Читать книгу Royally Dead - Greta McKennan - Страница 13

Chapter 4

I stared at the table in disbelief. I scanned the entire tent, but the flask was nowhere to be seen. Just a few minutes ago, evidence of a poisoning lay in plain sight, and now it was gone. Someone had taken it. It could have been someone trying to be helpful, dropping it off at the lost-and-found or something. Or it could have been an attempted murderer, come back to remove traces of his crime. That thought chilled me to the bone.

The tent was empty. I stood at a loss, not sure what to do next. I had planned to call the police and tell them that Ladd’s flask had been tampered with, but I could no longer do that. As Gillian had pointed out, I was wearing traces of the poison on my blouse. Now, with the flask missing, that might be the only clue as to the nature of the poison. Unless…maybe the poison was still here, in the VIP tent, waiting for someone to discover it. A nosy someone…

I threw a glance over my shoulder and started searching the tent. There was a small folding table that held a water cooler and piles of paper cups, with a full trash can by its side. I considered the possibility that Ladd’s flask was in the trash and resolved to check through it once I’d finished my search. The podium Hart had used was pushed into a corner. There were two long folding tables set up in the middle of the tent, with piles of rosters and other papers next to a first aid kit and a variety of ribbons and trophies. Numerous cardboard boxes and plastic totes were stashed underneath.

With another glance over my shoulder, I knelt down and checked out the boxes, which all appeared to be filled with copies of Over the Sea to Skye. No flask there. I pulled out the first plastic tote, using my skirt to touch its plastic side. I slipped off the top and peered inside. The tote contained a conglomeration of clips, ropes, plastic flowers and greenery, and triangular pieces of nylon in all colors. The second tote was empty except for a scattering of sticky notes in the bottom, and the third one held several bottles of torch fuel. I remembered the torches stuck in the ground surrounding the athletic field, waiting for darkness, when they would be illuminated. I closed my eyes for an instant and then pulled out a tissue from my shoulder bag and began picking up the bottles, hefting them to find out if one had been previously opened.

Three bottles were unopened, but the fourth felt lighter, and the seal around the neck was broken. My heart beat faster as I unscrewed the top and brought the bottle up to my nose for a sniff. I gagged on the overpowering smell of fuel. It was the same smell I had picked up in Ladd’s whiskey. My hands shook slightly as I screwed the top back on. I’d found my poison.

I jumped as my phone dinged. I slipped the bottle back into the tote, which I pushed back under the table. I checked my phone, to see a text from McCarthy. It read: “Bad news. Ladd Foster died at the hospital. Call me.”

I heaved a sigh, trying to release the tension building up inside me. I had one more thing to check before I could leave the VIP tent. Wishing desperately for plastic gloves, I tipped out the trash can on the ground and sifted through the mess, looking for Ladd’s flask. It wasn’t there.

I shoveled the trash back into the trash can and pushed it into its spot by the water cooler. I checked around to be sure I’d left everything the way I found it and then snuck out of the tent and sought a relatively private spot behind the bank of portable toilets. The rank smell kept people from hanging out back there. I called McCarthy, but his phone went to voice mail.

I tucked my phone back into my shoulder bag and set off in search of a lost-and-found, on the off chance that someone had simply tidied up the tent with no malicious intent.

I wandered around the park for the next few minutes until I finally found someone at the admissions table to pull out a cardboard box for me to look in. There were a variety of items, including a couple of water bottles, a well-worn teddy bear, and even one of my tartan bow ties, but no flask. I thanked the woman and turned away.

The police had arrived.

Two police cars drove into the parking lot and four officers stepped out. My stomach sank as I watched them stride up to the admissions table and speak to the woman who had helped me. I dreaded what the next few minutes could hold for me. I could either become a star witness in a crime or the main suspect, through no fault of my own other than my unfortunate habit of sticking my nose into other people’s business. I squared my shoulders. Might as well get it over with. I’d rather talk to them here than disrupt the business at my booth under Letty’s watchful eye. I walked up to the officers.

“I’m Daria Dembrowski. You’re looking into Ladd Foster’s death, right?”

Two officers stopped, while the other two continued into the park. I had met one of them before, Maureen Franklin, a brisk young officer with dark hair and snapping black eyes that missed nothing. She frowned at me. “News travels fast.” She pulled out a notebook and jotted down my name. “How did you know he’d died?”

“Sean McCarthy texted me. He’s a friend of mine. He was at the hospital with Ladd.” I gulped and went on. “I have some information for you. Ladd’s flask of whiskey was poisoned.”

Officer Franklin and her partner, a weary-looking man whose name tag identified him as Butler, both stared at me.

I took a deep breath. “I had my eye on Ladd’s flask because he had given it to a teenage girl and I didn’t want her to take a drink.” I told them how the flask had ended up in the VIP tent and how I’d discovered it after Ladd collapsed. “Gillian came in and grabbed the flask and some of the whiskey got spilled on me.” I indicated the stain on my blouse. “It smelled terrible, kind of like gasoline or something.” The two officers exchanged a glance, and then Officer Franklin leaned in and sniffed at my blouse. If she came to any conclusions from the smell alone, she didn’t let on. I bit my tongue, resolving not to mention the torch fuel, because the officers would surely find it when they searched the VIP tent. I didn’t want to display too much knowledge about the crime for fear of standing out as the prime suspect.

“Do you have the flask now?” Officer Franklin asked.

“No, we left it in the tent when someone else came in, and when I went back it was gone.”

“Who else came in?”

I thought back. “Patrick Ames, one of the other athletes. He was getting a drink of water.”

Officer Franklin noted that down. “Come show us this VIP tent.”

“Okay.” I hesitated. “I’ve got a booth here, along with a friend. Can I let her know I’ll be a while?”

She nodded, and I texted Letty: “I’m talking with police about Ladd. Don’t know when I’ll get back to booth.” I pressed Send and looked up to see both officers looking at my phone screen. I quickly switched it off, wondering if they had learned anything from my previous exchanges with Letty.

I led the officers to the tent and showed them where I had first seen the flask, where I had been standing when Gillian and I struggled over control of it, and where we had placed it on the table when we left the tent. Officer Butler searched the ground but didn’t find any trace of either poison or whiskey there. All the spilled liquid had ended up on me.

Officer Franklin poked around the tent and then started pulling the boxes and totes out from under the table. I watched her, willing her to notice the torch fuel and spare me from having to confess I’d snooped there as well.

“Butler, take a look at this.” Officer Franklin picked up one of the bottles and held it out to her partner. I closed my eyes in relief and then popped them open again in case either of them was watching me. Lucky for me, they were both bending over the bottle, smelling the torch fuel.

Officer Franklin poured a bit of the fuel into a paper cup and held it out to me. “Is this what you smelled in Foster’s flask?”

I took a whiff of the amber liquid, which looked a lot like whiskey, or even apple juice. I nodded. “I think so. It wasn’t exactly like this, though.”

Officer Franklin sniffed at my blouse again and compared it to the cup in her hand. “I can smell whiskey on you as well. Whoever did this added torch fuel to the existing whiskey.” She set the cup down on the table to make a few notes in her notebook. “We’re going to need your blouse for evidence. Do you have something else you can wear?”

“I can probably find something at my booth.”

“I’ll come with you.” Officer Franklin started to usher me out of the tent when one of the little Highland dancers, no more than seven years old, entered the tent. She gave me a shy smile, walked over to the table, and picked up the cup of torch fuel. She raised it to her lips.

“Stop!” I yelled. “Don’t drink that!”

Officer Franklin spun around, calling out as well. But the two of us were across the tent, too far away to reach her in time.

Officer Butler moved with a speed I wouldn’t have guessed he could achieve. He snatched the cup out of the child’s hand and held it out of reach. “That’s not apple juice,” he gasped. “It’s yucky.”

The little girl gaped at him, looking like she might burst into tears. I pushed my way past Officer Franklin and poured a cup of water for the child. “It’s okay, honey. We just had some fuel for the big torches in that cup. We didn’t want you to drink it.” I handed her the water. “Did you just finish your dance?”

She nodded, her wide eyes flitting from one officer to the other. She didn’t resist when I turned her toward the entrance. “Miss Breanna is probably wondering where you went.” I propelled her out of the tent.

Officer Butler still held the cup aloft, his face returning to its customary ruddy complexion. Officer Franklin took it out of his fingers and poured its contents back into the torch fuel bottle. Her fingers shook the tiniest bit as she crumpled up the cup and shoved it down into the trash. “That was on me,” she said. “I never should have left it sitting out on the table like that. Good save, Butler.”

He dusted his hands on his thighs. “I’ve got three grandkids at home who get into everything. I’ve learned to be quick.”

Officer Franklin turned back to me with a return of her brisk manner. “Let’s get you something to wear.”

People stared at me walking back to my booth escorted by a police officer. I noticed one man taking a picture and groaned inwardly. I hoped I wouldn’t end up on social media as the presumed poisoner. That would be almost as bad as actually getting arrested for the crime.

Letty was back at the booth when we arrived. She took the sight of the police officer in stride. While she refrained from attempting to sell Officer Franklin a piece of antique jewelry, she didn’t flinch when I asked her if she had a blouse I could borrow. She looked me over and then pulled out a couple of checkered blouses that looked like they came from the 1940s. Both clashed with my skirt, but I knew Officer Franklin wasn’t concerned with any fashion statement I might make. I chose the green one. “I’ll take this over to the toilet and change real quick,” I said.

Officer Franklin picked up the blanket I’d used to cover the merchandise and stretched it out with both hands for a screen. “Just slip that off right here and I’ll be on my way.”

I complied, realizing I had no other choice. Did she think I was going to run off with the incriminating evidence after all that? I buttoned myself up and handed her the soiled blouse. “I guess I don’t need that back. There’s probably no way to get that stain out.”

She snagged one of our plastic bags to put the blouse in. “I’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.”

Letty watched her stride away and then turned to pepper me with questions.

“What did the cops ask you? Do they think Ladd was the victim of foul play? Did you tell them how he was flirting with that fifteen-year-old dancer?”

I waited until she paused for a breath and then said, “Ladd died at the hospital. His whiskey flask was poisoned.”

She stared at me in silence for a full minute, which must have been a record for her. The silence was interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. I snatched it up. It was McCarthy.

“Sorry I didn’t answer before,” he said. “The police were questioning me about Ladd Foster’s collapse. He died shortly after he arrived here. It was cardiac arrest caused by pulmonary injury, not by exertion. He never regained consciousness. The ER doc thinks he drank something that got into his lungs.”

“It was torch oil, in his flask.” I could hear McCarthy draw in his breath sharply. I told him about how I’d checked out Ladd’s flask and about its subsequent disappearance.

He let out a low whistle. “Kudos to the nosy seamstress for investigating a crime that hadn’t even been identified as a crime yet. Where did the flask go?”

I groaned. “I don’t know. I checked the lost-and-found, but it wasn’t there. I’m guessing the murderer snuck back in to remove the evidence. Which means he’s still hanging around the Games.” I glanced over my shoulder, but no murderer lurked behind the booth. “Did you learn anything from the police?”

“The cops were asking questions, not offering information. They spent a good half hour interviewing Sterling and me as eyewitnesses, even though Sterling was miles away mowing his grass when Ladd collapsed. What about you? Did the police finger you as the number one suspect?”

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

I heard a car honking in the background, and McCarthy swore under his breath.

“What was that? Are you driving right now?”

“Yeah. I’m on my way back to the Games.”

“I’m hanging up! Come to my booth when you get here.” I disconnected before he could reply. I tried never to talk to people when they were driving. I didn’t want to hear a car crash and know it was all my fault for distracting the driver.

I generally considered myself a strong, independent woman, except for that one area of my life where I was hampered by an illogical fear that I could not overcome: I had a phobia about driving. I had learned how to drive enough to get my license when I was a teenager, but every time I got behind the wheel, my heart would race and my hands would start to shake until I was virtually paralyzed by fear. I would feel completely out of control, which isn’t the way a responsible driver should feel. I didn’t own a car and never drove if I didn’t have to. I resolved that one of these days I would seek treatment for my phobia, but in the meantime, both Aileen and my brother Pete helped me out with rides as a condition of living in my house. I figured we all came out on top in the end.

“Was that your photographer friend?”

I realized Letty had been listening to our entire conversation and now knew as much about Ladd’s death as McCarthy and I combined. Talk about nosy!

We didn’t get a chance to hash over the details, however. The loudspeaker announced the end of the musical competitions and athletic events and highlighted the closing of the Scottish Marketplace in time for the awards ceremony in the next half hour. Hordes of pipers, dancers, and spectators flocked to browse through the booths one last time. Letty and I had our hands full.

McCarthy stopped by while I was waiting on a woman who wanted to order a child’s dress. He stood grinning behind her as she thrust a page torn out of a fashion magazine into my hands. “I want you to make a dress for my daughter Pearl. She’s got her very first piano recital next Saturday. She’s doing a Celtic piece, so I want her to wear a tartan dress. Like this.” It was a picture of a curvy model wearing an off-the-shoulder gown with an enormous bow to one side of the tightly fitting skirt. Nothing about the gown was age-appropriate for a child.

The best part about being my own boss was that I could turn down any project I didn’t want to undertake. I summoned up my best smile, trying to ignore McCarthy’s facial contortions behind the woman. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have enough time to complete the dress in one week.” I handed the picture back to her with as sincere a look of apology as I could muster. “I’m sure you can find a lovely dress for Pearl in one of the shops on the Commons.”

The woman grumbled, “I would have expected better customer service here!” and turned away, almost bumping into McCarthy as she stormed off.

“Customer service is dead,” McCarthy droned.

I rolled my eyes and turned to a group of young girls sifting through my bow ties one more time. “Sean, I can’t talk right now. Letty and I need to pack everything up here.”

Letty leaned her elbows on the front table and batted her eyelashes at McCarthy. “Everything is half off for the next fifteen minutes. See anything here you can’t live without?”

He laughed. “Maybe one thing, but it’ll have to wait for now.”

As he turned to go, Letty called after him, “What is it? I can hold it for you!”