Rosemary's Gravy Page 14

  Mona Lisa pulled on her leash, urging Detective Drummond forward. “Let’s keep walking,” he said. “This path leads back to a creek. It’s not much to look at, but Mona Lisa likes to splash around in it.”

  “Okay.”

  We walked a few paces and then he said, “What did you have to get out of there anyway? It’s not like you had a desk or locker to clean out.”

  “I took your advice to capitalize on my misfortune. I’m starting a catering business.”

  You know how people will say someone’s smile lit up his face? Well, I’ve never seen it actually happen before, but in this case, it did. He grinned broadly at the news and his entire face softened.

  “That’s fantastic!”

  I smiled back at him. “Thanks. I’m pretty excited. But I needed some of my recipes that I used for big parties, so I copied them off the iPad in the kitchen.” A sudden worry twisted its way into my stomach. “Oh, no, that’s okay, right? It won’t mess up your investigation?”

  He waved my concern away. “Nah, don’t sweat it. The computer geeks imaged the drive or whatever it is they do. They have an exact copy of it as it existed when Amber died. And I think they’re still monitoring it for changes, as a matter of fact.”

  That was a relief on two counts. One, I hadn’t screwed up any evidence, and, two, even if Alayna had deleted the email while I was driving all over Los Angeles County, the authorities would still have a record of it. “Oh, okay. Good. So, I was uploading the things I needed to the Cloud when an email came in on Amber’s account —”

  “Amber’s email is still active?”

  I shrugged. “Apparently. I guess Pat’s had other things on his mind and hasn’t deactivated it yet. Anyway, it was an email asking her to review a book about botulinum toxin.” I finished the sentence with so much drama in my voice that the dog twisted around and whined as if I’d piqued her curiosity. For his part, Detective Drummond stared blankly at me.

  “One more time—in English.”

  “Someone bought a book about botulism using Amber’s account after she died. It had to have been Alayna; she used Amber’s Amazon account to buy stuff for the house all the time. No one else had access.”

  “Botulism?”

  I’m sure you’ve heard of it; it’s a form of food poisoning.”

  “You get it from eating stuff from bulging cans?” he ventured.

  “Right, among other things. It can be deadly and symptoms include vomiting, disorientation, and—wait for it—paralysis. Sound familiar?”

  Mona Lisa pawed at a butterfly while Detective Drummond processed this information. “So you’re saying Felix was suffering from botulism?”

  “Bingo. But it wasn’t from my meal—as I’ve been saying. For one thing, he had to have been exposed several hours, maybe even a day, before he ate the ceviche. You know that food poisoning isn’t instantaneous.”

  “That’s what the lab folks said. That the timing was off. But we can’t really work up a timeline because Felix isn’t interested in cooperating with the investigation.”

  “Well, maybe he’ll be interested in knowing that, for some inexplicable reason, Alayna tried to kill him.”

  Detective Drummond dropped his gaze to the ground and chewed on his lower lip for several seconds, then he cleared his throat. “It’s not exactly inexplicable.”

  “It’s not?”

  He looped Mona Lisa’s leash around his wrist and touched my shoulder with his free hand. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but when we were investigating Amber’s death, we pulled the cell phone records for everyone in the house. Alayna and Felix … well, I guess you’d call what they were doing … sexting.” He gave my shoulder cap a gentle squeeze and then removed his hand.

  I wrinkled my forehead in confusion. “They’re involved?”

  “They were. The texts stopped a few days before Amber’s murder.”

  We stared at each other. I don’t know what he was thinking about. I was thinking about the simmering hostility between Alayna and Felix that had run through the house like an undercurrent. Finally I said, “Alayna killed her.” I wasn’t sure exactly why. But it would have been beyond easy for her to slip a little peanut oil into a wine bottle.

  “It’s possible, but she has no motive—at least, no better motive than anyone else who’s been on the receiving end of Amber’s crap stick,” he said. His brown eyes were serious and had a faraway look.

  “I think she knows I know. Or she will soon. She’ll be able to tell I read the email.”

  “Great.” I could tell he wanted to shake me for being so careless, but we both knew I couldn’t undo it. To his credit, he didn’t bother to scold me.

  “So now what?”

  “Now we finish Mona Lisa’s walk. Then I’m going to need your help.”

  19

  I’m not sure what I thought my role would be after I told Detective Drummond what I knew. But I definitely did not think I’d find myself back at the police station. This time, though, instead of giving me marketing tips, the desk sergeant was fitting me for a bulletproof vest.

  “Why exactly do I need this?” I asked Sergeant Bentley as she cinched the straps snugly and stepped back to critique her work.

  “Once you put your shirt back on, no one will even know you’re wearing it. The technology sure has improved,” she said more to herself than to me.

  It was true that the vest was surprisingly sleek and light. But I wasn’t about to be distracted from my somewhat crucial question. “Sure, okay. But why is it necessary?”

  “It’s department policy that civilian participants in all operations be fully protected. It’s probably overkill, honestly. Uh, sorry, poor word choice. Look, it’s just a precaution. We’d rather suit you up needlessly than defend a lawsuit down the road brought by your grieving relatives. Okay?”

  Not really. “Um, I guess.”

  She smiled encouragingly. “Detective Drummond’s running through the plan with Detective Sullivan. They’ll be in shortly. Go ahead and get dressed,” As she left the room, she patted my upper arm in a reassuring gesture.

  I stared after her when the door closed in some sort of shocked disbelief that I was actually standing in the middle of the police station wearing Kevlar. Did they expect me to go see Alayna and get her to confess? Not. A. Chance. I pulled my shirt on over the vest and smoothed it down. Luckily, the blouse was one of those peasanty, billowy things that floated away from my body. Sergeant Bentley was right—no one would be able to tell I was wearing the vest.

  I distracted myself from my swirling anxiety about what might come next by pacing in a tight circle in the center of the room until I heard rapid footsteps approaching.

  Someone rapped on the door then pushed it open without pausing a beat. Detective Sullivan rushed into the room, and Detective Drummond followed a step behind, trotting in an effort to keep up with her.

  The senior detective strode toward me with a wide politician’s smile plastered on her face and extended her hand. “Ms. Field, I misjudged you. Thank you for agreeing to help us catch a killer. It’s good to know you consider it your civic duty to assist us.” She caught my hand in her steel grip and pumped it vigorously. I suddenly wished I were wearing protective mittens in addition to the vest.

  I still wasn’t sure what I’d signed up to do, but the dragon lady’s enthusiasm for the undertaking convinced me it would be dangerous and ill-advised. I threw Detective Drummond a desperate, panicked glance over her head and massaged the bones in my right hand.

  He nodded as if he understood my worry and said, “You’ll be in absolutely no danger at any time.” He’d slipped back into his serious policeman voice again. The transformation was so complete that I almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d allowed Mona Lisa to bathe his face in dog slobber when she “kissed” him goodbye before we left the shelter.

  “That’s good to hear, but I’d feel a lot better about this whole thing if I knew exactly what you ex
pect me to do,” I told them neutrally.

  “Of course,” Detective Sullivan agreed with another big smile. I couldn’t believe I actually liked her better as bad cop. But I guess that role played to her strengths; this good cop schtick didn’t suit her at all. She cut her eyes toward Detective Drummond and nodded.

  He took a step closer and said, “Here’s the situation. We can’t expect the Patricks to cooperate with us on this. At this point, the relationship between the family and the department is fairly strained. We’ve been instructed not to contact them directly—only through the family’s lawyers.” He screwed up his face into an expression that left little doubt how he felt about that development.

  “And you want me to go see Alayna and get her to confess?” I fidgeted. On the one hand, she hadn’t tried to kill me. Yet. On the other, she didn’t seem to have any qualms about trying to pin her crimes on me, so I had to figure I wasn’t on her list of BFFs.

  “No, of course not,” he said firmly. “That would be foolish and dangerous. We just need you to talk to Felix and get him to agree to let us into the mansion to take a look around. Detective Sullivan doesn’t want to request a search warrant just yet. Those requests have a habit of getting leaked to the press.”

  Oh, just talk to Felix, that’s all. My tapping foot picked up the tempo and I forced myself to be still. “I think I’d rather face Alayna.” I flashed him a grim smile to let him know I was kidding.

  “I know things ended badly between the two of you. I’d suggest talking to Pat instead …” He trailed off and let me imagine trying to convince Pat to do anything. Unless they outfitted me with a firehose full of gin, I probably had a better shot with Felix.

  “I’d say my relationship with the family is, um, pretty strained, too. Pat fired me, and Felix broke up with me.”

  “He’ll agree to see you, and you know it,” Detective Drummond encouraged me. “Just call him up and use that sexy voice of yours.”

  Detective Sullivan’s eyes widened in surprise. I knew the feeling. Sexy voice? I stared at Detective Drummond for a long moment. His face turned light pink and he coughed into his fist.

  “I’ll give it a try, I guess.” After Detective Drummond’s little bombshell that Felix and Alayna had had a thing, I had zero desire to see Felix ever again. But thinking of Alayna steeled me. No way was I going to let her get away with murder and attempted murder—especially because she kept trying to pin her crimes on yours truly.

  A genuine smile creased Detective Drummond’s face and spread all the way to his eyes. “Thank you.”

  I called Felix’s cell phone number while Detective Sullivan leaned forward and stared at me with the intensity of a hawk getting ready to take down a rabbit. Between rings, I listened to my heart hammering in my chest, every beat straining against the tight bulletproof vest.

  “Rosemary?” Felix answered with mild surprise in his voice.

  “Yeah, hi. I … I need to talk to you,” I blurted, cursing the police for not giving me a word-for-word script.

  “Oh. I’m getting ready to head over to the apartment to pick up some music one of the artists left there by mistake. Why don’t you meet me there?”

  I wheeled around and met Detective Sullivan’s eyes. Going to the apartment hadn’t been part of the plan. In a perfect world, I’d have convinced him over the phone, but the cops had been prepared to drive me over to the mansion. I asked the question with my eyebrows.

  She raised a finger to her lip like I might forget that I had Felix on the speakerphone. Then she shifted her eyes sideways to Detective Drummond, who shrugged as if to say ‘why not?’ She looked back at me and nodded once. A brisk, curt nod.

  “Okay, sure,” I managed weakly.

  “I’ll see you there in twenty?”

  “Great.”

  “I’ll stop at the taquaria and pick up some food. We can sit out in the garden and have a late dinner under the stars.” His voice was husky and inviting—a big shift from his pissy attitude when I’d seen him at the house. I knew he was thinking I’d changed my mind about us.

  “No! I mean, no thanks, I already ate.”

  “See you in a bit.”

  I pressed the button to end the call with shaking fingers and turned to Detective Drummond. “Let’s get this over with already.”

  20

  We drove the short distance to the apartment in silence. Detective Drummond drove, and Detective Sullivan sat in the back seat and tapped out furious emails on her phone. I stared out the window at the neighborhood that had become so familiar to me in such a short time. The taco joint, the car wash, the concrete playground covered in graffiti flashed past my eyes. Although the usual stop-and-go traffic was in effect, Detective Drummond slapped a light up on the top of the unmarked car, and we zipped through the congestion.

  He pulled into the driveway on the side of the apartment building, bringing the car to a rest right behind Felix’s Boxter. He twisted in his seat to study my face. “You ready?”

  I nodded.

  “Piece of cake, remember? Tell him as much or as little as you think you need to get him to agree. When he gives the go-ahead, come to the door and signal us to come in. We’ll get verbal confirmation from him and then send a unit to take you back to your car. Okay?”

  “Okay. But I can walk back to the station to pick up my car.” The last thing I wanted to do was hang around the apartment with Felix waiting for a ride.

  “Negative,” Detective Sullivan interrupted without even glancing up from her phone. “The department is going to ensure your safety until the end of this thing. You’re not going to wander through gang territory, not even wearing a vest. You’ll get a ride back with a uniform.” Her voice brooked no argument.

  “Fine, whatever.” I just wanted this to be over already. I reached for the door handle.

  “Rosemary—” Detective Drummond said.

  I paused. “What?”

  “Good luck.”

  A look passed between us. I got that feeling that he had a lot to say, but he couldn’t say any of it in front of his boss. For my part, adrenaline was racing through my body making it difficult to think clearly. So I shot him a smile and opened the door.

  I walked slowly along the path to the front of the building, highly conscious of the fact that they were watching me from inside the vehicle. With each heavy step, I wanted to turn back. I saw myself tearing off the vest and running all the way back to my car at the police station. Driving to the airport and getting the first flight back east, leaving the insanity of Los Angeles behind. Fleeing all of life’s complications.

  An image of my parents sailing off in clear blue waters, away from their responsibilities, popped into my mind.

  No. I can do this. I will do this.

  I set my mouth in a firm line and forced myself to keep walking toward the door. I tried to ignore the acid roiling in my stomach and focused instead on the jasmine-scented breeze. I took two deep breaths and then reached out to ring the bell, but Felix pulled the door open before I pressed the button.

  “Hi,” he said simply, smiling his brilliant white smile. His hair was damp, as if he’d just showered, and curling slightly over his forehead. His cream-colored button-down shirt set off both his tan and his green eyes. He wore faded jeans. His feet were bare.

  I stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if he had somehow managed to become even more attractive since I’d seen him that morning. He looked back at me in mild amusement, as if he could read my mind. I shook myself out of my daze.

  “Um, hi. Can I come in?”

  “I guess. Nice ride,” he commented as he stepped aside and focused on the Crown Victoria in his driveway.

  I paused on the threshold and gave Detective Drummond and Detective Sullivan a little wave. “It’s a long story,” I said before continuing into the apartment on unsteady legs.

  He lingered in the doorway, peering at the car with narrowed eyes, then shut the door firmly. He turned to face me. “Is this a s
ocial visit or police business, Rosemary?” His expression was closed and hard, and I recognized the tight, strained voice of a person who thought he’d been played for a fool.

  I reminded myself that even rich people have feelings. “A little of both,” I admitted. “Can we sit down?”

  He didn’t answer but crossed the hallway into the sitting room and took a seat one of the club chairs, so I took that as a yes. I followed him and lowered myself into the chair across from him, waiting for him to speak. He sat stiffly, spine rigid, head erect. I did, too, mainly because it turns out it’s not possible to slouch while wearing a protective vest.

  Finally, his shoulders relaxed and his face opened. “So are you going to tell me what this about? Because it’s clearly not about us.”

  Us. The thought of there being an us ripped through me with an almost-physical pain. I pushed it away and focused on the reason I was here.

  “Sure. Detective Sullivan and Detective Drummond are in the car. They want your permission to look around the mansion.”

  He exploded out of his chair, waving his arms wildly. “Are you freaking serious? You came here to wheedle me into letting them search the house for more evidence against my dad? What’s wrong with you?” he raged, red-faced.

  This wasn’t going well. I hurried to my feet. “It’s not like that, Felix,” I implored him. “Listen to me.” I reached out a tentative hand to still his arm. At my touch, he stopped flailing and pinned me with a distrustful look.

  “What’s it like, then?”

  “Alayna killed Amber. I don’t know why, but I’m sure she did.” He let out a snort. I couldn’t tell if the sound meant laughter, disbelief, or more anger, so I rushed on, “And I know she tried to poison you … that night.” Being in the apartment with him again was throwing me even more off-balance than I’d anticipated, and my voice hitched.