“I see you finished your dove. Beautiful.”
“That one gives me peace every time I walk by.” Surviving tragedies in her life had made Grace wise. I loved the way she relished every moment of her existence.
“Come into the kitchen,” she said. “I’m grouting.”
“Do you have doggy treats?”
“You bet.”
She pointed to treats on a countertop. I grabbed the bag and offered him one.
He chewed, his tale wagging. I knew I could handle Boffo. When I gave him a second treat and petted the back of his head, he looked up gratefully, burped and curled up on the floor near my shoes.
In the middle of Grace’s kitchen, a round wrought-iron table stood on newspapers. She was tiling the top with random shapes of colorful tiles in orange, red, fuchsia, and yellow.
I smiled. “This one must be for your patio.”
“Yes, it’s the dining table. I’ll use variations of the same colors to make side tables for the sofa. I’ll probably do something different for tables by the other chairs.”
People like Grace were the reason scientists should manipulate genes to extend lifespans. She would be nurturing people and creating beauty until she ceased to exist on the Earth.
She pulled on her other glove, grabbed her trowel, scooped up fresh grout and pressed it between tiles on her table.
“You must teach me how to do that,” I said.
“If you stop taking classes long enough, I will.” She grinned, then looked up with a serious expression. “I’ve been reading about your professors—the two who died.”
“Yes. Both murdered. It’s horrible. The police thought I killed the second one. That’s why I was in jail.”
“You? That’s preposterous.”
“Well, I broke into the science lab to look for clues to the first professor’s murder, bumped into the second man’s body and they found me.”
“I guess that didn’t look good.”
“No.”
“That’s why they were pawing through your house? To find something to tie you to his murder?”
“Yes. There was a bottle of nasal spray near him. They think something inside the bottle killed him.”
“Be careful where you buy your cold remedies, right?”
“The killer must have added something to the spray. They’ll know what the substance was when they get the autopsy and toxicology reports. Whatever it was, I don’t have any of it, so that should clear me as a suspect. I didn’t particularly like those professors, although I learned Dr. Carmody did have a soft side. But I had no motive for killing them. A fungus growing in Dr. Carmody’s nasal spray killed him.”
“Hmm. Nasal sprays are so common. Half the people in San Antonio have allergies.”
“Exactly. And since Dr. Carmody was famous for researching genes that affect aging, somebody probably killed him for what he knew.”
“And the other man?”
“The killer probably thought he discovered Carmody’s secret.”
“Somebody on that campus has gone crazy. I bet your detective friend wants you to stay away from there.”
“Actually, Sam just got through telling me not to return. That’s why I need to talk to you. You give such thoughtful advice.”
“Uh-oh. I see where this is going.” She pressed the last grout between tiles, peeled off her gloves and dumped them into a bucket of water. I knew we had a few minutes to wait while the grout between tiles hardened enough so she could wipe off the excess. “Why in the world,” she said, “would you want to go back to this school when two murders were committed there?”
Why indeed? I lined up points of argument in my head. Grace was smart and logical. If I could convince her, I’d have a barrage of plausible reasons ready to use on Sam. I wasn’t about to be humiliated and jailed for something I didn’t do and then let the whole mess drop and hope that somebody solved it.
She wet a sponge to clean excess grout off the tiles and bent over her table. I was glad she was occupied while she listened to my reasoning.
“First of all, classes will go on as usual. UHT will try to maintain normalcy on campus so there’s no uproar and everybody can continue with their education. Tuition is really high at this school. They don’t want the issue of refunds added to a discussion of two deaths.”
“Okay. What does that have to do with you?”
“Everybody at UHT thinks I’m in jail. If the killer thinks he’s off scot-free, he or she won’t have to do a thing. The killer is obviously a person who visits the lab on a regular basis. Everybody is used to seeing this person there. It must be a scientist who knows what to look for and will wait for the right opportunity to revisit the lab. When the timing is right, he’ll return to the lab for some logical reason, memorize or copy Carmody and Eric’s work, make sure the premises appear undisturbed and take the knowledge back to his own facility. He’ll wait patiently until the furor is over. Once the murder cases grow cold, the thief and colleagues will surprisingly unearth a breakthrough. It will be different enough from the work at UHT’s lab so that nobody makes the connection with their new discovery.”
She had wiped the tiles clean. Their brilliance emerged.
“Your table is going to be spectacular.”
“Yes. It’s looking good. Now. Why do you have go back there?”
“If I’m back in school, I upset the killer’s plan. The murderer thinks I’m no longer a suspect. If I were, I’d still be in jail. The killer will wonder if I turned in the nasal spray, or if the police have it and matched the killer’s fingerprints to the bottle. Police probably already have the culprit’s fingerprints from checking lab visitors after Carmody’s murder. But the killer doesn’t know that. With me out of jail, he’s forced to act. He has to hurry and obtain secrets about genes that Carmody and Eric discovered and abscond with the information before the police get on his trail. The cops are watching all the scientists associated with the lab. When one makes a move, they’ll close in.”
“Your return to class will trigger the killer to act. You’re acting as bait.”
“Exactly.”
“What if the killer decides you have the nasal spray bottle? And he has to get it from you before police find his prints on it? What if he can’t find any notes about the discovery and thinks you stole them?”
“Sam and I talked about that. He’ll keep a tail on me and a plainclothes cop nearby on campus. And I’ll have pepper spray.”
“Where are you going to get that?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe the drugstore.”
“What if the killer follows you home?”
“Sam will have a cop outside here. And I took a self-defense class.”
She wasn’t impressed. “I know the police are skilled, Aggie, but there’s always a chance the killer gets to you before they can. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”
“I’d hate it too. Sam debated having me wear a wire to record what the killer says if he accosts me. But I’m afraid if the murderer finds me wired, he’ll become instantly more violent and dangerous.”
“I’d be afraid of that too.”
We lapsed into silence while she rinsed her sponge and polished tiles.
There had to be a way for me to flush out this killer and feel protected. The killer wouldn’t want to hurt me until he had the spray bottle in his possession. I started considering options.
“Aggie,” Grace said. “You need to think about this a long time before you go back to campus.”
“I know. But I don’t have any food. Can you drive me to Whole Foods?”
Fifty-One
I liked to shop at Whole Foods when I wanted something special. After jail food, I longed for gourmet goodies.
Grace washed goop off her hands.
“Do you have a floppy hat?” I asked her. “I’d prefer not to be recognized yet.”
“I have a battered fishing cap you can pull down. Used to belong to Charlie, my first husband.”
“That’ll be fine. Especially with my sunglasses.”
We piled into her red 1990 Honda Civic Wagon. Her garage was attached, like mine, so we entered it from her kitchen. I crunched the hat down and slid low in the seat, in case somebody was watching cars leave from our area. Grace’s bright red vehicle was hard to miss. It was approaching clunker stage but had only seventy thousand miles. She and the car might well last forever. Grace liked it because she could pile boxes of tiles and sacks of grout behind the backseat. Every time we hit a bump, I heard tiles crash together and crack into shards. That was one way to get intriguing designs.
Alamo Quarry Market was pretty busy on Labor Day with people shopping for the upcoming week. Parking spaces close to the store were taken, so Grace let me out a block from the entrance and said to go ahead. She’d park wherever she could and come inside to stay cool. She didn’t need groceries.
I was sweating by the time I entered Whole Foods. It smelled good and felt cool, but I didn’t intend to dally. I went straight to the peanut butter, grape jelly and bread sections, then to dairy for milk. I considered buying loose organic vegetables. When I headed for the veggies, I saw Penelope Farquhar mooning over produce.
I slipped up fairly close with only a single bin separating us. She didn’t recognize me under Charlie’s hat. I wanted to surprise her to see her reaction. Directly in her line of vision, I swished off the hat and glasses.
“Oh! It’s you. I didn’t expect…”
“To see me out of jail?”
“Well, I heard…”
“You heard right. They let me out temporarily. I’m a weekender. Have to report back.” I figured she wouldn’t know the difference.
“A weekender? For…”
“Breaking into the science lab. Not for killing Eric Lager.”
“Lager. They know he was murdered.”
Penelope had just uttered a declarative sentence. How did she know he’d been murdered?
“Yes. It was pretty obvious somebody had killed him. They’re working on who and how. They found the bottle of nasal spray near his body. That ought to help.”
“Nasal spray?”
“That’s right. Probably has a ton of fingerprints on it.” I waited a few beats for that to soak in. “I need to get some veggies before I go back.” I grabbed carrots, broccoli and cauliflower. “I’ll get salt and pepper shakers so I can nibble these en route back to the detention center.”
She stared at me like she was in shock. I was glad she was too stunned to wonder how a jailbird could wander freely about.
“I better get some fruit.” I headed for the next bin. “They don’t give you much in jail.”
“Fruit,” she muttered, as I sashayed past her to checkout.
The lines were long. Before I got there, I saw Grace sitting in a chair near the exit. She pointed to herself, made car-driving motions and left.
I found the express line, paid and skedaddled out the door. Despite replacing the glasses and hat, I still squinted into the sun. I saw Grace’s red Honda at the corner and took long strides to overtake her. She was blocking another car and was about to pull away when I leaped into the passenger seat.
“Home, James.”
“That was pretty quick.”
“Yep. And Penelope Farquhar was there. She was amazed to see me. She knew Lager was murdered. She thought I’d been arrested for killing him and was still in jail. After she thinks about what I said, I bet it’ll scare the greens out of her.”
The light turned, and Grace squealed onto Basse Road.
Fifty-Two
When we arrived at Grace’s house, I asked her to incarcerate Boffo in the bathroom. I didn’t want him barking at me while I trekked across our yards toward home.
I peered out her back window to make sure nobody was casing her house or mine, then slipped across the grass and into the back door of my house. My belongings were strewn about in the same deplorable condition I’d left them.
I plodded to the kitchen, threw out the wilted inhabitants of my refrigerator and refilled the crispers with fresh greens. If I made many more trips to Whole Foods, I might grow to detest produce.
In my bathroom I got a good look at myself in Charlie’s fishing hat. No wonder I’d startled Penelope. I’d reorganize the bathroom and kitchen later.
When Sam called, I had to repeat plausible reasons why I should return to class the next morning. I also needed to rehearse what I planned to say to class members and think about how to protect myself if I got into trouble before SAPD could reach me.
In the living room, I pulled down my window shades and admired my antique secretary desk captured at auction. I concluded I had to reorder my living area and bedroom. Returning belongings to their proper place, I mused about how strange we are; we miss only what we’re in imminent danger of losing.
It occurred to me that if my scheme to go back on campus to oust the killer failed, I’d disappoint a lot of “Dear Aggie” readers. I grabbed the stack of mail I’d tossed on the coffee table while straightening up, flipped through and opened a letter.
Dear Aggie,
I’ve taken your advice. I’ve decided that fifty-three isn’t old, just a midway blip. I’ve registered at college for Art History and am taking watercolor classes. My husband is scared I’ll change and he won’t know me. My kids grumble that when they need me, I’m not always around. Am I making a mistake?
Purposeful but panicky,
Pamela
Dear Purposeful Pamela,
Don’t panic. You’re not making a mistake. You’re figuring out who you are after caring for others for umpteen years. Pursue your interests and talents. How often did you make it possible for your loved ones to pursue theirs? If you think you can do it, then you can. Let your family know that the happier, more fulfilled you is still there. They’ll get it. Stay on the Yellow Brick Road. There’s more joy ahead.
Energized and eager,
Aggie
Having reminded Pamela and myself to take charge of our destinies, I was ready to get back to business. I plopped in the chair, pulled down the lid to my secretary desk to expose my computer and directed WebCrawler to search information about wearing a wire. The process looked uncomfortable. It appeared the device could easily be detected—not, it seemed to me, a good solution for a person accosted by a killer. Sidetracked to other devices in the spy field, I’d started yawning when Meredith called.
“Shall I pick you up for class tomorrow? I’ll feel safer if we go together.”
What a dear friend. I didn’t want to endanger her. “No, thanks. I have a couple of errands to run beforehand. I’ll alert Sam. He won’t let me out of SAPD’s sight.”
“All right, if you’re sure. I’ll see you in class. Be careful.”
I’d barely replaced the receiver when Sam called.
“Are you locked in? No problems?”
“I’m locked in, the alarm is set and I’m fine. Did SAPD learn anything new about Eric Lager’s murder?”
“Not yet. They expect to have autopsy and toxicology reports tomorrow. I’ll let you know. Are you still determined to attend class?”
“I think it’s perfectly safe. How could anybody bother me in broad daylight? I don’t think I can wear a wire, Sam. If somebody grabs me, they’re bound to discover it.”
“It does take practice to wear one inconspicuously. I’ll have somebody follow you to campus.”
“All right. I have to leave early. I need to buy toiletries at HEB.”
“What time?”
“About nine a.m. That should give me plenty of time to stop at the
store and get a good parking space on campus before my ten-thirty class.”
“I’ll tell Officer Mulhaney to be at your house. He’ll be in a dark blue unmarked Dodge Charger.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Sleep tight.”
“You too. Be very careful tomorrow, Aggie.”
I had a new idea and dialed Meredith.
Fifty-Three
Although my house was secure, Sam’s warnings had made me uneasy. After I put on my Garfield sleep shirt and brushed my teeth, I repeated N-E-E-T-T several times, accompanying each letter with an attack on the vulnerable parts of my assailant’s head. I practiced until I felt comfortable with my ability to execute the moves.
Satisfied, I laid out clothes for the next day: cool khaki slacks and a loose, billowy blouse. Both had pockets for pens, pencils and miscellaneous items. I’d carry a small purse and a binder for taking notes.
I flopped into bed, turned out the lights and pictured the people in tomorrow’s class. Odds were the killer would be there. If the killer was one of the scientists I met at the memorial service, I hoped my announcement in class would be startling enough to spread to them like wildfire.
My plan was to make the killer think I’d found evidence in the lab which would incriminate the culprit.
I mentally rehearsed what I’d say.
I knew one thing: whatever words I chose, the looks on my classmates’ faces would be priceless.
I set my morning alarm for thirty minutes earlier than usual so I could spend fifteen minutes hugging my pillow and gazing at my beautifully organized bedroom. After I got up to brush my teeth, I pantomimed N-E-E-T-T moves until I was starving. I downed two eggs and toast for protein and carbs.
It was almost nine. Dressed in my monochrome clothes, I peered through a slit by the front window shade. The plainclothes cop slumped in his car with the bill of his hat pulled down and watched my bungalow.
Smart, But Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 3) Page 17
