Chapter 27

When I got back to the car, I found Wilson sitting behind the steering wheel of the old Rolls, dusting the wooden dash with his kerchief. I got in and crouched down beneath the window.

“Drive!” I yelled. “We need to leave, and quickly!”

No one could have seen me through the darkened glass, but I felt safer cocooned in a fetal position. I had already cheated death once that morning by refusing to drink tea with the doctor. I wasn’t about to push my luck with the doctor’s handyman. I worried he may have been lurking in the bushes and spotted me looking into his car. I wanted to make a quick escape.

“Someone after you?” Wilson’s eyes searched the rearview mirror.

“The masked man,” I said. I put my hand to my heart. It felt like it was about to jump from my chest. “I found the gray sedan. It’s parked out behind Conroy’s garage. I just hope he didn’t recognize me.”

Without waiting for further instructions, Wilson put the car in gear, and we rolled out of the drive like molasses. Despite my age and arthritic hips, I could have sprinted faster. Note to self: a 1952 Rolls Royce is hardly a getaway car. The car’s top speed was only slightly faster than a snail’s pace.

As we cleared the guard gate, I sat up and took a deep breath. “I need to see Detective Romero, and that Detective Williams kid too.”

“Williams?” Wilson flinched. “You think just because you’ve seen a gray sedan parked behind Conroy’s garage—which is probably one of a hundred thousand cars exactly like it in the city—that you’re going to convince that young skeptic the car’s owner is your masked man?”

“I do,” I said.

“Really? And that our masked man is somehow tied to the doctor and Matthew?”

“I have a plan.”

“Eli and Christina had a plan too, and they think you blew it. They’re furious with you.”

“Because I broke a couple of cups from Eli’s ridiculously expensive tea set? Or because I failed to sit back and watch the doctor drink the poison brew they convinced Lupe to prepare?”

Wilson shrugged. “They believe the poison was an easy out.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t convinced, and it would still leave Matthew and his mother unaccountable.”

We drove along in silence with Wilson deep in thought, while I tried to imagine my next step.

Finally, as we pulled into the drive at home, Wilson turned to me. “You do know, even after all your efforts today, the detective’s not going to believe you.”

In that regard, Wilson was correct. I didn’t expect Romero or his team of detectives, Williams, in particular, to believe I had been in contact with the doctor’s late wife and his paramour or that I had learned that the rumors surrounding their deaths were true and that they blamed the doctor for their passing. Nor could I share anything about my very convoluted conversation with the doctor. Half the time, I wasn’t sure if he was baiting me, shifting blame onto Madeline and Matthew, or confessing he was responsible for Jared’s death.

But I did have one solid piece of evidence.

“The detectives may think I have nothing admissible, but that’s because they haven’t found the gray sedan parked behind Conroy’s garage. When they do, and Williams finds a cat crate in the back seat—which he will—and he has his forensics people test whatever cat hair they find inside and compare it to Bossypants, they’ll find it a match. And that is evidence there’s a connection between our cat-napper and the gray sedan parked behind Conroy’s garage.”

I marched into the house ahead of Wilson. Convinced I had the evidence I needed to rally the detectives to piece my argument together and find Jared’s killer. Wilson excused himself to do some research, while I headed to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. As I waited for the water to heat on the stove, I put in a call to Detective Romero. The call went directly to voicemail. The problem with today’s modern methods of communication was nobody ever really talks to anybody anymore. We simply messaged each other.

Despite the inconvenience, I left a voicemail and marked it urgent. I told Romero I believed I had made a break in the case and that I needed to see him in person. I also suggested he bring along Detective Williams.

Two hours later, I got a call back.

“Sorry, Misty, I’m—”

“I found the gray sedan,” I said. “It’s parked behind Conroy’s garage.”

I didn’t wait for Romero to explain why he had taken so long to call me back or why he hadn’t chosen to see me in person. I expected him to be elated.

Instead, I was blindsided.

“We have a problem, Misty.”

“What?”

“Dr. Conroy’s filed a restraining order against you.”

Me? I was stunned.

“How could he? I was just there this morning. Amy invited me to tea, and—”

“He says you’ve been harassing her, that she’s intimidated by you. That you convinced her to invite you to tea today so you could get onto the estate.”

“I did no such thing. You know better than that, Detective.”

“I’m afraid I really don’t.” Based upon what I told Romero concerning my covert visits to the mansion, I couldn’t blame him. “And it’s not up to me. The doctor was quite persuasive and insisted we investigate his claim.”

“Claim? What proof did he have?” I asked.

The words had barely escaped my lips when I realized what he might be talking about. The tea set. The exorbitantly expensive Hammersley china tea set I’d knocked to the floor. The doctor had no doubt shown the detective the accident scene. Perhaps even staged the site to make it look worse than it had been. In my mind’s eye, I pictured the tea set, not just those pieces I had caused to fall to the floor, but the entire set, worth thousands of dollars broken into slivered pieces on the floor.

There was no point in trying to explain my actions. The detective would never believe that the doctor’s dead wife and his paramour were haunting him, or that they had subconsciously convinced Lupe to poison the doctor’s tea. Or that by upsetting the tea service, I had actually saved the doctor’s life. I could only move forward and hope the presence of the gray sedan hidden behind the doctor’s garage might help to prove my case.

“Do you want the license plate number or not?” I asked.

“The car’s not there. I got your call before we visited the estate, and we looked. It’s gone.”

“But—”

“Relax. It’s not as bad as you think, and you may have Detective Williams to thank for it.”

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t imagine Detective Williams being any help to me at all.

“Detective Williams? And how is that?”

“That bottle of cologne you brought back from Conroy’s guest house?” Romero said.

“The one Detective Williams said couldn’t be admitted into evidence?” My stomach tightened.

“We tested it anyway, turns out you were right. Williams got the results back from the lab this morning before we got the call from the doctor requesting we come by the house. The bottle had three times the amount of bee venom of any commercial product approved by the FDA. Williams thinks you might be on to something.”

“Really?” I sat down on the sofa. “So the young detective believes I might be psychic after all.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. At least not yet, but it was Williams’ idea once he learned about the concentrate of bee venom in the cologne that we play along.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you said the doctor filed a restraining order against me.”

“He has. And for the record, it was Detective Williams who suggested the doctor file the order. But in truth, it was more for show,” Romero said.

“It’s not real?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s real all right, and you can’t go back there. Not under any circumstances. You need to stay at least one hundred feet away from the doctor and Amy.”

Somehow being slapped with a restraining order didn’t feel like a closed door, but more like a preemptive strike.

“So, if I’m correct in my thinking, it sounds like the young detective may have bought us some time to continue the investigation.”

“Not us, Misty, or not you and me anyway. You’ve done everything you need to do. If you can give me that plate number, my team and I’ll take it from here.”

I wasn’t thrilled Romero had cut me out of the investigation, but after nearly being poisoned by the doctor that morning, I didn’t mind taking a step back and letting Romero and his team wrap things up.

“It’s a Nevada plate,” I said. “Personalized. The letters are X-T-R-M-N and the number eight.”

“Exterminate?” Romero said.

“Clever, huh? Dr. Conroy hired the man to take care of a gopher problem. But if you ask me, I think he’s a hitman, hired to do the doctor’s dirty work. And if I might make a prediction, when you find the car, you’ll not only find a cat crate in the back seat, but you’ll also find something to connect him to Jared’s murder as well.”

“We’ll see. In the meantime, no matter what happens, don’t go back to the Conroy Estate. Promise me.”

I promised. A promise I fully intended to keep.

But things happened.