Deadly Devotion

by Sandra Orchard

  “No,” Tom said, blowing out air like a dying balloon. “I think you’re right that Daisy stumbled onto something that got her killed.” He skimmed the article, showing no sign of surprise at its content. “Figuring out what she stumbled onto and proving it is a different matter.”

  “We can’t give up.”

  “We won’t. I’ll see if I can track down this Gordon Laslo, but I don’t want you putting yourself in any more danger.”

  “But—”

  Tom stopped her words with a fingertip to her lips. His touch made her shiver in a whole different way than Edward’s had. “Please, don’t argue. I promise I will do everything I can to get to the bottom of this, but I won’t risk your safety.”

  “You’re the most stubborn woman I know,” Tom said with a mock glare, a half hour later, as they stood side by side on the front porch of Gordon Laslo’s family home.

  Unable to think of a snappy comeback, Kate just poked out her tongue.

  “Oh, and mature too.” Tom’s voice held censure, but his eyes twinkled.

  She gave him a toothy grin. She wasn’t the kind of woman who flirted with any single guy who came along, especially not law enforcement types, but the little zaps that kept knocking her heart out of rhythm every time Tom smiled at her made her want to flirt with him. Later. After Daisy’s murderer was safely behind bars.

  If she hadn’t waited so long to divulge the rest of her suspicions to Tom, they might already have the proof they needed. He’d plugged Gord’s name into the driver’s license database and within seconds the computer spit out addresses for five Gordon Laslos in the region. Only one was Gord’s age, and voilà! They had their match. The best part was, Kate hadn’t had to expose Tom to Lana with the long eyelashes to get the address.

  Tom pushed the doorbell for the third time. “Looks like we’ll have to come back later.”

  A kid delivering newspapers popped a wheelie on the sidewalk in front of the Laslo house. “They ain’t home.”

  “Cool bike,” Tom said and joined the boy at the curb. He admired the long handlebars and banana seat, making an instant friend. “You know the Laslos?”

  The boy shrugged the shoulder not weighed down by a bagful of newspapers. “I’m their paperboy.”

  “We’re looking for their son, Gordon. Have you seen him around?”

  “He’s away at college.”

  “Does he come home for visits?”

  “Sure, I guess, but Mr. and Mrs. Laslo went to Europe for a month.”

  “Without their kids?”

  “I dunno. All they told me was to stop delivering their paper until the middle of June.”

  The boy popped another wheelie and swerved into the next driveway.

  “Now what?” Kate said. “We don’t know if Gord’s missing or gallivanting through Europe with his folks.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out what airline they flew with, and then it’s just a matter of looking at the passenger manifest.” Tom held open the passenger door of his car for her.

  “Won’t your boss give you a hard time if you start flashing your badge on a case he’s told you to stay away from?”

  “Laslo’s a robbery suspect. Asking about him won’t rouse suspicions.” Tom rounded the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Of course, having you join me at the police station might raise some eyebrows.”

  “All right, I get the message. You can take me home now.”

  For a few blocks, Tom said nothing, and the silence gave her too much time to think about the research she’d fallen sorely behind on. About the rumors that could jeopardize her funding. About Edward, and what he might do next.

  “Is your roommate expecting you?” Tom asked.

  Considering how pathetic it was that she had no plans for a Saturday night, Kate let out a laugh that sounded too much like a snort. “You’re kidding, right? What kind of fiancée chooses her roommate over her groom-to-be?”

  “How about I drop you off at my dad’s then?”

  She crinkled her nose. “So he can protect me from roving exercise equipment?”

  “That”—Tom grinned—“and so you can give him the gardening help you promised. I’ll pick up a pizza for us when I finish my shift.”

  “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m sure Edward will spend the evening with Molly. Not plot ways to sneak into my house.”

  “The fact that you’re even thinking about the possibility is reason enough not to send you home alone. Besides, you’d be doing me a favor by keeping my dad company.”

  “Well . . .” Kate injected an enthusiastic lilt into her voice. “If you put it that way, how can I refuse?”

  Tom was pretty sure that leaving Kate and Dad alone for a couple of hours was a colossal mistake. No telling what Dad might say about him. But leaving her with Dad beat the alternative—leaving her unprotected.

  Tom waited until they disappeared into the house, then backed out of the driveway. When he’d arrived at the research station, he would’ve liked nothing better than to put the fear of God into Edward, but alerting him to their suspicions could’ve backfired big-time. As it was, when Edward wrapped an arm around Kate’s shoulder, he’d had to dig his fingers into a tree to stop himself from tearing the scumbag away from her. And any illusions that he would’ve felt the same surge of protection toward any woman were swept away when Kate burrowed into his chest and dampened his shirt with her tears.

  The last time his chest had hurt that much, he’d been lying flat on his back after going five rounds with a semiautomatic. Thankfully, those assailants—unlike Kate—hadn’t had armor-piercing ammunition.

  Instead of turning toward the police station, Tom headed out of town. He still needed to take another look at that shed in the woods. Between Kate’s car bomb speculation, the petty thefts from the research lab, and a missing intern, his terrorist theory wouldn’t stop gnawing at him. Before he admitted to Zeb at NSA that his concerns were groundless, he needed to verify Hank’s fireworks claim.

  Tom drove to the general area of the shed and parked behind a farmer’s hedgerow, out of sight of passersby. He checked the batteries on his flashlight, jogged across the road to the bush, and slipped into the trees.

  The sun wouldn’t set for another couple of hours, but in the dense trees darkness had already closed in. He jogged along the faint trail they’d trampled a few days earlier, but without fear for Kate’s safety driving him forward, the shed seemed a lot deeper into the bush than he remembered. About to turn around, thinking he’d gone too far, he spotted the roof to his left.

  Tom skulked closer. The padlock still hung on the door. He shone his flashlight through the window. Aside from a dusting of residue on the bench, the place was empty. He skimmed the light over the walls. To the side of the bench, a cardboard chart hung from a nail. Chemicals and amounts were listed under names such as Roman candle, glitter palm, dahlia, and crackle—firecracker names.

  So much for his bomb-making theory.

  He should be relieved. He was relieved, except . . . the theory had neatly connected the missing intern, Leacock, and her muddy-shoed nephew who’d stoop to anything to make a buck. Tom trudged back to the road. Now all he had left was the grow-op angle and the con angle.

  If Gord knew about a grow-op and divulged the information to Leacock, or if she suspected foul play in his disappearance and got caught snooping around, the perpetrators might have taken her out. It was just unlikely they’d do it with a cup of tea. And with no proof, the theory was nothing but pure speculation.

  The con angle was the most credible scenario. A scenario that, in the absence of further evidence, relegated the research station thefts and Gord’s unexplained disappearance to mere coincidence.

  Tom hated coincidences. There had to be a link.

  Back at the police station, Tom quickly realized that on a Saturday night, without a departure date and destination, he wouldn’t get anywhere in his search for information on the Laslos’ trip.


  Tom finished his shift and then headed for the Pizza Shack.

  The second he stepped through the door, a familiar female voice called out, “Tommy Boy, look how you’ve grown.”

  “Hey, Lorna. Go easy on the baby names, okay. How am I supposed to intimidate bad guys if they hear you calling me Tommy?”

  Widowed at a young age, Lorna had been the honorary auntie to half the kids in town. Nowadays, pushing sixty and the spitting image of Mrs. Claus, she was probably considered honorary grandma to the next generation of rug rats. She reached across the counter and pinched Tom’s cheeks. “You’ll always be Tommy to me. You were my favorite boy to babysit.”

  “Uh-huh. I bet you say that to all the guys.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Just remember, I never ratted you out when I caught you necking with your boyfriend on the couch.”

  She laughed. “Just remember, I changed your diapers.”

  So much for his tough cop image. Tom shook his head, 99 percent certain his cheeks—the ones on his face—were flaming red. The anonymity of DC definitely had its advantages.

  His mouth watered at the yeasty smell of baked dough and the spicy aroma of Italian sausages. “The travel agency so slow that you have to moonlight selling pizza now, Lorna?”

  “I’ll have you know my travel business is booming. I’m filling in here for Greg. His Grandma Verna’s cat ate one of her houseplants. The poor thing’s deathly sick.”

  “Has she taken it to the vet?”

  “Vet’s out of town, but Grandma Brewster made the poor thing an infusion that seems to be helping. That woman’s a genius when it comes to herbs.”

  Tom chuckled, recalling Hank’s take on his grandma’s concoctions. Tom had always thought their success had more to do with the power of the placebo, but if she could help a cat, maybe it wasn’t all snake oil.

  Marvin pushed Tom’s pizza through the takeout window and then came around from the kitchen. He dried his hands on his white apron—white, that was, if you ignored the tomato sauce smeared across his spare tire. “After what happened to Daisy messing around with that herbal stuff, I’m surprised you’d go in for that rubbish, Lorna.” Marvin snagged a can of pop from the display fridge next to the counter and popped the tab. “If you ask me, all that eye of newt stuff is just another way to part a fool from his money.”

  “No one’s asking you, Marvin.” Lorna elbowed him out of her way.

  Marvin winked at Tom.

  Not about to step into that minefield, Tom took out his wallet and handed over the cash for the pizza.

  Lorna twirled her finger in the air and hit a key on the old-fashioned cash register. A bell dinged and the drawer popped open. She grinned. “I get a kick out of that every time. Gotta get me one of these.” She counted out Tom’s change. “Pay no mind to Marvin. Grandma Brewster has helped lots of people around here. If that new drug company that’s moving to town wanted to make a fortune, they’d figure out Grandma Brewster’s secrets.”

  “A drug company’s moving to town?”

  Lorna’s hands stopped midair, and she gave Tom a you’re-not-from-around-here look.

  “What? Am I expected to know every rumor in town just because I’m a detective?”

  She slid her hand down the counter, caught the edge of a very thin newspaper, and slid it toward him. “I know the Port Aster Press is no Washington Post, but every once in a while old Harold actually digs up a decent story. Sounds like the mayor’s been working overtime trying to woo this baby. Between the research station and this new company, the mayor predicts we’ll become the Silicon Valley of pharmaceutical and herbal research. Can you imagine?”

  “No. That’s like putting the wolves in the sheep pen.” Tom fished a couple of quarters from his pocket for the newspaper and picked it up with his box of pizza. His stomach gurgled at the aroma.

  “If you ask me . . .”

  Tom set the pizza box back down on the counter. Whenever Lorna started a sentence with “If you ask me,” it was time to get comfortable.

  “The only reason a drug company would want to ally with our researchers is to get an inside scoop on new developments.”

  “Could be.” As an FBI agent he’d been weaned on industrial espionage cases. Nothing would surprise him.

  The door opened, letting in a waft of cool night air and the counter girl from A Cup or Two.

  “Hey, Molly,” Marvin said. “Your pizza’ll be another five minutes.” He polished off his can of pop and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Molly, still dressed in her green-and-white smock from the store, dropped tiredly into the nearest chair.

  The sight of her reminded Tom that he had his own tea girl waiting for him at his dad’s—well, sort of waiting for him. “I need to get going.” He grabbed up his pizza box again. “Dad can’t stand his pizza cold.”

  “Say hi to your dad for me, and tell him I’ve got some great deals on cruises,” Lorna said.

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “Just you wait. He’ll come around.”

  “Hey.” Tom stopped halfway to the door. “Did you happen to sell plane tickets to a couple name Laslo? To Europe.”

  “I didn’t. Most people book their own flights these days. This for a case?”

  “I’m trying to locate their son.”

  “The last time I flew to Europe I flew out of Buffalo,” Molly spoke up.

  The last time?

  Molly must’ve socked her tips away for months to afford more than one trip to Europe. Once upon a time, he’d traipsed across Europe with nothing but a backpack, riding the trains and sleeping in hostels, but in his day, those were once in a lifetime trips. In his day? He groaned. He was starting to sound like his father.

  “You should check with the border guards at the Peace Bridge,” Molly suggested.

  “Not a bad idea. Thanks.” Tom waved good-bye to Lorna and Marv and made a beeline for the door. For the first time in months, he couldn’t wait to get home, and it wasn’t for the pizza.

  13

  Kate sat back on her heels and dusted the dirt from her hands. “That takes care of this flower bed. What do you think?”

  Keith handed her a glass of lemonade. “Looks a hundred percent better. Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure. I love getting my hands dirty.” Kate pushed to her feet and brushed the dirt off her knees. “Of all the jobs I’ve done at the research station over the years, tending the herb garden was my favorite.”

  Keith led her to a couple of lawn chairs and picnic table in the shade of a large oak tree to the side of the house.

  From there she caught a peek of the back of the property. An ancient swing set sat next to a sandbox, bittersweet reminders of the march of time. The forgotten vegetable garden carved out a third of the yard, while here and there along the weatherworn wooden fence a daisy offered a splash of sunshine.

  “Oh, wow,” Kate said, settling into the lawn chair. “We could have a lot of fun with those gardens.” Nothing like a beautiful display of flowers or a hearty garden of vegetables to lift a person’s spirits.

  “I’ve never been much of a gardener. That was always my wife’s domain.”

  “Gardening is in my genes. My grandfather was an avid gardener, and my gran was our hometown’s version of Grandma Brewster. Helping Gran was how I got interested in herbal remedies.”

  “Like Grandma Brewster, huh? Without the wart on the nose and a straw broom in the corner, I trust.”

  Kate swatted his arm. “You’re as bad as the kids.”

  “Ah, I’m just teasing you. When I was a tyke, we went to a doctor if we were sick. There weren’t a dozen”—Keith made quotation marks in the air with his fingers—“alternative specialists hanging out their shingle. Just the kooky lady down the street who still swore by mustard plasters on the chest.”

  “Oh, I see . . . you’re one of those people who prefer to smell like menthol instead of mustard?”

  “That’s me.” His eyes twinkled. “No-fuss me
dicine.”

  “Well, thanks to people like me, the squeamish can now get all those old-fashioned treatments in neat and tidy capsules. Myself, I still prefer tinctures and teas.”

  “Blech!” Keith stuck out his tongue and shuddered. “I can still taste the cod liver oil my mom used to force down me.”

  “I have a tea for that,” she teased. “To help with the aftertaste problem, I mean.”

  Keith leaned back in his chair and roared.

  Tom came out the patio door, pizza box and a stack of paper plates in hand. “Sounds like you two are enjoying yourselves.”

  His dad opened a lawn chair for him. “Kate was just telling me about her herbal remedies. I think she has a tea for just about anything.”

  “Well, let’s hope she has one for heartburn, because I had them put Italian sausage on the pizza.”

  “A spoonful of honey will do the trick,” Kate said.

  “Mmm, I like the sound of that,” Keith drawled. “You might make an herbal guru out of me yet.”

  Tom set the pizza box on the picnic table, slid a couple of slices onto a plate, and handed it to his dad. “I’ll believe the cure when I see it.”

  Kate hopped up from her chair and rinsed her hands under the garden hose. “I can see I have my work cut out for me trying to convert you two skeptics.”

  “Nope, Grandma Brewster might beat you to it. I heard Verna’s cat got sick from eating a poisonous houseplant and Grandma Brewster’s given the animal a concoction. I figure if she can cure a cat, there’s probably something to these herbal remedies.”

  “She’s probably given the poor thing a purgative to rid the body of poison as quickly as possible. Most people don’t realize how toxic even some common foods can be to their pets. When I was a kid, we had a dog that got violently ill after wolfing down a bunch of cooked onions with the roast drippings.”

  A car door slammed shut, followed by a second and third. Moments later, two tawny-haired boys, their grins as wide as their faces, tore around the corner of the house and launched themselves at Keith. “Grandpa!” they squealed in unison. “We brought pizza.”