Beignets and Broomsticks Page 11

  Brad stroked his chin. ‘Any idea who those three are?’

  ‘No.’ Our escort was a good thirty yards ahead and about to disappear around a green hedge, still apparently unaware that we were not following in his wizardly wake. ‘But let’s shadow them and see where they go.’ I hurried up the path to my right without waiting for a reply.

  I heard the sound of Brad’s footsteps as he followed me.

  Dodging behind the occasional bush or cactus and the odd stone pilings we came across, we were able to stay low and out of sight. It didn’t take long to figure out where the foursome was heading.

  Stooped behind a low shed from which the sound of a running engine emanated, Brad and I watched as the red-robed figure knocked on the door of the same adobe cabin from which we had been asked rather unceremoniously to exit. This time, Suryavayu himself answered. All four disappeared inside.

  Brad turned to me, his shoulder pressed against mine. ‘What do you suppose that’s all about?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think they’re here to enroll in a bachelor of mystic arts program.’

  Strong hands clamped down on my upper arm. I twisted around. It was Wizard Silvermane and he had brought company. Two goons in orange robes, at least goons was what I took them for. The way they were filling out those robes and the dull, lifeless expressions on their faces seemed to confirm my diagnosis.

  Wizard Silvermane tugged on my arm. He was surprisingly strong for an old wizard.

  ‘Hey!’ I complained.

  ‘Yeah, watch it!’ Brad moved in to help me but the two orange goons grabbed him, an elbow apiece, and lifted him easily off the ground.

  Brad struggled some more, kicking, thrashing and cursing, but it was no use and I said so. ‘Forget it, Brad. Let’s go.’ At least, I was hoping they would let us go.

  ‘Very wise of you, Ms Miller.’ Wizard Silvermane turned to his goons. ‘Please see that our guests do not get lost once again on their way out.’

  The two men, so far silent, released their grip on Brad and his feet hit the ground.

  Two minutes later, we were in the car and on our way back to town.

  TWELVE

  ‘That went well,’ I quipped. I was still feeling shaken. Shaken and confused. And not a little scared. ‘What’s next?’

  Brad hit the highway and picked up speed. Normally, I had to goad Mr Leadfoot to step on the gas. That was no problem now. He seemed as anxious to put some distance between us and the Sacred Church of Witchkraft as I was.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’ I teased.

  ‘No hurry. I just thought I’d try to lose them. For kicks.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Don’t look now but we are being followed.’ Brad’s hands were in a death grip on the steering wheel.

  I lowered the visor in front of me. I peeked in the mirror, making a show of checking my hair and makeup. I blanched. A white van sat about thirty yards back, matching our speed. ‘What do you suppose they want?’

  ‘Hopefully, to make sure we go back to Table Rock and stay there,’ was Brad’s reply.

  I tilted the visor back into place. ‘And not so hopefully?’

  ‘Run us off the road? Maybe kill us out here in the middle of nowhere and away from the church to deflect any hint of suspicion on them?’

  I frowned, wishing I’d never asked the question. Brad painted a vivid, if scary, picture. ‘Go a little faster,’ I urged.

  The van locked pace with us for several miles, slowing when we slowed and speeding up when we attempted to break away.

  ‘We’re in luck.’ Brad pointed out the windshield. Two vehicles sat along the side of the road. One was a Table Rock police cruiser, the other a navy-blue SUV. A uniformed officer was writing out a ticket to the driver of the SUV.

  Brad tapped on the brakes, turned on his right blinker and slowed to a stop several yards in front of the two vehicles. ‘If the cop asks, we thought the rear tire sounded funny.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  As Brad opened the driver’s side door, the white van shot past. ‘Did you get a look at the driver?’ he asked.

  ‘No. They were going too fast.’ I climbed out and stretched my legs while Brad moved to the rear of his car and bent to inspect the tire.

  I kicked the tire on my side. The blue SUV merged back on the road and the officer, whom I now recognized to be Officer Ravi Singh, wearing a police cap and a pair of green-tinted sunglasses, shambled over. He came to a stop beside Brad, who was standing near the trunk.

  ‘Trouble, sir?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Hi, Officer. I thought maybe we had a flat.’ Brad scratched the top of his head. ‘Something sounded funny, you know?’ Brad looked across the trunk at me. ‘Right, Maggie?’

  Officer Singh looked at me for a moment. ‘Ms Miller. How are you?’

  ‘Great, Officer. False alarm, I guess. Right, Brad?’

  ‘Right.’ Brad rapped the trunk with his knuckles. ‘I guess we’ll be off.’

  We both looked up and down the road. There was no sign of the van. It hadn’t doubled back. Was it and its driver waiting for us up ahead?

  ‘I sure hope there’s nothing wrong with these tires,’ I said, doing my best to sound helpless as I lifted my leg and rubbed the back of my calf. ‘I’d hate to get stuck out here in the desert.’ I looked at the sky. ‘It will be dark soon, too.’ Well, sort of.

  Officer Singh took the hint. ‘You are heading into town?’

  ‘That’s right, Officer,’ answered Brad.

  ‘Why don’t I follow the two of you? I’m going that way myself.’

  ‘Would you?’ I said with a flutter of eyelashes. ‘You are a peach.’

  Officer Singh blushed. ‘It is my pleasure.’

  ‘Haven’t I always said how wonderful the police in Table Rock are, Brad?’

  ‘Huh?’

  I made a face that only he could see.

  ‘Oh, yeah. You’re always saying that. I mean, how wonderful your police are.’

  ‘Super crime solvers, too,’ I said, unable to stop myself. ‘Speaking of which, have you found Nancy Alverson’s killer yet?’

  Officer Singh shook his head. ‘Sadly, no. There are many, many suspects but no perfect match. Not yet.’

  ‘You were on the scene, weren’t you, Officer Singh?’ asked Brad.

  ‘Yes, that is correct. I was one of the first to arrive at the victim’s apartment.’

  ‘I never did hear, Officer. According to the police report, Nancy Alverson was strangled but the report didn’t say how. Did the killer use their bare hands?’

  ‘No, no. She was strangled with—’ I snapped my mouth shut. I had almost spilled the beans and, if I did that, Mark Highsmith just might spill some of my blood.

  ‘I am afraid that is confidential at this time.’ Singh took a step back and motioned toward Brad’s car. ‘Shall we?’

  Back inside the car, Brad said, ‘Did you have to do that?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Get all, I don’t know, seductive and disarming?’

  I grinned ear to ear. ‘Is that what you thought, Brad? That I was seductive and disarming?’

  Brad’s face turned brilliant red and he didn’t say another word to me until we reached the curb outside Maggie’s Beignet Café.

  ‘I’ve got to go interview the folks at Big Blue Outfitters. One of their hot-air balloons was stolen and the editor wants the story.’

  I furrowed my brow. ‘Who steals a hot-air balloon?’

  ‘Beats me. It’s hardly front-page news but BBO is a regular advertiser so off I go.’

  ‘OK.’ I started to open my door but his hand on my arm stopped me.

  ‘Before you do.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Back there at the side of the road when we were talking to Officer Singh—’

  ‘You are not going to start that again.’

  ‘It’s not that, Maggie. When I asked Singh how Nancy Alverson was strangled, you,’ he said, pointing the finger o
f guilt at me, ‘started to say something. What was it?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’ I climbed out and slammed the door before he could ask me anything further. ‘Call me tomorrow!’

  As Brad negotiated a U-turn, I looked up and down Laredo. There was no sign of the white van.

  Maggie’s Beignet Café was closed for the day. I opened the door and went to the storeroom to grab my bicycle. I knew it was hopeless but once again I looked on my desk and around the floor for the missing flash drive. There was no sign of it.

  I closed the laptop and rolled up the power cord. I placed it all in the handlebar basket of my bike.

  I rolled the Schwinn to the rear entrance of the storeroom and examined the lock for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t broken and there was no sign of a break-in.

  I slipped into my coat, secured the door and pedaled toward the town square.

  I couldn’t put off telling Detective Highsmith about Nancy Alverson’s note and the now-missing flash drive any longer.

  Table Rock Town Hall is located on the town square. The mayor’s office, the town council and most town services were located within the rambling structure. Over the years, the town’s offices had been expanded and remodeled innumerable times, often taking over spaces in the adjacent buildings, especially their upper floors. There was a two-bay fire station around the corner.

  The town was undergoing one such change now. Table Rock Police Headquarters, which had originally been housed on the street, had been moved in the late seventies to its location just outside of the town proper. Police HQ was now being moved back to its original space, the thinking being that it would save the town money and improve communications between town services and the townspeople.

  It certainly improved my ability to communicate. I no longer had to worry about taking public transportation, bumming a ride or borrowing a car whenever I wanted to drop in.

  Which, for some reason, was more often than you might think.

  A developer had purchased the old police station and was turning it into an outlet mall. Tempers still flared and the town was still divided into three camps regarding that plan. Some loved it, some hated it and a few just plain didn’t care.

  I slid my bike onto the bike rack and plucked my laptop from the basket. One of these days, I’d get a lock for it but, so far, I had been lucky. No one had had the nerve to steal my bright pink Schwinn.

  I wasn’t taking any such chances with the laptop.

  I climbed the steps of the town hall and entered the regal old lobby. A neatly coiffed man, middle-aged, in a white shirt sat behind a large desk that contained a lamp, a radio and a guestbook.

  ‘Hi, I’m here to see Detective Highsmith.’

  The man nodded. ‘Have you been here before?’

  ‘Yes, but I see things have changed.’ The building permits and inspections office was still to the immediate left. However, where the staff offices and human resources department had once been was now the entrance to the police department.

  Along the back there were offices for dog licenses, public works, the public information office and a notary public service.

  ‘You’ll find the detective through there.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I don’t believe he’s gone for the day yet.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I scribbled my signature in the guestbook.

  ‘Is that a computer?’

  ‘Yes.’ I hefted the bag on my shoulder.

  He stood and ran a metal wand up and down my body.

  ‘You want me to open it?’

  ‘Nah. You’re good.’

  ‘Tell me, is the mayor’s office still on the second floor?’

  ‘That’s right, and I expect it’s going to stay there.’

  I wasn’t surprised. The mayor, VV’s daddy, had a posh office overlooking the square. I wouldn’t have wanted to part with it either. ‘And the prosecuting attorney?’

  ‘Same, too. Third floor.’ That would be VV’s office, a smaller but equally posh space.

  I thanked him once more and walked into the new police station. A polished wood counter extended from the wall. A glass partition rose from about six inches above the counter to the ceiling. Bulletproof, I suspected. Small speakers were built into the glass. There was a sturdy-looking gray metal door to the left of the counter.

  A blue-uniformed officer stood behind the counter wiping his spectacles. He placed them on his narrow nose as I approached. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘My name is Maggie Miller. I’m here to see Detective Mark Highsmith.’

  ‘Is he expecting you?’ The officer glanced over his shoulder. I could see the detective hovering near a watercooler talking to a man in a black coat and tie.

  ‘No, but it’s about the Nancy Alverson case. I think he will want to see me.’

  ‘One minute.’

  The officer strode along between the rows of desks, some occupied, some empty. He tapped Detective Highsmith on the shoulder. Words were exchanged. Both men glanced toward me at the counter.

  Was it my imagination, or did Detective Highsmith’s shoulders sag ever so slightly when he saw it was me?

  The officer, whose nametag identified him as E. Hunt, returned. ‘You can go on back.’ He pressed a button under the counter and the door buzzed.

  The gentleman Detective Highsmith had been speaking with left as I approached. ‘Come on into my office,’ Highsmith said.

  His office was a cubicle in the corner. He pulled an empty swivel chair from the cubicle beside his and rolled it my way. ‘Have a seat, Ms Miller.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I settled in and placed my laptop and purse on the blue-gray industrial carpet floor. I rubbed my eyes and blinked. The flooring was new and some chemical in it was making my eyes itchy.

  ‘Now what’s this about the Nancy Alverson case?’ He leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the cluttered built-in desk. A large, flat computer monitor behind him displayed a list of names with a photograph of a face beside each one.

  ‘Suspects?’ I asked.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘On your computer.’

  ‘New recruits.’ He turned and hit a button on the side of the computer. The screen went blank.

  I wasn’t sure I believed him but it didn’t seem important enough to pursue. ‘Have you found any new leads?’

  Highsmith grinned. ‘That sounds almost exactly like the question you asked Officer Singh not an hour ago. You really, really have to stop interfering.’

  I colored. ‘For your information, I was not interfering. I merely ran into Officer Singh and I was simply making conversation.’

  ‘Next time you want to make conversation, try talking about the weather.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ I jumped up, ready to leave. The man could make me so angry.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘What?’ I grabbed my purse and laptop case.

  ‘The Nancy Alverson case?’ He motioned for me to sit. ‘You told Hunt you had some information?’

  I glared at him for a moment, then returned to my chair. ‘I’m only trying to help.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, patiently. ‘Can I get you something? Coffee, tea?’

  ‘No, thanks. But speaking of tea, I noticed a paper cup of tea from Karma Koffee on Nancy’s desk the night she was murdered. Any idea how it got there?’

  ‘Not so far.’

  ‘Were there any fingerprints on it?’

  ‘Just hers, and before you ask, yes, she had ingested most of it before she was strangled.’

  ‘So Nancy was murdered due to strangulation?’ I asked. ‘She wasn’t poisoned first with the tea, perhaps?’ It had been an idea bouncing around in the back of my mind.

  Detective Highsmith leaned forward, planting his elbows over his knees. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Well …’ I shifted in my seat. ‘If Nancy Alverson had been poisoned first, that might mean that the killer strangled her with a certain scarf afterward—’

  ‘VV’s scarf.’ />
  I nodded. ‘To pin the murder on her.’

  Highsmith settled back in his chair and swiveled toward his desk. ‘I don’t know if I should be telling you this but the tea …’

  ‘Yes?’ I said eagerly.

  He turned on his computer again and clicked on a file. ‘Ms Alverson’s tea wasn’t poisoned exactly, but it was tampered with.’

  ‘Tampered with how?’

  ‘This is just between us, Miller.’

  ‘Of course, Detective.’

  ‘Fine. I’m only telling you because this whole murder thing has really got VV upset. People in the department are starting to wonder if she really could be involved somehow.’ He stood and paced the small space between us.

  ‘It’s ridiculous. I have got to get to the bottom of this,’ Highsmith growled, ‘before things get out of hand.’

  ‘The tea?’ I interrupted. ‘You said something about the tea.’

  ‘It was spiked with approximately two hundred milligrams of diphenhydramine.’

  ‘Diphenhydramine? What is that?’

  ‘An over-the-counter allergy medication and sleep aid.’

  ‘Did she have any allergies?’

  ‘Not according to her family and physician.’

  ‘Nancy had been drugged?’

  Highsmith ran his hand over his face. ‘It would seem so. It’s unlikely that she would have taken such a strong dose herself. Besides, even if she wanted to take a sleeping pill or two, she would take them with her tea, not in her tea.’

  ‘Unless she didn’t like to swallow pills,’ I noted.

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘Did you find a bottle of sleeping pills in Nancy’s apartment, Detective?’

  ‘Yes. And before you ask, the bottle was discovered in a kitchen cabinet. It had been open and a number of pills were missing – twenty-seven, to be exact.’

  ‘Did you check the bottle for fingerprints?’

  Highsmith looked insulted. ‘The bottle was clean.’

  ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  I thought a moment. ‘Could the drugging and the murder be unrelated? A coincidence?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘But when it comes to murder, I hate coincidences.’