“Will any agents be around tomorrow?”
“Probably not here. But if somebody races in and confesses to the murders, give Agent Turnbull or me a call at the Rapid City FBI office.”
I recognized the street address Fergie gave me as being in a newer development on the outskirts of Eagle River. The Elk Thunder abode was one of the nicest houses: a brick ranch style, with a two-car garage and a circular driveway in front. A chain-link fence ran down both sides of the house, keeping critters and trespassers out of the backyard.
I parked in the circle and admired the landscape as I walked up to the front door. I rang the doorbell twice.
The door flew open, and Triscell warned, “I told you kids not to-Oh, Agent…”
“Gunderson,” I supplied.
“Obviously, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Elk Thunder, but I was on my way home, after an interview regarding Arlette’s case, and I realized I hadn’t done a follow-up interview with you.”
“Do you have any leads on who killed Arlette?”
“Not yet. Your husband asked the same question.” I inched closer to the door, wanting a peek at the presidential palace. “Is he home?”
“Yes, but he’s on the phone. Tribal council business. It can take hours.”
So much for my testing the water and hitting him up for a loan. “Ah.” I stared at her long enough that she realized she hadn’t invited me inside.
“Sorry, come in.”
I suspected I wouldn’t make it off the tiled foyer. But I could see the room beyond the fake marble arches. No colorful Indian artwork or decor anywhere in the living area. The entire room-from the couches to the end tables to the carpet to the walls-was white: hues ranging from pristine white, to off-white, to vanilla, to cream. I wondered what Rollie would say about that. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you. We’ve worked hard for it. No one knows how much energy it takes to own a business.”
I made appropriate affirmative noises.
“So are you here because that other girl was found dead?” she asked. “And are the cases connected?”
“That’s what we’re working on.” I blathered about some random, pointless procedural stuff until I sensed her impatience. Then I pulled a Columbo, smiling before I apologized for rambling. “Oh, one more thing before I let you get back to what you were doing. I understand you’re an herbalist, using traditional Native American herbs?”
“I dabble. Why?”
“I have friends who dabble, too. It seems there’d be a lot of different things to store and to remember. What ingredients can be mixed together, and what cannot be mixed together. Do you have a special area where you work?”
She leaned against the wall, more at ease. “No, I work in the kitchen. There’s really not that much to mix, since I make small batches for my own use.”
“Small batches of what?”
“Facial products. Natural ointments for sore muscles.”
I nodded. “I love arnica gel. Did Arlette ever use any of your natural products?”
“No.”
“Nothing? That’s unfortunate. I hope your husband takes advantage of your herbal expertise.”
She smiled. “Oh, he does. He knows just as much about herbs and cures as I do.”
Bingo. “Do you concoct herbal teas? I know Sophie was always trying to get me to drink her rose hip and marshmallow root tea.” Such a liar, Mercy.
Triscell’s smile faded. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
I’d hit a nerve. But for teas? “It’s probably not. Well, except for the fact Arlette had poison in her body. Digitalis? Ever heard of it? Nasty stuff.”
“Are you accusing me of poisoning my niece? Because if that’s your assumption, I can assure you that your commander at the FBI will get-”
“No, ma’am, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just asking. This information didn’t come up until after you’d been in the tribal PD, and we’ve not had a chance to speak to you or your husband about it, since he slapped us with a no-contact order where you’re concerned.”
Her eyes turned frosty. “Latimer did that? Well, I certainly had no knowledge of it. And I wouldn’t have agreed with his decision. Death is too common around here, and you can ignore it until it happens to your family.” She straightened her spine. “So ask your questions, because I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Maybe she didn’t, but I’d bet her husband did. “Since our findings indicated the poison was in something Arlette ingested, we want to cover all avenues. Especially with teens putting crazy stuff in hookahs and smoking it. Or mixing up more potent energy drinks.” I paused. “Arlette didn’t show an interest in learning traditional natural herbal remedies from you? Or would that be something she’d try on her own? And maybe she’d accidentally screwed it up by using the wrong herb?”
“I don’t keep foxglove on hand just for that reason.”
“Oh, smart.”
“Not that it matters. If food didn’t come prepackaged, or wasn’t full of fat, salt, and sugar, she wouldn’t eat it. Arlette had an aversion to anything natural.”
I wondered if this woman had made her niece feel fat, or like a freak. In that moment I had a pang of sorrow for Arlette and Verline. I took two steps back. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Elk Thunder. If you have any questions how the case is progressing, don’t hesitate to contact Carsten McGillis, your FBI victim specialist.”
• • •
Agent Turnbull wasn’t in the office the next day, so I couldn’t share my interesting findings about Latimer’s business practices and Triscell Elk Thunder’s herbalist skills. And because I’d already been reamed for not sharing information in a timely manner, I tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up. I learned from Frances that he was stuck in court.
The following day, I’d had several cases to follow up on that weren’t related to the murder cases in Eagle River. One involving a wiretap of an alleged member of a biker gang and his threats against a judge. Another involving the placement of a witness in protective custody with the U.S. Marshals Service in preparation for testimony in a federal case.
By the time I caught up with Turnbull in the conference room right before lunch, I wished I’d steered clear of him. Talk about manic highs and lows. I found myself biting my tongue so as not to ask if he’d taken his bipolar meds.
When I tried to relay what I’d pieced together, Shay waved me off. “None of that matters now.”
“None of the work I did on these cases for the last two days matters? Really? Even if it changes the course of the investigation?”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you get a confession from someone?”
“No, but-”
“Then like I said, your busywork doesn’t matter.”
Busywork? Man, he was a total asshole today. “So?”
“So, is Rollie Rondeaux on your suspect list?”
“No, but that’s-”
“The problem. Rollie is your friend, and he played you, Mercy. Don’t you see that?”
Shay’s arrogance kicked my belligerence into high gear. “By telling me about the string of suspicious deaths that’d gone unnoticed by the tribal police? That’s playing me? Because I consider the initial information Rollie provided crucial to this case. No one in the tribal PD or the FBI connected the dots-”
“Until he told you to look for the connection,” Shay snapped. “He told you there’d be more deaths. And doesn’t that strike you as odd, Agent Gunderson? That Mr. Rondeaux, a man who’s made no bones about his hatred for law enforcement on any level, was suddenly helping us? Then the next victim just happens to be his domestic partner? Coincidental and convenient, don’t you think?”
Turnbull’s implication was wrong. I’d witnessed the look on Rollie’s face after he’d seen what’d been done to Verline. He’d masked it quickly, but that type of horrified anguish couldn’t have been faked.