Blackberry Crumble (16 page)

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.

She’d also learned everything she could about Keith Kelly himself. What she’d found, paired with what she’d seen last night, had led her to determine that he wasn’t a happy man. His grandmother had raised him—Sadie didn’t know why—and he’d been married and divorced three times. He had a son and a daughter with his second wife. Sadie knew nothing about the daughter, but the son worked for the company—at least, the Chief Financial Officer was named Richard Kelly, so Sadie assumed he was some kind of relation. Keith had been divorced from wife number three for nearly five years. While marriage hadn’t been a talent, working had. He was doing very well for himself, and his home was worth more than a million dollars, according to the most current tax appraisals in his area. In addition to Kelly Fire Systems, he owned a separate billing company and was part owner of a metal fabricating company. He had a few traffic tickets, and had been cited by the labor commission after apparently refusing to pay a couple of employees over the years, but other than those things, he seemed to be a relatively upstanding citizen.

It seemed unfair to assume that any of these things somehow supported him being a murderer, but the fact was that Sadie had uncovered details she needed to relay to May. She hoped May would call her back soon.

In the meantime, it was time to stake out the office one more time. She’d slept a little longer than she’d planned to—seeing as she’d stayed up so late—so it was nearly ten before she pulled out of the hotel parking lot, still mulling over everything she’d learned.

She’d chosen her white denim, wide-leg capris and multicolored-striped polo shirt for today’s adventures, but she’d strapped on her running shoes. Her arches were still aching from wearing sandals on last night’s job. Typically, Sadie was against running shoes with short pants, but on the way out of her hotel room, she saw a woman wearing what looked like a purple leather top with orange-and-red leggings beneath an earth-toned skirt. Surely Sadie could get away with her own fashion faux pas of wearing the wrong shoes.

When she arrived at Keith’s office, she parked in a different spot than she’d been yesterday, further from the building but still with a clear view of the parking lot. Once settled, she opened her book and started reading about public databases and how to use them while glancing up now and then to make sure nothing was happening. Keith’s Mercedes didn’t leave the lot, not even for lunch.

At two o’clock her phone rang, but she scowled at the number. The Denver area code could only be one person: Jane Seeley. That woman did not take a hint. Sadie rejected the call, but was a little disappointed when Jane didn’t leave a message. As much as she disliked the woman, she was curious as to why she had called.

For the next ten minutes, she kind of hoped Jane would call back, but she didn’t. Sadie’s stomach growled; the complimentary breakfast at the hotel had been good, but it was definitely time to eat. She walked to the Burger King half a block away for a bathroom break and to grab some lunch, glad for the chance to restore circulation in her legs.

After a quick bite, Sadie returned to her car and her book, settling back into stakeout mode. When she finished the book at four o’clock, a long, dull headache pounded at the base of her skull. The information was interesting, but she was
so
bored, and Keith hadn’t come outside even once. The excitement of discovery she’d felt that morning had completely petered away.

She laid her head against the headrest, in hopes that it would relieve her headache, and closed her eyes, just for a minute.

When her phone rang again, she snapped up in her seat and looked around, momentarily disoriented. Instinctively she fumbled for the phone and clicked it on, only giving herself a split second to realize it was May.

“Hello?” she said, blinking quickly to clear the sleep out of her eyes.

“Hi, Sadie,” May said. “Sorry it took me so long. We were meeting with Dad’s lawyer all day, working on the second disbursement and other estate stuff, ugh.” She let out a long sigh. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

Sadie sobered quickly and rolled her shoulders as best she could. She looked at the dashboard clock, dismayed that she’d slept for forty-five minutes. Immediately, she scanned the parking lot and relaxed when she saw that Keith’s Mercedes hadn’t been moved. She turned her attention back to May. “I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely. It had only been two years ago that Sadie had been in the same situation, listening to her father’s life be reduced to black words on white paper. Even though she’d known his passing was coming, it was still a shock to face life without him. “These are such hard things.”