Shadow of Doubt, page 15
“You know what I think?” I still had the coffee pot in my hand and gripped it more firmly as I spoke. Not that I intended to throw it, but I felt a little more secure with something between us, just in case she didn’t like what I was about to say. “You’re right. I do think the person responsible for the murders is close to me. I think it’s you, Misty, and I don’t believe it was an accident. Not after watching you blend your tea. You may be foolish and forgetful, but you’re not stupid. You’re much too careful when it comes to your precious herbs.”
“You’re quite observant, Carol. If you could only be so trusting, perhaps you’d understand that’s why I’m here.”
“I think you’re here and following me around because you’re trying to feed me facts to throw me off. Or maybe it’s because you didn’t act alone, that you’re involved with Sarah and Andrew and you’re trying to get close to me to find out what I know. I don’t know for sure. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but I’m going to. You can count on it.”
“Oh, Carol, you’re much too dramatic.”
“Am I?”
“Think about it, Dear. Why would I want to kill Pepper Millhouse and those two darling little old lady business partners of hers? They gave me my break in Hollywood. To them I was Mystic Misty, Psychic to the Stars. You think I’d undo that? Pepper Millhouse and I may have had our differences, but she took care of those who could make money for the agency, and over the years I made plenty of money for her. Plus, I brought her Amber Marx, and when she needed someone to look after Amber, I was there. Believe me, we understood one another. She’s the reason I’ve got the job as consultant on The Sorcerer’s Daughter.”
I looked at the clock. It was getting late. I’d already lost the opportunity to call my son and wish him good night.
“Look, you said you had something that would help Sam. What is it?”
“Well, that’s just it. I’ve been trying to call Sam’s attorney. What’s his name?”
“Mr. King.” I shook my head. How on earth could a psychic have such a terrible memory?
“Yes, Mr. King. But it seems I’m unable to rouse him.”
“Okay, stop. Wait a minute.” I put my hands up to stop her from rattling on about Mr. King. “Are you telling me you tried to actually call Mr. King?” I asked, pantomiming a phone to my ear. “I mean really call him, on the phone?”
“Why, of course. You could hardly expect an attorney to understand transcendental communication. I’m afraid that kind of thing is way over their heads. They’re just not capable.”
“Misty.” Again I put my hand up to stop her. “The reason you were calling Mr. King, was because…?” I prompted her, trying to hurry her along. I was due on the air in ten minutes.
“He’s ill. I couldn’t get hold of him. He’s under the weather. At least that’s what his assistant tells me. Odd way of phrasing it, don’t you think? Under the weather. It makes one sound like they’re standing beneath a black cloud. Oh, but it’s nothing so serious, least not with him, just a nasty cold, although I do think it’s pneumonia, the walking variety, mild, but miserable.”
“I see.” I glanced again at the clock. If nothing else I at least knew now why Mr. King had not returned any of my calls.
“But I do have a solution.”
“What’s that?”
“Ginger tea and almonds.”
“Misty,” I said pointedly. “Let’s stick to the reason you’re here. Just what is it you wanted to share with Mr. King that would help Sam?”
“Why, her allergies of course. The girl’s allergic. Desperately.”
“I don’t understand. Why are Sam’s allergies of any significance to her defense?”
“Because Samantha Millhouse is highly allergic to flowers! And monkshood, just like these flowers here, is a flowering plant.” She picked up the bundle of flowers on the table in front of her and shook them. “If she’s exposed to any type of pollen her eyes swell up terribly. There’s absolutely no way she could have dried and chopped up the monkshood and mixed it in with the bath salts.”
“And how do you know about Sam’s allergies?”
“I’ve known it for years. When I first met Sam she had tears running down her face. Her nose was red, her eyes puffy. Poor girl looked a mess. I thought perhaps it was something Pepper had said. Believe me Pepper’s words can cut tears quicker than a thunder storm brings rain. But when I asked, she said Pepper had ordered her to have fresh flowers in the office every day. It wasn’t enough for her to have them delivered. She wanted Sam to actually arrange them and distribute them throughout the agency. Her aunt knew she was allergic. It was torture. Pepper even knew the exact types of flowering plants Sam should avoid but still she insisted. She wanted fresh chrysanthemums and daisies in her office every morning.”
I put the coffee pot down and took a sip of my coffee. Maybe Misty did have a point. Sam never had fresh flowers around the condo. She couldn’t have made up the bottles of Lavender Lush without coming into contact with the flowering plant. It made sense. I made a mental note to mention this to Mr. King soon as possible.
“Oh, and by the way, Carol, I bought you something.”
“Me?”
“Yes, just a little something you might need.” Misty reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out a small pink sachet and motioned for me to come forward. She must have seen the uncertainty in my face and fanned away any concern, shaking her head as she waved her hand in front on her as she spoke. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, please, I’m not about to hurt you. This is for you and your young agent friend. A gift.”
Putting my coffee down on the counter I stepped forward tentatively. “What kind of gift?”
“Love potions. Something a girl should never be without.” Then, taking my wrist, she pressed the sachet into my hand.
“Why would I need this?” I stopped myself. I wasn’t about to enter into a conversation about love potions with some self-touted psychic. I pushed the pouch back in her direction.
“They’ll help keep that mistress of his at bay.” She held my hand tight.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Misty, there’s no mistress, and that’s not why you’re here. I’m not seeking your guidance. I don’t need your help.”
“Of course you do. Laugh if you like, but I’d hate to see him go sailing off into the sunset. Keep it, just in case. You’ll be happy you did, and if it works you’ll be back for something else for that little problem you have when you go sailing.” Then taking the pouch from my hand, she shoved it into my pocket.
I wasn’t happy that Misty was able to jump into my private thoughts. I had no idea exactly how it was she that did it, but I wasn’t about to argue with her about love potions or about why I might or might not need them. “How about we stick to the bath salts, shall we? Tell me what you know about them.”
“Like I told you before. I made them, but not the poisonous ones from the party, accidently or otherwise.” She shook a finger at me as though to shame me for the thought she knew I was thinking. “Why would I do that? I wouldn’t have a following if I did that, now would I?”
“But still, you made up the bath salts for Pepper’s party?”
“Of course I did. Lavender Lush. It’s one of my best lines.”
“That’s not why I’m asking, Misty. I need to know what happened to the bath salts after you made them up.”
Misty exhaled. She was obviously annoyed at me. “You already know. It’s like I told the FBI. I called Sam and told her I was running late. That I didn’t think I’d be able to get the bottles to her in time. She suggested I leave them for her sister to pick up.”
“And as far as you know, Sarah picked them up?”
“Oh no.” Misty put her cup down on the table abruptly. I watched as the color in her face drained and she stood up. Hurriedly she started to shove things back into her bag.
“What’s the matter?”
She grabbed my wrist, and holding it tight, looked me in the eyes. “There’s still a dark shadow around you. I had hoped I removed it, but I didn’t. You need to be careful, particularly around water.”
Dropping my wrist, she turned to go. I reached to grab her, putting my hands on her shoulders. I wanted her to face me. I wanted answers. I wasn’t about to let her walk out the door without an explanation. She shrugged and my hands slipped from her shoulders. She was surprisingly strong.
“You need to remember this.” She turned and looked at me again, her face stony white. “No matter what happens, Carol, time is simply energy. It’s never solid. It’s fluid and faced with danger; there are elements, or fractions of time, when your energy can change the course of fate. You can do that. Trust me.”
I had no idea what Misty was talking about. It was as though one minute she was lucid, or as lucid as Misty could possibly be and the next she was doing some type of psychic reading, or warning. I wasn’t sure. She shoved the flowers into my hands and turned to go.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I need to go.”
I stood there with the flowers in my hand and a very uneasy feeling something terrible was about to happen. I watched as she walked away, her long skirt slowly swaying down the hallway, her beads jangling, until she disappeared through the double doors and into the lobby and there was no longer any sight or sound of her in the building.
Chapter 20
By the time I got home I was too keyed up to close my eyes and afraid that if I did I might wake and find Misty Dawn sitting at the foot of my bed. The thought unnerved me. I fixed myself a cup of hot chocolate, something to steady my nerves, and crept upstairs to check on Charlie. The moonlight, slipping softly through the blinds above his bed, illuminated the room. It was the perfect picture of peace and tranquility. He was asleep, beneath posters of super heroes and football stars, school books neatly piled on his desk next to the bed, and Bossypants snuggled at his feet. All was well. I straightened the blankets on the bed and lightly kissed the tips of my fingers and pressed them to his head, then went to my room.
But I couldn’t kick the feeling that there was a shadowy presence around me, or the memory of Misty’s odd premonition that I could change the course of fate and soon might be asked to do so. Before this was over I was going to get to the bottom of Misty Dawn, but right now—after everything that had happened today—I was going to start by finding out what I could about Sarah Millhouse and Andrew Reese. I fluffed the pillows on the bed and grabbed my laptop. If I couldn’t sleep, I could at least do research.
I began by Googling Sarah Millhouse and found a few publicity shots for a less than stellar acting career and a brief bio indicating she was the niece of Pepper Millhouse. Nothing I didn’t already know. I moved on to Andrew Reese. His LinkedIn profile indicated he’d graduated USC with a degree in business and been active in Thespians International and was currently listed as an up and coming executive with the ACT Agency. Nothing new there either. I continued to query him under a pseudonym I’d seen listed in his bio, Drew Reese, and hit pay dirt. A small article from the campus newspaper indicated Drew Reese and some fraternity brothers had once been suspected of hacking into the university’s computer system and changing grades. However, the case was never brought to trial, and all charges against the boys were dropped. Interesting. I then Googled Misty Dawn. There were numerous listings for her, dating all the way back to the sixties, but nothing earlier. All of them said the same thing: former flower child, psychic, mystic to the stars and sometimes clairvoyant who had successfully worked with the FBI on more than one occasion. I then moved on to monkshood, and what I found there made my skin crawl.
Monkshood, also known as the assassins’ plant of choice, or killer plant, had over two hundred and fifty different species from which the poison aconite can be easily derived. In addition to being highly toxic, it was, just like Burt Marx had said, used by the Chinese as an herbal remedy for a number of ailments, anything from the chills to cancer. It was also thought to be hallucinogenic. Witches believed it could make them fly. I started to wonder if perhaps Misty had slipped something into my coffee last night. Maybe I had fantasized everything, particularly her warning. I leaned my head back against the pillows and closed my eyes. I tried to sleep and finally gave up around six o’clock. Grabbing my slippers and robe I headed downstairs, made myself a cup of strong coffee and went to the front door for the newspaper.
The headline stopped me cold. Star Finds Bottle of Deadly Bath Salts. It tied Kim LaSalle’s find of the poisonous bath salts to that of the other Hollywood Bathtub Murders and then went on to suggest that it was very likely Ms. LaSalle was the sixth intended victim. The article also identified Andrew Reese as the acting head of the ACT Agency and quoted him saying there was definitely “bad blood” between Kim LaSalle and Samantha Millhouse. He blamed Sam for having Kim committed unnecessarily to a rehab facility after a recent “incident” between the two inside the agency. The details of which he said he just couldn’t get into, citing client confidentiality. Also included in the story was the fact that Sam’s fingerprints had been found on all the poisonous bottles of bath salts and that it was well known among industry insiders that Samantha Millhouse had a contentious relationship with her aunt and her aunt’s business partners, frequently referring to them as “old hacks.” I didn’t like any of it.
I returned to the kitchen, sat down at the table and stared at my coffee cup. I was trying to sort out this morning’s headlines and Misty’s surprise visit to the radio station last night when my son came bounding into the room with all the enthusiasm of a half-grown pup.
“Boo!” He put his hand on my shoulder, jarring me from my reverie then wandered over to the refrigerator. “What’s wrong, Mom? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I didn’t want to tell him that I thought I had. That I was worried a psychic named Misty Dawn might be stalking me and had surprised me in the studio last night.
“You feed the cat?” I asked.
“Fed, watered and changed his box.”
Charlie stood leaning in front of an open refrigerator door, air conditioning the room, his attention drawn to the cellphone in his hand.
“Hey mister, breakfast, remember?”
He took a hardboiled egg from the refrigerator and stuffed it in his pocket, then grabbed an apple and put it in the other, all the while never taking his eyes of his cell. “Gotta run. Coach called an early morning meeting with the team.”
I stood up and handed him his notebook. “Don’t forget your jacket. It’s cold outside.”
He bussed me a kiss on the side of my cheek and headed out the backdoor, then stopped suddenly, his attention once again drawn to his phone. “Hey, guess who just tweeted? Amber Marx!”
“I would have preferred it be your coach.”
“Mom!” He looked at me like I was from another planet. Didn’t I get it? Amber Marx was hot. Of course I got it. My son was at that awkward age, a pubescent teen, with posters of superheroes plastered across his bedroom walls, while beneath his bed were stashes of my Victoria Secret catalogues. I understood all too well just how impressionable he was and I didn’t like it.
“She’s got a big party at the beach this weekend. Can I go?”
“Not going to happen, Buddy. You’re with your dad this weekend. And make sure to take that phone out of your back pocket and turn it off while you’re in school. Last week you butt-dialed me during your physics class. Twice.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He winked at me, held the cellphone up over his head and waved goodbye as he headed out the door. “Sure thing. Don’t worry, Mom.”
I was glad Charlie wasn’t old enough to drive. I reminded myself that, God willing, he’d outgrow his infatuation with Amber Marx. Besides, he had a game tonight and I knew his dad would keep him busy this weekend. There was no way he’d have time to do a beach party. That was one worry I could put aside.
I glanced up at the clock. It wasn’t too early to try Mr. King. I wanted to tell him what Misty Dawn had said about Sam’s allergies. It was the smallest of hopes but after reading this morning’s paper, she needed everything we could get right now to help with her defense.
The phone rang just once before someone answered.
“Hello?”
I barely recognized the voice. “Mr. King? You sound awful. Are you okay?”
King cleared his throat, the sound of it like a cement mixer. Misty was right, he was miserable. He struggled between coughing spells to tell me he had a cold and had been in and out of the office.
“Hit me like a son of a bitch.” He started to hack again.
I waited until the spasm passed, then explained how Misty Dawn had surprised me at the radio station the night before.
“Believe me if I thought witches were real, I’d swear she was one. I can’t imagine how she knows the things so does, but I do know this, the woman’s stalking me.” A vision of her from last night sitting in the darkened studio sent a chill down my back. “Anyway, she says she’s been trying to reach you. She has information she believes will help Sam.”
King started to cough again.
“And she suggested ginger tea and almonds for your cold. I got the feeling she’d be happy to come by and make a house call. If I was you I’d look out.”
“Why? You jealous?”
I laughed. Even sick, King’s libido was still in play, if only in jest.
“That’s not why I called. She said Sam couldn’t possibly have poisoned Pepper; she’s highly allergic to flowers.”
“Really?” His voice cracked. I could tell he was struggling to speak. “I’ll remember not to bring flowers next time I visit her in jail.”
“You don’t get it. This isn’t funny. Monkshood is a flowering plant. Sam couldn’t possibly have handled it, even with gloves. She’s too allergic.”
