“I can imagine how anxious you must be to trace the source of the poison,” I said. “Frankly I get chills whenever I think about the fact that the killer may still have more of it.”
“That’s why I’m trying to solve this case as quickly as possible. I don’t want anyone else to die,” Kanesha said. “Thanks for the additional information. I need to act on it now, though. I’ll talk to you later.”
I was used to abrupt ends to conversations with Kanesha. She had a tremendous task to accomplish, and I understood that. I wished there were more I could do to help. I didn’t want anyone else to die, either, but that was a possibility as long as the murderer remained at large.
I realized I’d forgotten to ask Kanesha if they knew how the killer had gotten the poison in the bottles. I presumed it was done without opening the bottle. Otherwise surely a person would have noticed that the seal was broken when he opened the bottle to take a drink. I supposed that a person in a hurry—like someone in the middle of a talk in front of a large group of people—might not notice and would simply open the bottle and drink before going on with the talk. That could explain what happened with Gavin.
What about Maxine Muller, though? Would she have noticed that her bottle wasn’t sealed properly? She might have been too distracted to realize it. She no doubt had a lot on her mind at the time she took that fatal sip. Another thought occurred to me, that the killer could have poisoned Maxine’s bottle after she’d opened it. But that hardly seemed likely.
The killer must have managed to get the poison into the bottles without removing the twist caps. How could it be done?
Struck by a sudden idea, I hurried back to the kitchen. Diesel came with me this time, and I heard him in the utility room, scratching in his litter box, when I opened the fridge in search of a plastic drink bottle. I had a water pitcher with a filter, so I usually didn’t have bottled water. I did, however, have a couple of bottles of diet soda. I pulled one out to examine.
I took the bottle to the sink and switched on the light there. I looked closely at the bottle, turned it around a few times, while I thought. My idea was that the killer could have used a syringe to penetrate the plastic and insert the cyanide. Of course that would depend on the form that the cyanide was in and whether it could be inserted in such a manner.
The bottom of the bottle was the likeliest place to do it. People didn’t usually examine the bottom unless there was a leak. How could the killer then have sealed the bottle to prevent a leak and avoid having someone see that the bottle had been tampered with? Perhaps superglue would do the trick. I had a tube of that on hand, but I didn’t have a syringe with which to experiment. An ice pick would work, but I decided not to try it. I didn’t want to make a mess, and I invariably got that glue on my fingers whenever I used it. I put the bottle back in the fridge. My theory was likely workable, I decided. The experts would figure it out.
Diesel padded out of the utility room and meowed at me. Loudly, several times.
I knew what that meant. I followed as he turned to go back to the utility room. His dry-food bowl held only a few pieces of the crunchy bits he loved. I added more to it, then took his water bowl over to the sink, rinsed it, and filled it with fresh water.
“There now,” I said. “Everything okay?”
Diesel stared up at me and meowed. He turned and walked out of the room. Mission accomplished.
I smiled and walked into the kitchen behind him. After giving Diesel water, I realized I was thirsty. I remedied that, and then I thought about the evening ahead. That in turn reminded me of what Kanesha had told me about Marisue and Randi. I was concerned that they hadn’t talked to Kanesha yet. What was going on?
I pulled out my phone to send Marisue a text. Where are you? Everything ok? Deputy Berry needs to talk to you.
If I didn’t hear back from Marisue in a few minutes, I would text Randi. I wasn’t sure what I would do if neither of them texted back.
About three minutes later my phone signaled that I had received a message. From Marisue: Leaving ER headed back to hotel. Will call soon.
The ER? I was sure she meant the emergency room. Good grief, what on earth could have happened to them?
I didn’t have to remain in suspense for long. Marisue called moments later.
“Sorry for the cryptic message, Charlie.” She sounded a bit out of breath. “We’d just got into the taxi to go back to the hotel. We’re both okay. Randi tripped and landed hard on her left arm while we were out on the square.”
“Oh my goodness, did she break her arm?”
“Yes, but thankfully it was a clean break,” Marisue said. “She’s not feeling too perky at the moment, and she’s half gaga on pain pills, but she’ll be all right.”
“Thank goodness,” I said. “Well, no wonder neither of you was responding to Kanesha’s messages. I guess she didn’t have your cell phone numbers.”
“No, she wouldn’t have,” Marisue replied. “Look, we’re pulling up to the hotel. I’ve got to get Randi into her room and settled down. I think she’ll probably nap for a while. As soon as I can I will call Deputy Berry, I promise.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “In the meantime, if there’s anything I can do to help you both, please let me know.”
“Will do.” Marisue ended the call.
Poor Randi, I thought, breaking an arm while attending a library conference. Rotten luck. She wouldn’t feel much like talking for the rest of the day, I was sure. Hopefully Marisue would be able to answer Kanesha’s questions sufficiently in the meantime.
I wondered if Randi’s accident would keep Marisue from coming to the after-reception party in Lisa’s suite tonight. I supposed it depended on how much assistance Randi needed. Probably the main thing she needed at the moment was rest and quiet. I’d never broken a limb, and thankfully neither had either of my children or my late wife. I didn’t have any experience with looking after anyone with a broken arm.
A glance at my watch confirmed that I had time to take a nap myself before I needed to head back to the Farrington House. I decided that, since I wanted to take Diesel with me, I would take a pass on the reception at five thirty and instead have an early dinner at home before the party in Lisa’s suite.
“Come on, Diesel,” I said. “Let’s go upstairs and rest, okay?” He looked at me and chirped. He liked taking naps with me. We headed up to my bedroom and got comfortable. I drifted off not long after.
I must have been more tired than I realized. When I woke and checked the clock, I was surprised to see I had slept for nearly two hours. I had never been one of those people who was totally with it and ready to go at the moment of awakening. It took me several minutes before I was ready to sit up and get out of bed. Diesel woke up when I did, but he sat up and stretched. Then he began grooming himself.
My brain continued to feel foggy until I had bathed my face in cold water and put my clothes back on. I had a little over an hour before I needed to leave for the party at the hotel. Time enough for dinner, at least.
Diesel padded down the stairs along with me. The kitchen was dark, and that was unusual. Stewart must have turned out the lights before he either went upstairs or left the house. I couldn’t remember offhand what his and Haskell’s plans were for this evening. I figured Haskell might still be on duty, thanks to the double homicide investigation.
I was hungry, but I didn’t feel like taking one of Azalea’s casseroles from the freezer and heating it up. Instead I decided on a couple of ham sandwiches, along with the last of the potato salad Stewart made a couple of days ago. That bottle of diet soda I’d looked at earlier provided my beverage for the meal. No dessert tonight, since I would no doubt find things to nibble on at the party. Not to mention, my conscience reminded me, that sinful dessert I’d had at lunchtime.