Rival's Break

by Carla Neggers

  “You’re obviously conscientious and knowledgeable about what’s involved with wild mushrooms,” Emma said. “Are you sure it was your mistake yesterday?”

  She hesitated for a split second. “It’s the only sensible explanation.” She scooped up a crab apple that had dropped onto the path and tossed it aside. “It’s better than I turned my back and some well-intentioned idiot snipped inedible mushrooms into the tacos, or, worse, someone did it on purpose.”

  “Do you feel comfortable aboard the yacht?”

  She spun around at Emma. “What? Yes, of course.”

  They came to the entrance. Melodie Fanning and Nick Lothian spotted Georgina and waved as they pulled open the glass door to the garden. Emma had met them briefly by the nurses’ station outside Jeremy Pearson’s room.

  “There you are, Georgina,” Melodie said. “Bryce is being discharged. Buck up, okay? I know you’re upset you served the wrong mushrooms yesterday and made people sick, but it was just an unfortunate mistake. We can put it behind us. I told the doctors and that state police officer—the marine patrol one—that it wasn’t in any way, shape or form deliberate.”

  Georgina nodded dully, the fight gone out of her.

  Dressed in crisp black slacks and an orange knit top, with full makeup and jewelry, Melodie nonetheless looked tired. She stayed focused on Georgina, ignoring Emma. “Bryce and I want to get out of Heron’s Cove and home to New York as soon as possible. He will need time to recover, but we should be able to leave tomorrow. It’ll be a while before anyone trusts us to join us for dinner much less a cruise.”

  “Oh, it won’t be that bad,” Nick said cheerfully next to her. “Norovirus is a common scourge on big cruise ships, but people keep going on cruises. That’s what most everyone will think happened here. What did happen was uncomfortable, but everyone’s come out of it. I can’t get too worked up about the wrong mushrooms ending up in the tacos. I don’t like mushrooms myself. They taste like dirt and a bad walk in the woods to me.”

  Melodie laughed. “My first chuckle since this all happened, but you’re right, Nick. All’s well that ends well.” She finally turned to Emma. “Georgina’s been upset about her father, did she tell you?”

  “We just were talking about their visit,” Emma said, keeping her tone neutral.

  “He sounds like a fascinating, brilliant man. I hope he pulls through.” Melodie switched back to Nick. “Can you bring the car around to whatever exit we’re supposed to use when Bryce is discharged?” She shuddered. “I hate hospitals, but everyone’s been terrific here, I have to say. Georgina, will you be going back to Heron’s Cove with us?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  Once Melodie and Nick were back in the cafeteria, Georgina spun around to Emma. “Thank you for your concern, and for your understanding.” She motioned with one hand toward the glass door. “I’ll go now. Apologies for the hysterics.”

  “Thank you for speaking with me,” Emma said. “If you change your mind and would rather not stay on the yacht, for any reason—”

  “I have Kevin Donovan’s card, and Beth—the nurse. She offered to help. I’ll be okay, though. Bill Hornsby won’t be returning to the yacht, will he?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He delivered the painting to me, but he didn’t bring any mushrooms, inedible or otherwise. The sickeners came from my foraging at the convent yesterday morning. I was preoccupied, and I made a mistake. The Fannings are private, wealthy people. I imagine they want to avoid unnecessary scrutiny. I can’t blame them.” Georgina smiled, clearly less stressed. “Your grandfather really is a private art detective?”

  “He is,” Emma said.

  “That’s excellent.” She paused, staring at a cluster of mums. “I can’t give up on my father yet. People have survived death cap poisoning.”

  “We’ll stay in touch.”

  Georgina pulled her gaze from the mums and shifted to Emma. “Thank you for coming after me, and for being so decent. I’m enjoying Heron’s Cove, believe it or not. Maybe one day I’ll come back when my life isn’t so chaotic. Give Bill Hornsby my best, won’t you? In case I don’t see him?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer and ran back into the cafeteria, presumably to hook up with Melodie and Nick to await Bryce’s discharge.

  Emma resisted the urge to walk in the meditation garden on her own. In her time with the sisters, she’d come to appreciate gardens designed for quieting the mind. Instead, she returned to the cafeteria.

  Oliver was alone at the table. “Henrietta and Colin have gone to see about our art-consultant friend. I suspect they’ll be discussing things to which I’m not privy, don’t want to be and can’t be, given my status as a mild-mannered mythologist and gentleman farmer. You, Emma, though—feel free to join them. I’ll be fine here.”

  “I’ll hang out here with you. We can talk.”

  He gave her a cheeky smile. “I was afraid you might say that.”

  * * *

  Colin entered a small waiting room on Jeremy’s floor. A handful of chairs were lined up against the wall, but Henrietta stood at the windows, looking out at the same view her MI5 superior had of the hospital’s main entrance. She’d wanted to talk to Colin alone.

  He eased next to her. “Just be sure whatever you tell me is the truth, Henrietta. No bullshit. No lies.”

  “Of course. I doubt I know anything you don’t know or can’t surmise. We’re on your patch. Chances are you know more than I do, but I thought we should talk. Jeremy followed Georgina to Boston as William Hornsby and got himself invited on the cruise. She doesn’t know his real identity, or mine. She met Oliver as himself.” The faintest of smiles. “Although sometimes I wonder if anyone knows Oliver’s real identity. He says I’m the only one who’d have him. The reverse is no doubt true, too.”

  Colin had worked under his share of false identities. “Does Robin Masterson know Jeremy’s with UK intelligence?”

  “Yes. William Hornsby is a cover story for public consumption.”

  “How long have they known each other?”

  “I don’t have specific dates. As an expert in neurotoxins, Robin helped in the dismantling of the Soviet Union’s chemical weapon stockpiles starting in the nineties. I believe he and Jeremy met then, but I’m not positive. Before my time.” Henrietta glanced sideways at Colin. “I don’t know if Robin asked Jeremy to deliver the Aoife O’Byrne painting to Georgina, or if he took it upon himself to do so.”

  “Does he suspect someone deliberately fed Robin the poisonous mushrooms?” Colin asked.

  “You mean tried to kill him, and likely will succeed in doing so? Everything points to suicide, but I don’t know what Jeremy suspects.” A hint of irritation in her voice. “I doubt at this point he has a clear grasp on what’s going on, either—if anything is going on that concerns us in our official capacities. Poisonous mushrooms, a missing painting, a wealthy couple with God knows who for friends—not to mention church rummage sales and you lot.”

  “Don’t forget bean-hole suppers.”

  There was a spark of humor in her eyes. “How could I ever?” She sighed. “Jeremy went his own way here, Colin. Your instincts are on target about that. Oliver and I are doing what we can to find out what he’s up to, but we can only go so far.”

  “So Jeremy’s AWOL,” Colin said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. All I know is I went to Dublin and when I returned, Robin Masterson was deathly ill. Next thing, Jeremy’s here in Maine, vomiting off a yacht deck.”

  “Not quite so dramatic as that. He puked on his cabin floor.”

  “Well, then.”

  Colin expected there were multiple steps between “I went to Dublin” and “next thing,” but he wanted to let Henrietta talk.

  “I only got involved when I tried to reach Oliver on Saturday. I
got that feeling one gets when I know Jeremy’s asked him to do something. I called Jeremy, but he blew me off.” Henrietta shrugged. “I decided to have a look at what he was up to these days and discovered Robin Masterson had called him on Friday.”

  “You found out Robin flew to Dublin on Monday and followed his trail.”

  “I did meet my friend for shopping and tea. I didn’t expect to return to Robin near death. Of course my mind first went to contact with a nerve agent, but that’s not the case. There were bits of these death cap mushrooms in his kitchen.”

  “Any other mushrooms in his place besides these death caps?” Colin asked.

  “Loads, including chanterelles. They’re a particular favorite of mine, or they were. I won’t be in a rush to look at mushrooms after this mess, but I do love them. If Robin had been discovered an hour later, he’d have been dead.”

  Colin pictured the scene. “It wasn’t a passerby who found him, was it, Henrietta?”

  Her shoulders slumped slightly. “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Did Jeremy tell you he found Robin, or did you have to find out on your own?”

  “What do you think?” She left it at that. “I didn’t know he’d asked Oliver to speak with Robin until just now in the cafeteria. Poisons in myths and folktales? An odd request, if you ask me. I understand Robin has a long-standing interest in art—hence, his friendship with ‘William Hornsby’—and he’s eccentric. I knew Oliver was holding back, but not about Thor or whatever. Or didn’t Thor ever get poisoned?”

  Colin smiled. “You’re asking me?”

  She managed a laugh. “I see Emma’s knowledge hasn’t rubbed off on you. How did we get mixed up with those two?” Her expression warmed. “But she’s okay, isn’t she?”

  “She is. We are.”

  Henrietta spun around but didn’t take a seat. Colin suspected her agitated mood had as much to do with Oliver and their relationship as it did with Jeremy’s situation. She stared at a chart on congestive heart failure.

  “So Robin Masterson meets Oliver at a London gallery on Saturday to talk poisons,” Colin said. “Georgina falls in love with Aoife O’Byrne’s paintings at the gallery. She and Dad go mushroom foraging on Sunday morning. He sees her off to Heathrow, flies to Dublin the next day and buys a painting for her—and then comes home, eats death caps and falls sick?”

  “Those are the facts as I know them.”

  “When did Jeremy take possession of the painting?”

  Henrietta didn’t answer.

  Colin studied her. “I see. After he finds his friend unconscious in the park.”

  “I don’t know for certain. I didn’t ask.”

  “Any chance Georgina poisoned her own father?”

  “You are devious, Colin.”

  He shrugged. “Jeremy followed her for a reason.”

  Henrietta moved to a blood-pressure chart. “I think she’s the daughter of a friend he’s sorry to lose. Perhaps Jeremy feels he owes Robin, or that Georgina could shed light on her father’s mental state when she left on Sunday. Something he said might make sense to Jeremy but not to her. You’re an experienced agent, Colin. You get the drift.”

  “And Jeremy just ends up on the yacht?”

  “He says he got caught up in events and didn’t want to call attention to Georgina or to himself.”

  “You should have told me you were on your way to Heron’s Cove.”

  “You had a good time at your brother’s wedding, and you wouldn’t have if Oliver or I had told you we were on our way. Also, you’re assuming Oliver and I didn’t announce our presence on US soil to someone on a need-to-know basis. I’m speaking hypothetically. That reminds me. How is Agent Yankowski? I apologize for not asking sooner.”

  “He’s back to work. Rough recovery.”

  “Shot in the line of duty. One hears about it...knows people...”

  “Feel free to call him,” Colin said, cool.

  “I sent him a get well card after he was shot. I’ll cut to the chase, Colin. We have no reason to suspect any nerve agent is missing, stolen or was slipped into the US for any reason.”

  “Robin Masterson has the expertise to produce something very lethal.”

  “Yes, but he never has done. Why would he start now? He’s retired, and he doesn’t have the proper equipment in his flat.” Henrietta gave up on the posters and turned to Colin. “To be perfectly frank, I rather suspect we’ve all been sucked into a difficult father-daughter relationship. Robin’s been an eccentric, unavailable father with a critical job, and Georgina’s had only him for most of her life. They have a passion for wild foraging in common and that’s about it.”

  “You and Oliver are here on your own, unofficially,” Colin said.

  She pushed her hair back with both hands. “It’s all knots and snarls with this seacoast wind.”

  End of discussion. Colin winked at her. “You should be here in January.”

  They left the waiting room and started past the nurses’ station toward Jeremy’s room. Melodie Fanning and Nick Lothian were outside Bryce’s room farther down the hall. A passing, awkward wave from Nick as they went in. The two women kept their eyes pinned straight ahead.

  Henrietta smiled half-heartedly. “Pretending not to see the FBI agent. I know that move.”

  Colin did, too. He trusted Henrietta, to a point, but he wouldn’t want to have his back to her if she needed something he didn’t want to give her, or if he got between her and the success of an MI5 mission. Cynical, maybe, but also practical. She might not appreciate his attitude, but she’d understand it. Right now, though, she was a British intelligence officer stuck in Maine with a sick superior, needing information, cooperation and, very likely, the help of Oliver’s two FBI contacts.

  A nurse updated them. Jeremy would likely be released later that afternoon unless his condition deteriorated for some reason, but that wasn’t expected to happen. Finian Bracken arrived at the hospital in his role as a local priest, visiting the sick, and repeated his offer of the rectory for the recovering MI5 agent.

  “You are all very welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” Finian said.

  “You’re a wonderful friend, Father Bracken,” Henrietta said. “Thank you.”

  Colin figured Finian had a good idea Henrietta and Oliver’s sick friend wasn’t just an art consultant. He warned Finian about his remark about last rites. His Irish priest friend merely shook his head as he went in to see Jeremy.

  Henrietta eased next to him. “Oliver and I will see to our Mr. Hornsby. We’ll set him up in the rectory and stick to our story about how we all know each other.”

  Through the Sharpes, basically. “We’ll get the rest of his things off the yacht.”

  “Thank you. I’ll find Oliver—never mind. Here he is now.”

  With Emma, walking from the elevators.

  Henrietta and Oliver ducked into Jeremy’s room, passing Finian on the way out, off to visit other patients. “I ran into Kevin,” Emma told Colin. “He’s on the way to Heron’s Cove.”

  “Great. I’ll meet him there. Someone needs to clear out our friend’s cabin, don’t you think? What about you? Where are you off to?”

  “I’ll join you in Heron’s Cove.”

  Colin ducked into the room and said goodbye to the three Brits. Jeremy lifted his fingers in what passed as a wave. He still looked pathetic, but Colin didn’t know if he was putting on a bit—whether to keep his FBI friends or his MI5 colleague at bay was anyone’s guess. He wouldn’t want Henrietta on his case.

  Oliver, for once, didn’t say a word.

  Colin met Emma at the elevators. He smiled, glad to be here, with her. “It’s a beautiful day. We could be kayaking on the river.”

  “There’s yet time before winter, if not before dark.”

  They hadn’t had nearly enough time together in the weeks si
nce her father’s death, but he saw no resentment or bitterness or even regret in her green eyes. She was steady, analytical and centered, but she was also an optimist. And a good agent. As they headed to their vehicles, she asked him about his conversation with Henrietta. He told her. “Did you get anything else out of Oliver?” he asked when they reached her car.

  “More complaints about the hospital tea.”

  “Figures.” Colin kissed her on the cheek. “See you in Heron’s Cove.”

  “Drive safe.”

  He grinned at her. “With Kevin out there mad at me? You bet.”

  13

  Bryce’s release was delayed—the doctors wanted to run a couple of precautionary tests—and Melodie decided to send Georgina and Nick back to the yacht so they could prepare for Bryce’s release. Nick would then return to the hospital and pick them up. “Nick’s cab service,” he said cheerfully as he got behind the wheel of his rental car.

  Georgina jumped into the passenger seat, marginally less embarrassed at having made a fool of herself in front of the FBI agents. “That’s so cynical, Nick. The hospital’s been great.”

  “Keeping our diners alive. Note I didn’t say your diners.”

  She sputtered into laughter. “You’re horrible.”

  He glanced at her with a grin, then made a face. “And you look terrible, Georgie. Damn.”

  “You have a great bedside manner, Mr. Lothian.”

  “Sometimes you have to cut through the lousy mood with irreverent humor.” He started the engine and backed out of the parking space. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

  “I poisoned people yesterday, Nick. I picked the inedible mushrooms. I allowed myself to get distracted and snipped them raw into a spicy hors d’oeuvres. I could have done a hundred other things with them and I probably wouldn’t have made people sick, or people would have noticed their bad taste and spit them out like Melodie did. She just got lucky and noticed.”

  “I get it. You did the one thing that got a dozen people sick. Yuck. Ouch. Bad.”

  “I didn’t want to believe it.” She sighed out her window. She still didn’t believe it, deep down, but what good would denying the obvious truth do? “It doesn’t matter. I’m the chef. I’m responsible for the food served yesterday.”