But what if he turned out to be a viable suspect in Vic’s murder? Not to mention, he was around when Harrison Foxx was murdered. It was quite a coincidence that he was now connected to two murders—three if she counted her mother’s death.
She could see jealousy or ambition as a motive for Culver killing Foxx, and even if Culver thought Vic had evidence pointing toward him. But what motive would Culver have for killing her mother?
Motive. Once she knew that, she could find her mother’s killer.
17
BOONE SCANNED THE INFORMATION Rachel had pulled off the internet about Randy Culver. Thirty-seven, truck driver, singer. She’d also added a handwritten note that Culver had competed against Vegas and Foxx seventeen years ago.
After the last guitar chord, Jerome Winters popped back on stage and again asked for a big round of applause. Boone was waiting for Culver when he walked off.
“Culver,” he said, catching the singer’s attention.
He turned, and his gaze slid to Rachel as she joined Boone. “Yes?” he said, not taking his eyes off her.
Was he checking out the detective? Couldn’t say Boone blamed him. The way the dress hugged Rachel’s curves almost made him forget he was her superior. Something he needed to keep in mind, even if he believed she cared for him.
Six months ago he’d thought they’d been on the way to something special. They had connected and the chemistry was good between them. She’d been loosening up, and then suddenly wham! She turned into an ice statue and the next thing he knew she was breaking off the relationship. No explanation, other than the transfer into Homicide. Boone didn’t believe that was the whole story.
He focused his attention on the job at hand as Rachel flashed her badge with a little more attitude than was necessary.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” she said, her voice all business.
Culver narrowed his eyes, his interest abruptly waning. “What about?”
“A murder investigation,” Boone replied.
His eyes widened. “Why don’t we go down to the green room,” he said. “No, there’ll be too many listening ears there. If you can ignore the noise, how about my table on the floor?”
They followed the singer to a table with an elaborately decorated gift basket sitting on it. “Randy Culver” was spelled out in glitter on the purple ribbon, and beside the basket was a blue bag with a medical cross on it.
While not exactly quiet, it would do. Culver moved the gift basket to a chair and sat where he could see the stage. With Rachel to his right, Boone took the chair against the wall. Since Iraq, he liked to sit where he didn’t have to worry about his back.
“What’s this all about?” Culver asked.
“Vic Vegas,” Boone said.
“What about him?” Culver looked around. “He should be around here somewhere.”
It was hard to believe he hadn’t heard about the murder. It should have been on the evening news and had definitely played on the radio. And Ms. Carpenter knew. Evidently she hadn’t mentioned it, either.
“He’s dead,” Boone said.
“What?” Culver rocked back in the chair. “How?”
“Someone shot him.”
“Jealous husband?”
Was he serious? From the look on the singer’s face, he was. Or Culver was trying to divert attention away from himself.
Culver blinked his eyes like he was trying to clear them, then he grabbed a water. “I don’t know why I’m so thirsty. Let me check my glucose level first. Be right back.”
“Glucose level? Are you a diabetic?”
“Yeah.” He checked his watch. “Oh, wait, it’s past time for my shot.”
Culver grabbed a water bottle from the basket, then picked up the blue bag and took out a vial of clear liquid. He filled a syringe almost halfway and capped it. “Be right back.”
While they waited, Boone eyed the designer bottles of water with gold labels in the basket. He’d seen the brand at the gym but had never felt the need to spend almost five dollars on water. Then he noticed the sugar-free candies.
When the singer returned, Boone nodded at the basket. “Is that from a fan?”
Culver uncapped the bottle and took a long draw. “Yeah. Not sure who. Monica said it was sitting on one of the tables when she got here tonight. But I would have known it was for me even without my name on it since it has sugar-free candy and drinks in it.”
“So your fans know you’re diabetic?” Rachel said.
“Yeah. I’ve never made a secret of it, in fact, just the opposite,” he said. “You know, educating the public.”
“I had a friend that way. He made sure I knew what insulin he was taking so that if anything happened when we were together, I could inform whoever responded to the emergency,” Boone said. He made a note about Culver being diabetic and then looked up. “You said earlier that a jealous husband might have killed Vegas. Why?”
Culver lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Vic was really friendly with everyone, especially the women. Sometimes husbands took exception. Not that he ever meant anything by his attention, but even at his age, he still got some fancy gifts from female fans—there’s just something about being on that stage that gets to women. And he enjoyed it,” he said, sliding his gaze to Rachel again. “Like me, he wasn’t married, so why not?”
Color rose in her cheeks. “Do you know if he had any girlfriends?”
“Didn’t know him that well. It’s not like we hung out together or anything. Only saw him at these contests, and the past few years he wasn’t around as much. Heard he was doing parties and that kind of thing.” Culver looked past them to the stage. “Parties are about all you do when you reach his age.”
Boone pulled the photo from his shirt and handed it to him. “Is that you on the right?”
He took the photo and stared at it. “Oh, wow. That’s from way back when.” He looked closer and then lifted his gaze to Rachel. “That’s you, handing Foxx the trophy. You’re still quite the looker.”
It amused Boone the way her lips twitched. He could have told the singer Rachel wasn’t impressed or comfortable receiving compliments.
Rachel focused on her notebook. “Did you see him with anyone last night?”
“He was all over the place, working the crowd like a politician. You would’ve thought he was in the competition—part of the vote is based on the crowd’s applause. But just one person . . . ?” The singer started to shake his head. “Wait . . . yeah, I did. Saw him sitting at the back.” He pointed across the room to a dark corner. “He was with some woman. Don’t remember what she looked like, just that I thought they were having a deep discussion the way their heads were together.”
Rachel scribbled in her notepad. “Are you sure you can’t describe her?”
He laughed. “Look at this place. It’s packed with women. Honestly, there’s always women hanging around. You get to where you don’t pay any attention to them. Sorry.”
“Did you talk to him last night?” Boone asked.
He took a sip of water. “I was really busy all night, but we spoke a couple of times.”
“About . . . ?” Boone asked. Getting information from Culver was like pulling teeth.
“He wanted to talk about old times. Vegas was at the top of his game when I first got into this Elvis tribute business. He and a friend of his gave me a few tips.” He tipped the bottle of water up and finished it off.
“Harrison Foxx?” Rachel asked.
He almost choked on the water. “How did you know?”
“Last night, did he say anything about Foxx’s murder?”
Culver turned to answer Boone. “Yeah. Vic brought up Harrison and his murder every time we ran into each other. It was getting to where I tried to avoid him, and when I couldn’t I’d just nod my head like I was listening.” He rubbed the side of his jaw. “You know, now that I think about it, he was upset that last time I saw him.”
“What was he upset about?” Boo
ne noticed Culver bouncing his knees.
“He was going on about some woman he just talked to.” The singer fanned himself with his shirt. “Are you two warm?”
“Not really,” Boone said. While it was a little stuffy, it wasn’t hot enough to cause the kind of sweating Culver was doing. “What about the woman?”
The singer pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. “He had this necklace . . . asked if I’d ever seen it before.”
“Culver!” Jerome walked toward them and jerked his head toward the stage. “Time for your second song.”
He nodded toward the emcee. “Coming.” With a shrug, he stood. “Sorry. Can we finish this when I’m done?”
“Sure,” Boone said. Sweat still beaded the singer’s face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Once I’m on the stage, I’ll be fine.”
Culver started toward the stage and stopped to grab another bottle of water, downing it while he waited for the cue to go on.
“What do you think?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t know,” he said as Culver tossed the empty water bottle in the trash and stepped onstage. “He was nervous and that might have been why he was so hot. I definitely want to know more about that necklace.”
They both turned toward the stage as Jerome announced Culver’s name. When the first chords of “Jailhouse Rock” started, screams from the audience almost drowned out Culver’s raspy imitation of Presley’s voice.
“I liked the first song better,” Boone said.
“I don’t know. This one has a sound all its own,” Rachel said. “I’d like to know what woman Vic talked to last night.”
Suddenly, the only sound coming from the stage was the recorded music. Then a woman screamed, and Boone jerked his gaze to the stage. Culver’s knees buckled and he collapsed on the floor.
Boone jumped up, and Rachel grabbed the blue medical bag, and they both raced to the side of the platform. The singer lay facedown on the floor.
18
RACHEL REACHED CULVER FIRST. She placed the blue medical bag on the floor and turned him over, noting his gray face as Monica Carpenter crowded in. “Call 911.”
“Already have,” she said. “They said to keep him still, that paramedics were stationed on Beale Street. They should be here soon.”
Boone knelt beside Culver’s body. “He’s breathing,” he said. “Have you checked his heart rate?”
Rachel felt his neck for the carotid artery. “It’s really slow.” She looked up at Boone. “He said he was a diabetic. Do you think his blood sugar dropped?”
“Does he have a glucose monitor?”
Rachel felt Culver’s pockets. No monitor. “Maybe he has one in the bag.” She unzipped the small tote. All of Culver’s medical supplies were neatly arranged inside. The capped needle he’d used was secured with an elastic band, as was a small vial of insulin that looked like the one he’d drawn from earlier.
“Here’s the vial he used.” She peered closer. “Says it’s Lantus.” She searched the side pockets. “That’s crazy—there’s a place for a meter, but it’s not here.”
“He had it earlier. Check the table.”
She stood and almost bumped into the event planner.
“Have you given him candy?” Carpenter said. “Once before he almost passed out, and he popped a piece of candy in his mouth.”
“I don’t think we need to do that.” She didn’t know much about diabetics, but she knew enough to not give an unconscious person anything.
Donna intercepted Rachel as she hurried to the table where they’d been sitting.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked as she set her oversized purse in a chair.
“I don’t know.” Rachel didn’t see a monitor on the table. She looked around the basket in the chair and then under the table. No monitor.
“What are you looking for?”
“A glucose monitor. There wasn’t one in his tote.”
Donna helped her look. “It’s not in the chairs,” she said.
They searched the area thoroughly for the meter. Where were the paramedics? Almost fifteen minutes passed before they burst into the restaurant.
“He’s on the stage,” Rachel said and followed them out to where Culver had collapsed. She stayed out of their way but chewed her nails as the medics put him under oxygen and started an IV.
“He injected insulin about fifteen minutes before he collapsed,” Boone said. “And he indicated it was his nighttime dose. The bottle he drew the insulin from is in that blue bag.”
“Thanks, we’ll take it from here,” the medic said.
“Do you think he could’ve injected the wrong insulin?” Boone persisted. “I had a friend with diabetes and he worried about that.”
“We’ll check it.” He kept working on Culver.
Rachel nudged her partner. “We’re in the way.”
Boone nodded, and they moved off the stage.
“The monitor wasn’t at the table,” she said. Her feet were killing her, and she wished she could take her heels off.
“It has to be somewhere around here,” Boone said.
She agreed. “What do you think happened? He was acting kind of funny after he injected himself.”
“What if there was something other than insulin in the vial?” Boone glanced toward the basket. “Or someone put something in his water?”
Their gazes locked. Rachel moved first, limping toward the table where they’d been sitting. The remaining water bottle was gone.
She scanned the area. With everyone huddled near the stage entrance, it would be easy enough for someone to whisk the water away unnoticed. He was drinking water before he went on stage. She jerked her head toward the trash basket where Culver had tossed his last bottle. Boone must have had the same idea, and she let him take the lead.
Yes. An empty water bottle with a gold label lay on top of the trash.
Boone produced a handkerchief and retrieved it. “Find a to-go bag to put this in. We’ll send it for testing—just in case this is more than him being diabetic,” he said.
Rachel asked a waitress for a couple of bags and was given several. She held one of them open, and Boone dropped the bottle inside. Suddenly, a cramp attacked her calf, and she bent down to massage her leg. It would be heaven to get out of the heels. She should have changed shoes when they dropped her car off.
“Maybe we’re making too much of this,” she said and looked up, catching concern in his brown eyes.
“I don’t think so.” He frowned. “Are you okay?”
She straightened. “Yeah, just tired.”
“Come on, let’s sit down.”
She slowly followed him to the table where they’d sat earlier, sinking down on the padded chair and propped her feet on the one beside it. “Yeah, that’s better.”
“Good.” His lips curved up.
His smile teased her already upside-down emotions. What was wrong with her? She glanced at her watch. Almost ten thirty. And suddenly it hit her. Seventeen years ago her mom would have been preparing to leave the convention center to go home. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and banished the thoughts of what happened next.
Another thought blindsided her. What if she’d opened the package earlier tonight? More than likely she would have died on the seventeenth anniversary of her mother’s death. The thought chilled her through and through, and Rachel rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
She looked up at Boone. “What happened earlier at the birthday party may be making us overly suspicious. Maybe the missing water is no more than someone just coming along and grabbing it. And it’s possible Culver just took too much insulin.”
Boone glanced toward the stage. “But what if the killer thought Vic told Culver something incriminating? I’d like to get that vial and have the contents analyzed.”
Rachel followed his gaze and winced as one of the paramedics pulled the insulin vial from the bag. So much for checking for fingerprints. “I wonder if we
can get a sample of the insulin? And from the syringe?”
Boone nodded approvingly. “Good thinking.” He grabbed two of the to-go bags and walked back to the stage.
She watched as he and the lead paramedic talked, then Boone allowed the medic to draw insulin from the vial and inject it into a tube. When he finished, Boone placed the needle and vial in separate bags and returned to the table.
“Why did the paramedic want insulin from the vial?” Rachel asked. From the corner of her eye, she saw Donna approaching.
“So the hospital can analyze it and make sure it isn’t contaminated.” He frowned as Donna joined them. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“I don’t suppose you found the glucose monitor?” Rachel’s question was lost as Boone’s voice overrode hers.
Color crept into Donna’s face. “Ah . . . watching the show?” she said, answering Boone’s question.
“She’s a big Elvis fan,” Rachel said. “I saw her when we first arrived.”
“Elvis? Really?” Boone said.
“Why not?” Donna said. “If you look a little closer at the audience, you’ll see a lot of older women,” she said, lifting her chin. “Like Lucinda Vetch over there. She’s been here every night too.”
Rachel glanced at the platinum blonde Donna indicated. She looked familiar.
“I found this. Is it what you were looking for?” Donna held up a tissue-wrapped object. “It doesn’t say it’s a meter, but it looks like it might be one.”
Rachel gasped. “You did find it. Where?”
“In the men’s restroom.” Red crept into Donna’s face again. “But I made sure no one was in there first.”
Culver must have left it there. Being careful not to disturb the paper, she took the meter and placed it in the last bag, then looked up as Monica Carpenter joined them.
“Is he going to make it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Did either of you see anyone take any of his water from the basket?” Rachel asked.
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