The Volcano That Changed The World (28 page)

Suddenly she remembered the vial that Detective Carter had given her.
She placed the latex gloves on the passenger seat and reached into her pocket. Examining the vial carefully, looking past the label “student project,” she now recognized the material inside it.

When she was a little girl, they had a problem w
ith rats in their back yard that backed onto a large drainage ditch. Her father had set traps containing rat poison, a brown powder just like that contained in the vial. He had forced her to recognize it and to avoid it. “You must stay away from this poison. It can harm you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, D
addy,” she said aloud in the car. The poison worked well, eliminating the rats. She knew that this poison was no longer available in stores; it had been removed from the market because of the arsenic it contained. But her father had once told her when she was older that if the rats ever came back, he still had the good poison with the arsenic that you couldn’t buy anymore.

Sara Jo was sure
if that was what was in the vial.

But why was
Daddy outside Mark’s office that night? she wondered. Again, she connected the dots, perhaps thinking as her father would have. Her father was going after Mark again. All he had to do was add the arsenic to the gourmet coffee Mark kept in his office. She knew about Mark’s coffee fetish and was certain her father did as well. It would only take a few cups of the doctored brew and Mark would have the same fate as the rats, a fitting end using her father’s logic.

Again, she spoke out loud, “Oh
Daddy, trying to protect me cost you your life.” She sat in the car stunned, rain pattering on the windshield.

Watching the storm briefly, she nodded her head. S
he decided she owed her father. She needed to make sure no one else made the connection to Mark’s attempted murder. Father and daughter had much in common—he had kept her safe, now it was her turn to protect him, even in death.

Leaving the cemetery, s
he decided to take a detour on the way home. The caterers could take care of her guests. What if she were a little late? As the grieving daughter, everyone would understand.

As she pulled into the vacant parking lot, the rain slowed and even a few rays of sunshine poked through the low hanging clouds. By the time she parked, the rain had stopped completely. Because of the earlier rain, the area was empty; she was alone. She stepped out of the car carrying her father’s tools. Her first stop was at a series of trashcans used by the picnickers where she deposited the latex gloves beneath the existing rubbish. Next she walked down to one of the boat ramps leading into Lake Jackson.

Her movement startled an alligator
lying near the shoreline. In an instant, it hissed, rushed from the bank, and plunged into the water. Momentarily stunned, her heart jumped into her throat. “Damn,” she said as she looked around once again to make sure no one was in sight.

Standing on the west side
of the lake, she looked out across the water. A cool breeze blowing off the water carried with it the pungent odor of a nearby fish bed where fish had laid eggs and sperm in shallow depressions in the lake bottom scooped out by fanning their tails.

She smiled, recalling
the times when her father had brought her here on one of his many fishing trips. Together they had caught bluegill, shellcracker, and her father’s favorite, largemouth bass. Being an only child, they had spent much time together and he introduced her to many activities, even those usually reserved for sons. She had learned much from him. Like father, like daughter, she thought.

She had been dad
dy’s special little girl. Her father was always there to help her, always giving in to her—all it took were a few blinks of her eyelashes and a pouty smile. She
always
got her way.

After a moment, s
he took the screwdriver in her right hand and heaved it into the lake as far as she could off to her right. Next, she did the same with the wire cutters, tossing them off to her left.

Now she held the vial in her hand
, studying it. For some reason, the image of Mark came to mind. With Sam Bolton out of the way, Mark’s tenure was now assured, so he would not be leaving Tallahassee. She still loved him and believed she could revive their relationship. With her father’s death, Mark would be a sympathetic friend. She could use that to her advantage. A sly smile crossed her face. If her charms didn’t work, maybe the rat poison would come in handy.

Sara Jo
closed her hand around the vial and returned it to her pocket. Turning, she quickly headed back to the car. She had a wake to attend and a relationship to revive. She would get her way—or else.

THE END