ILL-TIMED ENTANGLEMENTS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #2) (32 page)

“That sounds pretty obsessive-compulsive to me,” Kate said. “It’s conceivable he might wipe down a bottle before drinking from it, even when he was trying to kill himself.”

Lindstrom had been scribbling in his pad. Now he gave Kate a skeptical look. “It’s not like he’d be worried about germs at that point.”

“If he had obsessive-compulsive disorder, he wouldn’t be able to help himself. He would feel compelled to wipe the bottle down,” Kate said.

“But why would he put the nitrates in beer?” Rose said.

Liz shrugged. “Maybe to disguise the taste? It takes a lot to kill you. Maybe dissolving them in something seemed easier than popping a whole bunch of pills.”

“I don’t know that suicide is likely,” Skip said. “But I think we need to keep it in mind. Ask anyone who claims to know Jeff if he’s been depressed lately.”

Lindstrom looked at the big man, and then grinned. “I see what you mean about these folks being a formidable team. For a minute there, I thought I was in my squad room brainstorming with my investigators.”

Then his face sobered as he turned to Betty. “What allergy medication do you use, Mrs. Franklin?”

“Benadryl,” she answered.

“Lab says the substance on your kitchen rug was diphenhydramine. It’s the active ingredient in Benadryl and a few other over-the-counter drugs. Works on allergies but it’s also sedating. In high enough concentrations, it can kill. Who would know about your allergies and what meds you take for them?”

“Unfortunately, everybody on our suspect list, and then some. I’m afraid old people tend to compare notes on their ailments a good bit.”

Lindstrom braced himself. “I need to see your medicine cabinet, Mrs. Franklin. I’ll need to take your allergy medication as potential evidence.”

“What the hell for?” Rob snapped at him.

“Robert, watch your language.”

For once, Rob did not apologize to his aunt as he held Lindstrom’s gaze.

The detective sighed. “It is conceivable that your aunt used her own medication to fake a botched attempt to fake her suicide.”

“Oh, come on, Lindstrom. That’s pretty far fetched.”

Lindstrom looked at Betty Franklin. “But something a creative person, say a best-selling author, might come up with.”

Rob opened his mouth to protest further, as Lindstrom started to reach into his jacket pocket.

Betty stood up. “Come on, Detective.” She led the way into her bedroom.

When they came out a minute later, Lindstrom tucking a second evidence bag into his pocket, Kate got up and walked him to the door. She slipped outside with him, pulling the door shut behind her.

“I guess this means that Betty is still a suspect, despite your new theory,” she said.

Lindstrom nodded. “Afraid so.” Actually his captain had been the one to come up with the theory, as a way to explain away Morgan’s death and push for Mrs. Franklin’s arrest for the Blackwell murder. Davis wanted somebody arrested for something, to appease the press and get the brass off his back.

“Sandy, we can’t go on like this. We’re in a total double bind here.”

“I know, Kate, but the only thing that’s keeping Captain Davis from insisting I arrest her is the fact that her nephew’s a lawyer, and I’ve promised not to let her leave the jurisdiction.” Twice, he had broached the subject with Davis, suggesting that they could let Elizabeth Franklin go to her nephew’s for the time being, since they did have a reciprocity agreement with Maryland. The captain’s response had been that the press would have a field day with that, if it got out that he’d let their prime suspect mosey on down to Maryland.

“It’s not hopeless though. I’ve got a few things cooking,” Lindstrom tried to reassure her. “Something’ll pan out eventually.”

“Was anything missing from Jeff Morgan’s apartment?” Kate asked.

“Don’t know yet. His kids live out West. They couldn’t get a flight yesterday. They’ll be here this evening.”

Kate looked up into the man’s tanned face. She felt bad for him and wanted to tell him that she admired his ethics. But she didn’t dare. It would encourage his romantic interest in her.

“Thank you for telling me all this, Sandy,” she said instead. “And thank you for continuing to work so hard to find the real killer. We’ll keep trying to help where we can.”

“Just be careful, Kate.”

“I will.”

•   •   •

After Kate filled the others in on her conversation with Lindstrom, they headed out to fulfill their various assignments. At the corner of the atrium, Kate paused. Skip walked toward the fire stairs to lay siege again at Henry Morris’s door. Rob headed for the front door of the building to track down the Murphys.

As Kate watched the receding backs of her favorite men, she smiled to herself. It was such a relief to have the air cleared with Rob.

Her good feeling was short-lived. In the next moment she felt a sharp stab of grief that her sweet Eddie was not alive to be counted among her favorite men. She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed herself not to cry.

Of course, if Eddie were still alive, she wouldn’t be feeling what she was feeling toward Skip. Kate shook her head. Nobody ever said emotions were logical.

It’s definitely too soon, Eddie
, she thought. There was no response.

Was Eddie unwilling to discuss the possibility of her dating other men? “Get a grip, Kate,” she said out loud. Now she was not only having conversations with a dead man but she was reading meaning into his silence.

I love you, Kate
, echoed faintly in her head.

“I love you too,” Kate whispered. Then she squared her shoulders and headed for Carla Baxter’s building.

•   •   •

Mac and Rose had split up. Rose was a trained police officer, and she was armed. She wasn’t afraid of some creepy James Dean look-alike.

So Mac had gone off to knock on the Petersons’ door while Rose tried to figure out how to track down the maintenance man. She was kicking herself for not asking Lindstrom for Fielding’s home address. There had been no Joseph Fielding listed in Betty’s phone book. Liz’s Google search had produced a multitude of hits, but none of them had seemed to be the Joseph Fielding who lived in Lancaster. Liz had pointed out that if the man just used a cell phone and had no land line in his home, he would be harder to find.

Rose could call the detective, but she decided to check out the machine rooms in each building and the management office first, before bothering Lindstrom. She wanted to search for anything that might implicate Fielding in the murders. And she might just get lucky, if the guy was working on a Saturday.

As she was leaving the recreation building a half hour later, Rose noticed a wooden shed, about thirty feet square, tucked discreetly under some trees. The door was standing open. She walked over and stuck her head inside the small building.

The shed contained a large lawn tractor, two smaller lawn mowers and a wheelbarrow. Hanging from hooks on the wall were rakes and shovels and other sundry gardening tools. Rose noticed there was a smaller area partitioned off in a back corner of the shed, and a set of shelves along one side. She stepped in through the door, scanning the room. After determining that no one was in the shed, she headed toward the shelves.

It did not take long to locate the plastic bottle of concentrated plant food amongst the hodgepodge of small tools and supplies. Using her knuckle, Rose nudged the bottle so she could see the side label better. Sure enough the first two ingredients had the word
nitrate
in them. She nudged the bottle again. It was almost empty.

A grin was spreading across her face just as she heard a toilet flushing. The door of the little room opened behind her.

She whirled around as a man stepped out, zipping his fly.

He stopped in mid zip. “Well, hello there. Aren’t
you
a cute little Mexican babe.”

Rose had found Joe.

A
s Kate had suspected, Carla Baxter was willing to open her door when she looked through her peephole and saw a woman alone.

But the absence of a male presence did not make the retired professor more forthcoming. After an exchange of greetings, Kate’s warm and friendly and Baxter’s a bit stiff and nervous, Kate politely turned down the offer of coffee and they sat down in the living room. Kate noticed two boxes, partly full of books, in front of the half-empty bookcase near her chair.

“Are you moving out?” she asked.

“No, no,” Carla Baxter said quickly. She was perched on the edge of her chair. “I was just cleaning out some things I don’t read anymore, to give to Goodwill.”

Kate leaned over and glanced at some of the titles of the books in the nearest box. Somehow she didn’t think that Goodwill would have a big demand for outdated chemistry and math textbooks.

“Certainly no one would blame you for wanting to leave if you were moving out, what with the murders here. We’ve seen several moving vans this week.”

“No, I have no reason to run away.”

Not only was it an odd thing to say but the woman’s body language was screaming that she was hiding something.

“Well, I know Mrs. Carroll’s concerned,” Kate said. “There’s been a bit of an exodus apparently.” Baxter relaxed somewhat but didn’t say anything.

“Have you lived here for a long time, Dr. Baxter?”

“A little over seven years.”

“Do you know Mrs. Carroll fairly well then?”

“Not really.” Baxter relaxed a bit more. “Why do you ask that?”

“Oh, no particular reason. We’re just trying to get to know as much as we can about the folks here is all.” Kate thought it was a fairly innocent thing to say, but the tension was back in the other woman’s posture.

“Well, I’m sorry to have to bother you this morning. I just wanted to follow up with you on a few things. Did you know Mr. Morgan?”

“No, not really. I mean, we crossed paths occasionally, exchanged greetings.” The professor, obviously more relaxed, sat back a bit. “I can’t recall ever having a true conversation with him, though, other than about the weather.”

“One person we interviewed implied that he might have a secret.” Kate had used the word
secret
intentionally and sure enough, the woman’s body tensed again, although her face was carefully schooled into a neutral expression.

“The implication was that he might be gay,” Kate said.

Baxter cocked her head slightly to one side. After a beat, she said, “Possibly, but I doubt it.”

Kate changed tacks. “We’ve found out from Detective Lindstrom that nitrates were involved in this latest crime. Can you tell me anything about that chemical?”

Baxter looked puzzled, then wrinkled her brow in concentration. But the rest of her body relaxed somewhat. “I seem to recall that it’s used in fertilizers,” she finally said.

Kate paused to allow the woman to elaborate. She didn’t. Kate was careful to keep her tone mild. “I’m a little surprised that you don’t know more about nitrates, when you seemed so knowledgeable about chloroform.”

Baxter actually smiled. “While I was still a chemistry student, I was a research assistant to a professor who was using trichloromethane in his research.”

Okay, that make’s sense,
Kate thought as she smiled back at the woman.
But why the fluctuations between tension and relaxation?

“Well, since you do know about chloroform, and at least a little about how one might get their hands on it, maybe your insights can help eliminate some people from our list,” Kate said, watching Baxter carefully. The professor had relaxed a bit more with each word out of Kate’s mouth. She now considered the conversation to be on safe ground.

“I’m happy to help if I can, Mrs. Huntington.”

“Please, call me Kate.”

“And I’m Carla. What can I help with?”

“Well, Carla, I don’t want to cast aspersions on anyone when we don’t really know yet if they are involved in these murders, but we’ve been doing some research on folks… and we found out the previous vocations of most of the possible suspects. Mr. Franklin’s wife also did some computer research… and, as you were telling us the other day, you can’t just buy chloroform in a store.”

Baxter had tensed each time Kate had said the word
research
.

“So if I could run through the professions of some of these suspects, Carla, and get your take on whether or not they could get chloroform, that would be very helpful.” Kate wasn’t really all that interested in Baxter’s answers. She was trying to figure out the strange shifts between anxiety and relief.

Carla Baxter relaxed once again and nodded. “High school chemistry teacher?” Kate asked.

Baxter shook her head. “No, college labs would have it around most likely, for research purposes, but it would have no value for teaching high schoolers and they might use it inappropriately.”

Kate made a show of writing in her note pad. “How about the owner of a hardware store?”

Baxter thought for a moment. “Maybe, but I doubt it.”

“Several of them were nurses or otherwise related to the medical field.”

Baxter’s eyes lit up. “A lot of black market drugs and chemicals are pilfered from hospitals.”

“Okay, so those folks should stay on our list. Thanks, Carla. Now if I could switch gears again?” The woman’s body tensed. “As I said, we’ve been doing some background research on folks, not necessarily because we have reason to suspect them, but just to be thorough…” Despite that disclaimer, Baxter was again perched nervously on the edge of her seat.

“And we found out something interesting about one person. She used to work in a setting where there were some unexplained deaths.” Kate had trouble reading the odd mixture of feelings that was now on Carla Baxter’s face.

“Before all these murders started, do you recall anyone dying under circumstances that seemed at all suspicious?” Anxiety was taking over again. “Such as someone who was terminally ill, but then died much sooner than expected?”

Obviously relieved, Baxter shook her head.

The woman’s anxiety was spiking at any implication that they were “researching” her, and whenever there was a change of subject, until she found out what the new subject was.