19

Kate cupped her hands around her mug of hot cocoa and snuggled into the corner of the sofa. “I’m telling you, Julie, the man will stop at nothing to convince me to stop investigating. Tom scoured every inch of my car. He even crawled underneath. He swears I’m putting myself in danger.”

“So why aren’t you freaking out? I’m freaking out and I just live with you. What if he’s right and whoever killed Daisy comes after you next?”

Kate rubbed her arm where Edward’s fingers had dug into her flesh. She shivered at how her near-hysteria over being arrested had caused her to accept a lift from Edward without hesitation. What if it was another lapse in judgment that compelled her to take his side on top of the cliff?

Shoving away the memory of Tom’s ashen face when she stepped in front of Edward, she forced out a laugh. “If Tom believed I was in danger, do you think he would have left here after following me home?”

Julie edged the curtain aside and peeked down at the street. “Um, I hate to tell you this, but he’s still out there.”

“You’re kidding me.” Kate jumped from the sofa, spilling hot cocoa over her fingers. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.” She set the mug on the table and rushed to the window.

“I’m kidding.” Julie laughed. “Look at your face. I think you’re disappointed.”

Kate licked cocoa off her fingers. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She plopped onto the sofa and snagged her mug. “Do you think I want a killer to come after me?”

“Nope. I think you want Tom to be that worried.” Julie waggled her eyebrows.

“Oh, please.” Kate grabbed a throw pillow and tossed it at Julie’s head. “You make me sound desperate.” She refused to be desperate. No matter how much Tom’s terror-stricken expression outside her car had burrowed under her defenses, she wouldn’t let him back into her heart. If he’d cared about her at all, he wouldn’t have been so easily duped by the evidence.

Julie stuffed the pillow behind her back and hugged her knees. “If you ask me, you should have let Tom haul Edward off to jail. You would’ve been doing Molly a favor.”

“I get the impression Molly can take care of herself.” Kate knew being miffed about Molly’s charade was petty. But the woman owned a diamond necklace that could pay Kate’s salary for two years and then some. “She probably laughed out loud when I suggested a scholarship.” Kate snorted. “She needs my help like she needs more diamonds.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the skeptic, not you. I kind of feel sorry for her. I mean, sure, she brought some valuable stuff from home, but she’s essentially still alone with only Edward as a friend.”

Kate’s conscience pricked. “You’re right. Edward said she never knows whether people befriend her for her, or for her money. Just because Molly can take care of herself doesn’t mean she doesn’t need friends.”

“And what about you? Everyone in town is talking about your quote- unquote arrest. I had three people stop me in the grocery store and ask me if the rumor was true. It’s a wonder Harold’s not camped out on our doorstep, waiting to get the scoop. There hasn’t been this much excitement in town since Joe Metler’s mare gave birth to the colt with a fifth hoof.”

“So glad to hear I rank right up there with a mutated quarter horse.”

“Come on, I’m serious. What are you going to do? I don’t want to sound self-centered, but my wedding is in less than two weeks and . . . I need you . . . alive.”

Kate sprang to her feet. “Oh no, Julie, I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

Kate yanked out her hair elastic, fluffed her hair, and smoothed her blouse. “We have to go.”

“Go where?”

“Barbara’s. No, wait.” Kate dug through her purse and pulled out the shower invitation for the surprise party she was supposed to have had Julie at—Kate glanced at her watch—ten minutes ago. “Betty’s.”

Julie rose with a knowing laugh. “The B and B. How did you plan on getting me there without tipping me off?”

“I didn’t. Just act surprised, okay? It’s bad enough I’m getting you there late. Serena will never let me live it down if she finds out you knew about the party too.”

“Yeah, I can see her revenge now. She’ll cut your hair two inches shorter on one side than the other.”

“Hey, don’t laugh. She would. Did you see the dye job she gave her ex-boyfriend’s mom? If she weren’t the only hairdresser in town, she’d be losing clients in droves. Come on. We need to hurry.”

They jogged down the stairs and along the street. The smell of freshly mown grass scented the air. Hopscotch games drawn in brightly colored chalk decorated the sidewalks. Seniors reclining on their front porches, enjoying the cool evening air, waved as Kate and Julie passed by. Murders weren’t supposed to happen in places like this.

Half a block from the B and B, Kate caught Julie’s arm, and they slowed to a stroll. “Remember what I said. Act surprised.”

Julie’s eyes bubbled with amusement. If Kate didn’t know better, she might think Julie enjoyed seeing her tormented.

Before they reached the front door, Serena slipped out the French doors at the far end of the rambling porch. At 162 years old, the B and B, originally the mansion home of the town’s first mayor, was the oldest Victorian in town. In her hip-hugging skirt and moussed-up hair, Serena didn’t fit the ambience. “It’s about time you two showed up. Clara was about to call our men in blue to haul you all in.”

“Ooh, that would’ve been fun,” Julie said. “How about we wander down the street a while longer and Clara can send Detective Parker out to look for us?”

Kate pushed Julie toward the door. “Very funny. Can we please go inside?” Kate followed Julie through the doors to a chorus of “Surprise!” Streamers crisscrossed the ceiling, gussied up here and there by brightly colored balloons—not the pastel pinks typical of bridal showers. Leave it to Serena to shake things up a little.

Julie laid her arm across Kate’s shoulder and squeezed. “Happy birthday, roomie.”

“Huh?”

Julie turned Kate toward the banner hanging over the stone fireplace. It said, “Happy 30th Birthday.”

“Surprise,” Julie squealed into Kate’s ear.

“Ahh! I can’t believe this. I totally forgot.”

Serena handed Kate a glass of punch. “Shut the date out of your mind more likely. But don’t worry. Being thirty is not so bad. Trust me, I’ve had a couple years’ experience.” She grinned.

Every woman in town Kate knew was here, plus more than a few she didn’t. “How’d you get all these people to come to a party for me?” Kate whispered to Julie.

“Easy. Notoriety brings out the glamour seekers.”

“Ha ha.”

Before Kate knew what was happening, she was being passed around the room like a Hug-Me-Suzie doll. Marjorie, the receptionist from the research station, tugged Kate into a bear hug. “I’ve been so worried about you, dear. Did the police fingerprint you?”

“No, the police only wanted to ask me some questions.”

“Oh, what a relief. Darryl was pulling his hair out trying to handle the flood of calls after word got out that the police had come for you.”

Kate tried to smile but didn’t quite manage to pull it off. Marjorie meant well, but she was born with notoriously loose lips. Poor Darryl. It sounded like he’d borne the brunt of the damage this time.

“Oh, I do hope Harold gets the real story before he goes to press,” Marjorie went on. “You know how that man is when he latches onto a headline.”

“I’m hardly headline worthy.”

“Oh dear, you’re too modest. Everyone knows the only reason we even have a police station in our tiny town is because we’re smack-dab in the center of the region and the officers can get everywhere else quickly. Nothing ever happens here.”

“Maybe that’s just what they want you to believe.”

Marjorie shivered, but the smirk that accompanied it suggested the idea of a cover-up was more intriguing than worrisome. “Ooh, Mrs. C and Hilda said the same thing. They said the police want to lull Daisy’s killer into a false sense of security so he’ll get careless and reveal himself. Mrs. C said Detective Parker practically confirmed it.”

“Really? Now that is interesting.”

“She taught those boys in school and can read them like a book. She says Hank and Tom were always thick as thieves. They’re cooking up something. You can be sure of that.”

Kate’s heart dipped. That’s what she was afraid of.

“Oh my, yes, Mrs. C can always tell.” Marjorie patted Kate’s arm. “Don’t you fret. We all know Daisy wouldn’t kill herself.”

Kate wished she could be equally as certain that Tom wouldn’t cover up a crime for his boss.

Julie sidled over to them. “Look who else is here.”

Tom’s sister peeked her head out from behind Julie.

“Tess! Wow, it’s great to see you.”

Julie hugged Kate’s shoulder. “After hearing how well the two of you hit it off this past weekend, I hunted Tess down at the antique shop and invited her to the party.”

“And I’m so glad she did. You should have told us it was your birthday.” Tess held out a floral-wrapped gift. “This is for you.”

They exchanged you-shouldn’t-haves and I-wanted-tos until Julie blurted, “Open it, already.”

Kate tore into the package. “Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow,” she whispered at the sight of an ancient book—Culpeper’s Complete Herbal. Originally published in 1653, it was the first herbal medicine book written in English instead of Latin. In utter disbelief, she traced the embossed lettering on the front cover, then opened it with trembling fingers. According to the date inside, this edition was over 150 years old.

“Oh,” she said again, too overwhelmed to string together a coherent sentence. She carefully turned the ragged-edged pages, brittle from age. At the page on chamomile, she gasped again. The former owner of the book had added handwritten notes in a calligraphic-like script. “Tess, this is amazing. I can’t believe you found this, or that you’d give it to me.”

“You’re the only person I know who would truly appreciate it.”

Tears sprang to Kate’s eyes. She closed the book and gave Tess a long hug. Kate hadn’t thought she’d find another friend like Daisy, one who she not only felt an immediate kindred spirit with but who also understood her passion for herbs. “Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing Tess harder. “You can’t imagine how precious this gift is to me.”

“I’m so glad you like it. Finding it was God’s doing. That woman from the tea shop—”

“Beth?”

“No, not the owner. The cashier. I think she said her name was Molly. Anyway, she was in the store looking for a gift for her dad and spotted the book in one of the boxes my husband was unpacking. Said her dad is really interested in herbal folklore.” Tess touched the book, her lips curving into a pleased smile. “Of course, the minute I saw the title I thought of you. Molly was all set to buy it, but when she saw the writing inside, she changed her mind.”

“Lucky for me!” Kate opened the book to one of the pages that had a note added. “I think the handwritten annotations make the book all the more special.”

Beth, looking much better than she had a few days ago, joined Kate and Tess and Julie. “Did I hear my name?”

“Oh, Beth”—Kate turned the book toward her—“you’ve got to see some of these entries. You could glean interesting quotes for your tea shop.”

“I’m not sure how much of the book you should believe,” Tess cautioned. “I looked up marigolds, and Culpeper touts them as being good for the heart. But aren’t marigolds what the coroner said—”

Julie grabbed Tess’s arm. “Please don’t get Kate started on the differences between edible and inedible marigolds.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Julie’s aunt Betty—owner of the B and B—chimed in. “After what happened to Verna’s cat, I think people need to be made more aware of the dangers, especially those with youngsters.”

“Thankfully most toxic plants are so bitter that children spit them out before any harm is done,” Kate said. “The plants you need to be diligent about are the ones with sweet-tasting berries. I had a professor whose child almost died from eating the bright red berries of the yew tree in their front yard. The flesh is sweet and safe to eat, but the tiny seeds inside are deadly.”

As the women launched into a litany of similar near-miss stories, Beth leaned over to Kate. “I guess I’d better do something about that tree in my kitchen before long.”

Kate gave Beth a side hug. “It’s so good to see you well enough to come tonight.”

“I told Darryl that I’m going stir-crazy cooped up in our apartment. He’s been working such long hours that I’m bored to tears on my own all day.”

“Couldn’t you go down to the shop and keep him company while he closes up?”

“Most nights Molly has it taken care of before he gets home.”

“But—” Kate caught herself before saying something that might upset Beth. Most days Darryl came in late and left the research station early. Kate had assumed he was helping in the shop.

“You must have told him about Verna’s cat, huh?” Beth said. “I noticed that he’d picked the pods off my castor tree.”

The hairs on the back of Kate’s neck prickled. Three well-chewed—or ground—castor beans could kill a person. “Uh, Marjorie probably mentioned it.”

“Right.” Beth chuckled. “Nothing gets past her. Well, I’d better let you mingle.”

“Don’t overtire yourself. I don’t want to end up in my boss’s bad books.” Especially if he was harvesting castor beans.

Tess touched Kate’s arm. “Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”

Kate glanced around to ensure no one was listening, then whispered, “I think I might have figured out who murdered Daisy.”

Tess pulled her into a corner. “Who?”

“I’d better not say here.”

“Do you want me to call Tom?”

“No. He’s the last person I want to talk to.”

“He feels horrible for letting you down.”

“Letting me down?” Kate said, her voice rising in disbelief. “He all but arrested me and then abandoned me at the police station.”

“You need to give him another chance. He’s usually not such a jerk.”

“I’d just as soon work solo. Thanks.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Get proof.”

“You can’t hunt down a killer on your own. At least let me call my dad.” Tess’s blue eyes, too much like Tom’s, begged Kate to be reasonable.

Kate nibbled on her thumbnail. If she followed Darryl in her yellow Bug, he would spot her for sure. “All right. Tell Keith to pick me up at six tomorrow morning. I have a plan.”

Trusting Tess to keep an eye on Kate, Tom headed for Herbs Are Us. He wasn’t sure if Tess befriending Kate would help or hinder his chances of undoing the damage he’d done by practically arresting her. He’d made a fool of himself searching for a bomb in her car. Although from the slight softening he’d seen in her stance, maybe his concern had won him back a yard or two in the trust department.

He shook his head. Focus on the priority here, Parker. Find the killer and Kate will be safe. Tonight that meant establishing Hank and Al’s innocence or guilt once and for all. Hank’s behavior this afternoon coupled with Al’s exchange at the tea shop was too suspicious to ignore. Tom upped his speed. Not suspicious enough to get a warrant, of course. And without a warrant, nothing he saw at Herbs Are Us would be admissible in court. Anyhow, the last thing he wanted to do was broadcast his suspicion that the chief’s dad was a drug dealer by showing up on Brewster’s doorstep with a search warrant. Far better to happen by on the pretense of wanting to question him about his former employee Gordon Laslo.

If Brewster hired the Laslo imposter to testify against Kate, his reaction was bound to give him away. Hank might soon regret tossing the pilfering case onto Tom’s desk.

Tom swerved onto the long driveway that led to the greenhouse. Gnarled branches cloaked the rutted lane. No wonder Kate had been suspicious of this place. It felt like something straight out of a horror flick.

The driveway opened into a large clearing occupied by rows of interconnected greenhouses. A group of Mexican men, ranging in age from late teens to midforties, sat on picnic benches next to the parking lot, eating their supper and chatting in Spanish.

Tom parked his car and approached the group. The spicy aroma of refried beans and hot sauce made his stomach growl. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Brewster.”

The group fell silent. Tom was mentally working out how to say the same thing in Spanish when the eldest-looking man spoke around a bite of his tortilla. “I think he go out.”

“I’ll check to be sure. Thanks.” Tom headed for the bay door of the main building.

“Wait. Boss don’t like gringos looking around.”

That fact made Tom all the more eager to do so, but, reluctant to rouse suspicions, he stopped and turned to the man at the table. “It’s important that I find Mr. Brewster. Would you mind checking for me?”

The man looked from Tom to his tortilla and frowned. “You go ahead.”

Satisfied that he couldn’t be accused of illegal entry, Tom strode through the rows of domed greenhouses and, under the pretense of looking for Brewster, scanned for telltale signs of marijuana. If Tom happened to notice anything suspicious, he’d get a search warrant.

He moved into the glass-enclosed houses. The late evening sun on the glass-paneled roof cast long shadows over benches filled with every imaginable type of herb from anise to yarrow—every one except cannabis.

The farthest greenhouse was different. It housed a variety of annual flowers. Six-inch pots of dahlias sat loaded on racks ready for transport. With the long weekend approaching, everyone would be anxious to get into their gardens and plant their flowers. Maybe he should buy a few trays for Dad to rejuvenate Mom’s other flower beds. Tom stepped forward to take a closer look at the dahlias.

“May I help you?” Brewster’s gruff voice rattled the glass walls.

Tom jerked back his hand. “Yes. Hello. I’m Detective Parker.”

Brewster betrayed no recognition of the name.

“I’m wondering what you can tell me about Gordon Laslo.”

If Brewster was bothered by the question, he didn’t show it. “The kid worked here as an intern for a few weeks, then up and quit.”

“Did he give a reason?”

Brewster shrugged. “Didn’t like the work, I guess. What’d he do?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. During the time he was in your employ, did you notice any items go missing?”

Brewster rubbed a hand over his whiskered jaw and seemed to give the question serious thought—the picture of a cooperative witness. “Can’t say as I did, no.”

“Do you know where I might find Mr. Laslo now?”

“No clue. If there’s nothing else, I need to drive my workers home.” Brewster turned with an air of expectation that Tom would follow.

“There is one more thing. I’d like to buy a tray of those potted dahlias.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Brewster narrowed his eyes as if the idea of selling a plant was more bothersome than answering questions about Laslo. “We’re the middlemen on those flowers. I brought them in to fill an order. There’s none to spare. Sorry.”

“Where are they going?”

“Why?” His gaze flicked from Tom’s notebook to the rack of pots.

“If they’re going to a store nearby, I can purchase them there.”

“That order’s heading stateside.” Brewster’s fingers flapped nervously against his palm as he led the way back to the main building.

Hmm, so he’d struck a nerve after all. “Thanks for your time. I’ll see myself out.” Tom walked sedately across the parking lot, pretending to admire the scenery as he scanned the surrounding forest for evidence of a grow-op. He didn’t spot anything suspicious, but Hank had said there’d been several in the area. When Tom reached his car, he glanced back at the door to the main building and waved.

Brewster retreated inside without responding.

Tom flipped through his notebook pages until he found the list of suspected grow-ops under surveillance in the region. No site remotely close to this area was on the list—a serious slip on Hank’s part.

Tom cleared the driveway and stepped on the gas. He was through pussyfooting around Hank. The only way to get to the truth was to confront him. Make him see that covering up for his dad was ten times worse than mopping up any public relations fallout from arresting him. Hank had to suspect his dad was up to something. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been so worried about Kate out in the woods, and he wouldn’t have warned Tom off of stepping on the drug task force’s toes, when the only toes in the vicinity were Hank’s dad’s.

Ten minutes later Tom pulled into Hank’s driveway. He lived in a log cabin squirreled away in the middle of three acres of bush on the outskirts of town. The kind of place where you go to escape.

Tom rolled down his window and inhaled. Pine scented the air, and beyond the trees, the setting sun streaked the sky in purples and reds. A raccoon—also uninvited—scurried around the cabin. The windows glowed orange from the sun’s reflection, and a wisp of smoke swirled from the stone chimney. Tom parked behind Hank’s SUV.

Crickets chirruped a welcome song, interrupted by the occasional thunk.

Tom skirted the building in search of the source of the sound.

In the clearing behind the cabin, Hank stood next to a woodpile, shirt off, ax in hand. He propped up a log and swung the ax. With one blow, the wood split in two.

Tom gave the swinging ax head a wide berth as he moved toward Hank.

Hank split two more pieces of wood before stopping, then leaned on his ax handle and gave Tom his full attention. “Problem?”

“Yeah, I want to know why you claimed there’d been grow-ops near where we found Kate in the woods.”

Hank swiped at the sweat dripping down the side of his face. “To scare some sense into her.”

“I’m not buying it. You were edgy about Kate being out in those woods. Too edgy. What didn’t you want her to see?”

Hank’s head jerked as if he were taken aback by the question, but was it because he was affronted or afraid?

“What’s your dad selling in brown paper sacks to Beth Kish?”

“Huh?” Confusion furrowed Hank’s brow. Then the question’s implication seemed to settle in, and he squared his jaw. “He sells herbs for her teas like half the local growers around here.”

“For cash?”

“What are you getting at?”

Tom gave him a you-tell-me look.

“I don’t believe this.” Hank slapped his ax into a stump and clenched his fists. “You think my dad’s dealing again? I thought I could count on you, of all people, not to turn my family history against me. Clearly, I was wrong.” He stalked toward his house.

Tom grabbed his arm and swung him around. “Oh, no. You’re not getting out of this discussion by playing the sympathy card. What are you covering up?”

If the incredulous look on Hank’s face could be believed, he wasn’t behind any cover-up. He shook off Tom’s grasp. “After all we’ve been through together, how could you think I’d do something like that?” Hank’s voice thrummed with a pain of betrayal Tom recognized all too well.

Lord, show me what to do. Hank gave me the detective’s job, no questions asked, based on the strength of a twenty-year friendship. A friendship I discounted as easily as a phony dollar bill. Tom tempered his tone. “You’ve got to admit that you took an unusual interest in the Leacock case.”

“The case was the town’s first suspicious death since I became chief. Of course I took an interest.”

When Tom offered no response, Hank added. “I have nothing to hide. I can take you to my dad’s right now, to his work too, anywhere you want to search. No warrant needed. I don’t want you to have any doubts.”

“I paid Herbs Are Us a visit. Your dad was a little unnerved by my interest in the flowers he had ready for a shipment. Why would that be, do you think?”

“How should I know? I thought the place only sold herbs.”

“Apparently not.”

“Get to the point. Do you want me to take you to my dad’s or not?”

Tom blew out a stream of air. Despite their friendship, he had a job to do.

A doe and her fawn ambled across the corner of the clearing and stopped to nibble the grass. The sun, already below the tree line, sliced through what had been a dense stand of trees as if . . . only a narrow strip remained.

“You clear-cut your woods behind the house?”

“What?” Hank followed Tom’s line of sight. “No, I just cleared a section for sweet corn.”

Corn, a favorite crop for opportunists to hide their marijuana plants among. And not only opportunists. When the police spotted the pot gardens from the air, they rarely suspected the culprit was the farmer, much less the chief of police.

“The corn goes in this week.”

Tom nodded, betraying no interest in Hank’s admission. He’d give the crop a month to grow. Then he’d take Hank up on the offer to search anywhere. About the time the corn topped a foot, the marijuana growers typically replaced a section with their seedlings—neatly hidden by the growing corn.

“It’s getting dark, Tom. What’s it going to be? Do I take you to my dad’s?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tom said. As much as he wanted to take Hank up on his offer, to accept would rip the last thread binding their tattered friendship. “I just had to make sure. I’m sorry.”