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I went in early to work on Thursday morning. Bekah’s questioning had gone smoothly the day before, but unfortunately, she’d been no help to the investigation. She told Dean that she couldn’t remember ever discussing hemlock with Viki, but didn’t discount the possibility. They had occasionally talked about Bekah’s work, but there hadn’t been an in-depth discussion about hemlock specifically that she could recall.
After some work in the stillroom and seeing a few patients, we hit a lull. I sent Bekah back to my office to do some studying for her upcoming certification tests. She was nervous about them, but she had an amazing grasp of the material and a sharp mind. I told her that she’d do fine and would probably even get a higher score than I had.
Just before lunch, Tiffany Bright came into the store. “Hi, Bryony,” she called out with her usual brilliant smile. She was dressed in a deep purple suit with a short skirt, her golden-blonde hair pulled back into a French braid.
“Hey, Tiffany,” I said, seeing her in a new light now that I knew her secret. “Can I help you find something?”
“Yeah, I’m looking for a gift for my boyfriend.” She flashed me a smile, but I detected a bit of nervousness in it. “He hasn’t been sleeping very well lately.”
Oh, I’ll be he wasn’t. Was he worried about a divorce in his very near future? I left the register area and moved over to one of the shelves that displayed our stock of pre-blended teas. One of them was a variation of the one I’d made for Viki. I took a box of it off the shelf and handed it to Tiffany. “This is our best-selling sleep aid.” I paused for a moment before saying, “Is Paul allergic to ragweed?”
Tiffany’s mouth opened in shock, and she gaped at me for a long moment. “What? P-Paul? My boss? I’m not... He’s not...” She closed her mouth, and her pretty blue eyes filled with tears. “How did you know?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said with compassion, reaching out to take Tiffany’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. I felt like a heel for making the girl cry.
She yanked her hand out of mine and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Did Viki tell you?” she asked, her voice sharp. “She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m glad she’s dead.” Her eyes grew wide once more, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “I didn’t mean that. I just... It’s just all so awful.” She shook her head and began crying once more.
Way to go, Bryony, I said to myself. “Come into my office, Tiffany. I’ll make some tea, and we can talk if you want.” She nodded and followed in my wake.
Bekah was sitting at my desk, her nose in a pile of books. She glanced up, saw Tiffany’s tears, and closed the books. “I’ll go up front,” she said, rising from my desk and giving Tiffany a soft, compassionate smile. She left my office and closed the door behind her. Bekah was going to make an amazing herbalist.
I pointed to one of the chairs across from my desk and said to Tiffany, “Have a seat here. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Tiffany dropped into the chair and reached for a tissue from the box on my desk. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “This is all such a mess,” she said, sitting back and clutching the crumpled tissue in her hand.
I made some tea—catmint, chamomile, valerian, and hops for Tiffany, lapsang souchong for me—and then settled down at my desk. “How did it start?”
She took a sip of the tea and sighed. “The affair or what Viki was doing?”
“Either. Both. I’m here to listen to whatever you want to talk about.”
She gave me a tentative smile. “The affair started when I was still in real estate school. Paul was one of the guest speakers, and I was attracted to him right away. We were careful not to carry on in town or when we were around other people, but I guess Viki found out anyway.”
“When did she first approach you?”
“About a year ago. She brought Paul proof of the affair—photos of us coming out of a room together at the Lodgepole in Idaho Springs, photos of us kissing at the Vintage Moose where we’d meet on Saturdays sometimes. Then she approached me and showed me the same photos.”
“How much did she ask for?”
“At first, it was $1,000 a week. But after three months or so, she started demanding $2,500.”
“From both of you?” Tiffany nodded. I whistled softly and did some quick mental calculations. Viki was making close to $150,000 a year, and that was just from Tiffany and Paul. Who knows how many other people she had on the hook? The strange thing was, Viki never gave any sort of indication of her wealth. She rented her house, didn’t drive a fancy car, didn’t wear expensive jewelry or clothing. I wondered where all the money was going. Maybe her partner—if she had one, that is—took it all.
“I know. It’s stupid, and we should have gone to the sheriff about it. But if Alicia finds out, Paul will lose everything—his house, his kids, his business. It’s all in Alicia’s name.” Tiffany’s tears started anew. I handed her a tissue, trying hard not to feel disgusted at this situation—both Viki’s actions as well as Tiffany and Paul’s.
“How did you pay her?”
“Every Thursday, we were supposed to leave the cash inside a particular fake rock in Saxon Lake Park.”
“Thursday?” Tiffany nodded. That was Viki’s regular day off. It made sense. “Did Viki ever mention a partner?”
“No, never. We only ever dealt with Viki.”
I sighed unhappily and gave Tiffany a level look. She cringed and looked away. “You have to talk to Sheriff Jensen,” I said. “And you have to stop seeing Paul. He won’t be the bigger person, so you have to. It’s not just you two your affair is hurting. It’s Alicia and Taylor and Nichole, too,” I told her, mentioning the Holmes’s children.
“I know,” she said, fighting back tears. She took a deep breath and stood up. “I’ll go see the sheriff right now. And I’ll... I’ll break it off with Paul tonight. Thanks, Bryony.”
I stood up, too, and moved around my desk to give her a hug. “It’ll be alright. Here,” I said, picking up a box of the same tea blend I’d made for her and handing it to her. “On the house. One cup every night before bed. It’ll help. And come see me in a week or so, okay?” She nodded, and I walked her out. I stood by the large front window and watched her drive in the direction of the sheriff’s office, then dug my phone out of my pocket and called Dean.
“Jensen,” Dean answered. He sounded curt. I worried that I was interrupting something.
“Um, hi, Dean,” I said, hesitation robbing me of my typical cheerful greeting. “Bad time?”
“Hey, Bryony. No, it’s not. I’m just driving back up from the CBI in Lakewood. What’s up?”
“Well, I was wondering if you had any plans for lunch?”
“Nope. Wanna meet at the Red Dragon?”
“Of course,” I answered with a grin. “What time?”
“Let’s say forty-five minutes. Sound good?”
“Perfect. See you then.”
We hung up, and I busied myself with more work in the stillroom, this time mixing goat’s milk, honey, and oatmeal for a skin-soothing bath. At one, I set out for the Red Dragon Chinese restaurant after turning the sign in the shop’s window from Open to Closed. Bekah was headed to Sunny Side Up for a Monte Cristo and some of the best fries in Colorado. Since it was a beautiful day, I decided to walk the three blocks between the Jørgensen Building and Ponderosa Avenue, where the restaurant was located.
Once more, I felt someone watching me. I stopped and turned in a slow circle, scrutinizing the buildings, street corners, and alleys around me. The only thing that aroused my suspicion was a white van that turned left off of Saxon Avenue just past my shop. It seemed familiar. Who did I know in a white van? No one sprang to mind. Maybe Dean knew. I’d ask him at lunch.
Dean was already there, seated at a booth in the back of the restaurant, close to the huge all-you-can-eat buffet. He was nursing a plate of spring rolls and a small cup of the restaurant’s famous jasmine tea. I scooted in across from him and poured myself a cup of tea. Dean offered his plate of spring rolls to me without a word, and I took one with a smile, pausing only to dip it into a little ramekin of duck sauce before biting off the end.
Once we’d finished with the spring rolls in companionable silence, I followed Dean through the buffet line, piling sweet and sour pork, house fried rice, spare ribs, and more spring rolls onto my plate. I returned to our booth, balancing a laden plate and a bowl of egg flower soup in an amazing feat of acrobatics.
We ate in silence for a while, until both of our plates were mostly empty, and we’d ordered another pot of tea. “Do you know anyone in town who drives a white van?”
“White van?” He frowned in thought. “Some of the service people with the utility companies drive white vans. Why?”
“I feel like one has been following me for the past day or so.”
“Following you?”
“I’ve felt eyes on me a couple of times, but I haven’t seen anyone around. Today, I saw a van turning past the shop.” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s nothing.”
“Get a plate number for me the next time you see it.”
“I will.” I fell silent and then said carefully, “So, I... uh... Well, I talked to Tiffany Bright today.”
Dean set his fork down with deliberate slowness and fixed me with a look that had me wincing. “What did you talk about?” he asked in a level voice.
“Viki. The... The, uh...” I glanced around the restaurant and found it mostly empty. I leaned forward and lowered my voice just the same. “The blackmail.”
“You talked to her about the case? After you promised not to speak to anyone?”
“Yes. It just... It just sorta happened. She came into the shop looking for something for her boyfriend. I asked if Paul was okay and... Well, it just went downhill from that.”
His mouth compressed into a thin, tight line and the muscles at the corners of his mouth bunched. “Tell me what you two discussed. Exactly.”
I repeated the conversation for him as best as I could recall, ending with, “Tiffany said that if Alicia finds out about Paul’s affair, she’ll get everything in the divorce. The kids, their house, Paul’s business.” I gave Dean a significant look.
“No, Paul’s got a rock-solid alibi. He was in Denver for Viki’s murder.” He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t believe you talked to her about this. After you promised. But at least you got her to agree to talk to my department about things. But don’t think that gets you off the hook for this.” His eyes went hard. “I’m really kind of angry with you right now.”
“I’m sorry. I just... People talk to me, you know? And I wanted... Well, I just wanted to help you.”
He nodded and picked up his fork to start eating again. I followed suit, and gradually, the silence changed from awkward to simply companionable. I breathed a sigh of relief and poured us both some more tea. “What about Gordon Oakes?” I asked. I had a strong feeling that Gordon had murdered Viki and maybe Barry, too. He was probably also Viki’s partner in the blackmail scheme.
Dean looked up and raised a brow. I gave him an innocent smile. He rolled his eyes but answered anyway. “Can’t find him. After our wagon ride, I caught up to him in the parking lot and scheduled a formal interview with him for Tuesday morning down at the station. He never showed up. I called his employer, and they show him out in the field, visiting customers, but no one can raise him on the phone or radio.”
“What does he do?”
“Cable installer. Drives his own van.”
“A white van?” I felt a frisson of fear slide down my spine.
“I don’t know. I’ll check into it when I get back to the station.” He gave me a level look. “You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone about any of this. Do you understand me, Bryony?”
I nodded in understanding. “I swear I won’t tell a soul.” He gave me a disbelieving look but didn’t say anything.
After finishing everything on our plates, we both went back for seconds. As we ate, we chatted about mundane things—the wonderful weather, the successful barbecue and bake sale, the other upcoming SummerFest events. At one point, I almost asked Dean to the dance on Saturday night but lost my nerve at the last moment. I experienced a crippling moment of self-doubt and remained mum. I just hoped that Mom and Jennifer never got word of this lunch. They’d give me such grief over chickening out.
When we were finished eating, Dean walked me back to the Jørgensen Building. Outside of Taylor & Sons, we peered in through the window and waved at Mom and Stephen. Dean turned to me and said, “No more investigating, okay? Stay put tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“What? Bryony, you can’t keep poking—”
“It’s Thursday,” I said, holding my hands up to mollify him. “Mom and I have a standing dinner date.”
“Oh. Well, that’s okay. But you can’t go anywhere else. Alright? Promise me.”
“I promise that I will only go to Shoomaker's tonight for dinner with my mom. I will then immediately return home. I will not pass Go, I will not collect $200.”
He chuckled. “I’ll see you later then. Be good.” He turned and left. I ducked into my shop and stood just inside the front door, watching as Dean walked back towards the restaurant where, I presumed, he’d parked his truck.
“He is really cute, isn’t he?”
I jumped, startled by Jennifer’s sudden presence at elbow. “You have got to stop doing that to me!” I said as I swatted her arm. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Dropping Stephen off for his shift at Taylor & Sons before I head next door. Got a date?”
“With Dean?”
“No, with the Pillsbury Doughboy. Yes, with Dean.”
I shrugged and shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Not with him. It’s Thursday.”
Jennifer laughed and shook her head. “Ah, right. With Glynis. That’s so romantic.” I gave her a major case of side-eye, and she snickered. “Call me tomorrow after your not-date?”
“Of course. See you later.” I gave her a wave as she left and I headed towards the back of the store. I settled down at my computer and went to Google’s search page. I was curious about Barry and Viki’s lives and decided to Google them. It wasn’t exactly poking my nose into Dean’s investigation, was it? I mean, I wasn’t out in the world, asking people questions in person. I was in the cyber world, accessing public information that anyone could find, right? Right. I was not violating Dean’s order not to interfere. He couldn’t get mad at me for doing this.
In short order, I discovered that Barry had been a criminal defense lawyer for ten years until changing direction and becoming an estate planner and tax lawyer twenty years ago. I thought that was a bizarre shift but couldn’t find any information on why he had made such a drastic decision.
Information on Viki was even scanter. She’d grown up in Fort Collins, dropped out of CSU when she was just a year shy of graduating, and moved to Saxon Lake the same year. She’d worked at the bookshop ever since. She didn’t have a criminal record, had never been sued, nor had she ever sued anyone. Her life had been pretty boring and normal until her sudden, violent death. Oh, and the whole blackmail thing.
I closed down my computer and went back out to the front of the shop. Bekah and I handled the influx of customers and patients over the next few hours, and I even had some down time to work in the stillroom, grinding more herbs for pills, mixing teas, and hand-dipping candles that had been scented with eucalyptus and grapefruit essential oils.
We closed the shop at five, and I sent Bekah home. I stayed behind to do the books and prepare the daily deposit. At exactly 5:45, there was a knock at the back door. I jumped and made a little noise of fright. I found my cell phone and dialed 911 before approaching the door.
“Who’s there?” My thumb hovered over the Call button on my phone.
“It’s Dean. Can I come in?”
I nearly fell over with relief. As I deleted the call, I opened the door and found Dean standing there, hat in hand. I smiled and stepped back. “What’s up?” I asked as he came into the shop.
“Well, I’m headed over to Gordon’s house. I’m doing a wellness check since no one has seen or heard from him in a couple of days. And I thought since chances are better than good that you’d eventually go over there, that I’d keep you safe and invite you to come with me. So I can keep an eye on you.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Right. I’ll come. Just give me a second to finish up here.” I slipped the deposit into my bag, turned off most of the lights in the shop, and left through the back door, making sure to lock it behind me. Dean helped me climb inside his giant department-issued pickup and then slid in beside me. Once I was settled, he pulled out into traffic and turned the truck towards Cottonwood Street.
“Where does Gordon live?” I asked.
“On Penstemon. He’s renting Patty Wilson’s carriage house.”
“Why are you really letting me come with you?” I asked after a short though comfortable silence. “I mean, I’m a civilian. I don’t know the first thing about crime detection or crime solving or whatever. I make tea for a living. And don’t tell me it’s just to keep me safe and out of trouble. I don’t buy it.”
Dean smirked at me sidelong. “Well,” he began, “you have a very sharp mind. You see things that I wouldn’t have picked up on, stuff neither of my deputies would have picked up on either.” He shrugged. “And as you said at lunch, people talk to you. People who probably wouldn’t talk to me. So. You’ve helped the investigation. That tip about the hemlock was helpful, even if it didn’t lead anywhere immediately. You turned me onto the fact that Viki acted surprised that Barry had been killed. You found the blackmail lists and Viki. And you got Tiffany to make a formal statement about the blackmail. Before she talked to you, she refused to say anything officially to the department.”
“So I’ve really helped?”
“You’ve really helped. And while I hope you understand that I can’t tell you everything that’s going on with the investigation, and I really dislike you investigating on your own, I do feel like I can discuss some aspects of it with you. Maybe something will occur to you that will give us a new angle to look into.”
“Wow. That makes me feel... Well, it’s just nice to hear.” I knew I was grinning like a fool and probably glowing so brightly, I could be seen from Denver, but I didn’t much care.
We soon arrived at Patty Wilson’s restored Queen Anne home and pulled down the long gravel driveway towards the small, one-story carriage house in the back. Patty was standing on the carriage house’s stoop and waved when she spotted us. We climbed out of the truck and Patty approached.
“Mrs. Wilson,” Dean said, nodding and tipping his hat to her.
“Hello, Sheriff Jensen. Bryony. What a surprise to see you.”
“Hello, Patty,” I said. “Dean’s letting me tag along in case Gordon needs help.”
“Oh, that’s a relief. I’m just so worried about him, what with Viki being gone and all.”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Oakes?” Dean asked Patty. I fished in my purse to make certain I had my fully stocked first aid kit inside it.
“For certain? Tuesday night. I saw him at the barbecue.”
“And nothing since then?”
“No, but that’s not so strange. It’s rare I see him,” Patty explained. “He’s a good tenant. Pays his rent on time, never throws loud parties, never complains about things. He’s very quiet. The only time I know he’s there is when I see his van in the drive here.”
“What color is that van?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s white, with those smoked windows and the company’s logo on the side.”
I locked eyes with Dean. He nodded in understanding before turning to Patty and saying, “Mind if we go in now?”
“Well, you’re really not supposed to without a warrant,” Patty said slowly. “But with all the deaths lately, I suppose I can let you in if you promise not to touch anything.”
“Promise.” Dean stepped back and allowed Patty to open the carriage house’s front door.
“Stay out here,” Dean said to me before going inside. His expression brooked no debate.
I nodded. “I’ll keep Patty company,” I said and crossed my heart again. He smirked at me and shook his head in consternation.
After Dean disappeared into the gloom of the small house, Patty turned to me and asked, “Do you think Gordon has anything to do with Barry and Viki’s murders?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I just don’t know either. You always hear neighbors say after someone’s gone crazy that he was so quiet and never bothered anyone. I guess you really do need to worry about the quiet ones.”
We continued waiting until Dean reemerged from the depths of the house. “No one’s here,” he said. “His closet’s empty, drawers pulled out and emptied, shoes and hat and coat are gone. I think he’s in the wind.”
“Is he an official suspect?” Patty asked. “Did he do it? Did he kill those people?” Her hands were shaking, and I worried about her. She’d been to see me a few times for her high blood pressure.
“I don’t know,” Dean answered, not unkindly. “Not yet. I’m officially naming him a person of interest in Viki’s murder, though. Probably Barry’s, too.”
“What’s the difference?” I asked.
“A person of interest is someone we want to talk to because he or she’s got information about a case. A suspect is somebody we think may be involved in the crime.” I nodded my understanding, and he turned aside and radioed McGill to ask him to prepare a search warrant request. “I’ll meet you at the station,” he said to McGill. “I’ve got to make a stop before I can head over to Judge Bartlett’s to get him to sign the warrant. And send Nichols over to stand watch at Oakes’s place, too.”
“Ten-four, Sheriff,” was McGill’s static-filled reply.
Dean turned to Patty and said, “Make sure no one enters this building until Deputy Nichols arrives. She’ll be along shortly.”
“Yes, Sheriff.” Patty looked pale.
I took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, Patty,” I said. “Dean and his deputies will keep you safe. You go on home and lock up once you’re inside. If you feel faint or if you’ve got a racing pulse, you call me immediately, okay?”
Patty nodded and headed across the neat lawn to her own home. I watched as she turned on lights in every room and checked window locks and drew the curtains.
“Come on,” Dean said. “I’ll drop you off at your car.”
I climbed into Dean’s truck, and we spent the rest of the drive in silence. Once we arrived at the Jørgensen Building, Dean said, “Be careful, Bryony. We don’t know where Oakes is or what he has planned. If he’s the one who’s been watching you, he might have it in his head to hurt you because he thinks you know something.”
I shivered with fear. I took a deep breath, though, and squared my shoulders. “I’ll be fine, Dean. Thanks for your concern, though.”
He nodded and waited until I headed into Shoomaker's. I heard the powerful engine roar and the squealing of tires as he raced back to the station. Spotting Mom sitting at our usual table, I made a beeline for a chair and sat down hard in it.
“Are you okay, darling?” Mom asked, her eyes worried.
“Yeah. Just...” I shook my head, trailing off as I remembered my promise to Dean. “Just a long day.”
“Hey, stranger!” Jennifer called out from the counter when she spotted me. “You want your usual, ladies?”
“Yes, please, Jennifer,” Mom said with a smile.
“Okay. One green chile chicken sandwich, fries, and a lime Coke for Bryony, and a Reuben, side salad, and vanilla root beer for Glynis. Coming right up!” Jen disappeared into the kitchen. I could soon hear her humming as she prepared our food.
I leaned forward toward Mom and said in a hushed voice, “Since this’ll be all over the town by tomorrow, I feel like I can share this with you now.”
Mom’s brows flew up, and she leaned closer to me. “What? You and Dean are getting married?”
Not bothering to respond, I said, “Dean suspects Gordon Oakes of Viki’s murder. Maybe Barry’s, too.”
“Gordon Oakes? Viki’s boyfriend?”
I nodded. “They were blackmailing a bunch of people around town.”
“Blackmail? Who?”
“I can’t say. But I’m sure it’ll be in the paper next week. The whole thing.”
Mom looked disappointed but shrugged it off. She seemed happy with what little I could tell her. She had a scoop that no one else had, and that had to make a consummate gossip delighted. We ate our meals, split a piece of Jennifer’s sinful pecan pie, and said our goodbyes.
There was no cat puke waiting for me anywhere when I got home, nor was there blood or tufts of fur that indicated the cats weren’t getting along. I found Beryl curled up in the cast-iron tub again, while Lily was sprawled out on my bed. She watched me from between slitted eyes as I changed into my pajamas. I refreshed their kibble and water and made some cocoa to accompany a batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies I’d baked the week before. I cuddled with the cats on the couch as we watched His Girl Friday. Thoughts of Gordon Oakes, Viki Childress, and Barry Shubitz were put on hold for a while as I watched Cary Grant woo Rosalind Russell. I couldn’t help but notice that Dean was even more handsome than ol’ Archibald Leach.