She was halfway out the door when I called to her. “Hey, Lara, your umbrella. Don’t forget it.”
“I’d forget my head if it wasn’t fastened on,” she muttered. She snatched up the umbrella and was gone.
Chapter Nine
There’s another, more indirect way to incorporate “oranges” into your garden. Before synthetic dyes, many different herbs and plants were used to produce the color orange in a variety of shades. Here are some of the most common botanical dyes:
Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) root: reddish orange
Butternut (Juglans cinerea) bark and seed husks: light yellow orange
Carrot (Daucus carota) root: dark yellow orange
Coreopsis (Coreopsis tinctoria) blossoms: bright orange
Eucalyptus (Eucalyptus) leaves and bark: rusty orange
Osage orange (Maclura pomifera) twigs, bark, and roots: yellow orange
Lilac (Syringa vulgaris) twigs: yellow orange
Onion (Allium cepa) skin: mustard orange
Pomegranate (Punica granatum) skin: light brownish orange
Saffron (Crocus sativus) flowers: burnt orange
Turmeric (Curcuma longa) powder: dark burnt orange
The color orange radiates warmth and vitality and has been said to energize psychic power. It is also used to warn of impending danger, as in the U.S. color-coded threat advisory scale, where orange signals a “high” threat level.
China Bayles
“Oranges in Your Garden”
Pecan Springs Enterprise
Lara had no sooner left the shop than the rain stopped, the sun came out, and so did the customers. The tearoom was nearly filled for lunch, and people browsed through both shops (and spent some money, which is always nice) until almost one thirty. Things slowed down after that, and Ruby and I went into the tearoom to clear the last of the tables while Cass and her helper headed for the kitchen to get things ready for the First Baptist Ladies tea party.
Ruby was wearing a cheerful orange today—a vintage orange cotton pique dress with three-inch orange cork wedges that boosted her way above her normal six-foot-something. She was also wearing a light, orange citrus scent, the perfume I had made her for Christmas. When she wears it, she says, she can feel that her power is enhanced. I don’t know what that means exactly, but it certainly smells delicious.
While Ruby straightened the chairs and floral-printed tablecloths, I swept the floor, listening for the bells that would let us know that a customer had walked into one of our shops. While we were working, I took the opportunity to fill her in on what had happened to Kelly Kaufman and the break-in at the cottage. But I didn’t say anything about her sister’s unexpected—and uninvited—visit the night before, or about her poltergeisty shenanigans. Ruby has enough on her mind without trying to ride herd on Ramona’s romantic and business affairs, especially when the two are scrambled together. Anyway, I had promised Ramona not to say anything about our conversation.
“That car crash sounds just awful,” Ruby said soberly when I finished telling her about it. “I hope your friend recovers.”
“I do, too,” I said. “But I don’t mind telling you that I’m worried. I wish I knew what happened out there on that road last night. And who broke into the cottage and why. Those two things might very well be related, which means that I’m sort of in the middle of it.”
She frowned, hesitantly tucking a red curl under her yellow-and-blue headband, and then stood very still, her glance going a little inward, her head cocked as if she were listening to something—music, a distant voice—that I couldn’t hear. She turned her head, her eyes widening, then put one hand to her throat and the other hand on a chair back, steadying herself.
I turned, concerned. “Are you okay, Ruby?”
She sat down abruptly on the chair. I propped my broom against the wall and went to her. “Are you okay?” I repeated urgently. “What’s the matter, dear? Would you like me to get you some water?”
I’m not sure she even heard me. “Ruby?” I repeated, and put my hand to her cheek. It felt chilly. “Ruby, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”
She was looking up at me, but her eyes were unfocused and vague, and when she spoke, her voice was a thin thread, uninflected and mechanical, like a voice in a dream.
“Don’t go in there, China.” She pulled in a half-strangled breath, let it out. “Please, no. Don’t. It’s not safe.” The last word was said on a long, sighing breath, as if she were about to faint. She had grown very pale, and the freckles stood out on her nose.
“What? Go in where?” I leaned over her, my hand on her shoulder, feeling frightened for her, not sure what to do. “Ruby, should I—” Should I make her put her head down? Lie down on the floor? Get a doctor, maybe?
I raised my head to call out for help to Cass, who was banging a pot in the kitchen just a few yards away, but Ruby opened her eyes, stopping me.
“Something’s awfully wrong, China.” She put out a hand, and when I took it, her fingers were like frozen sticks. “It’s dangerous,” she said. “Don’t go in.” She pushed out a ragged breath, her voice rising. “Don’t go through that door!” she cried, clinging to my hand.
By now, I was thoroughly frightened. My palms were clammy, my heart was pounding. But this was silly, I told myself. Here we were, on an ordinary day, in our usual place. There was no door, and no danger. I was standing right here beside her, not going anywhere. And then Ruby let go of my hand and put both hands to her face, covering her eyes.
“Are you all right?” I asked anxiously. “Do you want to lie down?”
“I . . . My goodness.” She shook her head, then dropped her hands and took a deep breath. “I think I said something, China. Something important. Did I? What was it?”
“You said ‘Don’t go through that door.’ You said it was dangerous.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Well, don’t, then,” she said, in her usual Ruby voice. “If that’s what I said, don’t do it.” She gave me a long, intense look. “Do you understand?”
And then, of course, I did. I hadn’t seen Ruby use her gift very much lately. But I’ve watched her in action more than once, and I know she’s in touch with something in the universe that the rest of us ordinary mortals simply don’t understand—and that many of us don’t want to believe in. I can’t pretend to know how she makes it work, and to tell the truth, I’d just as soon remain ignorant. But whatever it is, it’s real. And important, nothing like the silly, cartoonish kind of thing that Ramona does with cuckoo clocks and microwave ovens and TVs.
“I understand,” I said. I added, a little reproachfully, “But there are a lot of doors in this world. It would help if I knew which one you were talking about.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” Ruby confessed. “But please think twice before you open a strange door, will you?” She stood. “I picked up a bite to eat before the lunch crowd came in,” she added. “If you want, I’ll keep an eye on your shop while you sit down and have a sandwich.”
“That would be wonderful,” I said gratefully. Ruby and I learned long ago the multiple advantages of our adjoining shops. One of us can spell the other when we need a private moment or have to run out for a quick errand. And we’re never lonely, which is an even more important benefit. I just can’t imagine Thyme and Seasons without the Crystal Cave—and Ruby—on the other side of the wall. It’s like two halves of a whole, somehow.
Struck by this last thought and remembering how abruptly Kelly’s life had been altered by that crash, I put my arms around Ruby and hugged her, hard.
She hugged me back, then pulled away, puzzled. “What’s that for?” she asked, one ginger eyebrow arched. “Did I do something especially nice?”
“You’re the only friend I have who warns me about going through doors,” I said with a grin. “That makes you special, doesn’t it?”
She leaned over (way over: I’m only five-feet-four) and kissed me on the cheek. “If you want to talk later, China, I’m available. And maybe by that time, I’ll know what door we’re talking about and why you shouldn’t go through it.” She gave me a gentle push. “Now go and get a sandwich, sweetie. You’ll feel better.”
I had to laugh at that. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a chicken salad sandwich, a couple of cookies, and a glass of iced tea. Supplied with lunch, I took my laptop to a corner table in the empty tearoom. I sat down and polished off my sandwich while I was waiting for my laptop to boot up. Then I plugged Kelly’s flash drive into the USB port. The drive appeared as the “E” drive under “My Computer.” I clicked on it, mentally crossing my fingers that it wouldn’t be password protected.
It wasn’t. I was in.
Now, if you know me, you know that, normally, I’m not a snoop. I devoutly believe in safeguarding my own and other people’s privacy, and under most conditions, I would never go cruising through another person’s data files. That’s as bad as reading somebody else’s mail or pawing through the drawer where she keeps her undies.
But Kelly had seemed convinced that she had information about a serious crime, maybe even a murder, and she’d said that the documentation was on her laptop. What’s more, she had been on her way to my house to discuss it with me. So I felt justified in scanning her flash drive, with the hope of seeing what she had intended to show me. Whether I would recognize it when I saw it was another question altogether.
There were four folders on the drive, along with the usual aggregation of setup and application files. The first folder was named “Pecan Springs,” the second, “Seguin,” the third, “Lufkin,” the fourth, “Notes.” I reached for a cookie and munched it as I frowned at the folders, the first three named for Central Texas towns. I remembered hearing them mentioned recently and in the same sentence. Now, where was it? Who had I been talking to when—
I was clutching at that memory when I was interrupted by the siren ringtone on my cell phone. I considered letting the call go to voice mail, but the ring was annoying. And I remembered McQuaid, who might be back in cell-tower range and calling to tell me that he’d wrapped things up in El Paso and would be home for supper tonight. I stood up and fumbled my phone out of my jeans pocket. But it wasn’t McQuaid. It was Lara.
“I have those numbers Kelly called from our house yesterday, China—the lawyers Charlie Lipman recommended. There are three of them, two to Austin, one to our local area code. Want them?”
“Sure,” I said, thinking how great it was that our telephones kept records for us. I took a pencil out from behind my ear and a paper napkin from the holder in the middle of the table and jotted the numbers down as she read them off. When she finished, I said, “What about the durations of the calls?”
“Each of the first two was about ten minutes. The third, the local number, was a little over four.” She paused. “Are you going to follow these up?”
“I am. I don’t know where they’ll lead—maybe nowhere.” Maybe Kelly was so fed up with Charlie that she was looking for another divorce lawyer. If so, that wouldn’t tell us much. “But thanks for getting them for me.” I paused. “Any word on Kelly’s condition this afternoon?”
“I just talked to the charge nurse, a friend of mine.” Lara took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “They’ve been testing Kelly every hour to see if there’s any neurological response. There isn’t.”
“Oh, no,” I whispered. “Oh, Lara, I’m so, so sorry.”
“Thank you. She’s still on life support, but that’s mainly to keep her going until her family gets here.” Lara’s voice was steady, the voice of an experienced nurse who had dealt with death before. But underneath the matter-of-factness I could hear a profound sadness for her friend. “Her mom is flying in from Seattle. I’m leaving in a couple of minutes to go to the airport and pick her up. I’ll probably be with her at the hospital the rest of the day if you need to talk to me.” She hesitated. “Have you heard anything from the police?”
“Not a word.” I swallowed hard, still trying to get around the idea that Kelly wasn’t going to make it. “Have you?”
“Actually I have, round-aboutly, from one of Matt’s buddies who works at the brewery. Rich was at the hospital all morning, but he drove over to the brewery to do something he had to do. The cops showed up about that time and questioned him until he got irritated and told them he wouldn’t answer any more questions without his lawyer.”
“Uh-oh,” I said. “He used the magic word. Lawyer always jacks up the cops’ curiosity barometer a couple hundred percent. They’ll figure he has something to hide. And he’s already in the crosshairs, of course. When there’s trouble, the spouse is always the number one person of interest.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Anyway, after they talked to him, they went outside and took a look at his truck.”
“Ah,” I said. “Did they impound it?”
“If they did, I didn’t hear about it,” Lara said. “Why?”
“If they’d found any damage that might have been due to last night’s crash, they would have towed it to their impound yard. They wouldn’t have left it where he could take it to a body shop and get it repaired.”
“So I was right,” Lara said. “I knew Rich didn’t do it.”
“Not necessarily,” I cautioned. “It just means that they didn’t find any damage yet. They may send another investigator for a second opinion. But at least they’re looking, which ought to give you some satisfaction. It means that the chief took you and Matt seriously when you reported the rear-end damage to your van. Without that, they would have written off Kelly’s crash as a one-vehicle accident. Driver lost control on a bad stretch of road and smashed into a tree. End of story.”
“Yes, there’s that,” Lara agreed. She hesitated. “You’ll let me know if you want me to do any leg work, won’t you?”
I blinked. “Leg work?”
“Well, as I said, I really want to help you,” Lara replied. “Like, after you’ve called those phone numbers and you want to dig a little deeper. Or when you get into the files on that flash drive and you think I might be able to answer your questions. I want to pick up where Kelly left off—get to the bottom of this thing she was doing, whatever it is.” Her voice was earnest now, as if she’d taken this on as a crusade. I could hear the tears she was holding back. “I’m your girl, China. Don’t forget.”
I was touched by Lara’s sincerity. I thought once again of Kelly, on life support. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll remember.” I looked up as Ruby opened the door and several women came into the tearoom chatting and laughing. I started shutting down my computer. “But right now, I’m going to say hello to some First Baptist ladies who are early for their tea party.”
Lara chuckled drily. “My,” she said with mock admiration. “You lead such an exciting life, China Bayles, all full of thrills and chills. Have fun with the ladies. I’ll check you later. I’m eager to know what you find out from those phone calls.” Then her voice changed. “I’m really serious about wanting to help. Somebody tried to kill Kelly, I know it. I want to find out who it was.”
* * *
IT had started to rain again and the customer traffic dropped off after the ladies were finished with their tea. Karin Johnson, our neighborhood handyperson, was at work on the French doors in the cottage bedroom, and I took fifteen minutes to go back there and check on her progress. I would come in early the next morning and clean everything up, including the fingerprint powder residue on many of the surfaces. Kelly had rented the cottage for a week, so I could leave her things there for at least that long.
While I was talking to Karin, my daughter called my cell phone. I answered hurriedly, shutting off the siren ringtone as quickly as I could. Caitie’s friend Sharon, also a violinist, had asked her to stay for supper
and the evening. Could she? They wanted to practice together.
“It’s a school night,” I reminded her. Caitie is almost too self-contained, so I try to encourage her to spend time with other girls. But that usually happens on weekends. “What about your homework?”
“I’ve already got it pretty much done,” Caitie said. “Sharon’s mom says she’ll bring me home about nine. Sharon’s having trouble with one of our concert pieces, and Dr. Trevor suggested that we work together on it.”
“Sounds okay to me, sweetie,” I said. “Have fun.”
We exchanged noisy mom-daughter kisses and I clicked off with a smile, thinking how much Caitie has enriched my life and wishing that her father—Miles, my half brother—could know that his little girl is already making a lovely mark on the world. He would be pleased. And so, perhaps, would be the father Miles and I shared and whom neither of us had ever fully known.
* * *
IT was nearly four o’clock before I could get back to the telephone numbers Lara had given me. But I didn’t dial them on the phone. Instead, I brought up the browser on my laptop and typed the first of the three into the search bar. It turned out to be the telephone number for the law office of Stevens, Worth, and Bullock in Austin, and the search engine’s listing included a link to the firm’s website. That told me what I needed to know. They were False Claims Act lawyers.
I sat very still, staring wide-eyed at the web page on my laptop. Although False Claims wasn’t in my special skill set as a lawyer, I had a general knowledge of it, and I didn’t have to read more than a few sentences to get a glimpse of Kelly’s backstory. But one gust of wind doesn’t make a hurricane, I reminded myself quickly. I had another couple of numbers to check out.
I typed the second number into the browser, clicked on the web link, and a moment later, I was looking at the website of Prince and Rosato, Attorneys at Law, specializing in False Claims and qui tam litigation.
And with a nearly audible click, the universe seemed to settle into an orderly, familiar arrangement of fact, law, and proceedings. I still knew next to nothing about what Kelly suspected or who was involved or what was at stake. But at least I knew what league we were playing in—or I thought I did. Unless I was mistaken, the name of this game was Let’s Blow the Whistle, and the rules were all very clearly spelled out in the federal government’s playbook, under the False Claims Act. Kelly must have wanted help with a whistle-blowing case.
Blood Orange: A China Bayles Mystery Page 13
