I groaned and rested my head on the steering wheel for a couple of seconds. I tried to remember the last time I replaced the battery in my SUV before recalling that I never had. Another unexpected expense, I thought, as I went back inside, surprising Laddie and Mona Lisa.
There was no time to wait for help from the auto club without being late for dinner, so I called Susan, who volunteered to pick me up.
Laddie waited at my side, while I watched for her from the front window. Mona Lisa showed no interest in my impending departure and crept behind the sofa, one of her favorite hiding spots.
When Susan pulled up in front of the house, I left my disappointed retriever behind and scurried outside to meet her.
“Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem. When we get back after dinner, we can try to start your car again. I have jumper cables.”
“Really? You know how to use those? I wouldn't have a clue.”
“I do. They've come in handy more than once.”
“It's worth a shot, I guess.” If it worked, I could put off buying another battery.
“Have you heard anything more about the poisonings?” Susan asked me. I'd called to let her know what I'd learned from Rebecca and Greg earlier, so she was in the loop.
“No, nothing except that I heard about the carrot bars, or a warning about them, on the radio news this morning.”
“It was also on TV. I sure hope the health department people can figure out what's going on.”
“Me, too. Poor Carmen and the band members! What a way to end the fair.”
When we arrived at Miguel's, we found it humming but not so crowded that we had to wait very long for a table. After ten minutes or so, the hostess escorted us to a cozy two-seater booth tucked away in a corner. Colorful pottery and figurines, all handcrafted in Mexico, occupied alcoves in the adobe walls where Diego Rivera prints hung. Recorded mariachi music sounded in the background, but it wasn't so loud that it made conversation difficult.
As soon as we were seated, our server appeared with a bowl of corn chips and smaller bowls of salsa and bean dip. I ordered a margarita, while Susan settled for a diet cola. We barely glanced at the menus the hostess had given us, because we'd dined there so many times before. As usual, Susan ordered the house special, shrimp tacos. I waffled between fajitas and enchiladas, finally deciding on the fajitas, which would come on a sizzling platter, along with sides of rice and beans and generous dollops of guacamole and sour cream.
While we waited for our meals, we munched on the chips and sipped our drinks.
“I promised I'd stop by Eric's place after dinner, but it shouldn't take too long,” Susan reminded me.
“OK. I can wait in the car.”
“No, please come in with me. I'm sure he won't mind.”
“Well, I don't know if I should. He might not appreciate it.”
“To tell you the truth, I don't want to be alone with him. I like him, but only as a friend. When I saw him last year, he made a pass at me. It was awkward for both of us. I could never think of him as anything but Natalie's husband. He may have been drinking before that incident, but, still, it wouldn't hurt to have backup.”
“All right. Safety in numbers, I guess.”
“Exactly.”
After dinner, Susan drove to Eric's house, which was in a quiet neighborhood. Other than a couple walking their beagle, we were the only people outside. Christmas lights twinkled on several of the houses, but no lights were visible in front of Eric's place, nor were there any emanating from inside.
“Hmm. Maybe he's not home,” Susan noted. “I'll give him a quick call.” She waited while the phone on the other end rang several times before she gave up.
“He could have his phone turned off,” I said. “Look, there's kind of a glow over at the side of the house. He could be home.”
“Might as well check, now that we're here.”
We got out of the car and climbed the few steps to the front porch. Susan rang Eric's doorbell, but there was no answer.
“I can hear something in there,” Susan told me. “It sounds like the TV's on.”
“Let's check the side window. That's where the light's coming from.”
We went around to the corner and peeked into the window. Susan had been right: on the wall, a flat screen television blared.
She saw the figure on the floor before I did. She clutched my arm. “Look! Over by the desk.”
Eric was sprawled on the floor beside the desk. As far as I could tell, he wasn't moving.
Susan tapped the windowpane and called to him, but he didn't respond.
My hands trembled as I reached for my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.
“A man's collapsed!” I told the emergency operator.
“Is he breathing?”
“I don't know. We're outside, and he's inside. We can see him through a window, but we can't get in. The house is locked.” At least, I assumed it was locked, but I went around to the front door, anyway, just to make sure.
“Address?”
“7-9-2,” I read the metal numbers beside the front door. “I don't know the name of the street.” I looked at Susan, who shook her head. She was so rattled that she couldn't think of it, either. “We'll have to check the street sign,” I told the operator.
Susan ran to the dog walkers on the other side of the street. At first, they looked at her as though she were a crazy woman, but she finally made them understand that it was an emergency involving their neighbor, and they followed her back to Eric's porch.
“Copper Valley Road,” Susan said breathlessly, and I relayed the street name to the operator.
As we waited for help to arrive, Susan led the couple around the side of the porch, and they were shocked to see Eric lying motionless on the floor inside.
“I'll try the back door,” the man said, vaulting over the porch rail and disappearing around the side of the house. He returned in a minute to report that the back door was locked, too.
We heard the wail of sirens, and the beagle began to bay. The man tried to shush him, but the little dog didn't stop until the sirens did.
A patrol officer approached first, followed by a pair of EMTs.
The policeman had evidently gotten the word that he'd have to break in, but he tried the door, anyway. When it didn't budge, the cop bashed in the side light window with his baton, reached inside, and unlocked the front door. He pushed it open and flipped a light switch. The EMTs followed him, and the four of us were right behind them. We went through the living room into the den where Eric lay on the floor. The police officer grabbed the remote and turned off the blaring television while the paramedics knelt to check on Eric. We held our breaths while they examined him.
“We're too late,” one of them announced.
Susan started to sob.
“I'm sorry. Are you relatives?”” he asked.
“No, just friends,” I responded.
“We're neighbors,” the woman dog walker said. Holding their beagle, her husband stood beside her. The hound wiggled, but he held onto it.
The patrol officer huddled with the EMTs, while Susan tried to control her crying.
“Poor Eric,” she murmured. “He's only forty-five.”
“Could be a heart attack or a stroke, maybe,” the neighbor speculated. “We didn't know him too well, but he seemed like a good guy.”
“Folks, I'm going to have to ask you to wait until my sergeant gets here and we can sort things out.”
“Do they know what happened?” I asked, nodding toward the paramedics.
“No. The coroner will have to determine the cause of death. Now, if you all wouldn't mind waiting in the kitchen—”
As we walked past Eric's desk, I noticed a neat stack of papers, held together by an oversize clip, on top. I craned my neck as we passed by, but I couldn't read the document, although I noticed that the paper was longer than regular printer paper. Susan looked at it, too, but we couldn't stop to examine it because the officer kept urging us to go into the kitchen.
The den was separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar counter. When we walked around the side of it, I saw a gray marble-topped island in the center of the room. But it wasn't the upscale carrara-topped island that grabbed my attention.
It was what lay on top of it.