"Over there," I told him, pointing to the other end of the trailer, where Tobias was still ministering to the man.
"What happened?" Mitch asked. "Forget his insulin?"
"He's diabetic?" Tobias asked.
Mitch nodded.
"I don't think that's what caused this," Tobias said.
"It's got to be," Mitch insisted. "Some kind of diabetic coma or something. Maybe his insulin was messed up."
Before Tobias could answer, there was the sound of sirens; the paramedics had arrived.
* * *
"He's stable," the EMT announced as they moved José to a gurney and wheeled him into the back of the ambulance twenty minutes later.
"It was his diabetes, right?" Mitch asked.
"It doesn't look like it," she said, "but I suppose it could be related. We'll know more when we get to the hospital."
Mitch looked unconcerned. "This is probably a big deal about nothing."
"Is he going to be okay?" I asked.
"We'll see," she said. "If it was something he ate, you made a good call with the ipecac and the charcoal," she told Tobias. "It might have made all the difference."
"Are the police coming?" I asked.
She nodded. "They should be on their way."
"We'll stay until they get here," Tobias told her.
Mitch waved Tobias away. "I'll wait till they get here. No need for you to waste your time."
"They may have some questions for us," Tobias countered. "Lucy and I really should be here."
Mitch paused for a moment, looking like he was deciding on a course of action, before changing tacks. "Did you get a chance to check out the new arrivals?" he asked, changing the subject.
"I took a brief look at them, but I was hoping to see the paperwork; that's why we came to the trailer," Tobias said.
"I can find it for you," Mitch suggested, starting toward the desk.
Tobias held up a hand. "It's okay. Why don't you show me the kangaroos? We can all go together, and we'll come back here when the police arrive. We can get the paperwork later; I can do a quick examination in the meantime."
Mitch hesitated, then nodded. "All right, then. We'll go check them out."
Tobias and I followed the rancher out of the trailer. "It looks like you've got quite a crowd here this weekend," I said, trying to shift the subject. "Business must be pretty good."
"It's not bad.," Mitch shrugged. "We're trying to bring in some more interesting game to try to drum up more business; we've got a few giraffes on order."
"Giraffes?" I asked. Why on God's green earth would anyone want to shoot a giraffe? Then again, I thought, looking at the cute kangaroos huddled in the corner of the pen, why would anyone want to shoot a kangaroo?
I stood outside the pen as Tobias let himself in, using a soothing tone as he approached the poor creatures. As he squatted down to take a closer look at them, the ambulance pulled away from the barn. I waved to the paramedic and said a brief prayer that José would be okay. In fact, when the police arrived, I planned to suggest that they post a guard on him at the hospital; if someone had tried to kill José to keep him from sharing something he knew, they might try again. If it was Rooster, he would probably ignore me, but at least I felt I should mention it.
Mitch, who hadn't joined Tobias in the pen, kept glancing back at the trailer as Tobias worked. "I really should go get that paperwork," he suggested.
"It can wait," Tobias repeated as he checked the ears of the smallest kangaroo. When he released it, it shook itself and hopped away. "Besides, from what I can see, everyone looks pretty healthy."
"Good, good," Mitch said.
"At least that's some good news, eh?" I said. "It's been a rough week. First Bug, and now José."
"Yeah," he said absently.
Before he could say anything else, Jed jogged up to the scene. "What's going on?" he asked. "I saw an ambulance tear out of here.
"José had some kind of diabetic reaction or something," Mitch said, squinting at Jed. "I hope you're up for some overtime."
"Why?"
"They just took him to the hospital. I need someone to help take care of the animals while he's out."
I couldn't think of anyone less qualified to take care of animals—Jed had once kicked poor Chuck against a wall because he was angry—but I swallowed back my objection.
"I'm on it," Jed said. "Just give me a list." As he spoke, a police car rolled up. Jed eyed it nervously. "I'll get to work and check in later," he said before melting into the undergrowth not far from the barn.
Rooster stepped out of his Crown Victoria, his eyes narrowing when he saw me. "You again," he said, his red wattle jiggling. "You always turn up where there's trouble. What's this all about anyway?"
"We found one of the Whartons' workers—José—on the floor of the trailer. It looked like he might have been poisoned, so I gave him ipecac and charcoal. I took a small sample of the coffee with a syringe and sent it with the paramedics, along with a little bit of the artificial sweetener he used, but we left the coffee cup there on the desk."
"Why'd you do that?"
"It has a strange, bitter smell; if he ingested something, the hospital may be able to figure out what it is from the sample. Lucy and I aren't sure, but we think there might be something in the Splenda." Tobias gestured toward the yellow bag next to the coffeepot.
"Did y'all touch that stuff, contaminate it with fingerprints?"
"We put gloves on before touching anything," Tobias replied. "Except for José, of course, and the doorknob."
Rooster squinted at the coffee cup. "Sure it wasn't just a heart attack or something?"
"It didn't look like a heart attack," Tobias said. "I’m not an MD, but I'd say it was something he ingested. I told the paramedic they should take a look at the samples at the hospital and do some blood testing, too, in case it was something else."
"So y'all just walked in and found him on the floor?"
"That's right," Tobias said.
"Seems you have a habit of findin' almost-dead bodies, Miz Resnick. And dead ones, too."
"It's a small town," Tobias said. "And I was there for both of them, too."
"I'll check with the hospital," Rooster said. "If they find anything, I'll call out the detectives. In the meantime, I'm going to lock this place up."
"But if someone else has the key," I pointed out, "they'd be able to get in and get rid of any evidence."
He gave me a sour look. It was obvious that hadn't occurred to him.
"Do you have a chain and padlock or something?" Tobias suggested. "That would keep people out."
"I've probably got something in the trunk," Rooster said. Together, we followed him out of the trailer. He dug around in the cluttered trunk of his car for a while, then came up with two short two-by-fours and some nails. "This'll have to do. No hammer, but I can use some of the wood to pound the nails in."
"I'll hammer it if you'll hold it," Tobias offered. Together, they used two-by-fours to nail the door shut while I watched; as Rooster held up the board, Tobias hammered in the nails. "There'll be some damage, but they can always patch the holes when it comes off."
"I hope they don't need anything in there," I said. "How long do you think it'll be before you know anything?"
"It's police business," he informed me.
"Of course," I said, trying not to sound too irritated.
Rooster gave me a slow, unpleasant smile. "Your friend had better hope it's not poison."
"Which friend?"
"The witchy one."
"She's in jail. What would she have to do with this?"
"She got out on bail this morning," Rooster said with a grin.
* * *
"If it was poison," I said when Rooster had driven off in his Crown Victoria, "anyone could have done it at any time."
"Whoever it is likes to plan ahead," Tobias said. "Messing with the EpiPen, poisoning... my instinct says that's what happened to José."
"Not a crime of passion, then."
"That kind of takes the Houston woman out of it, doesn't it?" he pointed out.
"It's a far cry from an electric cattle prod," I admitted. "What I want to know is, why would someone want to kill José?"
"He must have known something," Tobias said. "Which points to something at the ranch."
"Not necessarily," I said. "If José overheard something he shouldn't have, that would be an issue. I got the feeling he didn't want us poking around much, though... maybe you're right." As I spoke, there was another gunshot; Tobias and I both flinched.
"Maybe he was afraid you'd get shot," he pointed out.
"Could be, but I got the impression there was more to it than that."
"Hopefully, we'll get a chance to ask him," Tobias said.
14
Opal Gruber was at her desk when I stopped by the sheriff's office with a loaf of pumpkin bread in one hand and a stack of paperbacks in the other. Thankfully, there was no sign of Rooster.
"I heard Serafine got out on bail," I said.
"She sure did," Opal said, adjusting her sparkly black cat necklace and eyeing the pumpkin bread with interest. "She was cozied up with that lawyer from Houston yesterday, and this morning she posted bail. I heard you put them in touch."
"I did," I said. "I brought some pumpkin bread and some paperbacks for her, but since she’s flown the coop, you’re welcome to them." I knew we shared similar taste in both books.
"That's sweet of you," she said, inspecting the books I set on the desk. "Ooh, Ellery Adams. I love her books. And I love pumpkin bread. I've been trying to watch my waistline lately, but it's part vegetable, right?"
"Of course," I said, grinning. "I had another question, too. Ethan Schenk told me there was a woman named Evelyn who was over at the Whartons' place last week. Created something of a disturbance, I hear."
"You mean she went after him with an electric cattle prod."
"That's what I heard," I told her. " I was wondering if Rooster might have considered her as a suspect?"
"I doubt it," she said. "Let's see here." She riffled through the papers on her desk. "Here it is. Evelyn Crowley. Lives on Branard, in Houston."
"Mind if I take down that address?"
"Go ahead," she said, repeating it as I scrawled it on a pad I found in my purse.
"I may go ahead and get in touch with her."
"I think you should," she said. "Lord knows Rooster's never going to."
"What I don't get," I told her, "is why he thinks it's murder in the first place."
She leaned forward. "I'm not going to say anything, but..." She dug through her papers until she found something that looked like a report, then pushed it off the edge of the desk so it drifted to the floor. "Oops. Could you get that for me?"
"Of course," I said, reaching for the paper and making a move to hand it to her.
"I'm going to refill my coffee," she said, grabbing a coffee cup instead and standing up. "I'll be back in a second." With a wink, she turned and headed down the hallway, leaving me with the report.
I glanced down at it; it was an autopsy report for Bug Wharton.
Cause of death: anaphylactic shock. Likely caused by bee venom. Stapled to it was an e-mail from a medical examiner in Houston. "EpiPen shows signs of tampering. Analysis revealed that it contained bee venom, with only trace amounts of epinephrine."
I blinked and read it a second time. No wonder Bug Wharton had died. Someone had filled his EpiPen with bee venom!
As Opal headed back down the hallway, I put the report back on her desk, still thinking about it. Serafine had lots of hives; of course she had access to bee venom. Presuming she knew how to get venom out of bees.
"So," I said as Opal put her fresh cup of coffee down on the desk, "did Rooster say anything about someone putting bees into Bug's truck?"
"Not that I've heard," she said. "Why?"
"There was a twist of paper with a dead bee in it on the front seat of his truck when Peter went to get the EpiPen," I told her. "Someone must have put it in there after Bug and Mitch got out of the car, or it would have been squashed."
"Why is that?"
"Because Mitch was in the passenger seat. Quinn and I saw him get out of the truck."
"Did Rooster ask you about that?"
I grinned. "Umm... no. He didn't."
"Why don't I set you up with one of the deputies later on today? You can just come in and say you thought of something and wanted to share it."
"Got it," I told her. "What time?"
She checked her schedule. "Deputy Shames should be here in about an hour. How about three?"
"I'll be back," I told her. "Thanks."
"My pleasure," she said. "We women have to stick together."
I walked out of the sheriff's office and was on my way to my truck, feeling more optimistic about things, when I saw something that froze my blood.
Jed Stadtler was driving by in a massive Chevy pickup truck. He spotted me, and when our eyes met, he tilted his head and tipped an imaginary hat, steel in his eyes, before turning left at the corner—in the direction of the Blue Onion Cafe.
* * *
I hurried to my truck and slid into the driver's seat, feeling my heart race. Did Quinn know her abusive ex was in town? What was he doing here, anyway? I put my seat belt on as I reversed out of my parking place, and, a moment later, turned in the direction he was heading, my heart in my throat. Before long, I was at the Blue Onion... just as Jed was creeping past it.
I pulled up in the closest parking space and catapulted myself out of the car and into the cafe, where several startled patrons glanced up at me. I smiled at them and hurried to the kitchen, where Quinn was humming to herself as she put the finishing touches on a loaf of spice bread.
"Jed just drove by the cafe," I said.
Her face drained of color. "What is he doing here?"
"I don't know," I told her. "Do you still have a restraining order?"
"I don't know if it's still in force, but I had one when he attacked me at the farm," she said. "I'm not sure it's going to make any difference. Besides, he must be on parole; if he violates it, doesn't that mean he goes back to jail?"
"All the more reason to make sure you've got one in place," I told her.
"I hate guns," she said, "but sometimes I feel like maybe I should learn how to use one."
"Maybe he's just in town for a visit," I said, although something told me that wasn't the case.
"Maybe you're right," she said. "But thanks for letting me know. I'm glad I have Pip to keep watch over me," she said. "At least I won't be surprised this time." She shook herself, like a duck trying to shed water. "So. I refuse to let him take over my day. What's going on with you?"
"Oh, you know. Dry well, haunted house, friend suspected of murder... the usual."
"You have a minute to help me frost and cut up these pumpkin bars?" she asked, pointing to the trays of rich, orange-looking sheet cake on the counter.
"Of course," I said, inhaling the spicy sweet scent of the kitchen.
"The recipe is on that card," she said, pointing to an index card at the end of the counter. "Butter is softening by the sink, and cream cheese is in the fridge."
"Got it," I said, thankful to have a task to do.
"Did you get your stock tanks refilled?" she asked.
"I did, but I'm making zero progress on solving the problem. At least that problem," I said as I unwrapped a bar of cream cheese and popped it into the mixer, then reached for the butter. "I may have made some progress on what happened to Bug."
"What happened?"
I told her about the cattle prod incident, and my thoughts on the paper in the front seat of his truck. "I'm supposed to go back and mention it to one of the deputies later on today, and I'm thinking of getting in touch with the woman in Houston. But I still think Aimee’s involved with the Whartons somehow."
"Think it's related?"
"It might be," I said. "But th
e cattle prod person may be more likely."
"Why the heck didn't Rooster pursue that?"
"Because he doesn't like Serafine and she's in town, so he doesn't have to do anything."
"What the heck does he think her motive is?"
"Animal abuse. Plus, she had access to bee venom." I told her about the autopsy report I'd seen.
"Wow," she said. "That takes some doing. How the heck do you get venom from bees, anyway?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure that's a job I'd want."
"Me neither."
We fell silent for a few minutes as I creamed the powdered sugar into the butter and then added cream cheese and vanilla, making a smooth, sweet frosting that would be a wonderful counterpoint to the moist, velvety pumpkin bars. I added a dash of almond extract at the end— Quinn had taught me it was her secret weapon—and then began slathering the frosting onto the moist cake.
I had just frosted the second pan and was moving onto the third when there was a loud bang. I turned around to see Jed Stadtler standing in the kitchen.
* * *
"What are you doing here?" Quinn had gone white and backed up against the wall.
"Just being neighborly," Jed said in a smooth, predatory tone that made my hackles rise. I grabbed a rolling pin off the counter and moved closer to Quinn. I knew she was testing for her black belt soon, but Jed still towered over her. "It's been a while, baby. I just wanted to see how you're doing. I've missed you."
Deadly Brew: A Dewberry Farm Mystery Page 12
