  And that was exactly what she intended to do.

  She grabbed a test tube and concentrated on the task at hand. Without the distraction of passersby outside the windows or colleagues sticking their heads in the door, she might actually get the gene she needed isolated by the end of the day. Her grant sponsors wanted results, not excuses. If the whispered rumors that Daisy’s death was the result of an experiment gone wrong reached the higher-ups before Kate could prove otherwise, they wouldn’t hesitate to nix her funding. After all, as Darryl had so tactlessly pointed out, a breakthrough in herbal research wasn’t worth risking the foundation’s spotless reputation.

  She plodded through the required protocol with meticulous accuracy, doing her best to confine her thoughts to her work.

  Four hours later, her cell phone rang for the sixteenth time. Kate glanced at the incoming number and let out a sigh. “This better be important, Jules.”

  “Why are you ignoring my calls?”

  “I’m working.”

  “That’s never stopped you from answering before. What if I’d had an emergency?”

  “You would have left a more detailed message than ‘we need to talk.’”

  “Well, we do, starting with why you have a different last name than your parents.”

  On the plus side of this oh so not-positive day, Kate’s inability to constrain her thoughts to her work had given her plenty of time to rehearse answers to the questions she knew were coming. “After Dad died, Mom reverted to her maiden name and changed mine too.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I was young. I scarcely remember being a Baxter.” Kate hooked her Bluetooth receiver over her ear so she could set down her phone and continue working.

  “You never asked your mom?”

  “Sure I did, but I never got a reasonable explanation.” Wasn’t that the truth? Mom gave lots of explanations, but none of them were ever reasonable. A man who did nothing wrong didn’t get carted off in a paddy wagon.

  “From the way you brushed off that guy in the café, I got t
he impression your old name made you uncomfortable, scared even.”

  “You’re reading way too much into this. I’m tired. I’m behind on my work. I’m preoccupied with the murder investigation. I just didn’t feel like rehashing stories about my parents, okay?” Kate stared at the beaker in her hand and couldn’t remember what she’d been about to do with it.

  “I’m sorry,” Julie said, sounding a little more empathetic than the National Enquirer reporter she’d been imitating a minute ago. “I should have realized. You know that if you ever want to talk about . . . anything, I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks, Julie.” Not going to happen. Some secrets were better left buried.

  “Will you let me in?”

  Kate steeled herself against the tug of Julie’s heartfelt offer. “I don’t need to talk, honest.” A knock sounded at the door. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Someone’s at the lab door.” Kate clicked off her phone and waited quietly, hoping whoever was in the hall would give up and leave.

  The knock sounded again. Louder. “I know you’re in there and I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

  Julie? Kate yanked open the door and Julie held up a tub of ice cream and two spoons. “Therapy time,” she sing-songed.

  Kate left the door standing open and retreated to her workbench. “You do realize that if you keep up this kind of therapy, you won’t fit into your wedding gown.”

  “Oh, I just pretend to eat it. It’s all part of my top secret plan to fatten you up so I’ll look that much better on my wedding day.”

  “Very funny. I really do have work to do.”

  “Why do you have the room so dark? No wonder you’re down.” Julie plopped the tub of ice cream onto the workbench and tugged open the curtains. “That’s better.”

  At the sudden brightness, Kate’s head pinged in protest.

  Julie dragged a stool over to Kate’s workbench, dug her elbows into the counter, and rested her chin on her hands. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

  Kate shuffled the test tubes she’d been in the middle of filling. “There’s nothing to talk about.”