Deadly Devotion

by Sandra Orchard

  “Couldn’t you go down to the shop and keep him company while he closes up?”

  “Most nights Molly has it taken care of before he gets home.”

  “But—” Kate caught herself before saying something that might upset Beth. Most days Darryl came in late and left the research station early. Kate had assumed he was helping in the shop.

  “You must have told him about Verna’s cat, huh?” Beth said. “I noticed that he’d picked the pods off my castor tree.”

  The hairs on the back of Kate’s neck prickled. Three well-chewed—or ground—castor beans could kill a person. “Uh, Marjorie probably mentioned it.”

  “Right.” Beth chuckled. “Nothing gets past her. Well, I’d better let you mingle.”

  “Don’t overtire yourself. I don’t want to end up in my boss’s bad books.” Especially if he was harvesting castor beans.

  Tess touched Kate’s arm. “Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”

  Kate glanced around to ensure no one was listening, then whispered, “I think I might have figured out who murdered Daisy.”

  Tess pulled her into a corner. “Who?”

  “I’d better not say here.”

  “Do you want me to call Tom?”

  “No. He’s the last person I want to talk to.”

  “He feels horrible for letting you down.”

  “Letting me down?” Kate said, her voice rising in disbelief. “He all but arrested me and then abandoned me at the police station.”

  “You need to give him another chance. He’s usually not such a jerk.”

  “I’d just as soon work solo. Thanks.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “Get proof.”

  “You can’t hunt down a killer on your own. At least let me call my dad.” Tess’s blue eyes, too much like Tom’s, begged Kate to be reasonable.

  Kate nibbled on her thumbnail. If she followed Darryl in her yellow Bug, he would spot her for sure. “All right. Tell Keith to pick me up at six tomorrow morning. I have a plan.”

  Trusting Tess to keep an eye on Kate, Tom headed for Herbs Are Us. He wasn’t sure if Tess befriending Kate would help or hinder his chances of undoing the damage he’d done by practically arresting her. He’d made a fool of himself searching for a bomb in her car. Although from the slight softening he’d seen in her stance, maybe his concern had won him back a yard or two in the trust department.

  He shook his head. Focus on the priority here, Parker. Find the killer and Kate will be safe. Tonight that meant establishing Hank and Al’s innocence or guilt once and for all. Hank’s behavior this afternoon coupled with Al’s exchange at the tea shop was too suspicious to ignore. Tom upped his speed. Not suspicious enough to get a warrant, of course. And without a warrant, nothing he saw at Herbs Are Us would be admissible in court. Anyhow, the last thing he wanted to do was broadcast his suspicion that the chief’s dad was a drug dealer by showing up on Brewster’s doorstep with a search warrant. Far better to happen by on the pretense of wanting to question him about his former employee Gordon Laslo.

  If Brewster hired the Laslo imposter to testify against Kate, his reaction was bound to give him away. Hank might soon regret tossing the pilfering case onto Tom’s desk.

  Tom swerved onto the long driveway that led to the greenhouse. Gnarled branches cloaked the rutted lane. No wonder Kate had been suspicious of this place. It felt like something straight out of a horror flick.

  The driveway opened into a large clearing occupied by rows of interconnected greenhouses. A group of Mexican men, ranging in age from late teens to midforties, sat on picnic benches next to the parking lot, eating their supper and chatting in Spanish.

  Tom parked his car and approached the group. The spicy aroma of refried beans and hot sauce made his stomach growl. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Brewster.”

  The group fell silent. Tom was mentally working out how to say the same thing in Spanish when the eldest-looking man spoke around a bite of his tortilla. “I think he go out.”

  “I’ll check to be sure. Thanks.” Tom headed for the bay door of the main building.

  “Wait. Boss don’t like gringos looking around.”

  That fact made Tom all the more eager to do so, but, reluctant to rouse suspicions, he stopped and turned to the man at the table. “It’s important that I find Mr. Brewster. Would you mind checking for me?”

  The man looked from Tom to his tortilla and frowned. “You go ahead.”

  Satisfied that he couldn’t be accused of illegal entry, Tom strode through the rows of domed greenhouses and, under the pretense of looking for Brewster, scanned for telltale signs of marijuana. If Tom happened to notice anything suspicious, he’d get a search warrant.

  He moved into the glass-enclosed houses. The late evening sun on the glass-paneled roof cast long shadows over benches filled with every imaginable type of herb from anise to yarrow—every one except cannabis.

  The farthest greenhouse was different. It housed a variety of annual flowers. Six-inch pots of dahlias sat loaded on racks ready for transport. With the long weekend approaching, everyone would be anxious to get into their gardens and plant their flowers. Maybe he should buy a few trays for Dad to rejuvenate Mom’s other flower beds. Tom stepped forward to take a closer look at the dahlias.

  “May I help you?” Brewster’s gruff voice rattled the glass walls.

  Tom jerked back his hand. “Yes. Hello. I’m Detective Parker.”

  Brewster betrayed no recognition of the name.

  “I’m wondering what you can tell me about Gordon Laslo.”

  If Brewster was bothered by the question, he didn’t show it. “The kid worked here as an intern for a few weeks, then up and quit.”

  “Did he give a reason?”

  Brewster shrugged. “Didn’t like the work, I guess. What’d he do?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. During the time he was in your employ, did you notice any items go missing?”

  Brewster rubbed a hand over his whiskered jaw and seemed to give the question serious thought—the picture of a cooperative witness. “Can’t say as I did, no.”

  “Do you know where I might find Mr. Laslo now?”

  “No clue. If there’s nothing else, I need to drive my workers home.” Brewster turned with an air of expectation that Tom would follow.

  “There is one more thing. I’d like to buy a tray of those potted dahlias.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Brewster narrowed his eyes as if the idea of selling a plant was more bothersome than answering questions about Laslo. “We’re the middlemen on those flowers. I brought them in to fill an order. There’s none to spare. Sorry.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “Why?” His gaze flicked from Tom’s notebook to the rack of pots.

  “If they’re going to a store nearby, I can purchase them there.”

  “That order’s heading stateside.” Brewster’s fingers flapped nervously against his palm as he led the way back to the main building.

  Hmm, so he’d struck a nerve after all. “Thanks for your time. I’ll see myself out.” Tom walked sedately across the parking lot, pretending to admire the scenery as he scanned the surrounding forest for evidence of a grow-op. He didn’t spot anything suspicious, but Hank had said there’d been several in the area. When Tom reached his car, he glanced back at the door to the main building and waved.

  Brewster retreated inside without responding.

  Tom flipped through his notebook pages until he found the list of suspected grow-ops under surveillance in the region. No site remotely close to this area was on the list—a serious slip on Hank’s part.

  Tom cleared the driveway and stepped on the gas. He was through pussyfooting around Hank. The only way to get to the truth was to confront him. Make him see that covering up for his dad was ten times worse than mopping up any public relations fallout from arresting him. Hank had to suspect his dad was up to something. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bee
n so worried about Kate out in the woods, and he wouldn’t have warned Tom off of stepping on the drug task force’s toes, when the only toes in the vicinity were Hank’s dad’s.

  Ten minutes later Tom pulled into Hank’s driveway. He lived in a log cabin squirreled away in the middle of three acres of bush on the outskirts of town. The kind of place where you go to escape.

  Tom rolled down his window and inhaled. Pine scented the air, and beyond the trees, the setting sun streaked the sky in purples and reds. A raccoon—also uninvited—scurried around the cabin. The windows glowed orange from the sun’s reflection, and a wisp of smoke swirled from the stone chimney. Tom parked behind Hank’s SUV.

  Crickets chirruped a welcome song, interrupted by the occasional thunk.

  Tom skirted the building in search of the source of the sound.

  In the clearing behind the cabin, Hank stood next to a woodpile, shirt off, ax in hand. He propped up a log and swung the ax. With one blow, the wood split in two.

  Tom gave the swinging ax head a wide berth as he moved toward Hank.

  Hank split two more pieces of wood before stopping, then leaned on his ax handle and gave Tom his full attention. “Problem?”

  “Yeah, I want to know why you claimed there’d been grow-ops near where we found Kate in the woods.”

  Hank swiped at the sweat dripping down the side of his face. “To scare some sense into her.”

  “I’m not buying it. You were edgy about Kate being out in those woods. Too edgy. What didn’t you want her to see?”

  Hank’s head jerked as if he were taken aback by the question, but was it because he was affronted or afraid?

  “What’s your dad selling in brown paper sacks to Beth Kish?”

  “Huh?” Confusion furrowed Hank’s brow. Then the question’s implication seemed to settle in, and he squared his jaw. “He sells herbs for her teas like half the local growers around here.”

  “For cash?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  Tom gave him a you-tell-me look.

  “I don’t believe this.” Hank slapped his ax into a stump and clenched his fists. “You think my dad’s dealing again? I thought I could count on you, of all people, not to turn my family history against me. Clearly, I was wrong.” He stalked toward his house.

  Tom grabbed his arm and swung him around. “Oh, no. You’re not getting out of this discussion by playing the sympathy card. What are you covering up?”

  If the incredulous look on Hank’s face could be believed, he wasn’t behind any cover-up. He shook off Tom’s grasp. “After all we’ve been through together, how could you think I’d do something like that?” Hank’s voice thrummed with a pain of betrayal Tom recognized all too well.

  Lord, show me what to do. Hank gave me the detective’s job, no questions asked, based on the strength of a twenty-year friendship. A friendship I discounted as easily as a phony dollar bill. Tom tempered his tone. “You’ve got to admit that you took an unusual interest in the Leacock case.”

  “The case was the town’s first suspicious death since I became chief. Of course I took an interest.”

  When Tom offered no response, Hank added. “I have nothing to hide. I can take you to my dad’s right now, to his work too, anywhere you want to search. No warrant needed. I don’t want you to have any doubts.”

  “I paid Herbs Are Us a visit. Your dad was a little unnerved by my interest in the flowers he had ready for a shipment. Why would that be, do you think?”

  “How should I know? I thought the place only sold herbs.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Get to the point. Do you want me to take you to my dad’s or not?”

  Tom blew out a stream of air. Despite their friendship, he had a job to do.

  A doe and her fawn ambled across the corner of the clearing and stopped to nibble the grass. The sun, already below the tree line, sliced through what had been a dense stand of trees as if . . . only a narrow strip remained.

  “You clear-cut your woods behind the house?”

  “What?” Hank followed Tom’s line of sight. “No, I just cleared a section for sweet corn.”

  Corn, a favorite crop for opportunists to hide their marijuana plants among. And not only opportunists. When the police spotted the pot gardens from the air, they rarely suspected the culprit was the farmer, much less the chief of police.

  “The corn goes in this week.”

  Tom nodded, betraying no interest in Hank’s admission. He’d give the crop a month to grow. Then he’d take Hank up on the offer to search anywhere. About the time the corn topped a foot, the marijuana growers typically replaced a section with their seedlings—neatly hidden by the growing corn.

  “It’s getting dark, Tom. What’s it going to be? Do I take you to my dad’s?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Tom said. As much as he wanted to take Hank up on his offer, to accept would rip the last thread binding their tattered friendship. “I just had to make sure. I’m sorry.”

  20

  At 5:58 the next morning, Keith coasted to the curb in front of Kate’s in a nondescript gray sedan. The vehicle suited her plan perfectly. Between the persistent drizzle and lingering fog, the sedan would scarcely be noticed.

  Kate darted from the porch and slid into the passenger side before Keith could shift into park. “We have to hurry.”

  “Good morning to you too. Where to?”

  Kate peeled off her rain slicker and tossed it into the backseat. “A Cup or Two.”

  “It doesn’t open for another hour. How about Mike’s Truck Stop?”

  “We’re not going for the coffee. I want to follow Darryl Kish.”

  Keith pulled a U-turn and headed downtown. “Whaddya got?”

  “Darryl’s wife thinks he’s putting in long hours at the research station, but if anything, for the past month or so he’s been putting in shorter days.”

  “Working a second job to make a little extra cash, perhaps.”

  “Their shop is always busy. I don’t think they have money problems.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Keith’s tone suggested he knew more than he planned to divulge. “Appearances aren’t always what they seem.”

  “Well, I’d be thrilled to discover that’s all he’s doing, because I hate suspecting my friends and colleagues. But Beth told me that Darryl took the bean pods from her castor tree, and castor beans contain a virtually untraceable poison—ricin.”

  Keith peered through the thickening fog. “You think that’s what killed Daisy?”

  “The coroner’s report won’t stop bugging me. It noted hemorrhaging. Thiophene doesn’t cause internal bleeding, but ricin does.”

  “So Darryl’s got the means, and working together gave him opportunity. What about motive?”

  Kate turned up the car’s heater to chase the chill from her bones. “My theory is that Daisy found out Darryl was up to something, and he silenced her rather than deal with the fallout of being caught.”

  “You mean like an affair?”

  Kate flinched at the suggestion. She couldn’t imagine Darryl cheating on Beth. Although until last night she couldn’t have imagined him killing Daisy either. “I don’t know.”

  Keith drove slowly past A Cup or Two and parked a couple of building lengths farther down the street. He sunk low in his seat, and Kate imitated him.

  “How are we going to see when he leaves?”

  “He won’t go anywhere in this weather without his car.” Keith’s gaze was fixed on the rearview mirror. “Hybrid Fusion, right?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Darryl has been on our radar for a while.”

  “Oh.” Kate shivered, but not so much from the damp chill as the memory of Tom’s recovery effort when she’d gone to the Kishes’ apartment. Tom had made his suspicion of Darryl clear then, but she’d been too focused on Edward to pay much attention.

  The pitter of rain on the car roof filled the silence. Five minutes passed. T
en.

  Keith perked up, squinted at the rearview mirror, then the side mirror.

  She glanced in her side mirror and saw nothing but water. She had no idea how he saw a thing in this drizzle.

  “We’ve got movement,” he announced.

  Headlights beamed through the rear window before they streaked past into the gloom ahead.

  Kate sat up and grabbed the dash. “Aren’t you going to go? We’ll lose him.”

  He turned his key in the ignition and hitched a brief, wry smile. “There isn’t another soul on the street. If we follow too close, he might get suspicious.”

  Keith shifted the car into gear and eased into the street.

  His turtle-like pace stretched Kate’s nerves thin. She clenched her jaw and burrowed her fists under her thighs, resisting the temptation to urge him to go faster.

  He laid his hand on her arm. “Stop fidgeting. I won’t lose him. Trust me.”

  The red twin streaks of Darryl’s taillights vanished around a corner. Keith and Kate made the turn in time to see the flash of color disappear onto another side street.

  She clutched the door handle. “Stay on him.”

  “Stop worrying. He’s not going anywhere. We’re on the only street out of the cul de sac he turned into.”

  Kate’s grip tightened. This was it. They were about to uncover Darryl’s dirty little secret.

  Keith killed his lights and idled ten feet from the turn onto the dead end. He extracted a pair of humongous binoculars from under the seat.

  Darryl pulled into a driveway at the top of the circle, belonging to a small brick bungalow. A silver car—a Saturn, maybe; hard to tell with the fog—sat under the carport. The curtains were drawn at the big bay window and the two smaller windows on the other side of the front door, but lights were on inside. Darryl made a dash for the carport and entered through a side door.

  “Notice anything interesting about that silver car?” Keith passed her the binoculars.

  She scanned the vehicle from hood to tires but couldn’t see what he saw. He pulled out a cell phone and punched in a number.

  “What am I supposed to see?” Kate asked.

  “Rear window, center.” Keith held up a finger and turned his attention to the phone. “Allison, hi. It’s Keith. Have a favor to ask. Can you run a plate for me?”