Now both cops looked curious, even yearning. “Well, like I said,” Doug insisted weakly.
Camilla strolled back into the room, holding Geronimo. “Doug, I wonder if I, as a friend who has worked with you before, could just offer some advice about this case. Based not on anything in particular—just things I picked up here and there, and some thinking I’ve done about the disappearance and the situation of poor Luis.”
Doug studied Camilla, then looked at Cliff, who nodded. “And the ‘here and there’ sources of information—they just accumulated over time?” His voice was dry.
“Yes. Over a short amount of time. But I think I’ve come up with some interesting theories. I wonder if you have a moment to discuss them.”
Carl smiled, pleased at Camilla’s workaround. “Would anyone like something to eat?” he asked. Apparently, he now felt comfortable enough in Camilla’s kitchen to offer her food to others. Doug was still glaring, Cliff looked rather bemused, and I stood hesitantly in the doorway, feeling the urgency of the situation. Into this scene walked Rhonda, Camilla’s cook, who had arrived to start making lunch.
Camilla turned and smiled. “Oh, Rhonda, dear, I have to introduce you to Carl Frailey. He’s the brother of Belinda Frailey, from the library,” she said, setting Geronimo down. He scuttled off into the hallway, where Arabella had been waiting to pounce on him. She did so now, and they tore into the living room together.
“Hello, Carl,” Rhonda said, removing a rain hood from her caramel hair. “Oh, it’s unpleasant out there.”
Carl stared at her, uncertain. Camilla touched his arm. “Carl, Rhonda is my cook.”
“Yeah? You have your own cook? That’s pretty cool.” He turned to Rhonda. “What were you going to make?”
Camilla saw Rhonda’s surprise and said, “Carl is a connoisseur. He just got a job at Wheat Grass.”
“Oh wow!” Rhonda said. She seemed to understand, in one instant, both Carl’s slight oddness and his talent. “Well, I wouldn’t mind some suggestions about my menu today,” she said.
“Okay,” Carl agreed. He followed her to the counter and they began to chat about salads.
I pointed at Doug and Cliff. “Could we talk in Camilla’s office for a minute?”
“Good idea,” Cliff said. He moved toward me, Doug on his heels, Camilla last of all. I waited until they all came through the door, then followed Camilla down the hall, to her office adjacent to the foyer. She moved to her desk and sat behind it. I pulled up some chairs for the visitors, reserving the purple chair for myself. Sam, who had returned before Doug and Cliff got there and had been sent up to my room to rest, now appeared in the doorway.
“What am I missing?” he said.
“Pull up a chair,” Doug said with a roll of his eyes. “My girlfriend’s brother has put us in a bit of a dilemma.”
“Only because he was being loyal to his best friend,” I said.
Doug sighed and looked out the window; he said nothing.
Sam, his color closer to normal, sat down between Cliff and me. “What’s up?”
I told him, in low tones, what Carl had done and why, and that it had led to his dismissal.
Sam’s eyes went to Camilla. “So—what’s happening now?”
Camilla nodded. “I was just telling our friends on the police force that I have had some insights over the last couple of days that I believe they should investigate. Some of these are based on gossip, yes, but I’m an old woman with a lot of time on my hands, and I indulge in gossip sessions. You’re not liable for how I got information, correct? I can simply tell you what I heard, and you can follow up on it.”
“I suppose so,” Doug said slowly.
“Listen, we need to do something. I’m afraid Carl is in real danger,” I said. “These men—wait a minute!” I took out my phone and Googled “Plasti-Source, Edward Grange,” then tapped on “Images.” A few results popped up from the company’s website and from various public events Grange had attended. He was predictably silver-haired and handsome. He looked mildly familiar—probably because I had seen his image in some Plasti-Source–related article. I did the same search with the other three names: Phil Enderby, Gino Perucci, and Joe Piper. “Darn,” I said. “I was hoping one of these guys would be the man from the window. That would tie a lot of things together.”
“Do any of them look familiar?” Camilla asked.
“Maybe Joe Piper, but I don’t know why.”
Doug cleared his throat. “Cliff and I are on duty.”
Camilla nodded. “All right. Well, my theory is this. Plasti-Source is up to something illegal—potentially an environmental crime. I have reason to believe they’re being investigated by the EPA.”
“Okay,” Doug said, stunned.
Cliff leaned in. “I assume there’s more?”
“Yes. I suspect, based only on my old woman’s whims—”
Doug snorted, and Cliff grinned.
“—that someone in the company, perhaps even the vice president, has been attempting to cover up evidence of whatever this environmental offense may be. He may be in cahoots with either Joe Piper or Gino Perucci. Although one of those latter two might be working against the illegality.”
“Right,” Doug said.
I had my phone out again, and I Googled “Crandall Construction.” This took me to their main page; they were a firm out of Chicago. A button on their site called “Recent Projects” caught my eye. I clicked it, then scrolled down to read some of their projects, which included “a new restaurant, a city hall, and a pipeline.”
“A pipeline project,” I said.
“What?” Doug said. He had been interrogating Camilla, but now he looked at me.
“The website for Crandall Construction says they recently worked on a pipeline.” I handed the phone to Sam, who studied the web page.
Doug stared. “Why should I care about Crandall Construction?”
Camilla snapped her fingers. “Do you know—I think I overheard somewhere that Plasti-Source worked with them as a subcontractor. That in fact Crandall is waiting for Plasti-Source to sign some sort of quality control document.”
Doug took out his phone and began to type things into his online notebook. “You sure have a lot of contacts at your coffee shops, Camilla.”
“Yes.” She beamed at Cliff and said, “My role as a mystery writer helps me to see and hear interesting things around me.”
Cliff grunted. “Why exactly do you fear Carl is in danger?” He looked from Camilla to me.
“Well—it’s just—we think Carl might have some of the same information that Camilla’s contacts have. And that—people at Plasti-Source might know that he has it. You see? And they might be concerned. In the same way that they were concerned that Luis had information.”
Doug turned a shade lighter at those words. “I need to get Carl underground.”
Camilla nodded. “I think that would be a good idea. Perhaps the cabin again?”
Doug shook his head. “Traceable. And too isolated. He’d have nowhere to go if they showed up.”
Sam raised a hand. “I might know of a place.”
We all looked at him. He said, “When I was hiding away from humanity, I got myself a little apartment in Daleville. A nice spot above a bakery. Very private. No one knew who I was, nor did they care. I escaped there sometimes, when Blue Lake got oppressive. I still have the apartment; I rent it out once in a while, but it’s uninhabited right now. Furnished, even stocked a little bit.”
Sam had mentioned this to me once, long ago, but I had forgotten. “That sounds perfect,” I said.
Doug nodded. “Can we move him in today? Right after this? We’ll make sure no one is tailing us.”
“I’ll give you the key and directions. You can go in the back way, through a little-used alley.”
“Good.”
Cliff looked thoughtful. He had been studying the Crandall website on the phone in Sam’s hand. “Meanwhile, I’m putting two things together: pipeline and EPA investigation.” He looked around at all of us and pointed at himself. “Makes this guy suspicious about illegal dumping.”
Camilla gasped, and I said, “Do you mean into Blue Lake?”
Blue Lake, our constant companion, soothing us to sleep at night, refreshing us throughout the bright summer, inviting us to brood on its gray-sky days. Glimmering in twilight, mysterious in moonlight, poetic in the rising sun. Blue Lake, fresh and cool, provided drinking water for all the towns around it, including ours. Blue Lake, pristine, pure, and innocent. Who would dare to dump anything into a pure water source?
I met Camilla’s gaze; she seemed to have read my mind. Her mouth tightened in disapproval. Of course people polluted, all the time, and often without the public’s knowledge. We had fallen into the trap of “but it won’t happen to us.”
“I could be wrong,” Cliff said.
“I hope you are.” My phone buzzed in my lap. I looked down and saw that it was Isabelle calling; I had meant to return an earlier call of hers and had forgotten to do so. I didn’t want her to think I was avoiding her. “Excuse me for one minute,” I said and walked into the hallway, sliding my finger across my phone screen to answer the call. “Isabelle?”
“Hi, Lena! I was starting to wonder how I offended you. Remember how we were supposed to get together last week?”
“Oh, Belle, I’m so sorry. We’ve had so much going on here, you wouldn’t believe. First Belinda went missing—”
Isabelle gasped.
“No, it was—kind of a misunderstanding, but in the process we met her brother, and he had a problem with a friend of his, Luis Castellan, and—”
“Oh yes, I know Luis. Both Castellans. They bring their Siamese here all the time. She’s quite the queenly feline. She—”
“You know the Castellans?”
“Sure. In fact, I think they’re bringing Olympia in today. Just a basic physical, but—”
“What time? What time is she coming?”
She didn’t answer for a moment. Then, “What’s going on, Lena?”
I sighed. “I can’t go into it all this instant, but Luis is missing, Belle.”
“What—oh God!”
“So his wife probably won’t even keep her appointment—”
“She just called. She’s coming at three.”
“What? Really?” Why would Elena go to the vet when her husband had likely been killed? Unless it didn’t bother her very much. “Listen, could I call in a favor? Let’s say I were to bring in one of Camilla’s shepherds around the same time. Could I hang out in your waiting room with her? Could you maybe delay calling her in?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like a good opportunity. Let me talk to some people and call you back, okay?”
She sighed. “I was hoping we could just make a lunch date. Geez.”
“Hey—while we’re on the subject of dates—are you seeing anyone?”
This surprised her. “Romantically? No. Why?”
“Um—someone said they saw you with some guy at the grocery store.”
“Who would—that was probably Emilio. He does odd jobs at my apartment building, and I hired him one Saturday to carry a bunch of heavy bags of pet food and bird food and stuff. I didn’t feel like hauling it all up my stairs.”
“Okay. Could you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Next time you see Cliff Blake, could you ask him out?”
Her voice was wry. “I kind of thought he was going to ask me out.”
“I did, too. He obviously likes you. But sloths move faster than that man. I think he’s just going to think about it for about a year.”
She sighed. “I have to go, Lena. My noon appointment just got here.”
“Okay. I’ll call back about the other thing.”
“You do that. See you.” She hung up, and I returned to the room, where Doug and Cliff were murmuring about possible infractions that the EPA might want to investigate.
“Uh, guys? I was just talking to Isabelle, and she said the Castellans come to the vet all the time. They have a pampered cat.”
“Who could imagine,” Camilla said, smiling, as Lestrade jumped onto her desk and demanded affection.
“Yeah. The thing is—she said Elena is coming in today.”
Doug’s brows rose. “Her husband is missing, but she’s going about her business as if nothing is wrong?”
“I asked Isabelle if I could go in there, maybe with one of Camilla’s dogs, just pretend to be a regular old client. Maybe chat with Elena, get some information.”
To my surprise, Doug didn’t immediately shut me down, but he did point at me. “It can’t be you. She just saw you at her restaurant. She would know something was up.”
“Would she really remember, though?” I asked.
Everyone in the room nodded. “You’re young and pretty, Lena. And women notice other women,” Camilla said.
“Well, then—you go, Doug. Wear undercover clothes.”
Now Sam shook his head. “No, Doug’s been too visible with his press conferences over the last few months. She’d recognize him.”
Cliff agreed and pointed at Sam. “She’d recognize you, too. The notorious Sam West. Everyone knows your face by now, don’t they?”
Camilla stroked Lestrade’s silky ears. “Then it should be you, Cliff. You can take Rochester—he’s better in overall behavior and deportment. You’ve been in the paper, too, but we can give you a pair of glasses, and you can comb your hair differently. You can bond over your indulged pets.”
Cliff looked at Doug, who nodded. “What I’d like to get a sense of is her general state of mind. I mean, shouldn’t she be worrying over her husband, one way or the other? Either she should be worried that she’ll be caught for whatever she did, or that people are looking for him, right? Why is she taking the time to go to the vet?”
“A distraction?” I offered. “Maybe she needs to do everyday things so she doesn’t go crazy.”
“Makes sense,” Sam said. “But there could be other reasons.”
Doug sat up straight and slapped his knees. “I have to get going. I’ll grab Carl, and Sam can tell me how to drive him out to his hideout. I’ll have to call Belinda and tell her we’re absconding with her brother. Meanwhile, Cliff, you can don your friendly neighbor clothes. What time did you say she’ll be there, Lena?”
“Three o’clock.”
“Great. Plenty of time to get Cliff and Rochester ready,” Doug said, standing up and pressing a button on his phone. “I have to make a call.”
Camilla sighed. “Well, I suppose I should break the news to Carl, eh? Although I think he’ll be relieved. The boy was quite nervous when he got here.”
I had been biting the inside of my cheek—an old anxious habit. I made myself stop. “I hope he doesn’t have to stay underground for long.”
“The apartment is stocked with dry goods,” Sam said. “We can pack up some milk and eggs for him, stuff like that. He can lie low for days, making his recipes in peace.”
Camilla nodded, then left the office to talk to Carl.
Cliff scratched his head and gazed out Camilla’s office window. “I think one of you should come with me and stay in the car.”
“Why?” I asked.
He shrugged. “This could lead to absolutely zero. But let’s say it doesn’t. Always prepare for the unexpected, right? If I end up following her, or even chasing her, then you need to take the dog. Plus, who knows what you’ll see outside? Two sets of eyes.”
“Three,” Sam said.
I turned to him. “You’re still sick.” He was starting to look pale again; I felt his head and
found it clammy.
“I’m well enough to sit in a car. And I don’t want you in it alone.” Sam folded his arms and looked at me with his determined face. Cliff put a hand on his shoulder, perhaps in solidarity.
“Okay, fine.” I smiled at the two of them; they looked more like brothers every day. “We go to town, Doug hides Carl, and Camilla stays at home base with Rhonda.”
Cliff sobered. “Right. Taking action is good; action can make things happen. Start those dominoes rolling.”
“I guess so,” I said. “But once the dominoes start falling, they keep falling—until the end.”
Outside some orange leaves blew past on a gust of wind. I thought of the first day I had come to town, almost a year ago: it had been cold autumn, and a storm was coming in. When it came, it brought murder and chaos.
Somehow history seemed to be repeating itself.
17
The unexpected: we all dread it, but we long for it as well. It’s the dichotomy of our existence.
—From the notebooks of Camilla Graham
SAM SAT WITH his brother in the front of Cliff’s car. Cliff had changed into a pair of jeans and one of Sam’s flannel shirts, and he looked ruggedly handsome as he stared solemnly out the front window, squinting through a pair of cheaters that Adam had lent him.
Rochester sat beside me, tongue lolling, tail wagging like mad if anyone even dared to look at him. He rarely got rides in the car; I hoped that poor Heathcliff didn’t know what a perk his brother was getting while he sat inside.
“Do you remember what to say?” I asked Cliff.
“His name is Rocky, and he’s been limping on and off,” he said automatically. “I’m concerned he might have a thorn.”
“Okay, great. And while you’re in the lobby with her, ask about her cat. People love to talk about their—ouch, Rochester, that is my leg! Cliff, see if they’ll trim this guy’s nails, too. He just stabbed me with three of them.”
Rochester thrust his big face into mine; he did not look apologetic.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I said, scratching his ears. He leaned in to sniff my neck.
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