by Cathy Tully
She held tight to the weighty door to keep it from closing. She did not want to alert the kitchen staff to her presence, but she didn’t want to be locked out either. How suspicious would it look if she were found lingering in the delivery area? She tried to come up with an excuse, but her mind went blank.
A weight pushed against her, and a leg covered by a long white apron jutted through the exit. No ready stories sprang to mind, and she was sure she wore an expression that looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. She berated herself: If you’re going to be sneaking around, you can’t be a clumsy oaf AND a poor liar.
Inside, a raucous cry caused the aproned leg to disappear, and the door closed with a solid thunk. Even before she tried the handle, she knew that it would be locked. Two for two, she thought.
“Well,” she murmured, scanning the back side of the building and seeing no one else, “I guess that decides it.”
She took in her surroundings. She stood in the rear alley of a strip of shops, which from this side of the building all looked the same. Several metallic doors, each situated next to an electric meter and HVAC unit, interrupted a long beige wall. Behind her, a privacy fence cut off the shopping center from the adjacent property. A large dumpster sat inside a six-foot cinder block enclosure.
She was not only alone here, but she was isolated. Was it possible that the killer had stalked Anita in this alley, waiting to get her alone? The thought raised the hair on her arms, and she pushed it aside. She frowned at her shoes. What had possessed her to dress in pumps, anyway? Her toes scrunched together, and something was wrong with her right heel. She leaned against the cinder blocks, trying to fix her damaged shoe. The smell of rotting garbage drew her attention, and she limped over to the dumpster.
She knew that you could learn a lot about a person from their trash, but she didn’t know if the adage rang true for businesses. She peered inside, inhaling the cloying air, which was humid with decaying food. The bin was crammed full of refuse, much of it packaged in black plastic trash bags. Plastic cooking oil containers balanced atop a cardboard box with the logo of La Chiquita tortillas on it. The box sat on several large cans of hot peppers, which wore a green Mamá Linda label. Susannah chuckled. Even with her limited Spanish, she knew the translation of mamá linda was “pretty mama.” Pretty Mama’s hot peppers somehow seemed humorous.
Flattened cardboard boxes were shoved up against the side of the metal behemoth, and she scrutinized its filthy depths but saw nothing of interest. She moved along the dumpster, pushing a garbage bag to the side, and then sighed, checking her watch. More lost time with no results. Fifteen minutes had passed. Bitsy would be running out of ways to keep Randy’s attention. Giving the dumpster one last glimpse, she stopped as a bunch of dried flowers caught her eye. They were wedged between a trash bag and the wall of the unit. She peered at them, gradually recognizing the downward-hanging bell of the flower. Could it be foxglove?
She wanted to shout, Eureka!
Here was her first solid evidence, she was sure of it. She froze, unsure of what to do. As of yet no official report of the digitalis in Anita’s blood had been released. If she reported this to Randy, how would she explain her find? Waylaying a county employee and plying her with Mexican food in exchange for information wasn’t something she wanted to admit.
Bitsy’s voice played in her mind: “That detective is out there, and you know she don’t like you.”
That detective didn’t like her, and the presence of these flowers here meant that the detective’s investigation had missed them. She pulled her phone out and snapped a picture. That was a start, but she needed physical proof. She pocketed her phone and reached for the flowers, but they were just out of reach. She pulled herself up and leaned in, stretching her five-foot-ten frame across the trash heap. As she leaned, her head began to spin, the familiar sensation of vertigo causing her to flail about, her fingertips crushing the dried petals. She held the edge of the dumpster and righted herself. The world returned to its normal orientation, and she grasped for the remnants of the stems, but they disintegrated into fragments and fell away.
“No!” she cried, as the plant cascaded beyond her reach. Edging back, she dislodged the stack of plastic cooking oil containers, which tumbled down upon her, sprinkling a few remaining drops of oil into her hair.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, straightening her skirt and then patting her hair. Her skirt was ripped, her heel was broken, and now she had a trash can oil treatment for her hair. And she still had to return to the memorial lunch.
Dead bits of foliage stuck to her fingers, and she considered their presence in the trash. It could not be a coincidence. This was evidence, and it had slipped away. She righted herself, tottering on her broken heel. From her pocket, her phone buzzed. As she reached for it, a different kind of noise caught her attention. A dark blue sedan turned into the alley and headed her way. It approached at a breakneck pace, and she was certain it would careen into one of the brick enclosures. But it didn’t. Instead, it accelerated, forcing her to jump out of its way. Teetering to one side, she squeezed herself between the dumpster and the wall. In a flash, the car was gone.
She blinked and peeped around the cinder block wall, watching the brake lights flicker as the car sailed around the building and then out of sight.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Susannah placed her hands on her knees and inhaled deeply. She was trembling, grateful she had not been harmed, but berating herself for being outside alone. Maybe she should stick to chiropractic and leave the investigating to the professionals. After all, she had left the NYPD because she could no longer put a partner at risk.
She straightened. This was different. It wasn’t her fault this time. That car had aimed right for her. She must be getting close, but to what she did not know. The sound of a car engine startled her. She blinked twice before she recognized Bitsy’s Ford Explorer. Bitsy pulled up next to Susannah and rolled down the window.
“What are you doing here?” Susannah gasped.
“Didn’t you get my text?”
“No, I was almost run down by a car. Did you see anything?”
Bitsy glanced down the alley. “Not a thing. Come on, jump in. We gotta get movin’.”
Susannah clumped over, vowing to purchase a formal pantsuit that she could wear with flats. “How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. Not for sure, but you were taking so long that I reckoned I’d creep out here and take a look-see. I didn’t know driving back here was such a popular activity.” She jammed her foot down on the accelerator. “Now, if we get in there before all the ruckus is over, no one will ever know we left.”
Susannah ignored her NASCAR driving. “What ruckus?”
“One of the cooks went loco throwing stuff at one of the servers. Randy and Detective Westers had to pull him off the man.”
“You mean Detective Withers.”
Bitsy ignored her comment and made a drinking motion with her thumb and pinky. “He must have taken one too many nips of ol’ Jose Cuervo.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. I ran into the kitchen with Randy, and when I didn’t see the detective lady dragging your ass out of Anita’s office, I thought I’d better check out here.”
She rounded the building and stopped in front of Daniel Kim’s insurance agency, which was two shops away from the Cantina. A group of people was disembarking from a white church van with the name Iglesia de Nuestro Señor stenciled across the side.
“Get in behind that crowd of bereaved, and I’ll go park.”
Bitsy joined her as she queued up with the group, entering the restaurant behind an extended family. The religious depictions in Anita’s entranceway had caused a bottleneck of older Mexican congregants, one of whom pulled out a rosary and crossed herself amid whispered prayers. She and Bitsy circumvented the faithful, following a family who immediately went to the bar and conversed with Nolan in Spanish. Susannah headed to the ladies’ room while
Bitsy ambled toward the kitchen.
Susannah glimpsed herself in the mirror. Her first brush with stealth snooping had not gone as planned, but she had gotten out of it without being arrested, so she considered it a win. Her ex-colleagues on the NYPD would wet themselves laughing at her pathetic screw-up. She looked rough, but nothing that a hairbrush wouldn’t fix. A woman exited a stall and washed her hands, giving Susannah a polite nod before leaving. A minute later, Bitsy entered and scanned the three stalls.
“You’re getting sloppy,” she said, pulling a paper towel out of the dispenser and locking the door. She pursed her lips with disapproval. “Give me your shoe.”
Susannah handed her the damaged pump.
“Randy and the lady detective are in the dining room,” she said, realigning the heel and whacking its bottom against the counter with a flick of her wrist. She handed the shoe to Susannah. “A perfect time to show your face.”
“How did you do that?”
“My little secret.”
Susannah took a few steps to test the shoe repair, while Bitsy pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and observed Susannah in the mirror. “It’s a miracle,” Susannah said, taking a few more steps.
“You bet it is,” Bitsy said, squinting at her and then slapping Susannah’s hand away from the tear in her skirt.
“Ow!”
“Girl, do I have to teach you how to be sneaky?” She smacked Susannah’s hand again. “Weren’t you ever a teenager?” She stowed the lipstick in her purse. “No, don’t answer that. If you leave that rip alone, chances are no one will notice. If you keep touching it, someone definitely will.” Bitsy reached for the door.
“Don’t you want to know what I found?”
Bitsy raised her eyebrows. “A lot of trouble, is what I’m thinking.” She led the way out. They returned to the dining room and blended into the line at the buffet table. Bitsy handed her a plate. Susannah smiled at the aroma of chicken breasts.
“So what did you find?” Bitsy asked as she spooned some rice onto her plate.
“Flowers.”
Bitsy’s face fell, and she busied herself over the tray of chicken. Someone had hand-lettered cards describing each dish. This one read Chicken and tomatillo with cilantro. Bitsy snagged the largest piece in the pan and then scooped some green sauce over her rice. Susannah passed on the tomatillos but dug into a tray of enchiladas covered in red sauce and served herself a side of black beans. They found a table in the corner.
“What kind of flowers did you find?”
“Well, I can’t show you. They got crushed.” She stopped, seeing Tomás watching them from across the room. She gave him a smile. “Here comes Tomás. I’m going to stay quiet. I think he may be a little miffed at me.”
“I’m on it.”
Susannah tried to look contrite as he strode over. Colin was right: Tomás was pointing the finger at him. And from what she’d heard in the kitchen, Tomás was hounding Randy to make an arrest. While she should have been grateful to have the investigation point away from her, she wasn’t so sure Colin was the man. After almost being run down by a blue sedan, she was sure there was more to this than met the eye.
Tomás nodded at her but gave Bitsy a warm smile. “I hope you enjoy your meal. I chose some of Anita’s favorites.”
“I guess Anita enjoyed the tangy foods,” Bitsy commented, nodding at what was left on her plate. “What with the tamarind tea and the chicken and tomatillo.”
“Anita loved spicy flavors. She grew her own hot peppers. They were a labor of love.”
“I love gardening too. I have me a gardening shed—”
Susannah nudged Bitsy under the table. She needed to keep on track with her questions. She couldn’t have Bitsy going into a fifteen-minute description of the miniature house with attached porch she called her shed.
“That’s right,” Susannah interrupted. “Bitsy loves growing flowers. Did Anita grow flowers?”
“No,” Tomás said to Bitsy. “She and her mamá specialized in pepper plants.”
“She didn’t have any problems eating all those hot peppers?” Bitsy asked. “I can’t eat hot food like I used to.”
“No!” Tomás said, laughing for the first time. “Anita always had a hardy appetite until—”
“Until?”
Tomás looked around the room and then back, narrowing his eyes at Susannah. “Anita had no health problems until about two weeks ago.” He glanced over at Randy, who was speaking with the mayor. “I told this to Randy, and he says Anita complained about migraine headaches. But I know the truth. It was no migraine.”
Bitsy nodded, forgetting about food for once. “What was it?” she whispered. “Did she have one of them brain tumors?”
“No, that pendejo Colin...” His gaze slid to the side, indicating the table where Colin sat. Bitsy looked over, narrowing her eyes over her té tamarindo. “About two weeks ago, he got drunk at the bar, and Anita asked him to leave. He didn’t want to leave, but she tried to walk him out. He grabbed her. I saw this. She slipped and hit her head on the bar.” He touched his temple. “She thought I didn’t see, but I did. I told her to report him to Randy, but she refused. Right after that, she says she has migraine headaches, but I didn’t believe it. I think it was a head injury. She wasn’t eating like she used to either. When I asked, she told me she was fine. And now, well...”
His voice trailed off, and he removed a handkerchief from his inside pocket and blotted his upper lip. “If I find out este cabrón had anything to do with what happened to Anita, I’ll kill him myself.” He looked up at Susannah, his eyes flashing. “I know you heard us yelling the other day.” His face drooped, and he appeared tired. All the fire had gone out of him. “But that is how we worked. She yelled. I yelled. No one was angry. If she were here today, we would probably yell.” With that, he replaced his handkerchief and walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Susannah looked at her friends, seated around the break room table. Larraine poured tea, and Tina laid two plates. Rusty prowled the room, tail held high, sniffing at the corners and stalking nonexistent critters. Bitsy, surprisingly calm, cooed at him. Susannah had closed the office to attend the luncheon and had been looking forward to going home for a hot shower...until Larraine sent a text asking her to return to the office. Before she knew it, she and Bitsy were warming their hands on mugs of steaming tea.
“How was the luncheon?” Larraine asked.
“You tell her,” Susannah said to Bitsy, picking up her cup and dunking the tea bag.
“Well, one of the cooks tore up the kitchen going loco after a server, and the police had to break it up. It came in handy. It gave me time to rescue you-know-who.” Bitsy jerked her thumb at Susannah and sipped at her tea, her gaze landing on the cookie-filled plates. “We didn’t get dessert at the Cantina. Are mourners supposed to be on a diet?”
Tina chuckled. “Help yourself.”
She grabbed a cookie and munched. “I thought gluten was banned in this office?”
“No.” It was Susannah’s turn to chuckle. “I’m a tolerant boss, but the brownies are gluten-free.”
Bitsy paused, then grabbed a brownie and nibbled at it.
Larraine crossed her arms and reset her glasses on her nose, peering over them at Bitsy, as if willing her to get back on topic.
“Well, what did you rescue her from?” Tina asked.
“From her own foolish self.” Bitsy dunked the brownie. “She snuck into the kitchen to snoop around Anita’s office and then had to beat it out the back door. She was out there in the alley dumpster-diving when I came along.”
“Oh my.” Larraine tilted her head down, peering over her glasses to examine Susannah. “Now that you say it, she does look a bit disheveled.”
“‘A bit disheveled.’ Good one, Ms. Larraine. She’s a hot mess.” Bitsy nudged Susannah. “Now that I think of it, give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m fixin’ to download thi
s Find My Friends app, and you need one too.”
“Why do I need one?”
“For real? My female intuition only travels so far.”
Susannah slid her phone across the table, which shook as Tina set her cup on the table with a thud. “Well, what did you find?” she asked.
“Nuffin’,” Bitsy said, crumbs spilling down her blouse. “The only thing we found out was that Tomás denies he argued with Anita. Says they just liked yelling at each other.”
“That’s not true!” Susannah interjected. “I found out a few things. First of all, I spoke to Anita’s daughter, Dolores. She says that the detective wants to know about her mother’s medical history, like if she took any medications.”
Bitsy nudged her leg. “Why didn’t you tell me you talked to Anita’s daughter?”
“I’m telling you now. The detective wants to rule out a medication overdose. Which means...” She paused for effect. “Anita was poisoned.”
Tina gasped. “That Keith Cawthorn, how dare he keep this from me.” She looked around the table and sank low in her chair. “Er, I mean, how did you find that out?”
Susannah looked at Bitsy, who suddenly was interested in Rusty’s antics. She inhaled, trying to decide if she should tell Tina and Larraine about the information they had obtained from Iris. “According to both her mother and her daughter, Anita wasn’t taking any medications and didn’t go to the doctor.” She looked from Tina to Larraine. “Even Tomás told us she was in good health until recently, when she hit her head. But that caused headaches, not heart problems.”
“Wait,” Larraine said. “How does all this add up to poison? I’m missing something.”
Bitsy grabbed another cookie and whistled for Rusty, trying to tempt him with a cookie. Susannah’s resolve weakened. She couldn’t keep this from them. They were a team, and they all needed to have the same information.
“You are missing something.” She paused. “Let’s just say that Anita had a very high amount of a heart medication in her blood. High enough to kill. This particular medication is made from a plant called foxglove. If Anita didn’t get the medication from a doctor, it means someone poisoned her using the foxglove plant.”
