The next morning, Emory awoke to the staccato purr of Sophie’s snoring. He peered over his chest to see that the French bulldog had curled up under his left arm sometime during his four-hour sleep. He petted her gently, and her eyes popped open, although her body refused to move. “You ready to get up?” The dog looked up at him as if trying to understand. “Come on, let’s get up.” He rolled out of bed, leaving Sophie to stretch before jumping to the floor.
Sophie ran ahead as he emerged from the bedroom, and he followed her to the back door. Letting the dog out to take care of her business, Emory shivered as the morning air hit his warm face. It was still dark outside, but at any moment the sun’s rays would start piercing the darkness from over the mountains.
Decked out in her park ranger uniform, Lula Mae walked up behind him. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
Emory lied. “Great.”
“There’s cereal in the pantry. Will I see you when I get back?”
Emory shook his head. “My partner’s picking me up soon, and we’ll be heading back to Knoxville tonight.”
His words swept the sweet smile from Lula Mae’s face. “Aren’t you still working on your case?”
“Yes, but the investigation involves some office work too.”
“Well, if you don’t feel like driving back one night or just need a place to get away.”
“I know.” Emory gave her a hug.
She kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself.” She opened the door, allowing Sophie to scurry back inside, and left for her post in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Heading back to the bedroom, Emory passed his father, who was dressed in his uniform. “Son, I’m heading to work. You about ready to go?”
Emory looked down at the clothes he had worn to bed and laughed. “No, but that’s okay. I don’t need a ride. Wayne will be here soon.”
“Well, come by if you need anything, and keep me up to speed on how the case is going.” When Emory said he would, the sheriff left.
After showering, Emory rummaged through his old bedroom’s closet and drawers to find some fresh clothes that he thought would be least embarrassing to wear for work. Since he never owned a suit or tie before joining the TBI, he had to settle for a dark-blue flannel shirt and a pair of khakis.
He grabbed the denim jacket he had worn the night before and the garbage bag with his dirty clothes, and he waited in the living room for Wayne to arrive. As soon as he sat on the couch, the French bulldog jumped onto his lap. He asked her, “So what do you think, Sophie? Is it possible that the murders of Britt and Rick are not related?” He paused for a response and received a lick on the chin. “I agree. It would be too much of a coincidence. But what was gained by killing them both?”
The sound of his phone ringing inside his pocket interrupted his one-sided conversation. He scooted Sophie off his lap so he could reach it. Seeing the caller was Wayne, he skipped “Hello” to ask, “Are you having a problem finding the place?”
“I’m still in Knoxville,” Wayne answered, prompting slumped shoulders from Emory.
“Why are you there?”
“I’m going to meet the medical examiner about Rick Roberts.”
Emory clutched the hair at the back of his head. “I’d like to be part of that.”
“No problem. I’ll conference you in.”
“What time do you think you’ll be here?”
Wayne hesitated so long, Emory thought the call had dropped. “I’m not going to be able to come today.”
“What? Why not?”
“I forgot I have to be in court this afternoon.”
Emory popped off the couch. “You can’t leave me here!”
“It’s just one more night. Enjoy the time with your family, for Christ’s sake. It’s just one day. I’ll be down in the morning.” Wayne paused again. “Wait, tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“I don’t care what day it is.“
“If you’re that desperate to leave, can’t you just borrow your dad’s car?”
“No.”
“Besides, staying here will also give me a chance to interview Rick Roberts’ ex-wife. She lives in Knoxville now.”
“What am I supposed to do today?”
“Work the case with your dad. Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you from the ME’s.”
Emory shoved his phone back into his pocket and looked at Sophie. “Don’t ever let anyone else drive your car.”
He heard someone pulling into the driveway. From the front window, he saw Scot Trousdale, Victor Algarotti’s assistant, getting out of a white compact. Emory rushed to the front door to answer it before he had a chance to knock. “Scot, what are you doing here?”
Scot greeted him with a smile. “Agent Emory. You said if I thought of anything.”
Emory tried to hide his annoyance. “I was expecting a call. How did you know where my parents live?”
“It’s a small town. People here are only too willing to share information, as long as it’s not about themselves.”
Emory could tell he wanted an invitation inside, but he wasn’t about to let any potential suspect in a case enter his home, or his former home. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“Victor closed shop today for the funeral.”
“You’re not attending?”
Scot pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I sent flowers.”
“What did you want to tell me?”
“Is it true that Victor is offering a reward for finding Britt’s killer?”
“He mentioned it.”
“If I give you information that is helpful—”
“You’d have to discuss that with Victor.”
“I came to you because I’d trust you over Pristine’s friend to cut me in.”
“I can’t accept any reward…” Emory stopped when he caught the important part of Scot’s last statement. “Who’s Pristine’s friend?”
“That investigator, Jeff Woodard. When Victor said he wanted me to hire one, she’s the one who told me to call him. I got the impression they’re friends.”
Jeff is friends with Victor Algarotti’s wife?! Emory’s eyebrows jumped, before he forced them back into place to try concealing his surprise. “What’s the information you wanted to share?”
“Have you checked out Britt’s ex-boyfriend?”
“We’re checking out everybody.”
“Were you aware that he threatened Victor with a knife the day before Britt died?”
No longer annoyed at the unexpected visit, Emory stepped out of the doorway toward Scot. After all, the man had surprised him with not one but two important pieces of information. “No, I wasn’t.”
Scot acted like he was sharing a juicy piece of gossip as he related the story. “Dan showed up at the factory ranting about how Victor had ruined his life. I tried to stop him, but he got past me and confronted Victor in his office. By the time I got there, I saw Dan brandishing a knife and blaming him for Britt breaking up with him. I don’t know if you know this, but Victor was a boxer in the Navy. He grabbed Dan’s wrist – the one with the knife – and knocked him down with one punch.” Scot laughed. “It was pretty sweet.”
That explains the black eye. Scot was about to say more when the special agent’s phone rang. He saw that it was Wayne placing a video call. “I have to take this. If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
“Oh, I will.”
“And Scot. Thank you for the information.”
Scot grinned and walked away.
Emory went back inside and closed the door behind him before he answered the phone. “Hi Wayne.” He looked out the window to make sure Scot was leaving. He was.
“I’m here with Cathy now.” Wayne held his phone so that Cathy Shaw appeared onscreen.
A blonde woman with a sweet but vulpine face waved. “Hi Emory!”
Emory waved back as he walked to the kitchen to place the phone on the table and take a seat. “Hi Cathy. How are you doing?”
“I’d be better if you two would stop sending me all this work.”
Emory told her, “We hope to make that one the last.”
Wayne stationed his phone on a counter so Emory could see Rick’s charred remains sprawled out on one table and the dead German shepherd on another.
Cathy began her report. “Okay guys, as much as I wanted it to be true, the cause of death was not spontaneous human combustion.” She held up a vial that was one-quarter filled with a blackish granular substance. “Here’s your culprit. Potassium permanganate.” She handed it to Wayne for a closer look. “Potassium permanganate reacts exothermically with hydrochloric acid, which is a primary component of stomach acid.”
“Exothermically?” Wayne asked, handing the vial back to her.
“Gives off heat. With the large amount he ingested, enough heat to ignite the surrounding tissue. After it started, the body fat kept it going.”
Wayne grunted. “Is this potassium whatever available to anyone?”
“Easily ordered online.”
Emory asked, “Cathy, do you know how it was administered?”
“I analyzed everything I received.” She paused for effect. “It was in the tea.” She pulled a glass of brownish liquid from a refrigerator. “Here’s a glass of sweet tea I brought from home.” She placed it on the counter and emptied the vial of potassium permanganate into it. As she stirred, the tea took on a purple hue.
Emory asked, “Wouldn’t he have tasted something in his drink?”
Cathy shook her head. “It has a sweet taste, so his tea might’ve been a little sweeter.”
“So someone came over and dropped this shit in his tea?” Wayne asked before eyeballing Emory on the phone. “Didn’t you say that PI was there before you? He could’ve easily spiked Rick’s tea.”
“I don’t believe that,” Emory responded – although the news Scot delivered earlier gave him a moment’s pause.
“Why not? You just met the guy. You don’t know him or what he’s capable of.”
“I was there when Rick started to light up, and I saw Jeff’s reaction. He was as surprised as I was.” Emory turned his attention back to the ME. “Cathy, the tea Rick drank wasn’t purple.”
Cathy grinned and punctuated the air with her index finger up. “I was wondering if someone was going to ask me about that. I also found tartrazine in the tea.”
“What’s that?” Emory asked.
“Yellow food coloring.” Cathy produced a small bottle of the liquid from her lab coat pocket. She dripped some into the purple water and stirred, and the color changed back to a light brown.
“Well, look at that,” said Wayne with the lilt of wonderment to his voice.
Emory pushed his back against the chair. “This took some planning. What about the dog?”
Cathy nodded and walked over to the dog’s body. “The bullet that killed him came from a .32 caliber revolver.”
Wayne bemoaned, “Why is it never a rare gun?”
“Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to get a bite in before he was shot. There was nothing in his teeth.”
“I don’t get it,” said Wayne. “The killer had a gun. Why not just shoot Rick? Why go to all this trouble? It doesn’t make sense.”
Emory proposed, “Maybe the killer just didn’t want to be there when it happened.”
Cathy chimed in with, “Unless the method of execution is significant.”
Wayne muttered, “Fire.”
“Something to consider,” said Emory. “Anything else for us, Cathy?”
Cathy opened her arms. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Thanks Cathy.” Wayne moved his face closer to the phone so that all Emory could see were his eyes and the deep crow’s feet channeling from them. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Emory stared at his blank phone for a moment before deciding to dial another number.
From the passenger seat of Virginia’s car, Jeff answered his ringing phone. “Emory? Did I butt-dial you?”
Emory responded, “No, I called you.”
“First time for everything. What’s up?”
Emory pondered his words before answering, “I heard something disturbing this morning.”
“Hang on. I’m putting you on speakerphone so Virginia can hear.”
“Hi Emory,” Virginia said with a wave, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Hi Virginia.” Emory was going to ask about Jeff’s friendship with Pristine Algarotti, but he didn’t want to do so with anyone else listening, so he came up with another reason for the call. “Jeff, are you coming to Barter Ridge today?”
“We’re almost there now. Virginia had to drive me because I had a little accident with my car last night.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll fill you in later. What did you want to tell me?”
“I stayed at my parents’ house last night. Wayne took my car back to Knoxville, and he’s not going to be able to pick me up today.”
Jeff laughed. “Well, that is disturbing, I guess. What’s the address? We’ll come get you.”