The Bad Break

by Jill Orr

  Carl shook his head. “No, that’d be nicotine.”

  “Right,” Tiffany said. “What we found were actual raw tobacco leaves. Did Arthur ever do any tobacco farming?”

  “Not that I know of,” Carl said.

  “I’d have a hard time believing a cardiologist would have had anything to do with a tobacco farm. Half of his patients’ problems were caused by smoking,” I added.

  “All right,” Carl said, looking at the clock on his wall. “I’ve got to get going on Thad’s paperwork. Thanks again for getting this to me.”

  “My pleasure!” Tiffany said, and it was clear that she meant it.

  A short while later, I stood just outside the steps to the sheriff’s office with Thad, Tabitha, and a still grim-faced Carl Haight. As Gail predicted, Carl had decided to let Tabitha’s fake confession slide with the understanding that she was not to interfere in the investigation again.

  “No more dramatics,” he said and pointed a finger at her. “I understand this is an emotional situation, but you need to take a step back and let me do my job. If I have any more trouble from you, I won’t be so nice next time.”

  “I promise,” Tabitha said, and she even had the decency to look contrite.

  “Thad, you’re also free to go, but don’t leave town,” Carl continued. “The prosecutor hasn’t decided to file charges yet, but she still has that option.”

  Thad squinted up at Carl, the sun bouncing off of his pale skin, made even more so by spending two days in the clink. He extended a hand to Carl, which I thought was pretty big of him considering. “Thank you,” he said.

  It took me a minute to realize he was thanking him for letting Tabitha off the hook.

  As soon as Carl walked back inside, Tabitha turned to me. “Spill.”

  “What?”

  “The autopsy report. It’s public record anyway. You might as well tell us what was in it and save us the trouble of hunting it down. It’s really the least you can do.”

  “The least I can do? What’re you talking—” I stopped myself. On her best day Tabitha was suspicious and snappish; with all the stress she was under at that moment, it was probably wise not to argue with her. So I chose the path of least resistance and told them everything Tiffany Peters had just shared with Carl and me.

  “Your dad didn’t have anything to do with tobacco farming, did he?” I asked Thad.

  “No, never.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Tabitha jumped in. “So that means the killer must live or work on a tobacco farm. Okay. So here’s a list of things we need to do.” She ticked off each item on her fingers as she talked. “Number one, we need to get a listing of all the tobacco farms in the area. Two, we need to find out if anyone involved in those farms had a connection to Arthur. Three, Thad, you and I need to get over to City Hall and apply for our marriage license—it’s good for thirty days. Four, Riley, you—”

  “You can’t be serious,” Thad interrupted her.

  “What?”

  “We can’t get married in ten days.”

  Tabitha couldn’t have looked more surprised if she’d been smacked across the face by Cookie Monster. “Huh?”

  That was my cue. “Seems like you kids have some things to talk about, so I’m just gonna head—”

  “No, Riley, stay.” Tabitha put her hand on her tiny hip (which she’d been working on with Gregor, her trainer, in order to look good in her wedding dress). “Thad, what are you talking about?”

  “Listen, I’m not saying call it off or anything—just postpone. With everything that’s happened . . .”

  Thad kept talking and I, desperate to avoid being a part of this awkward and personal conversation, took a step back and looked around—anywhere but at the two of them. My head was swiveled toward the square when something there caught my attention. It was stupid Gerlach Spencer with his stupid messenger bag slung across his stupid chest walking out of the Times office and toward the sheriff’s office.

  “Don’t you agree, Riley?” Tabitha’s voice snapped my attention back to the moment.

  “What?”

  “I said, don’t you agree that Arthur would have wanted us to get married? That he wouldn’t want his death to come between us?”

  “I . . . um . . .”

  Spencer would be close enough to see me soon. I needed to get out of there—fast.

  “I gotta go,” I said already turning to dash down the back alley behind the sheriff’s office. “I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s best!”

  In my haste to flee the scene, I rounded the corner and almost mowed into Ridley, who had been walking up Forsythe. I threw up a silent prayer that I hadn’t actually knocked her over (knocking down my ex’s pregnant girlfriend would so be the talk of the town) as I snuck a glance behind me. Spencer was about fifty yards back; he looked like he was on the phone. I wondered if he’d seen me.

  “Hi!” I said, grabbing Ridley by the elbow and leading her off in the opposite direction. “What are you out here doing? Going shopping? Meeting Ryan for lunch?” It may have been the first time I’d ever initiated conversation with Ridley.

  “I was just heading to see you actually,” she said. “I heard what happened to that handsome friend of yours—David? I want to help.”

  Help? What the hell was she talking about? “Um, I’m not sure what you can do. Maybe you could bring him some flowers or something?”

  “I already went to go see him.”

  “You did?” They met for like two minutes. Now she was visiting him in the hospital? Why was this woman suddenly everywhere?

  “David and I, we made a . . . connection,” she said, taking a moment before settling on the right word. “He told me what he told you about his father’s death maybe having to do with that Invigor8 company. He says you are investigating. Let me help you.”

  We walked along Forsythe, which runs parallel to the park along the back of the municipal buildings that frame the east edge of Memorial Park. I glanced through the open spaces between buildings and saw Spencer entering the sheriff’s office. He’d find out Thad and Tabitha had been released and probably get a copy of the autopsy report, too. Damn. That meant he’d be onto the tobacco-leaves lead as well. But he didn’t know about the Invigor8 connection—that tip came from David. At least I had that lead all to myself. Or almost all to myself, I thought as I looked at Ridley.

  “I will go with you,” she said firmly.

  “I’m sorry—you’ll go with me where?”

  “I will go with you to go talk to this CEO man. I will find out if he was involved in doing these terrible things to David and his father.” And then, without a hint of irony or self-consciousness, she added, “I am very good at getting men to talk to me.”

  I thought about stupid Spencer inside the sheriff’s office getting all the information that I had, and about how he’d probably have the story online in a couple of hours. If I had any hope of getting a scoop, I’d have to look into the leads he didn’t have. That meant two things: Arthur’s complicated love life and Invigor8. I looked at Ridley again, in all her six-foot-goddess glory, and thought, Maybe she’s just the edge you need? I made the decision in an instant. It was time, for once, for me to reap the benefits of Ridley’s particular brand of magic.

  CHAPTER 24

  On the drive over to Invigor8, I gave Ridley strict instructions that I was to do all the talking once we got there.

  “We will be like Thelma and Louise,” she gushed.

  “No. We will not. They died in a fiery crash after committing serious crimes. We are only going there to ask some questions and find out the nature of his relationship with Arthur Davenport, okay? I don’t want you bringing up David or, heaven forbid, making any kind of accusation about him being involved in murder or poisoning or anything like that, okay?”

  I had visions of an angry Brandon Laytner calling the newspaper to complain about the baseless accusations from “the beautiful reporter and her shorter, plainer s
idekick.” Kay Jackson would fire me faster than a jackrabbit on roller skates.

  “I understand,” Ridley agreed. “I am there only to, uh, grease the wheels?”

  As painful as it was, I had to give Ridley credit for unapologetically owning her beauty and being willing to exploit her sex appeal for the greater good. It seemed, at least in that moment, terribly modern to me.

  “So . . .” I said, after a few silent minutes in the car. “I hear we’re going to be neighbors.”

  “Yes,” she said, and at first I couldn’t tell if she thought that was a good or a bad thing. “We’ll see. Ryan thinks we will live all together as a family, but I’m not sure this is best.”

  I knew it was probably crossing some sort of line, but my curiosity got the better of me. “How come?”

  “He has made it clear that he isn’t in love with me.” She sounded both regretful and resolved at the same time, and I felt a little sorry for her for the first time since I’d met her. “He loves the baby, of course, and he wants to be close to us both.”

  It was none of my business, and the right thing to do was to change the subject. I didn’t do the right thing. “But what do you want?”

  She answered without pause. “To be happy, of course. I’d like us to be together—Ryan and the baby and me—but,” she shrugged, “I won’t sit around waiting for someone who is in love with someone else.”

  My eyes were on the road, but I could feel Ridley looking at me. Was she talking about me? Was she seriously telling me that Ryan was still in love with me and that was the reason they couldn’t be together as a family? My stomach suddenly felt like it was churning cement. I didn’t say anything, hoping that would be the end of it.

  It wasn’t.

  “Riley,” Ridley said. “I can see this makes you uncomfortable, but I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

  My cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Listen, Ryan probably just wants what he can’t have. He—”

  “No,” she said, firmly but without any rancor. “Even in Colorado when he and I were dating, he loved you. I knew it then, and I should have stayed away. But what’s the expression? The heart wants what the heart wants.”

  “Ridley—”

  “It is okay,” she said evenly. “I know the truth. I am okay with it. I was a good distraction for Ryan while he was trying to get himself together, but his heart was always here with you.” She swirled her hands around her baby bump. “But now things are complicated.”

  “They certainly are,” I said under my breath. Thankfully, at that exact moment we pulled up in front of the Invigor8 offices.

  When we walked inside unannounced and without an appointment, the receptionist tried to turn us away. But Ridley would not be denied, and after several minutes of going back and forth with the receptionist at an increasing volume, Brandon Laytner himself came out of his office to see what the issue was. He took one look at Ridley and ushered us right into his office. I’m not even sure he heard me say I was with the Times. Or honestly, if he even knew I was there.

  Brandon Laytner was true to his picture—large, bald, and extremely scary looking. His office was comically manly, right down to all the framed photos on the walls of him with his various kills. Brandon and a dead bear, Brandon and a dead elk, Brandon and two other dudes holding up a very large, very dead fish. He was like the living embodiment of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast—at least six-foot-four and looked like he was made of raw steel. He wore a pink button-down that stretched across his broad chest, with the cuffs rolled up so you could just see the bottom of a tattoo peeking out.

  “May I see your tattoo?” Ridley asked as she flashed her best thousand-watt smile.

  Brandon rolled back his sleeve. “It’s a phoenix rising from the ashes. It symbolizes rebirth, perseverance, and fortitude.”

  I almost laughed out loud; it was obvious he was trying to be the most masculine version of himself in front of Ridley, and I found it deeply amusing.

  If Ridley found his act laughable, she didn’t show it. Instead, she used his interest to our advantage. She leaned in and reached for his arm, gently holding his forearm under the guise of getting a better look. “Very nice, Brandon. May I call you Brandon?”

  “Of course. Ridley, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “When are you due?” He asked, nodding to her belly.

  “Soon,” she said in a noncommittal way, then smiled at him again.

  “If you don’t mind me saying, you really have that whole pregnant-woman-glow thing going on.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your husband is a lucky man.”

  I almost puked right there. I could not believe this was happening. Again. Another man falling head over heels for Ridley.

  She demurred, and then held up her bare left hand. “No husband. I am—how do you say?—doing it solo.”

  Since I knew Ridley spoke perfect English, I could see what was going on here; she was playing the hot and helpless foreigner. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but since her efforts seemed to be working, I didn’t jump in and call her on it. There’d be time for that later. Before Brandon got down on one knee and proposed marriage, I cleared my throat.

  “I’m sorry,” he turned to me for the first time. “Your name, again?”

  “Riley.”

  “That’s cute. Ridley/Riley. You two are like double trouble.” His condescending laugh crawled underneath my skin.

  “You’ve built up quite a company here,” I said, changing the subject. “I’d love to know more about what you guys do.”

  Brandon puffed up like a proud papa. “Invigor8 is on the cutting edge of the biomedical engineering industry. We are small, nimble, and are about to change the freaking world with our latest development.” Understated he was not.

  “And what is that?” Ridley lifted an eyebrow in a flirty impress me sort of gesture.

  Brandon looked to the open door and then lowered his voice. “I’m not at liberty to discuss details, but let’s just say that Invigor8 is not only about to revolutionize the pharmaceutical industry, but the tobacco industry as well.”

  “Tobacco?” I said, my heartbeat ticking up.

  He nodded. “We’re still in the patent-development phase, so I can’t say too much, but we have made some incredibly exciting advances in biopharming, specifically with tobacco. If everything goes as planned, Invigor8 will become a household name.”

  “What is biopharming?” Ridley asked.

  “Yeah, it’s sort of a play on words—farm with an f and pharmaceuticals with a ph. But it’s basically bioengineering plants to create drugs that are more effective, cheaper, and safer for patients. In our case, we’re working with tobacco plants. This is Virginia after all.”

  “What kind of drug are you creating?”

  “Can’t say. Top secret. But the whole world will know soon. And believe me, you’ll be impressed.” He winked at Ridley, who to her credit did her best to look interested.

  Clearly, Brandon Laytner had a massive ego, unnatural confidence, and an unusually thick neck. And his rocky relationship with Arthur Davenport gave me pause. If this drug under development was so revolutionary, why would Dr. Davenport quit the study so suddenly? Was it possible he noticed some problems in the research? Would that have been enough of a motive for Brandon to want Dr. Davenport silenced permanently?

  “Mr. Laytner,” I said, and then waited for him to wrench his eyes away from Ridley. “I was wondering if you could tell me about your company’s relationship with Arthur Davenport?”

  “Nasty business, him getting killed like that,” he said without the slightest bit of emotion. “I was shocked to hear the news.”

  “How well did you know him?”

  “Not well,” Brandon said. “We’d only worked together a few months, but I had a lot of respect for the man.”

  He was answering my questions, but only just. I dug deeper. “Do you know his children?”

&nbs
p; Brandon looked a little surprised by the question, but shook his head. “Never met them. Like I said, we’d only been working together a few months and even then it was mostly through email.” If he was lying, I couldn’t tell.

  “How long had Arthur been working for Invigor8 before he died?” I wanted to test the waters to see how forthcoming Laytner would be. He didn’t know that I already knew that Arthur had severed ties. Would he try to cover that up? Or would he come clean and tell me the reason?

  “Let’s see,” he said, his eyes floating over to Ridley then back to me. “I first talked to Artie about coming on board last spring, maybe in April?”

  I paused to see if he was going to go on or if I’d have to prod. When he spent the next twenty seconds staring at Ridley, I knew I was going to have to prod. “And how were things going? As far as his work was concerned?”

  “What did you say you were writing about again?”

  “I’m just gathering some background information on Dr. Davenport for the Times,” I said, vaguely.

  “Look, are you fishing around for information on why Arthur quit the study? ’Cause I’ll tell you straight up. It didn’t have anything to do with Invigor8, or me, or with our new drug. Arthur quit because he had a conflict of interest with one of our investors.”

  Ridley, who had been good and silent up until that moment, jumped into the conversation. “What does this mean, ‘conflict of interest’?”

  Maybe it was her slight Swedish accent, or maybe it was her act from before, but Brandon began a long, boring mansplanation of what the term ‘conflict of interest’ means. “A conflict of interest is when the goals of two different people involved in the deal are incompatible. In business—”

  “I know what the words mean, Brandon.” She said smoothly as she crossed one long leg over another, gently putting him in his place. “I was asking what this conflict was about, specifically.”

  “Of course.” He had the decency to look chastened for a second, but quickly recovered. “The conflict was of a personal nature. Let’s call it a difference of opinion with one of our key investors.”