The EMTs wheeled Lori away to an ambulance.
Ken stood in the middle of the living room, eying the scorched pink patch of carpet that Cathy had smartly doused with the entire contents of the punchbowl. He looked up to view the handful of ladies who remained. “So this was a party?”
Heads bobbed, but nobody answered. Maybe because parties are supposed to be fun.
“Did anyone see Lori eat or drink anything?”
“She wasn’t eating,” one portly woman said. “She said she was dieting. Maybe that’s what got to her.” A ripple of conversation erupted as guests mulled the dreaded plague of low blood sugar.
“So maybe just a combination of the heat and not eating?” Cathy said.
“But she said she’d been drugged,” another woman insisted.
I wondered at that too. Lori had been quick to suspect that drugs had led to Craig’s fall. I had no idea if that was a result of town gossip or if she’d overheard something. As the mayor’s wife, Lori was often privy to information on all aspects of the community, and since Ken reported to her husband, that often included police investigations. Perhaps she had heard about the line of investigation questioning whether Craig had been drugged, and maybe that influenced her perception on why she was feeling ill.
Or, even more chilling, might someone really have drugged her? I hazarded a glance toward Jenna Duncan, who was leaning in the doorway to the kitchen. She had access to all the food and beverages, but why would she target Lori? And would she be stupid enough to do it when she, as kitchen help, would likely be the first suspect?
“I don’t feel so good either,” another guest said. Power of suggestion? If we weren’t careful, half the women at the party would be in the ER suffering from the effects of mass hysteria.
“I’ve sampled most of the appetizers,” I admitted. “And I feel fine.”
“Wait!” Cathy said. “Clean Queen.”
“What about it?” Ken said.
“She’d been taking sips of it all evening,” Cathy said.
“More than sips,” another woman volunteered. “Toward the end she was chugging it.”
“Clean Queen?” Ken said, picking up a bottle from a nearby table. He unscrewed the spray cap and sniffed the contents. He thought for a moment, then sniffed it again.
“It’s supposed to be organic and nontoxic,” Cathy said.
Ken’s lips shut tight as he screwed the nozzle back on the bottle and set it on the mantel. His face looked grave, but when he wiped his mouth, I could see he was hiding a smile. When he’d composed himself, he said, “The good news is the patient will recover. Nobody was drugged, and you’re all safe. The bad news . . .”
Everyone in the room hung on his next words. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel all the orders. I can’t allow sales of Clean Queen to continue. And I’m going to have to confiscate all the bottles present.”
“But the raffle winner hasn’t been chosen yet!” Cathy was indignant.
“All the bottles,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s illegal to sell this cleaner in this state.” He couldn’t stop the smirk. “At least without a valid liquor license,” he added under his breath when he turned to me.
“Vodka!” I said, snapping my fingers. “I thought I recognized that smell.”
“More like white lightning, but on those same lines,” Ken said.
When the rest of the guests had dispersed, with Jenna promising full refunds as soon as Lori had sufficiently recovered, I apologized to Ken. “Sorry to drag you out here. But when Lori said ‘drugged,’ I was worried we had a serial killer on the loose.”
“I’m glad you called.” He looked briefly around the room. “Is there someplace you and I can talk privately?”
Jenna pointed the way down a short hallway, and Ken and I found ourselves in a dark, masculine office.
I gave him what I hoped was a flirty come-hither look. “In the mayor’s private office? How naughty.”
“Seriously, we need to talk. There’s been a development in the case. The preliminary autopsy results are in.”
“Was in Craig’s system. Yes, we know that. But that’s not what killed him.”
“But it weakened him, plus the injuries from the fall.”
Ken was shaking his head. “Craig may have been drugged, but the cause of death was heart failure.”
“So after all this, his death was from natural causes?”
Ken shook his head again. “The medical examiner isn’t done yet, but he said other findings are going to make this one a clear homicide. Something about the acid levels in his blood.”
“From the drug?”
“He said no, and he’ll explain further in his report. But he’s saying that the buildup of acid was caused by Craig not getting enough oxygen. And the lack of oxygen combined with the acid buildup led to cardiac arrest.”
“Were his lungs damaged in the fall?”
“No. His doctors were sure of it because they were amazed that it was one part of him that wasn’t affected. They have the X-rays to prove it.”
“Then why wasn’t he getting enough oxygen?”
Ken took a long breath. “The ME’s not 100 percent sure. He’s comparing some injuries around Craig’s nose and mouth with the X-rays taken after he arrived, but he’s thinking someone smothered him. It’s going to be a while before he releases the body for burial.”
“Someone smothered Craig in the hospital?” I sat down on the arm of an overstuffed burgundy leather chair. “We were on our way to visit him. A few minutes earlier and we might’ve walked in on the killer. We could have prevented it.”
“Or escalated it,” Ken said. “And gotten hurt in the process.”
I swept my hair from my face and considered the ramifications. “They didn’t just drug him to get something and accidentally give him too much,” I said. “Someone wanted him dead. At least we know it was actually Craig they were after.” Relief flooded me. My father’s list of enemies . . . at least that line of investigation had officially dead-ended, even if it had been mostly my own paranoia keeping it alive. But I felt a stab of guilt too. Craig had been targeted, and this time, the killer succeeded. And apparently right under my nose.
Ken nodded and pulled me into a comforting hug. A minute later, he began to kiss my neck.
I pushed him away. “What are you doing?”
“Just thinking you were right,” he said, winking at me. “It’d be a shame to waste being alone with you in the mayor’s office.”
# # #
Maxine showed up, bright and perky, at nine thirty the next morning, even though we didn’t open until ten.
“Did the garage do a good job with your car?” I asked. “I still feel bad about that.”
She waved off my concern. “Never looked better. I think they took out some of my old dings at the same time. Besides, I’m not going to complain about my new boss on the first day.”
“Have you heard anything more about your job at the comic book shop?”
“I told the kid’s mother that I could help them clean up and take inventory. I don’t think it’s good news, though. I’m thinking she’ll probably want to sell it lock, stock, and barrel before next month’s rent is due.”
“I forgot Craig was only renting that building.”
She nodded. “And there’s a waiting list of people looking for Main Street frontage at the right price.”
I thought about that for a second. Surely nobody would sneak into a hospital and suffocate Craig for his storefront. But it reminded me that the ties connecting the comic books to Craig’s murder seemed to have melted away, and no new motives had surfaced.
“So you’ve met the new owners?” I asked. Follow the money, Dad had always said.
“Just briefly,” Maxine said. “The kid, you could tell he kind of liked the comic books. Barely looked up from his reading the whole time I was there. His mom, though. I think she has other plans.”
“Did she say more about her relationship with Craig?” I asked. “I’m sorry. That sounds so nosy. But I never heard of a Mrs. Craig. Or of a son, either.”
“They were never married. I gathered it was a rather brief encounter,” Maxine said. “For what it’s worth, I never knew he had a kid and I worked with him every day.”
“You never saw either of them before?”
“Nope,” she said, and then her eyes clouded. “I don’t know what I expected. The boy’s not particularly sad, but then again, why would he be? I’m not sure he even knew his father. I expect the mother’s trying to figure out whether Craig being dead is good or bad for her money-wise. I think he was paying child support of some kind.”
“And now that’s going to stop,” I said, “but there’s the shop, a house, and probably life insurance.”
“Right,” she said. “But the kid seems like a quiet boy. Well-mannered, at least, from what I saw. I hope you don’t have a problem with letting me flex my hours so I can help them with the shop. I feel I owe it to Craig, and I’d hate to leave matters up in the air.”
“No, not at all,” I said. “In fact, I don’t suppose you can introduce me to the new owners?”
“You mean, accidentally on purpose?” She smiled.
“Something like that.”
“I can do that. But I want to ask you a question first.”
“What’s that?”
“Why the interest? I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate all you’re doing, but . . .”
Dad interrupted. I hadn’t even realized he’d come downstairs. “You didn’t tell her why we’re so interested?”
He shook Maxine’s hand firmly. “Welcome aboard!” He leaned back on the stool. “I was telling Liz that I’d love to put in a comic book room. If Craig’s Comics is shutting down, I’m interested in buying him out.”
“Oh!” Maxine visibly relaxed. “We should be done with the inventory by the end of the week. Only I’m not so sure how early they can sell. Legally, that is. I know they want to be out of the building before the next rent check is due.”
“The legal niceties can take a while,” Dad said. “It’d be easier for them than trying to sell the stock to anyone else. We pretty much just have to walk them across the street. And we have an employee who already knows the inventory. Now, if only she were permanent . . .”
“I was kind of hoping the job could be more than temporary. But even if that’s not possible, it gives me some cushion to find something new.”
“We can’t promise anything now, Maxine,” I said. “But I’ve seen you work, and I’d definitely like to keep you. Give me some time to crunch the numbers to see if I can make that happen. There’s no guarantee we’ll get those comic books.” I eyed my father. I didn’t know what he had up his sleeve. A comic room? Where would we put it? I turned back to Maxine. “But even if that doesn’t happen, I know my sister-in-law who works the doll room might be looking for some time off in the future.”
“So concentrate on learning the doll room. Check.”
Maxine was a quick study the rest of the morning. It only took about ten minutes to figure out our confusing cash register. “It’s not that much different from Craig’s,” she said, ringing up a satisfied customer and sending her away with a smile.
During a lull, she asked where we kept our cleaning supplies, and when Cathy finally came in, apologizing for being late but looking more than a little green about the gills, Maxine shadowed her in the doll room, peppering her with all kinds of intelligent questions.
Dad quirked an eyebrow. “Who said ‘Good help is hard to find’?”
I shook my head. “I sure hope those numbers work. If we can’t afford to keep her, who is going to tell her? And where are we going to get the money for all those comic books? More pressing, where would we put them? A comic room?” I looked around our packed storefront. We could probably put a few display racks in the front, but that’d cut into our nostalgic candy and the open space we used for game tournaments.
“Trust me. I know what I’m doing,” he said.
“Sorry, Dad, but the father-knows-best routine is wearing a little thin. I’m the one who pays the bills, and frankly, our creditors like it better when there’s money in the accounts to cover all those checks.”
“Have I ever let you down yet?” He smiled his most charming smile.
“Not exactly, but we’ve squeaked by pretty close a few times there.”
“Yeah, well, squeaking only counts in . . . hinges. And mouse traps. And car brakes. Oh, and those slobbery little dog toys.”
“Nice try. How about we add squeaking wheels and which one gets the oil—as in which creditor gets paid and which doesn’t?”
He put his hands up in surrender. “I won’t sign anything or make any firm verbal commitments until we have all the numbers and have gone over them together.”
“Deal,” I said.
“And in the meantime, you and I can try to learn a little more about Craig and who might have killed him and why.”
“You don’t think it was those mob guys?”
“I think they’re connected in some way, but I don’t see how the DA’s going to press a murder charge. Yeah, so they had the scopolamine—if the toxicology proves that. But that’s not what killed Craig. There’s no evidence that was their intent, and no smoking gun to connect them to the suffocation.”
“Someone sneaked into the hospital,” I said.
“Or walked in, looking like they belonged,” Dad said.
“Are there security cameras?” I asked.
“I’m sure the police already have them, as long as they didn’t run out of space. The modern systems use DVRs, so they only keep so much information before it’s dumped. But even if they’re seen walking into the hospital, that’s a far cry from placing them in the room before Craig died. And there’s no case at all without a motive.”
“They obviously wanted the comic books.”
“Maybe, and that might’ve been the motive behind the whole scopolamine deal,” Dad said. “But since that didn’t kill him . . .”
“They must have had another reason to want him dead.”
“Maybe. But until someone figures it out soon, I have a feeling that those two birds are going to fly.”
“What about the forensic accountant you were telling me about. This Mark Baker guy. Might he find some connection?”
“Between Craig and the mob? You have to bet he’s going to be looking.”
I stared at Dad for a moment. “I hate you.”
“What did I do?”
“Why is it all of a sudden my business? I feel like I should be out there doing something.”
“That’s my fault?”
“It has to be in the genes or something. Or in the water. From now on, I make the coffee.”
“Or maybe it’s in the Clean Queen.”
“I was at that party, but I didn’t inhale.”
“So . . . who are we looking at? The two mob guys.” Dad scratched his head. “You’ve called them Batman-man and Grandpa so often I can’t even remember their names.”
“Jenna Duncan isn’t off my list. Craig’s son or his mother.”
“Anyone else?” he asked.
“I’d like to look more into Craig’s new comic book venture, to see if anyone would profit from that.”
“Or if he stepped on anyone’s toes.”
“Maybe I can just bring up the topic of Craig tonight at game night,” I said, “and see what people have to say.”
“Town meeting? I like it. What’s on the calendar for tonight? With all that’s been going on, I lost track.”
“It’s specialty card game night.”
Dad winked. “So you might use that to find suspect number . . .”
“Uno.” I grinned.
# # #
When four forty-five came around, Cathy said, “Because I came in late today, I’m going to compensate by leaving early.”
“Writers group?” I asked.
“No, I’m finally going to have that certain talk with a certain someone. Wish me luck?”
I kissed her cheek. “You’re not going to need it.”
When she was out the door, Maxine looked after her. “I like your sister-in-law. I hope nothing’s wrong that she has to take time off. She didn’t look well this morning.”
“Nothing to worry about. Hey, would you help me set up some tables for tonight?”
“What’s tonight?”
“We host regular game nights here at the shop. Honestly, it’s mostly because I’m a board-game junkie, but it drives a few customers in.”
“It varies, but tonight is specialty card games, like Uno and Skip-Bo.”
“Pit?”
“Sure, if enough people want to play. We also have some more obscure games. Like Bohnanza—which is all about trading different kinds of beans. And then there’s Dutch Blitz. That’s an Amish game. ‘Vonderful Goot Game,’ at least according to the package. I think I agree.” Although it can be a bit fast-paced. We’d even had a few injuries.
“Sounds like a lot of fun. Can anyone come?”
“Of course. Off the clock, though. Sorry.”
“Not a problem. I’ll have to get home and check on my cat.”
“We don’t start until seven, anyway, so plenty of time.”
“Well, then,” Maxine said, reaching for her sweater, “I’ll see you later!”
# # #
The first one to arrive at game night was Jack Wallace.
If he’d worn a hat, he would have been kneading it in his hands. “Hello, Liz.”
“Jack, you’re here early.” I hadn’t expected him to come at all.
He took a seat at an empty table. “Yeah. I was hoping we could talk.”
Dad chose that moment to barge in from the back room whistling a song from an old musical. It took me a moment to realize it was “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair” from South Pacific. So much for his pledge to stay out of my love life.
“Jack, how’s it going?” he said. He had the effrontery to act surprised to see him. I suspect he’d run down the stairs after seeing Jack walk up.
Jack stood up to shake his hand. “Fine, sir. I wanted to thank you. For what you did for Terry. He told me you found him and convinced him to go to the station.”
“Just a matter of knowing where to look. No sense in him getting into more trouble than he deserved.”
“I appreciate it, and I wanted you to know that.” He then directed his gaze at me. “And I need to apologize to Liz.”
“Me?”
“You were right to not trust Terry. I should’ve never come down on you like that.”
I shook my head. “Jack, he’s your brother.”
“And I’ll always love him, but I also need to realize that I can’t blindly stand up for him. Nor should I expect anyone else to. He needs to prove himself. He needs to regain trust, and that’s going to take time, if he can manage it at all. It was unfair of me to treat you like I did.”
“Enough,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad Terry didn’t steal those comics. It wasn’t something I wanted to believe.”
“Liz, I just wanted you to know I was sorry. And . . .” He trailed off and looked at my father, who was still there in the room.
“I think I’ll go make some coffee,” Dad said.
“Thanks,” Jack said. “Liz, I also wanted to make sure we could salvage our friendship.”
“You know we’ll always be friends.”
He swallowed hard. “And if we could pick up where we left off?” If he’d looked any more sheepish, he’d be eating grass in the fields and sprouting a thick wool coat.
“I . . .” I started, but that was all I could get out.
The realization and disappointment poured over Jack’s face. “That’s okay. I understand,” he said, his voice husky.
“Things changed.”
“Ken?”
I nodded.
“He’s a good man. A far better man. And not stupid enough to walk away.” Jack picked up a deck of cards and rolled it on the table. “Look, I’m not up for fun and games tonight. Maybe I’d better get home.”
I nodded again, not trusting my voice.
When the bell over the door signaled his departure, Dad reappeared. “You okay, kiddo?”
I looked up at Dad. He went blurry, and the next thing I knew I was blubbering all over his shirt.
“Let’s get you upstairs before people start arriving, okay?”
Safe in my room, I had one last cry over Jack, thinking about all the years we’d had together, all the years we didn’t. My mind rehashed every moment, from the first time he asked me out in high school, to the time he dumped me at the prom, to the recent renewal of our relationship, to the absent-minded daydreams I’d had throughout the years about what a future would be like with Jack. I loved him. I really did.
When Cathy had suggested that I needed to choose, she was right. I just didn’t realize that the choice would tear me apart.