Shadow of Doubt, page 14
I glanced back in the direction of the family photos above the cash register. In all of them Amber looked like any other child, a bit precocious, always posing for the camera, but absent was the flash of Hollywood. She was just another kid.
“I’m afraid I didn’t agree with all of that. The business made me uncomfortable. Next thing I know Misty’s introduced my wife to Pepper Millhouse, my daughter’s got a contract and she’s off to Hollywood. I should have stopped it long ago, but I couldn’t. Far as I’m concerned, Pepper Millhouse and her crowd got exactly what they deserved.”
“And Misty? You blame her?”
“I can’t blame Misty. She was there for Amber after April died. Thank goodness, too. I wasn’t much good after the accident, and when Pepper led the charge to steal my daughter from me I was happy Misty was around. She’s like family. But if I had it to do over again, believe me, Amber never would have left home in the first place. I blame Hollywood for the loss of my daughter, not Misty.”
Burt set the tray down on the table and turned to look at the creek.
“I’m sorry to ask, Burt, but how did your wife die?”
“Drowned,” he said flatly.
“Drowned?” I glanced at Eric. Drowned? “And Misty, she never warned you that your wife was in danger?”
“Misty told me later she tried to tell my wife she saw darkness all around her. But if April knew, she didn’t tell me. Looking back, Misty knew all along. It was exactly as she said it would be. One day April would return to the waters. She had predicted it.”
I was uncomfortable talking about Misty and her premonitions, particularly her vision of darkness. A chill ran down my back. Without realizing it I wrapped my arms around myself and began brushing my shoulders with my hands, then catching my actions, I stopped abruptly.
“Did April drown here?” I glanced down at the creek.
“No, we were on vacation, in Mexico.” Burt looked away from the window, abruptly. “I’m sorry, I really don’t like to talk much about it. It was an accident.”
I decided it best to switch the subject.
“What do you know about monkshood?” I asked.
Burt put the tea pot down on the table and began wiping his hands on the dish towel. “You think Misty did it, don’t you?”
“I’m just asking questions. The bottles of bath salts were hers.”
“Let me tell you, Misty’s a good person. Years ago she and I both took an oath. I suppose Eric told you. I’m a conscientious objector. So is she. Neither of us believes in violence or in doing physical harm. I didn’t care for Pepper Millhouse, and I didn’t really know her business partners, but Misty couldn’t have done this.” He paused and looked back out at the creek. “Unless—”
I looked at Eric then back to Burt. “Unless what, Burt?”
“Unless, she was experimenting with a new batch of bath salts and it was accidental. She fancied herself some kind of herbal-pharmacologist. She was always mixing up remedies. It’s possible she might have mixed in the monkshood like the Chinese do with this tea here. She was into that. The Chinese dry it and blend it with a few other herbs to neutralize the poison. Supposedly it has great medicinal value. This here’s called Fu-Tuz. I drink it for the chills. She could have made a mistake. She forgets things.”
I glanced at Eric. A mistake? I knew Misty could get rattled. I’d seen it first hand, but didn’t think was a mistake. This was all too premeditated. Whoever mixed the bottles of bath salts with monkshood and marked them with the number seven knew exactly what they were doing.
“You like a cup?” Burt picked up the pot and about to pour some, when Eric stopped him.
“I don’t think so, Burt. It’s getting late. I’m afraid we’ve taken up too much of your time already. Carol needs to get back to the station and I’ve got some more work to do. Maybe next time?”
Burt pulled the pot away, holding it next to him with both hands. “Like I told you, I wouldn’t kill Pepper Millhouse. I don’t believe in murder. But Pepper and her crowd aren’t a big loss for this world far as I’m concerned.”
Chapter 19
Between the rain and the slick canyon road leading from Burt’s Place back toward the 101, Eric barely got me back to the radio station in time to start my evening shift. Traffic was stop and go, with a near solid stream of red taillights. And so was our conversation. If Eric had taken me to visit Burt Marx to settle my mind about Misty Dawn it was having the exact opposite effect. I now had more questions than ever about the woman, and as far as her relationship with Sarah Millhouse and Andrew Reese went, I hadn’t even begun to connect the dots. I just knew there had to be some, and I was certain Eric thought so too.
“You don’t really think Misty accidentally poisoned the bath salts, do you?” I glanced over at Eric. He was strangely quiet, his eyes focused intently on the traffic ahead. I started to prod. “Look, we know the bottles are hers. Burt says she mixes monkshood into her teas. She’s probably got a stash of the stuff hidden away somewhere.”
I was getting nothing back from Eric. He looked lost in his thoughts, miles away. Then half-joking and hoping for a response, I added, “Hey, maybe she’s escalating from love potions to something more deadly? You know, a little more permanent than affairs of the heart.”
Eric glanced over to me. His mind still elsewhere.
I persisted. “I think Sarah might be using Misty.”
Again no response. Eric’s eyes returned to the road ahead. We drove on another couple of rain-slicked miles in silence, and then, “When this is over, I think we should set sail for Catalina. The island’s beautiful this time of year.”
I looked at him curiously. “You don’t want to talk about the case?”
“I think we need to talk about what’s really bothering you.”
I sighed and looked out the window. Now we’re going to have the conversation? Dammit, I thought we’d moved beyond the need to discuss our relationship. “Like what?” I asked.
“The other woman. Let’s start there. I know she bothers you.”
I closed my eyes, shook my head and bit my lip to keep from smiling. Eric’s other woman is a sixty foot schooner called the Sea Mistress, a former drug smuggler’s vessel he’d bought at auction.
“You know how I feel about her.” I tossed the comment back. The very thought of Eric’s Sea Mistress turned my stomach. From the first time I’d boarded her, or attempted to, I felt nauseous, my legs like rubber and I slipped from her deck. Eric had to fish me out of the water. I was a mess, sopping wet, my hair mixed with seaweed in stringy ringlets and I smelled of brackish seawater.
“I don’t think you’ve given her a fair chance, and once we’re done here it’d really be nice if we set sail for Catalina. Maybe make it a threesome?”
I laughed.
He smiled and reached over to squeeze my hand.
I sat back and looked out the window. There was no point in trying to discuss the case. For right now it was off limits, but at least I knew despite everything that had happened yesterday, we were back on an even keel.
“Perhaps I should ask Misty for something,” I teased. “No doubt she’s probably got a cure for seasickness in that bag of hers.”
I waited for a response. Eric shook his head as though he were trying to dismiss the thought and said nothing. Then as we pulled into the parking lot he reached for my hand. “Carol, you and I, we can’t talk about this case right now. You know that. It’s an open investigation and we each have a job to do. I wanted to take you to lunch, to meet Burt and let him tell you about Misty. I thought it might help. But right now, I need to check something out alone. Okay?”
I kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I get it. You’re worried I’ll solve the case without you.”
He laughed. “I’ll call later.”
I grabbed my bag and holding it over my head ran into the station. Tyler may have been right about reporters and the FBI, but he wasn’t right about Eric and me. We could harmonize.
I brushed past the security guard, pushed through the station’s double doors and dashed down the hallway toward the studio. In the background the start of the second quarter of the Lakers’ game broadcast throughout the station. Screams from enthusiastic fans were bouncing off the walls. Kobe Bryant had just scored his third three-pointer. I swung into the news booth, dropped my wet bag at my feet and skimmed the news feed. There was no mention anywhere that Kim LaSalle had found another deadly bottle of Lavender Lush.
I considered buzzing Tyler, bringing him up to date on the news about Kim LaSalle, but I knew he’d be swamped with the responsibilities of the remote broadcast and an arena full of screaming fans. I breathed a little easier. With the game in full swing I was alone in the studio. I had better than thirty minutes to halftime and more than enough time to prepare for my newscast.
I rewrote the leads to a couple of national news stories and opted to green-light the news about Kim LaSalle finding a bottle of poisonous bath salts. Satisfied I had plenty of material and more than enough time for a cup of coffee I decided I’d head to the employees’ lounge.
With Tyler out of my way, it would be a light night. I could relax. I’d have enough free time to call my son and maybe even do a little online research concerning herbal remedies for seasickness. Much as I looked forward to time with Eric, the idea of a day at sea caused my stomach to flip-flop.
I stood up, stretched and caught my reflection in the tinted glass between the small news booth and the adjacent studio. There in the dark window, looming from within my own image was the shadow of another figure. I wasn’t alone.
I stepped forward, placing my hand on the windowpane and stared into the empty studio. The dim red light above the microphone flickered, as though an object had passed through it. For a moment I thought I was seeing a ghost. I froze. A dark silhouette wearing a scarf and a beaded necklace appeared to be asleep, actually snoring, her round shoulders rising and lowering like waves, behind the console.
“Misty?” I tapped on the glass. She jerked awake, her head like a bobble doll, appeared disoriented, then stared back at me.
“Oh, you’re here, finally. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“What are you doing here?” I stepped back from the glass. How could Misty possibly have gotten into the studio? It’s not like KCHC is some rinky-dink little station. It’s a state of the art facility, surrounded by twelve foot high walls and twenty-four seven security. I considered pressing the small emergency call button beneath the console to alert the guard. But Misty was on to me.
“You don’t need to bother with that. Your security guard knows I’m here. He let me in. Sweet fellow by the way. He and I’ve become quite good friends. I think his name is Jake, or James, or something like that. I forget, but he remembered me from the other night. We agreed it was just too cold and wet to wait outside, so he let me in. I told him you were expecting me. You got my message, right?”
“Message?” I picked up my bag, rifled through it and checked my phone. There was nothing. I held it up against the glass for her to see. “It says no new messages. Satisfied?”
“Oh, my dear, you still don’t get it, do you? You mean to tell me I haven’t crossed your mind at all? Not once the entire day?”
I tossed my phone back into my bag.
“You might consider using a phone, Misty. It’s what most people do. I’m afraid this really isn’t a good—”
“Time?” Misty stepped forward and put her hand on the glass, directly opposite where mine had been. In the dim light I could see her cloudy white eyes looking back at me. Glowing. “I’m afraid when it comes to things like this there’s never a good time. But just give me a few minutes. I have information that can help your friend Sam. It’s urgent.”
My stomach tightened at the mention of Sam’s name and I drew back from the glass and pointed toward the exit. “Fine, meet me outside the studio.”
Without a word I headed down the hallway toward the employee’s kitchenette with Misty following behind me. Despite the broadcast of the Lakers game in the background the sound of Misty’s jewelry jangling and that of her moccasins as she shuffled behind me was all I heard.
When we got to the doorway of the employees’ lounge, I stopped and pointed to a corner table. With my back pressed up against the wall I held my breath as she passed in front of me. She was dressed in a long skirt, a loose fitting shirt and shawl. Over one shoulder she was carrying a large canvas bag that she clung to like a security blanket, and in her hands she held a bouquet of long stemmed blue flowers wrapped in newspaper. Irises? Hydrangea? I hoped they weren’t monkshood.
“So how is it you think you can help Sam?” I watched as she squeezed in behind the table, leaning on the chair like an old lady for balance then sat down.
“Aren’t you going to offer me some hot water for tea?” She exhaled as she placed the flowers on the table then took the bag from her shoulder as though its contents might be heavy and set it on the floor beside her. “I’d like a cup first. Will you join me?”
“No, I was about to have coffee.” I moved toward the kitchen counter and reached for the coffee pot. “I’ll stick with that, thanks.”
“Suit yourself, but I’ll need water. Please?” She reached down into her bag and took out a small cup and several small baggies full of twigs, seeds and earth colored powders, similar to those she’d brought with her last time and then proceeded to line them all up on that table. I didn’t want to think what might be in those bags.
“Oh, and these here are for you.” Unwrapping the long stems from the newspaper, she leaned forward and waved them inches from my face. “Beautiful, aren’t they? You know what they’re called?”
“No. I’m afraid I don’t.” I veered away from the flowers, stooping to avoid them as I reached for her cup on the table. Then turning my back to her defensively I began filling the cup with hot water from the insta-tap. My quick reaction caused her to laugh.
“Oh, of course you do. They’re gladiolas, from my garden.” She sat down, laying the flowers on the table in front of her. “Beautiful, aren’t they? But that’s not what you thought, is it?”
Cautiously I leaned in, placing her cup back on the table, then turned around to fill my own cup with coffee.
“I think you know what I thought,” I said.
“That these are monkshood? Oh, Carol, don’t worry. Burt told me all about your visit this afternoon. I’m well aware how guilty you think I am.”
I turned back to face her, the coffee pot still in my hand. She stopped talking while she fixed her tea. I watched as she methodically patted each of the small baggies in front of her as though she was feeling, not looking, for its contents and finding what she liked, opened it, took a pinch from inside and sprinkled it into her cup. Then pushing her frizzy gray-blonde hair from her face, she blew over her tea and began slowly turning the cup several times before taking a long sip.
“Your mind’s been working overtime trying to figure out if, like Burt said, it could have been an accident, or if maybe I actually did it. A mystery, isn’t it? And yet, here I am. Odd, even if I do say so myself. I mean if I was the guilty party, the murderess so to speak, I’d hardly be here trying to help Sam, now would I? By the way, did you know Burt and April lost a baby six months before she died? Crib death. It nearly killed Burt.”
I stopped pouring coffee into my cup and stared at her. I had no idea there had been a baby.
“Not surprising you didn’t hear. Not a hint of it in the tabloids, or any media, for that matter. Pepper kept it quiet. It’s what she did. Strange, isn’t it? All the junk she managed to pitch about her clients that ended up on the front page, and not a word about the sudden death of Amber’s little brother. I have to say, the woman had power and she used it to bury this story. Not so much as a blimp on the radar. But the entire family was devastated. They were just getting back on their feet when Burt took the family on vacation to Mexico and April drowned.”
“You’re telling me you had no idea? With all your psychic powers or whatever you want to call them, you didn’t know about the baby? Or that April would die?”
“It’s not always possible to decipher between emotion and energy. I was too close, and when I’m involved like I was with them, things get clouded.”
“I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean emotion and energy?”
“Sometimes I hear voices, sometimes it’s a feeling I get when I’m with someone or read about something. Like with the young coed at the university. I didn’t know her, but heard about her missing and one day when I was working in the garden I just knew. I started to feel her presence. I know it sounds strange, but in truth it’s a power we all have. Most people just don’t listen. You have to appreciate that the universe is all energy, either positive or negative.
“When I meet someone I can feel that energy. Like with you. It’s positive. There’s this glow about you, but then there’s also a dark energy moving around you. It concerns me. Perhaps it’s because you’re working the case or because whoever did these murders is somehow very close to you.”
“You gals okay?” Jake, the security guard, stood at the door with a big smile on his face. In his hand was a brownie. “Just checking. And thanks, Misty, for these.” He nodded to her, and taking a bite of the chocolate bar, added, “Better ’n my wife makes, but that’s just ’tween you and me, right?”
“Anytime, Luv.”
I looked at her. “You bribed him!”
“He was bribable. What do want me to say? I needed to see you.”
I waited until Jake left. I shudder to think what might be in those brownies. Jake looked awfully happy.
