Blackberry Crumble

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I know, right?” she said into the phone, nodding and smiling. “It’s about time something happened!”

  Keeping the phone to her ear, she put on her left blinker and looked over her shoulder before pulling into traffic behind him, hanging back as far as she dared. Her heart was pounding, which she found rather pathetic since she was simply following him. What was she afraid of?

  “This is silly,” she said into her silent phone. “But what choice do I have? Who knows—maybe I’ll get lucky, and he’ll lead me to his secret lab where he concocts various toxins, and one vial will have the name ‘Jim Sanderson’ written on it in his handwriting. Maybe this isn’t his first kill and he keeps a death journal I’ll find when he accidentally leaves his car unlocked!”

  Keith was a couple of car lengths ahead of her as they turned left, then right, and then went over another bridge—not the same one she’d crossed on her way here. Crossing the bridge, however, meant she would be back in downtown Portland. She could feel her curiosity bubbling up, her sense of adventure and desire for justice taking hold once again. What a relief!

  And then she glanced in her rearview mirror to see a police car pull up behind her and turn on its lights. Even then it took her a few seconds to realize she was the car being pulled over.

  Chapter 18

  You’ve got to kidding me,” she said, setting her phone down as he put on his blinker, telling her to pull to the right. She was going twenty-five miles an hour! What could he be pulling her over for? She looked ahead as she pulled to the curb; Keith’s car was in the turning lane. She came to a stop, and the officer approached on the left side of her car. Sadie put on the smile that had gotten her out of countless tickets over the years and rolled down the window.

  “Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” Sadie said. “I was under the speed limit, I believe, and my seatbelt is on.” She pulled on the strap across her chest to prove it.

  “You were talking on your cell phone,” he said, looking at her with an expression that seemed both annoyed and horribly bored.

  “And that’s a problem?”

  “It’s against the law.”

  It is? Sadie had never heard of that. Everyone talked on their cell phones when they drove in Colorado. Granted, it wasn’t all that safe, and Sadie avoided it out of determination to be a good example to the other drivers who might not have the same ability to multitask as she did—but against the law?

  “License and registration, please, ma’am.”

  Sadie sighed and reached for the glove compartment, trying not to panic. “I’m not from Oregon,” she said, handing over the rental car registration. “I didn’t know it was against the law to talk and drive, and I wasn’t really talking into the phone, just pretending. That’s not against the law, is it? To pretend to talk on the phone?”

  “Right,” he said slowly, nodding. “I’ll give you credit for originality, lady, but we’re zero tolerance around here.”

  “Zero tolerance?” Sadie said. Not only had she lost her quarry, but she was going to get her first ticket in twenty-five years for not-really-talking on a cell phone. She glanced back to the officer, her confidence waning quickly. “But I’m from out of state, and I wasn’t really talking.”

  “Like I said, zero tolerance. Your license?”

  It was a good fifteen minutes before Sadie put the pink ticket in her purse and pulled away from the curb, still aware of the police officer watching her, and trying not to feel absolutely humiliated. At least she didn’t know anyone here, but it still stung to have a piece of paper certifying that she was a lawbreaker; she’d only recently come to terms with her other confrontations with the law. To avoid too many self-recriminating thoughts, she turned at the same intersection as Keith had, but after driving several blocks, she admitted that she’d never find him. How frustrating. This was her first day as a real investigator, and although she couldn’t expect things to go perfectly, she hadn’t expected to get a ticket. Pete would love it when he found out she had, in fact, broken the law. Biscuits!

  Sadie pulled onto a side street and parked at the curb. She punched Keith’s home address into the GPS and waited while Dora calculated the route. Twenty minutes later, she arrived at the address in West Hills, where the homes were increasingly larger and more spread out the closer she got to Keith’s home. She pulled over to the side of the road across from his driveway and studied his particular residence.

  It wasn’t the largest home in the neighborhood—some were monstrous—but the Kelly home was no sore thumb. It had to be at least six thousand square feet—three thousand per above-ground level—and was made of a dark brick, with even darker trim and shutters. It was set a few dozen feet back from the road, making it impossible for Sadie to get a good look around without leaving her car and crawling through the numerous trees and shrubs that surrounded the property. There was no guarantee he was even home, though, since he had a triple-car garage where the Mercedes might—or might not—be.

  Surveillance would be difficult, and, Sadie noticed, there were no cars parked on the street, making hers conspicuous. It was 7:45, but the sky was still bright. A jogger passed her window, startling her. And then a lightbulb went on in Sadie’s mind.

  Fifteen minutes later, she huffed her way up the hill toward Keith’s home and wondered how that jogger had managed to run up the incline when Sadie was struggling to walk the same distance. Portland was much lower in elevation than Garrison, which gave her more oxygen, but she didn’t like to think about that because it made her strain harder to justify.

  As per Pete’s instructions, she’d been working on making it a habit to put her keys in her pocket—there was nowhere else to put them anyway since she’d left her purse in the car—but they kept jabbing against her thigh, which didn’t improve her mood. She’d rolled up her capris to look like knee shorts and hoped no one would notice that she was wearing sandals instead of sneakers. As for who might notice a woman out for a walk—she’d already passed half a dozen people walking their dogs, as well as a couple of women about her age walking together and another jogger.

  When she reached the Kelly home, she slowed down and looked for an opportunity to get closer. The dog walker she’d been trailing turned the corner, and she quickly scanned the street. She was alone for the moment.

  It took walking past the home entirely before she decided exactly what to do. After she passed the home, she darted behind a tree to the side of Keith’s house. She took a breath and then ran to the next tree. The wooded lot had made surveillance from the street difficult, but it sure was helpful now that she had gone from stakeout to stalking her prey.

  Her heart thumped in her chest, but the thrill of actually doing something was enough to keep her going from tree to shrub and from tree to tree, veering toward the east side of the home. Finally she found herself with her back against the brick wall of the house. She took a deep breath, grinning at her success, and then moved toward the backyard, grateful that there were no fences or dogs. She spotted two windows and peeked inside, but only saw darkened rooms. Though it was still light outside, the trees cast most of the house in shadow, which was good for Sadie; she was trying to be as shadowlike as possible.

  As she rounded the corner of the house and began moving along the back side, she heard the first signs of life and felt a shiver run through her. A television was on. Keith was home, which meant all this subterfuge was not in vain. She crouched down as she approached the next window, which had a light on, and then carefully peeked inside, her heart rate increasing once again. She inhaled sharply and ducked—Keith was mere feet away, pulling open the microwave door with his back facing her.

  After taking a deep breath, she lifted her head again, stopping when her eyes just cleared the windowsill. He was still in his business attire: a white shirt and slacks. He turned around, and she pulled back slightly, but he didn’t look in her direction. While watching his every move, she lined
up what she knew about the man.

  He was obviously successful; he still worked hard despite being in his late sixties. Since he hadn’t left the office until almost seven o’clock, she could probably deem him a workaholic. Was he married? Divorced? May had mentioned that Keith had children who had been involved in the company when he and Jim Sanderson had finally split. He was alone right now, which seemed odd if there was a Mrs. Kelly in the picture. Was she at a book group or red-hat club meeting? Or did he live in this big, beautiful home all by himself?

  Keith stopped at the counter and put down whatever he’d taken from the microwave. After fiddling with it for a moment, he peeled back the plastic layer. A TV dinner.

  He was definitely single. No woman with any self-respect would expect a man of his caliber to eat a TV dinner. After retrieving silverware from a drawer, he moved toward the television at the other end of the room. Sadie tried to ignore it, but a little ping of sympathy knocked around her stomach. Keith was a powerful and successful man, but he ate TV dinners alone at night.

  Taking small steps, Sadie moved along the back wall, carefully skirting a large plastic box of bright plastic pails and a few sports balls pushed against the back of the house. Grandchildren, she assumed. Pete had a similar setup on his back porch, and she sincerely hoped to have a box like that herself some day; though with the direction Breanna was going, her grandchildren would live in England and say words like brilliant and chum.

  When she reached the edge of the sliding glass doors, she crouched down between the cement steps and the toy box, trying to ignore her aching quads. Keith was watching CNN, but changed the channel every time a commercial came on. How predictable, she thought. Was there a man anywhere in the world who sat through commercials outside of the Super Bowl?

  Five minutes passed, and she sat down on the patio, keeping her back against the brick and her head turned so she could still see the back of his head where it stuck up above the couch. Another five minutes passed. And then another. This was as irritating as sitting in her car across the street from his office, and she’d left her camera in her purse in her car so as to complete her disguise as a woman taking a leisurely walk. What was she supposed to discover by sitting here in the increasing dusk while sweating through her cotton blouse, thanks to the humidity that wasn’t going away with the sunlight?

  After nearly twenty minutes, Keith finally moved, and although he simply stood up from the couch, Sadie was on high alert. She pressed her back against the wall as hard as she could, willing him not to see her, only breathing when he’d passed the sliding glass door. Returning to her quad-screaming crouch, she crept back to the first window—skirting the box of toys again—and watched him turn a small glass bottle upside down and stick a needle through the lid.

  She watched as he drew back the plunger, pulled the needle out of the bottle, and pushed the plunger up slightly, causing a tiny spurt of whatever was in the vial to push through the needle. Her first thought was steroids, which she knew could lead to psychosis in some people, but he didn’t look as though he worked out, never mind that serious bodybuilders would never eat a nitrate-infested TV dinner. Keith pulled the tails of his shirt out from his pants, pinched his skin at his side, and then deftly plunged the needle in with his other hand. He didn’t wince, but Sadie did. It didn’t look as though he felt it at all.

  Within moments, he withdrew the needle and then opened a cupboard to throw it away. In a Sharps container, she hoped. She moved slightly to get a better view, and saw a black leather case and what looked like a small cell phone on the counter near the glass bottle. She squinted, trying to make out details and then realized what it must be.

  “Insulin,” she said under her breath. Keith was diabetic. He really should have taken his insulin before he ate instead of after—hadn’t his doctor told him that?

  She was processing how this detail could be important when she realized Keith wasn’t in the kitchen anymore, although the paraphernalia was still on the counter. She leaned even closer to the window in order to see if he was heading back to the TV when she heard the click of a lock from behind her.

  He was coming outside.

  Chapter 19

  By the time she heard the first footfall on the steps, she was curled up in a corner against the far side of the toy box, holding her breath and mentally chanting, oh please, oh please, oh please. The patio was fully shadowed now that the sun had fallen behind the trees, but it would not be hard to spot a woman hiding next to a box. She began a panicked race to come up with a reasonable explanation should he spot her, but absolutely nothing came to mind. There was no legitimate reason for her to be here—well, other than the fact that she was investigating him. Chances were good that he wouldn’t find that very legitimate. She kept her eyes closed, not because she thought he wouldn’t see her if she did, but because watching him made her anxiety worse. She heard some quiet clicks and moments later smelled cigarette smoke.

  At least he hadn’t come outside because he’d seen her through the window. However, a man with insulin-dependent diabetes had no business smoking, especially when he took his insulin after a meal. The man was a walking death wish. She kept her eyes shut while she delivered her nonverbal lecture. At least he didn’t smoke cigars, though. Her father used to get one every Christmas, and it would take him hours to smoke it.

  It took about seven minutes to smoke a cigarette—she’d learned that in Reader’s Digest—and she began counting the seconds. At one point she couldn’t stand it and opened her eyes, half-expecting to find him standing there watching her. But she couldn’t see him at all from where she was, and she wasn’t about to unwrap herself in order to get a better look. She clenched her eyes shut again and kept counting.

  She heard a creak and assumed he’d sat down in one of the lawn chairs. Two more minutes passed, then three. Sadie took no comfort in the passing of time. At some point, he would finish his smoke and head back up the steps, coming within ten feet of her impromptu hiding place. She knew from experience that there were no guarantees when trying to hide from trouble. But it had worked before. She could only hope this would be another one of those times.

  Finally, after what she assumed was eight full minutes—she might have to write to Reader’s Digest about that—she heard another creak of the chair. She scrunched down even tighter and held her breath as she listened to his feet move toward the door and then pause.

  Oh please, oh please, oh please, she begged in her mind. When she heard the door close, she finally exhaled. She waited another thirty seconds before daring to lift her head to make sure the coast was clear. Maybe another investigator would stay and watch some more, but Sadie’s whole head was tingling at the close call.

  Forcing herself to use caution, she left the same way she’d come—darting between trees and bushes, though her retreat was much faster than her advance had been forty-five minutes earlier. When she reached the street, she looked back for only a moment before running down the hill toward her car, sandals or no sandals. Her head was still buzzing, and she could barely breathe when she slid into the heat-intensified interior of the car and began fishing through her purse. She found the voice recorder and brought it to her mouth.

  “Insu—lin after dinner and . . . he . . . lives alone, I think. . . . Grandkids.”

  She pushed the stop button and let her hand fall to her lap. Perhaps it would be better to take notes after she could breathe normally again. She leaned back against the seat and couldn’t suppress a smile, despite the fear still stabbing her insides. She’d done it! She’d sneaked up on her target and learned details May hadn’t been able to tell her. Now, to take all those details apart, bit by tiny bit, and turn them into information that really meant something. As she drove back to the hotel, she felt a little like a real investigator. She liked the feeling. A lot.

  Chapter 20

  Hi, this is May Sanderson. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Sadie
waited for the beep. “May, I was up half the night researching. I’d love to share some things with you. Please call when you have the chance.”

  She clicked off the phone and stared out the window of her hotel. Even a view of the strip mall and freeway was beautiful here, especially in the early morning sun. Sadie felt invigorated! Apparently nearly being discovered gave her a strange rush of adrenaline.

  She picked up the top paper in a rather large stack of things she’d printed off the computer and read the title, “Death by Insulin Overdose.” The thrill that had carried her through the late-night hours diminished as reality took its place. Discovering a possible cause of death was bittersweet. She returned the paper to the stack and tried not to let her emotions get the best of her. In addition to insulin-related deaths, she’d researched chemicals used in fire suppression systems. Oy. Who needed to die in a fire when you could inhale ammonium phosphate instead by trying to put it out? It was hard to pinpoint which of those chemicals could induce a heart attack without leaving any other evidence to tip off a coroner, which is why insulin had eventually captured her attention. Apparently, in people with heart disease—like Jim Sanderson—an insulin overdose could cause Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, which could trigger a heart attack. However, insulin wouldn’t appear in a toxicology report if it had been in the patient for at least eight hours.