“One last question: Were you aware that part of the reason your sister came to Deer Park was to get in touch with certain people, people she felt she’d wronged in the past?”
“The last time we spoke, which was a few months ago, she did mention joining some sort of program. My sister was one of the “mean girls” in high school. As a matter of fact, some of the stuff she did was beyond mean. One little prank especially was the reason our daddy moved us away from Deer Park.”
“That would have been Madelyn Griggs’s accident?”
Silence, and then, “There was never any proof, mind you, that Ulla was responsible for what happened to that poor girl, but she sure hated her. I think my daddy felt Ulla had already been tried and convicted, and he wanted her to have a shot at a decent life. So off we went. It was tough on me, leaving all my friends, but …” I could almost see him shrug. “I was the baby. I had no say. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have some matters to attend to.”
I thanked him and hung up, then took a minute to ponder what I’d just learned. It was apparent to me that Bart Beckman had resented his sister, but had he resented her enough to kill her? He was, for all intents and purposes, aside from a few nominal bequests, her sole heir. More importantly, he knew all about Ulla’s allergy. Had he been aware that the experimental shots she’d been taking had failed to work? Charleston wasn’t that far away; he could have made the trip here, killed her, and gone back, or he could have partnered with someone. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. For that matter, it was also possible that Laura Griggs could have done pretty much the same thing. I slid my phone back into my pocket and snatched up my bag.
“Tobes, I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back to feed you before I go to the shelter.”
No answer. I saw Toby’s behind sticking out from underneath the counter and hoped he wasn’t snacking on a real mouse under there.
* * *
When I arrived at the police station, Will was in his office, catching up on some paperwork according to Diane, who was manning the front desk. I went back to his office and rapped sharply on the door. “Surprise,” I said when he yelled, “Come in!”
He looked tired, but not unhappy to see me. “Hey, what brings you here? Wait—don’t tell me you’ve solved the case?”
I wiggled my finger. “Many a true word spoken in jest, Worthington.”
Without any preamble, I flopped into one of the well-worn chairs in front of his desk and wasted no time in bringing him up to date on what I’d learned so far and expounding on my latest theory. When I finished, he was silent, his fingers tented beneath his chin. “Maybe you should apply for Bennington’s job,” he said at last.
The flippant compliment caused my cheeks to flame. “Funny, Grace said pretty much the same thing to me recently,” I said. “I’ll take a pass on the full-time position, but I don’t mind helping out on occasion. You can just call me your private civilian consultant.”
“ ‘Private’ being the operative word. Charlie would hit the roof if he knew all this.”
The visual of Charlie smacking his head against the roof of the police station almost made me giggle. “So, since Bart already let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, apitoxin is what Ulla died from?”
“It would appear so. The really puzzling part is how she got exposed to it.”
“I agree. How did she get stung? There were no bees or insects of any kind at the signing.”
“Oh, she wasn’t stung.” Will lowered his voice. “What I’m going to tell you is confidential and cannot be repeated to anyone—and by anyone, Leila, I mean your sister. Or even Toby.”
I smiled at Will’s mention of the cat, then made a crossing motion over my heart. I knew certain details in a murder investigation were sometimes kept a deep, dark secret. “I promise.”
“Okay. The coroner found traces of apitoxin on Ulla’s lips.”
“Her lips! But how—wait!” I let out a little gasp as a mental picture suddenly popped up into my mind. “Oh my God,” I whispered. I reached out, found his hand, squeezed it. “I think I know how it was done!”
He stared at me. “You do?”
“The lip gloss,” I murmured, tamping down the mental image of Ulla’s swollen lower lip. “It had to be the lip gloss. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner.”
Will stared at me blankly. “Huh?”
“Haven’t you ever seen Kylie Jenner?” I asked in mock horror. “Or more specifically, her lips?”
“Sure I have. I just don’t get the connection.”
“Well, how do you think her lips got that way?”
“Collagen injections?”
“Maybe, but there’s another way. From using certain lip glosses.”
He gave his head a quick shake. “You’re losing me.”
OMG, were men really this obtuse? “Some cosmetics contain bee venom,” I said patiently. “It tricks the body into thinking it’s been stung, which supposedly stimulates the production of collagen, which strengthens tissue and elastin, which in turn helps the skin remain taut. When you put bee venom in lip gloss, it makes the lips look plumper and fuller, like they’ve just been stung. Some call it ‘pillow lips.’ Back when I was in marketing, I remember a friend of mine had a cosmetics account, and bee venom was in one of the lines she was writing copy for.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure this out before now.”
“Wait.” Will held up his hand. “Your theory doesn’t make any sense, Syd. If Ulla knew she was allergic to bees, why would she use lip gloss with bee venom in it?”
“That’s the whole point—she wouldn’t!” I could barely keep the excitement I felt out of my voice. “Someone switched out her lip gloss for one with bee venom in it.” I jumped out of the chair and started to pace around Will’s tiny office. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. She was using a sample Glow lip gloss. The makeup artist tried to put another brand on her, and she went ballistic. She showed hers to me—was very proud of it. She even made a point of saying it only added shine, not fullness. Then she got distracted by the cats. She wanted to be photographed with them, so she put the lip gloss on the table in that utility room, and we went across the hall to the pop-up. When we came back, about fifteen minutes later, her lip gloss was gone.”
“Someone had taken it?”
“Yes—no. Maybe. I’m not sure. It ended up being on the floor. Wendy Sweeting found it and handed it to Ulla, but she decided she didn’t need a retouch, and she put it in her dress pocket.” I snapped my fingers as I thought. “Later, I saw her come out of that utility room again. She said she’d just put on the lip gloss. I noticed a red flush on her neck. About ten minutes later is when she had her attack.”
“That would make sense,” Will muttered. “According to the coroner, that stuff can act pretty fast.” He rose from his chair and also started to pace to and fro behind his desk.
Suddenly I stopped pacing and jabbed my finger in the air. “Say—what happened to that lip gloss anyway? It should have been in her dress pocket.”
“Good point. We took all her personal belongings from the hospital and the bookstore, and we’ve got them at the precinct evidence locker, awaiting transmittal to her brother back in Charleston along with her body.” He leaned across the desk, picked up his phone, and punched in a number. “Hello, who’s this? Godrick? Godrick, this is Detective Worthington. Can you check the evidence locker list for Ulla Townsend and see if there’s any lip gloss listed among her effects? Yes, you heard right—lip gloss. What does it look like?” He glanced at me helplessly.
“It’s a very shiny, dark brown, cylindrical tube,” I said. “It’s shaped like a giant bullet.”
Will repeated my description twice before he said in a testy tone, “Never mind. I’m coming right down.”
“Me too,” I cried as he barreled out the door. “Unless you’re afraid Charlie will catch me down there.”
“Charlie’s not in the building right now, so
it’s the perfect time to break some rules,” he said with a soft chuckle. I couldn’t contain my excitement as I hurried along beside him. I’d always wondered about evidence lockers, and as it turned out, this one was exactly where it is on most crime shows—in the basement of the police station. We rode down in the elevator and emerged into a dimly lit hallway. Then we walked a short distance to where a young officer sat at a large desk in front of a door that bore a sign reading: “LOCKED AREA. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” A big plate glass window occupied one wall. Through it I could see rows and rows of steel shelving, like the ones in the playroom at the café. Will signed in, but when I started to pick up the pen to sign my name, he gently plucked it out of my hand.
“Sorry. I can only bend the rules so far.” I shot him a pleading look, but he shook his head firmly. “I can’t let you back there. You’ve heard about chain of custody, right?”
I wrinkled my nose. “It’s to establish that the alleged evidence is in fact related to the alleged crime, and not planted to make someone appear guilty.”
“Right. And there are strict rules regarding chain of custody as it pertains to evidence. It must be handled in a scrupulously careful manner to ensure there is no tampering or contamination. It most often applies to illegal drugs seized by law enforcement personnel. It’s important that an identifiable and responsible person always has physical custody of a piece of evidence. That’s why everything is protected in this locked area. Only authorized personnel are permitted back there.”
“You mean I can’t even watch?” I cried. “That’s not fair!”
He leveled me with a rock-hard stare. “You wouldn’t want a murderer going free, would you?”
I sighed. “No, of course not.”
I crossed over to the wooden bench opposite the desk and sat down. An officer buzzed Will inside the room, then busied himself with paperwork. I drummed my fingers impatiently on the wood and tapped my toe against the cement floor. It seemed as if Will spent an eternity back there, but it was really only about twenty minutes. When he emerged, he was empty-handed and grim-faced. I jumped up as he approached me, and the first thing he did was shake his head.
“I went through everything. No lip gloss.”
I frowned. That couldn’t be right. “Are you sure? Shiny, brown, shaped like a bullet, yea big?” I widened the space between my thumb and forefinger to demonstrate.
He whipped a notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped a few pages. “There was nothing in her dress pocket except some tissues. Just to be safe, I examined everything in that flowered tote bag of hers. Two packs of tissues, two combs, a brush, a blush compact, mascara, two small mirrors—but not one tube of lipstick. Excuse me, lip gloss.”
“That can’t be right,” I said. “What could have happened to it? I saw her put it in her pocket.” My eyes slitted as I thought. “Do you have crime scene photos?”
“Wait here.”
He disappeared again, returning in a few minutes with a thick packet. I flipped through them until I came to the ones showing the outline of the body in the restroom. I examined each one carefully. No tube of lip gloss in any of them. “It couldn’t have vanished into thin air,” I muttered. “There’s only one explanation. The killer must have gotten in there and taken it.”
“Then the killer must have been very quick and clever, because we gave orders to have that area cordoned off once we heard about her death.”
“There was a small window of opportunity, though,” I mused. “Right after they took her body out and before Tara clamped down on people milling around back there. That back entrance was still wide open. Anyone could have gotten in. Now why would the killer want to remove the lip gloss?” I pondered this for a few seconds, then snapped my fingers. “The Glow lip gloss had to be switched out with one that had bee venom, and it had to be done so that Ulla wouldn’t notice the difference. Not all lip glosses are packaged alike.”
“Hmm.” Will stroked at his chin. “So, if this was premeditated murder, someone had to buy a lip gloss that was similar in looks and packaging to the Glow product that contained bee venom.”
“Exactly.” I paused as I remembered something. “Wendy Sweeting was alone in the bathroom with Ulla for a few minutes. If she’s the killer, maybe she switched out the lip gloss.”
“If she did, that’d be hard to prove now.” Will put both hands on my shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind if we call it a night. It seems I’ve got a busy night ahead of me.” He paused and then added, “I want to thank you for all your help on this, Syd.”
I eyed him. “Really? You’re not going to give me a lecture on how I’m not a trained law enforcement official and on the pitfalls of playing Nancy Drew?”
He laughed. “No, I’m not. Not tonight anyway.” He paused before saying, “However, I also want to make something very clear: I appreciate your help, but I don’t want you doing anything else, anything that might—well, you know.”
“Give Callahan a loophole for arresting me?”
“Can’t take you out for a nice dinner if you’re behind bars, now can I?” He reached out and touched the tip of my nose with his finger. “Don’t worry, Syd. I have a feeling the murderer’s almost as good as caught.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him what other leads he was planning on pursuing, but truthfully there was a part of me that didn’t want to know. He leaned over, gave me a buss on the cheek, and then disappeared back down the hall. I made my way slowly out of the station and back to my car. All the way home I kept turning everything over in my mind. Death by lip gloss. It surely was an ingenious plan. It also practically screamed “woman perpetrator,” although I wasn’t ready to rule Ken Colgate out entirely.
I pulled up in front of Leila’s house and checked my watch. I’d have to get to the shelter soon, but I had time for a quick cup of coffee. I started up the walk, then paused. Had I imagined it, or had that New England aster bush to the left of the back porch moved ever so slightly? Nope, I wasn’t mistaken. A few seconds later, a head popped up from behind it.
“Syd!” a familiar voice hissed. “Over here!”
Maggie!
Chapter Twenty
“Maggie. Oh, thank God!” I cried. Relief washed over me, replaced about ten seconds later by anger. I placed my hands on my hips. “Where have you been, and why haven’t you returned any of my gazillion texts or calls? And what on earth are you doing hiding in Leila’s aster bush?”
“Trying to keep a low profile,” she murmured. She motioned for me to come closer. As I drew nearer, I could see that her face was drawn and haggard, and that the sweatshirt and pants she had on beneath her red jacket looked rumpled, almost as if she’d slept in them. “I only got back a little bit ago,” she said.
“Back? Back from where? Where have you been?”
Her brows drew together. “What do you mean, where have I been? I texted you and Kat, didn’t I?”
“I only got one text from you, and all it said was that after what happened, you had to leave. Then I went to see your cousin Rhonda, and she said something about a family emergency.”
Maggie reached up and lightly massaged the back of her neck with her fingertips. “Sorry. I thought I’d been clearer. Everything was so rushed. I thought I’d copied you on Rhonda’s text. I got a call from the nursing home that my Aunt Chloris had fallen. They thought she might have broken her hip, and since I’m listed as her emergency person, they needed my consent in case they had to do surgery. I drove down there, but thank God, it was only a fracture.”
I studied her face intently. “And you were so busy at the nursing home, you couldn’t find time to return any of my calls? Or send a less cryptic text?”
Maggie licked across her lower lip. “I guess I could have, but … like I said, I wanted to keep a low profile.”
“Nonexistent is more like it.” I looked Maggie square in the eye. “You went to Ulla’s signing even though you said you wouldn’t touch it with a twenty-foot pole. And do
n’t bother to deny it, because—”
“I’m right in that YouTube video. I know.” Maggie lowered her gaze and dug her toe into the ground. “I was there.” For a few seconds there was complete and total silence, and then Maggie raised her gaze to meet mine. “I got there just as they were wheeling her out, and I could see she didn’t look good. I couldn’t stick around because I had to get to the nursing home, but I read what happened online. I knew darn well that if the police started digging into Ulla’s past, looking for suspects, that, well … it might not look too good for me.”
“I’m sorry to break it to you, but the police are already on that angle. Ulla mentions old rivalries in her book, and it would appear the book signing was a cover for her trying to find people she’d wronged and make things right. A sort of rehabilitation program, I guess.”
“Or so she said,” Maggie muttered.
I could tell that getting any information out of Maggie would be as easy as trying to extract a stubborn wisdom tooth. I planted my hands on my hips and said, “You’ve got to tell me what happened, Maggie. Why did you go to that event at all after you made such a fuss about not wanting to see Ulla?”
She wrung her hands in front of her and glanced around. “Listen, I’ll tell you, but not out here.”
“Fine. Let’s go inside.”
I started to turn to go up the steps, but Maggie grabbed my arm. “Wait. Leila’s inside. Jim dropped her off about ten minutes ago. No offense, but she’s a reporter, and I do not want to talk in front of her. Not yet.”
“Do you want to go back to your place?”
She gave her head a quick shake. “If they’ve checked into Ulla’s past relationships, the police might have it staked out. You never know.”
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