Finding Sarah

by Terry Odell

  “Yes, Detective. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get back to you. What exactly do you want to know?”

  “You manufacture test kits for ciguatera, right?”

  “That’s right. One of the few companies that do, I might add.”

  “That’s very good, I’m sure. But, tell me. In order to make the test kits, don’t you need a source of the toxin?”

  “Yes and that’s one of the things that we’re proud of. We’ve been able to synthesize a chemical that is virtually identical to ciguatoxin.”

  “You manufacture this in your plant?”

  “We do. May I ask why you are inquiring? Is there a problem?”

  “I’m not sure. What kind of security measures do you have in place? Could someone walk out with some of the toxin?” Randy waited out the silence on the other end of the line.

  “I see. So you believe someone has taken our product and used it improperly. You understand that ciguatera is a bothersome illness, but is not usually fatal and is treatable.”

  For humans, Randy thought, as Mr. Yamaguchi went on. Not cats.

  “Our research is designed to make sure that any fish reaching the market are safe to eat. And, I assure you, we exceed every government security standard.”

  “Mr. Yamaguchi, I do understand. However, we’ve had a case where some cats have been poisoned, and the poison has been identified as ciguatoxin. As you’ve said, there aren’t a lot of the right kind of fish on the Oregon coast. I’m looking for a possible source and your lab came up.”

  “I find it hard to believe that any of our employees would remove any toxin from the lab. They know the importance of our integrity.”

  “But could they?”

  “Detective, I’m sure someone in your position knows that an enterprising person is capable of doing almost anything.”

  “Anybody named Brandt work for you? Or Adams?”

  “Give me a moment.”

  Randy waited and a few minutes later, Mr. Yamaguchi reported that no employees by those names worked for Med-Tekke. Why wasn’t he surprised? “I’d like a roster of any employees with access to the toxin, please. Names, addresses, phone numbers.”

  “Of course. I can fax it to you.”

  “Thank you.” Randy dictated the number. “One more question, Mr. Yamaguchi. Is Med-Tekke privately owned?”

  “Oh, no. We’re a subsidiary of Consolidated Enterprises.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll be in touch if I need anything more.” His headache showed no signs of abating. Randy rubbed his temples again. Maybe some fresh air would help. He walked out to the back parking lot and leaned against his truck. In an almost unconscious motion, he pulled out his cell phone and called Sarah. His spirits lifted when he heard her voice.

  “You have some news? Anything to do with my case? Oh God, not your cats. Are they—?”

  “No, they’re hanging on. And I think I know where the poison came from. Now I have to figure out who took it.”

  “That’s a start, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. A start. But I caught another case and I’m going to be working late again.”

  “Another robbery?”

  “A burglary, to be technical, since nobody was home. Actually, two burglaries. Some kids, probably. Minor theft—mostly they trashed the kitchens.”

  After a brief silence, Sarah spoke again. “Are you busy Friday night?”

  “No. But that comes with the standard issue cop disclaimer, ‘unless I catch a case’. Why?”

  “Maggie has two tickets to a community theater production in Cottonwood, but she can’t make it. Would you like to go? Or, does going to a play violate that open case thing you have?”

  Guilt appeared and dissolved like cotton candy. Damn, he wanted to be with her. “No. Sounds great.” Anything with Sarah sounded great. And by Friday, he might have found the copycat Gertie. “What time?”

  “The play starts at seven-thirty.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll pick you up at five-thirty. We can drive to Cottonwood, have dinner and still be in plenty of time.”

  Randy looked up to see a uniformed officer motioning to him from the back door. “Gotta run. See you Friday.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket and jogged back.

  “What’s up?” he asked the officer.

  “Someone was here to see you about those kitchen break-ins. She wouldn’t stay, but she said to give you this.” He handed Randy a neatly folded piece of paper.

  “A kid?”

  “No, older woman. Hispanic.”

  Randy thought about his visits to the Shermans and Zimmers. Esmeralda? He unfolded the paper and saw three Greek letters on it. A fraternity?

  Randy dashed to the front of the building and recognized the maid getting on a bus. He looked at the paper again. Delta Theta Delta. Maybe he could clean this one up quickly after all.

  * * * * *

  Randy sat in the corner booth of O’Farrell’s and watched Matt Dobrovsky work his bulk between the high-top tables. The bear-like man stopped to clap a shoulder or shake a hand as he passed old colleagues, snagging a bowl of peanuts. By the time he made his way to the back of the room, the waitress had delivered their drinks.

  Randy stood. “Good to see you, Dobs. Thanks for coming.”

  Dobrovsky shook Randy’s outstretched hand and eased into the booth. Bushy white eyebrows lifted as he sniffed the drink that waited for him. “You must need something big to spring for a single malt.”

  Randy raised his beer glass. “It’s been too long. You’re looking good.”

  Dobrovsky’s eyes, a shade or two darker than the whiskey he drank, disappeared when he laughed, which he did with gusto. “I’m looking older. But, yeah, I don’t miss the stress. He ran his palm over his silver buzz cut. “Too bad all the gray I earned on the job didn’t go away, too.” Dobrovsky chomped on a cigar in between sips of his whiskey while they exchanged the usual pleasantries.

  “You’re not gonna light that thing, are you?” Randy worked on his beer and munched on peanuts.

  The old man took the stogie from his mouth and guffawed.

  “Doctor says I can’t smoke these, but he didn’t say nothing about chewing ’em. Can’t think right without one.” He set the cigar down. “Let’s cut to the chase. You didn’t call me here to buy me a drink, Detweiler. What do you need?”

  “I need your gut on that suicide.”

  Dobrovsky grinned and patted his rotund belly. “Got a lot more gut since I quit the force.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “Honest gut reaction—I’d say it was fifty-fifty. But Polk said suicide, the insurance company agreed, and I didn’t have anything concrete. That poor girl could have spent every dime she had and it still might not have given her the answer she wanted. How’s she doing?”

  Randy took a sip of his beer. “She’s living with guilt. You know the drill—that suspicion that she might have had something to do with it.”

  “Not to mention she’s out the insurance money.”

  Randy shook his head. “I don’t think that’s her main concern.”

  Those whiskey eyes squinted across the table in the subdued lighting of the bar. “She was a sweet kid. I’m thinking you think so, too.”

  “Remind me not to play poker with you.”

  “Remind me to invite you to the next game.” Dobs plopped a folder onto the table. “These are my notes. Ms. Tucker has a copy. You could have asked her. She’s a lot prettier than I am.”

  “I don’t want her to know I’m meeting you—or that I might ask you to take another look, if you think it’s warranted. She doesn’t like charity.”

  “I don’t know. The car had stopped at a pull-out. It had been raining pretty hard. Maybe the guy wanted to wait until it let up. Visibility would have been almost nil. But my take? It honestly looked like he’d stopped while he got up the guts to go over. Taped something heavy to the accelerator, released the brake and let it fly. ME’s report was consi
stent with that sudden stop at the bottom of a hill. Or, in this case, the trunk of a tree.”

  Randy cringed at the matter-of-fact way Dobs referred to the death, but knew it was a common enough defense mechanism. Kept things impersonal. “Did they find pills?”

  “No bottle, but if it’d been loose in the vehicle, it could have flown and disappeared.”

  “He have a prescription for them?”

  “Nothing local, but you know damn well you can buy that crap on the Internet.”

  “Sounds like you did your usual good job.”

  Dobrovsky shrugged. “But—I did wonder if there wasn’t something hinky with the trooper. Arbaugh.”

  “Hinky?”

  “He was in a hurry to sew it up. I mean, I was as ready as the next guy to turn in the badge after I did my time, but he might have overlooked something.”

  “You think he did?” Randy turned the beer glass in his hands.

  “Kid, the only reason they got anything at all was because the car hung on a tree for a couple of hours. Rain, mud, and whoosh.” Dobrovsky’s hand swept up and then downward. “The car was history. Rocks, trees, ravines—there were bits and pieces everywhere. No telling what came from the car and what came from people dumping trash over the side of the road. Nobody could do anything in that storm, and the suicide evidence was enough for Arbaugh.”

  Randy leaned forward. “Would it have been enough for you?”

  “Sitting here, I’d say no. In a rainstorm, a week from retirement, I don’t know what I’d have done. I know they checked out possible homicide. I might have worked that angle a little more. But the man-hours it would have taken to ferret out what belonged to the accident and what didn’t, not to mention the CSI expenses—I can’t say I blame them. I came in way after the fact. Monday morning quarterbacks don’t win football games.”

  “What do you know about Arbaugh?”

  “Good officer by reputation. I heard he came into some money right about the time he retired. Rumor has it he’s on some tropical beach drinking fancy concoctions with umbrellas in them ogling half-naked broads. Lucky man.”

  Randy smiled. “Sometimes the gods reward you for doing your job.”

  Dobrovsky finished his drink and clapped the glass onto the table. “Thanks for the drink, kid.”

  “Can I get you another?” Randy asked.

  “Nah—I’ve got to get going.” He gave Randy a broad grin. “Retirement’s done some good things on the home front.”

  “Hey, thanks for the time.”

  “No problem. Call if you need anything else.” Dobs squeezed out of the booth and headed for the door, stopping to chat with more old friends at the bar on his way.

  Randy sat and finished his beer, trying to digest the information Dobs had given him. Something roiled his gut like a bad clam in a bowl of chowder.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sarah hurried to put away the last of the St. Michael’s clay sculptures, remembering how Randy had come in and helped her last week. Tonight, Chris would be waiting in the parking lot. Chris’ refusal to tell her what the legal department said about Diana’s letter unless she had dinner with him gave her little choice. The sooner she got this dinner over with, the better she’d feel.

  She let her memory drift back to last night in Rob’s parking lot. To the pleasure of Randy’s kiss. But she’d sworn to herself that they should slow down, that she and Randy were rushing into things. Both of them were dealing with emotional issues. Were they reaching out for comfort, or did they have true feelings for each other? Distance, she’d told herself. And then she turned around and invited Randy on a date. Now, here she was, having dinner with Chris.

  She finger-combed her hair, slipped into her coat, and took a deep breath. Please, let him tell her that Diana didn’t have a leg to stand on.

  The Eclipse’s lights flashed across the parking lot and she trotted over. Chris had the passenger door open for her. Other than a package of Big Red gum on the dash, his car was immaculate. When she’d had a car, it was more like a purse on wheels. She tossed the gum into a well of the console.

  “Help yourself,” Chris said after taking a piece. “Can’t seem to give it up, but it beats smoking.”

  “No, thanks.” She adjusted the seat belt, holding her purse in her lap and staring straight ahead. “Where are we going?”

  “Won’t change your mind about Martinelli’s? It’s not that late.”

  “No, I told you. I’m tired and I wanted something close … and casual.” No dark rooms illuminated with candles. Something bright, businesslike. This was a business dinner. Nothing more.

  “Then it’s the Wagon Wheel. They can manage a halfway decent steak.” Chris flipped on his blinker and turned the corner. Sarah wasn’t surprised that he found a parking place right in front of the restaurant, or that he could parallel park and end up exactly the same distance between the cars in front and behind him.

  Once they were seated, Chris ordered a bottle of wine and some potato skins. Sarah flashed back to their dating days. Had he ever let her order for herself? But then, she had to admit, all they ate was burgers or pizza. She buried herself in the menu, determined to choose something different. “I’m going to have the shrimp kabobs.”

  “At a steakhouse? Besides, I ordered a Cabernet. Let me order the rib eye for you. You’ll love it.”

  “I feel like shrimp tonight.” She closed her menu and set it at the edge of the table.

  The wine came, Chris proclaimed it satisfactory and the waiter poured two glasses. Sarah took a deep sip, letting the tannins sit on her tongue for a moment before swallowing.

  “It should breathe for a few minutes,” Chris said. “And I want to propose a toast. I think I’ve found the solution to your problems.”

  Sarah’s mood brightened. Had Chris’ connections found a loophole? “Really? Tell me.” She raised her glass.

  Chris tapped his glass against hers, then took a sip of his wine. “I want to help you. You don’t want my charity. I’ve finally figured that out.” He smiled and reached in his breast pocket. “But if we’re a team, it’s a partnership, not charity.”

  “What do you mean? Partnership?” She took a huge gulp of her wine and nearly choked in the process.

  Chris pulled out the blue envelope Sarah had given him. “I ran this by our legal department, and they said she can pretty much do what it says.”

  “Pretty much? That means they found some loophole, right?”

  “Not exactly a loophole. But if you’ll check your contract, they said there’s almost always a grace period of half the payment cycle. So you’d have some extra time.” His green eyes sparkled. “But what if I buy her out? She gets her money, she’s off your back, and I’m a business partner.”

  Sarah’s heart stopped. She felt her mouth opening and closing. Afraid she looked like a dying fish, she clamped her lips together. Grateful for the waiter’s arrival with their food, Sarah gave Chris a nod. Business partners. Even an eighty-twenty split was too much. He’d want more. More from her, she knew it. “That’s very generous, Chris, but—”

  “You don’t have to say anything right now, Sarah. But think about it. I’m sure once you look at the options, it’ll make perfect sense. We’re good together. We always have been. Let me help.”

  “I’ll think about it. I’ve paid her for this month, so I’m set for now.” She worked a shrimp off the skewer. Somewhere, she unearthed the strength to look him in the eyes. “But it would be business. Nothing more. I’d run the shop. If I’m going to consider it at all, you’d have to agree to be a silent partner.”

  “As a mouse, Sarah.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

  Sarah heard Chris’ voice, saw that the food on her plate had diminished, but she had no recollection of the conversation or the taste of the meal. She looked at the empty wine bottle.

  She pushed her plate away. “I’m stuffed.” The boulder in her belly had displaced any room for more food.

/>   “No dessert? They have a great chocolate mousse pie.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I’ll order one and we can share.” He motioned to the waiter.

  Well, if nothing else, Chris couldn’t read her face the way Randy could. If he could, he’d never have that eager puppy-dog look. Puppy dog. She thought of the cats. Could Chris have deliberately poisoned cats? Why did Randy think Chris would rob her, or poison house pets? It made no sense.

  The pie arrived and the waiter set an extra fork in front of Sarah. She toyed with it while Chris ate, refusing his urges to taste. Still thinking about the way Randy said her thoughts were transparent, she schooled her face into a neutral expression. “Do you have any pets?”

  He wiped his mouth and looked at her, his expression unreadable. “No, I’m on the road a lot. Irregular hours. Too complicated. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking about getting a kitten.” She studied his face for some kind of reaction, but all he did was fork up another piece of pie.

  He chewed, swallowed, and wiped his mouth again. “I guess I think of myself as a dog person, but if you wanted a cat, I’d go along with it.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’d do anything for you. For us.”

  Oh, God. Had he thought she was talking about them, as in a couple? She strove to keep the dismay off her face. “There’s no us. Not the kind of us I think you mean.” She ignored the way his hands tightened around hers. “I value our friendship, but I don’t want you to think it can be more than that. Even if I take your offer, it will be strictly business, and I need time to think about it.”

  She pulled her hand away and excused herself. “I’ll meet you at the door.” She stood, definitely feeling the effects of the wine. She had no idea how much of the bottle she’d drunk—between the waiter and Chris, her glass had remained full. Lightheaded, she wove her way through the restaurant to the ladies’ room.

  As she washed her hands, Sarah stared at her reflection. Too pale. Worry and lack of sleep were etched on her face. She knew she could never live with Chris owning a single bit of her shop. What had she done? What if Diana accepted his offer? All she could think about was Chris, slowly inching his way into the running of her shop. Choosing her merchandise the way he chose her dinners, or the clothes he wanted her to wear. Although, in all fairness, he had found some decent artists. If he agreed to let her run the business, he might discover more, which could only help. Maybe there could be a positive side.