CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 

"People have affairs, Jamie." Curt brushed barbecue sauce across the chicken breasts and rolled the foil-wrapped potatoes over on the grill before picking up his bottle of beer and joining me on the deck. "If that's what it is."

"I know that." I tipped my head back to breathe in the smoky barbecue scent. It was an uncharacteristically cool night, with a northerly breeze and a cloudy sky. I had borrowed a zippered sweatshirt from Curt and had it zipped up to my throat. I couldn't shake my chill. I also couldn't shake my thoughts of Hilary and her mystery guest. "But don't you think the timing is awful?"

"The timing of what?" Curt studied my face in the gathering darkness. "So she has a male friend."

"Boyfriend," I corrected him.

"And how do we know that?"

I thought about it and admitted to myself that I didn't. The man hadn't used any terms of endearment. He could have been walking around in a towel or a priest's vestments; I hadn't taken the time to look. Hilary obviously had known he was there, and hadn't seemed in any particular hurry to get back to him, but she was the type of person that dealt with the world on her own schedule. "I don't," I admitted.

"Maybe he was her father," he said. "Or brother. Or insurance agent."

I gave him a look. "Don't you know love is a common motive for murder?"

"No," he said. "Do you know that?"

"I've read it." I sounded defensive.

"Well, if it's true," Curt said, "then Heath probably killed himself." He sat with his legs apart, forearms on his knees, picking at the label on his beer bottle. He seemed less engaged than the flies hovering nearby, waiting on the barbecue.

"Well, aren't you being pragmatic tonight." I came off as snippy, and I meant to. If I was George to his Nancy Drew, the least he could do was take me seriously.

He lifted his head, tuned in enough to recognize dripping sarcasm when he heard it. "What's the matter with you?"

I was scared, that's what. I had to find Sherri a husband before she wound up in jail, and Dougie's killer before Hilary strapped me to a fiery stake. I shook my head. "Nothing. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"Now tell me you're not going to ransack the office for clues. No matter how much your new best friend cries."

"I wouldn't know what to look for," I said. "It's in your hands. Well, your brother's hands."

He nodded, satisfied. "Good. We're not going to be stupid about this."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, then I said, "So what should I do"

He gazed off beyond the barbecue at something rustling in the bushes that I couldn't see. "Let's put it this way," he said finally. "I wouldn't eat anything from the office. Don't drink anything, either, that you haven't brought in yourself, that day."

Something prickled up my spine. "You're scaring me. What have you heard?"

He got up to turn the chicken. "Rumors."

"Was it the protein powder?" A plume of barbecue scented smoke drifted past me. All around me I heard the sound of flies licking their lips. "I mean, it was obviously the protein shake," I said. "Was it the powder?"

I didn't think he was going to answer. He began piling slightly blackened chicken on a plate with a pair of tongs. I joined him with a second plate, forked the potatoes over, and began tearing the foil from their skins. I didn't say anything. This must be why he seemed so disengaged; he was worried. Well, that made two of us. Hopefully while I kept on worrying, Curt could figure something out. I knew Curt well enough to know when he was thinking, and I didn't want to push him. I just wanted information. I split each unwrapped potato and knifed a pat of butter into the center of each of them.

"Ever hear of Spanish fly?" he asked finally.

"I don't know. I guess so."

"People used to consider it an aphrodisiac. Stupid people." His shoulders lifted and fell in another sigh. I didn't get the chance to say anything, because he put down the plate of chicken and went inside to get the corn on the cob he'd microwaved. I gathered salt and pepper, retrieved fresh beers, folded napkins and tucked them partly under both of our plates, and waited. When he came back, I said, "If it's an aphrodisiac, I'm not surprised that Dougie might try it. Too much of a good thing?" I didn't know if I was hoping or asking. Maybe both. Something that would suggest Dougie hadn't been murdered.

Curt put an ear of corn on my plate, and I sprinkled pepper down its length. "It's not a good thing," he said, sitting down across the table. "Spanish fly's not an aphrodisiac."

Now I was confused.

"Cam attended Heath's autopsy." Curt sliced into a chicken breast and forked a piece into his mouth. I put my ear of corn down and covered my mouth with a napkin. "He was telling me what Spanish fly does to a person. It's not pretty."

"I get it," I said. I pushed my plate away. I'm no doctor, but what he was saying, and not saying, sounded gruesome. Dougie hadn't deserved that kind of death.

Curt cut another piece of chicken. "And there's no antidote. Heath was dead as soon as he swallowed. Even if he didn't know it."

I thought about that as I studied the food spread out on the table, considered the groceries I bought occasionally, remembered the meals I'd ordered in restaurants. There was no way of knowing when or if something had been tampered with. Curt was making the simple act of eating or drinking sound like Russian roulette. Which triggered something in my memory. "Wait a minute," I said. "People have bought tainted food in supermarkets and"

"Not this time," Curt said.

"brought it home that way. Whoever did this might not work at the firm." I frowned as his words registered. "Why not?"

He ran a napkin across his lips and sat back. "Because I heard the can of powder was already nearly empty."

The can I'd handled. I rubbed my hands on my jeans as if I could rub off invisible residue. "But there was a newer can," I said. "A full can." I hesitated. "Donna bought it." Because Missy had sent her to buy it. Still, Donna was holding a king-sized grudge against Dougie for the courtroom eviction. It wasn't really a stretch to wonder if she'd added a special ingredient to the open can when she'd restocked the cabinet.

It was a quantum leap.

"It wasn't opened yet," Curt said. "At least that's what I heard. What killed Heath came out of the other can." He coated his ear of corn with butter. "Look, this is an ugly situation, but not a random one. Whoever offed Heath must have known no one else used that powder. They specifically wanted him dead."

That wasn't much, but it was something. It made me feel a little safer. And a little selfish for feeling that way, but I could live with that. As long as I could live.

Of course, only my co-workers knew that the protein powder was Dougie's alone

"I guess the cops will want to talk to Donna again anyway," I said.

"They'll do what needs to be done." His eyes met mine. "You ignore Hilary Heath and everything will be just fine."

I knew better. I'd stared evil in the face and that face belonged to Hilary Heath. I had the feeling if I ignored her, everything would be just fine except for me.