“There's no way you could have known,” I explained, “but, according to the health department, decorated carrot bars from the fair caused food poisoning. Three people who ate them were taken to the hospital yesterday.”
Kayla's face crumpled, and she burst into tears. “I killed Josh's uncle,” she wailed.
Josh pulled her into his arms and tried to comfort her.
“It wasn't your fault,” he said. “But it sure is somebody's fault. I want to know who made those carrot bars and how they ended up at the fair!”
“That's exactly what we want to know, too.” Lieutenant Belmont had come outside to investigate the commotion.
He looked at Susan and me with disapproval. “I thought you two would be long gone by now. Get out of here. Scoot!”
Although I didn't appreciate his tone or his patronizing attitude, we complied, leaving Josh and Kayla to deal with the lieutenant's questions.
It wasn't until I went to bed, snuggling under my fluffy comforter, with Laddie stretched out across my feet and Mona Lisa curled up on her pillow next to me, that I realized both Susan and I had completely forgotten about using her jumper cables to try to start my SUV. I made a mental note to call the auto club in the morning before falling to sleep and dreaming about carrot bars decorated with a black skull and crossbones contrasting with garish carrot-orange frosting. Not nearly the sweet dreams of sugarplums that I'd had a few days before.
When I woke up the next morning, I had a headache. Laddie sensed my distress and anxiously leaned in close to me while Mona Lisa, oblivious, meowed loudly, demanding I serve her breakfast.
I reassured Laddie with a hug and some soothing words, put on my robe, and accompanied my crew to the kitchen. I put the kettle on to boil before I dished out breakfast at opposite ends of the kitchen for my furry companions. After drinking a couple of cups of strong black breakfast tea, I felt my headache begin to dissipate.
I turned on my cell phone, which I always switched off at night to avoid being awakened by a chiming notification, and saw that Belle had texted me after I'd gone to bed, leaving me the message that she and Dennis had opted to stay overnight in Prescott but would be back by noon today. I decided to wait until they returned to tell Belle about the shocking news of Eric's death, caused by the poisoned dessert bars.
I hadn't forgotten that the lieutenant had directed me to go to the police station to make a witness statement, but before I could drive anywhere, I needed to get my SUV started. After calling the auto club and learning that it would be a forty-five-minute wait until someone from their local contracted garage showed up, I hurriedly dressed and took Laddie for a quick walk in the neighborhood.
Several minutes after we returned, the mechanic showed up. After I explained that the car wouldn't start, he hooked up a battery tester to diagnose the problem.
“Deader than a door nail,” he announced cheerfully.
I felt far from cheerful myself at this not-exactly-unexpected news.
“I can replace it for you. A new battery comes with a three-year warranty.”
“OK. How much?” I asked, not that it mattered. I needed a battery and, although I might save some money if I asked Dennis to drive me to the auto parts store when he got off work and help me install it, I didn't want to wait.
After the mechanic told me what the damages came to, I reluctantly handed over my credit card, and, when he'd finished installing the new battery and my car started as soon as I turned my key in the ignition, I decided it was worth it.
I could go to the police station, make my statement, and shop for groceries on the way home, all before noon.
Sergeant Martinez was standing at the counter in the reception area, talking to a couple of other uniformed officers when I arrived at the station.
“Hi, Amanda. Let's go back to the conference room.” He grabbed a clipboard, and we went down the hall. I'd been in the drab interrogation room before, but this room was different. It actually looked more like a conference room in a business office, with a large rectangular table dominating the space, rather than a prison cell.
He sat across from me and handed me the clipboard. “Just write down everything that happened last night, starting from the time you arrived at Eric Thompson's house. I'll type it up for you to sign, and you can be on your way. If Bill has any questions, I'm sure he'll be in touch.”
“I'm sure he will.”
Dave laughed as I rolled my eyes. At Dave's wife's request, I'd visited the grumpy lieutenant when he was in the hospital a few months back, and we all knew what an irascible character he was. To my knowledge, Dawn and Dave Martinez were the only friends Lieutenant Belmont had in the world.
“I'm surprised he's back at work already,” I told Dave. “I thought he looked a little pale last night.”
“Yeah, he's probably pushing it to come back this soon. He jumped the gun a little, most likely. When the chief found out he hadn't cleared it with his doctor, he insisted on written medical approval. That's why Bill isn't here this morning. He's at the doc's right now.”
“Well, I hope it goes all right for him. He wasn't too cooperative while he was in the hospital, as I recall.”
“You know Bill. He's stubborn, but if his doctor doesn't give him the all-clear, he won't have a choice. He'll be back on medical leave for a while, and that won't improve his mood any.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Well, I'd better get back to the desk. Just bring me your statement when you're done.”
As soon as Dave left, I began writing. I concentrated so that I wouldn't leave out any details. Dave had left the door ajar, and I could hear voices in the hallway a few times as people walked past, but it wasn't until a cell phone rang and I heard the chief answer it, right outside the conference room, that I set my pen down and paid attention.
“What's that you say? The poison's called coniine? I've never heard of it,” He paused. “You're sure? Well, I'll be. This is a weird one.”
He moved away from the door, his voice fading, as he continued with his phone conversation, until I heard a door close.
I reached into my bag, pulled out my cell phone, and searched for the word he'd mentioned. A dictionary definition popped up, and one word in it set off alarm bells immediately: “hemlock,” the poison that killed the Greek philosopher Socrates! Other than that well-known case, I'd never heard of anyone who'd been poisoned with hemlock, but surely the chief had been talking to somebody at the health department or maybe the lab. I knew it had to relate to the case at hand.
Returning to my phone, I searched for cases of hemlock poisoning. A few reports mentioned that people had mistaken a hemlock root for a wild carrot. None of those incidents had happened in Arizona, as far as I could tell, but I did find out that both poison hemlock and water hemlock grew in Arizona. In fact, poison hemlock, if eaten, was one of the most toxic plants in the state.
“All set?”
I was so startled I dropped my phone. As it clattered on the tabletop, I smiled at Dave, trying to conceal my embarrassment at being caught fiddling with my phone when I should have been finishing my statement. “Just about. It shouldn't be more than a couple more minutes.”
“OK,” he said, easing into the chair opposite me. “Take your time.”
I hurriedly scribbled my last paragraph while he waited patiently for me to finish. I don't think he noticed, but my hand was shaking the whole time.
Had someone innocently mistaken the poison roots for carrots, or had the poisonings been due to a far more sinister cause?