Deadly Currents (16 page)

“Nothing here,” she said to Quintana.

“Okay, start on the clothes closet while I finish going through the drawers, sink cabinets, and linen closet.”

Mandy stepped into the walk-in closet and let out an appreciative whistle. “My bedroom could fit inside here.”

Quintana gave a snort and pulled out another drawer.

In the closet, head- and waist-high rods across two walls held pants, skirts, shirts, and blazers. A high rod against the back wall held dresses, floor-length gowns, and men’s suits. Interspersed between sections of rods were shelves stacked with folded clothing, about a third of it men’s clothing.

So Paula hadn’t gotten around to removing Tom King’s clothes yet.

Mandy looked at the floor. In front of all three walls of the huge closet, except for one small area containing about a dozen pairs of men’s shoes, two rows of women’s shoes were lined up, most pairs sitting on top of shoeboxes. Every color of the rainbow was represented, as was every style—boots, mules, stiletto heels, pumps, you name it. Mandy popped the lid off one shoebox and spied another pair of shoes inside.

The woman could give Imelda Marcos a run for her money.

Mandy searched the shelves first, even dragging a chair in from the bedroom so she could see all the way to the back of the top shelves. Then she patted down the clothing, searching pockets.

“I’m going into the bedroom,” Quintana announced.

“I’ll be here awhile.” Mandy sat on the floor and started opening shoeboxes and checking them one by one. A pair of lime-green strappy heels, liberally studded with rhinestones, made her pause. She took one out of the box, stood it on her palm and stared at it.

What possible event in Salida would you wear these to?

A shadow fell over her.

“Nice to know you’re enjoying my shoes.” Her voice dripping with sarcasm, Paula King stood in the closet doorway, arms folded across her chest. She swiveled to face Detective Quintana, who had come up behind her. “What is she doing here?”

“She’s part of our investigative team.”

“Oh, no. You’re not pulling one over on me. She’s a river ranger, not a sheriff’s deputy. I want her out of my house. Now!”

“Fine,” Quintana said smoothly. “She can search the grounds outside. If you’ll follow Deputy Mansfield back to the kitchen, you can wait with your son there while we finish.”

Silently simmering, Mandy returned the shoe to its box and stood. Yes, she and Detective Quintana had discussed this possibility, but instead of leaving, she would much rather tell this uppity woman where she could stuff her lime-green, rhinestone-studded shoe.

After Paula left the room, Quintana quirked an eyebrow at Mandy, sympathy and humor conveyed in that simple gesture. “We’ll switch partners. You and Deputy Thompson can search the grounds while Deputy Mansfield and I finish the house. Show me where you left off in the closet.”

Mandy pointed out which shoeboxes still needed to be searched then gave him a curt nod and left. While she walked toward the kitchen, Paula’s shrill voice preceded her as she gave Deputy Mansfield not just a piece, but a large, jagged chunk of her mind.

In the kitchen, all the cabinet doors gaped open. Mansfield had taken everything out from under the sink and was now shoving the haul back in, under Paula’s watchful eye. Thompson had pulled spice jars off a large spice rack onto the granite countertop. He was opening the jars and sniffing them, then returning them to the rack, probably out of order. Jeff King sat slumped at the kitchen breakfast counter next to his mother. His cheek rested on one hand, while the other hand spun his empty soda bottle on the smooth gray granite.

Mandy quickly explained to Deputy Thompson what Quintana wanted them to do. As she made a hasty exit out the back door, Paula King’s glowering stare seemed to drill a hole into her back.

Thompson followed, carrying a small duffle bag. “I feel sorry for Mansfield, having to babysit those two.”

Mandy walked to the breezeway and surveyed the grounds. “Where should we start?”

Deputy Thompson pointed to the garage. “How about there?”

When Mandy opened the door, the warm, musty smells of potting soil and fertilizer greeted her. Two luxury automobiles sat parked in the front of the garage, just inside the closed automatic doors, but at least ten feet of space was available in front of them. The third, empty bay and the space in front of all three seemed to serve as a garden shed. Shovels, rakes, hoes, and brooms hung between pegs on one wall. A hose snaked across the floor and more hoses hung looped on racks. Along the back wall stood a built-in worktable, with shelves above and below it. A jumble of pots, seed packets, gloves, bulbs, smaller tools, and gardening supplies filled the shelves.

Mandy gawked at the huge space. “My whole cottage would fit inside this garage.”
And I’m repeating myself.
Through the windows on the garage doors, she spied Jeff’s battered pickup truck on the driveway. He probably wasn’t allowed to park his undignified transport inside.

Thompson laughed. “Tom King knew how to make money, that’s for sure.”

“And his wife knows how to spend it. You should have seen Paula’s shoe collection.” Mandy headed for the worktable. “This looks like as good a place as any to start.”

Deputy Thompson poked his gloved finger into a pile of misshapen tubers out of which grew blade-like stalks that had been trimmed to about six inches. “Could this be what we’re searching for?”

Mandy peered at them. “Those look like iris rhizomes. I’ve got some irises in my yard. Someone must have been dividing them, getting them ready to replant.”

She shuffled through the pile, spreading them out. One root looked different from the others. It was longer, more carrot-shaped, darker in color, and had no bladed leaves attached. Mandy’s mouth went dry. “You have that handout Detective Quintana gave you?”

Thompson took the folded papers out of his pocket and spread out the picture of the Western monkshood root next to the odd-looking live root.

Mandy studied them both. “Sure looks like the same thing.”

“I’ll bag it.” Deputy Thompson pulled a lunchbag-sized paper bag out of his duffle.

As he was nudging the root into the bag, Mandy stayed his hand. “Wait. See that? One end’s been ground off.”

She looked around the worktable, spied a small black plastic 35mm film case next to the rhizome pile, and picked it up.

“Why would a film case be in a garage?” Thompson asked.

“Why indeed.” Mandy gently pried off the top.

Men are afraid to rock the boat in which they hope to
drift safely through life’s currents, when, actually,
the boat is stuck on a sandbar. They would be better off
to rock the boat and try to shake it loose.

—Thomas Szasz

The case was half-filled
with a fine white powder. Deputy Thompson let out a low whistle. After he bagged the film case with its mysterious white powder, he said, “I need to tell Detective Quintana.”

They found Quintana in the Kings’ living room, systematically searching the bookcases. Thompson quietly told him what they had found.

Quintana gave a curt nod. “Search the grounds. See if you can find any of the plants.”

Mandy and Deputy Thompson went back outside and searched the large flower garden behind the garage then all the decorative planting beds placed strategically around the house. They found no plants that fit the profile of Western monkshood. After twenty minutes with no results, Mandy stood in the middle of the King family’s back yard, wondering where else she and Thompson could look.

Deputy Thompson joined her. “You know, it’s even more suspicious that there’s no monkshood in the yard. They can’t claim they cut a root by accident if they had to bring it in from somewhere else.”

“I can’t think of where else the flowers might be growing,” Mandy said. “The rest of their land is native forest.”

“Okay. Time to report to Quintana.”

They returned to the house. Quintana had moved on to the dining room, and was on his knees in front of the china hutch. When he saw them, he rose. “Find anything?”

“No,” Deputy Thompson replied. “There’s none around. Not unless it’s growing wild in the forest nearby.”

Quintana smoothed his mustache, then approached Paula King in the kitchen. “Mrs. King, could you come with me into the living room, please? Deputy Thompson, bring the evidence bag.”

Mandy followed Thompson into the living room but held herself back, deeming it best that Quintana and Thompson, the official Sheriff’s Department representatives, do all the talking.

Quintana led Paula into the room and indicated she should take a seat on the sofa. He stood directly in front of her, leaning over in a slightly menacing pose. “Now, Mrs. King, who is the gardener in the family?”

Paula shot a suspicious look at Mandy. “I am. Why?”

“When was the last time you used the workbench in the garage and what did you do there?”

“This morning. I was dividing up irises, getting them ready to replant.”

Quintana took the evidence bag containing the film canister from Deputy Thompson’s hands, opened the bag, and showed the canister to Paula. “My team found this on the workbench. What can you tell me about it?”

“I’ve never seen it before. Is that a film canister?”

“Yes.” Quintana handed the paper bag back to Thompson, who re-stapled it and labeled it with the time it was opened.

“I have a digital camera.” Paula said. “I don’t use film.”

“Many people still use the plastic canisters for storing things, buttons and such. You do that?”

With a shake of her head, Paula said, “That’s what Tupperware is for. What’s so important about a stupid film canister anyway?”

“It’s not the canister. It’s what’s inside it. What do you think we found in that canister?”

“I have no idea. Dirt?”

Quintana stared her down for a moment, then asked, “What kind of camera does your son have?”

Paula gave a snort. “Probably none. I bet he pawned the one we gave him for Christmas a few years ago.”

“What kind of camera was it?”

“Digital.”

“Has Jeff ever used the gardening workbench?”

“I can’t get him to mow the lawn since he moved back in. Why would he want to mess with flowers?”

Quintana signaled Thompson. “Why don’t you go ask Jeff King these questions directly? And fill out a receipt, inventory, and return sheet for that evidence to leave with Mrs. King.”

Paula watched the deputy leave. “What’s this all about? What does gardening have to do with my husband’s death?”

“We’re not sure yet, Mrs. King. Maybe you can tell me. Your husband was poisoned, remember?”

Understanding dawned on Paula’s face. “Did you find poison in that canister? You can’t suspect me. I know nothing about poisons, and I already told you that I loved my husband.”

“Yes, you did.” Quintana didn’t sound convinced. “We still need to test the contents of that canister. In the meantime, I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the station with me. You’re a person of interest in the case now, and I need to ask you some questions.”

“What if I decide I don’t want to answer your questions?”

“You have that right, of course. But if you don’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to arrest you, and neither one of us wants that. I’m sure you wouldn’t want word of something like that to get out.”

Paula glared at Mandy. “And I wonder how that would happen?” Sarcasm iced her words.

Quintana held up a palm. “We’re professionals, Mrs. King, all of us, and we don’t divulge information about cases to the public. But the media has access to the police blotter.”

“Fine! I’ll come with you, but I’m not missing Bunko tonight.” Paula spun on her heels.

As they followed Paula to the front door, Quintana whispered to Mandy, “They’re going to be one short in that Bunko game.”

Jeff King entered the hallway with Deputies Mansfield and Thompson. “Where are you taking Mom and why?”

“She’s coming down to the station with us.” Quintana pulled Deputy Thompson aside and had a short conversation before turning back to the rest of the group.

“Your mother is a person of interest in the death of your father now,” he said to Jeff. “I need to ask her some questions. And you need to stick around. Based on what she tells us, I may question you next.”

Jeff’s eyes went wide. “You think she killed Dad?”

“I didn’t say that.”

A red flush crept up Jeff’s cheeks. “Don’t go with them, Mom.”

“If I don’t, Detective Quintana said he’ll arrest me.” She picked up her purse. “I’ve decided to cooperate for now.”

“I’m calling our lawyer.” Jeff stalked back into the kitchen.

Detective Quintana walked with Paula King down the driveway and put her in the back seat of his cruiser. Then he accompanied Mandy to her car.

“This looks promising.” He smoothed his mustache. “If she did it, we’ve got her in custody. And if Jeff King killed his father, we’ve got him running scared and off-balance, wondering what’s going to happen to his mother. We’ll be watching him.”

Mandy glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to drive the afternoon shuttle for our Brown’s Canyon raft trip. Do you need me anymore?”

“No, go ahead.”

“I want to know if what we found is aconite, though.”

“I’ll keep you posted.” He turned and looked at the back of his cruiser. Paula sat as stiff as a statue of an Egyptian pharaoh inside.

“I’m not sure Jeff is capable of murder,” Mandy said, “but that lady sure fits the profile of a black widow.”

_____

Mandy pulled the bus into the parking lot for the Hecla Junction takeout for Brown’s Canyon. She managed to turn the bus around so its back and the attached trailer faced the river just before Kendra, Dougie, and Ajax arrived with their charges. Mandy had been worried she would be late, but the guides must have let the customers relax and play Geronimo, jumping off a cliff into the water, longer than usual at the rest stop. When she climbed out of the bus, the three guides were pulling a raft up on the bank and telling customers to throw their PFDs and paddles into it.

After directing the customers, squishing in their muddy shoes, onto the bus, Mandy went to help the guides load the rafts in the trailer. Two rafts sat piled on the trailer, with the paddles and PFDs sandwiched between them in the lower raft. Dougie and Ajax clambered like monkeys over the pile, tying it down.

When Ajax spotted her, he stood and shot Mandy a pained look. “Uh, Mandy, I’ve got a problem to report.”

“Wait a minute,” Mandy said. “Where’s the other raft?”

Kendra put a hand on Mandy’s shoulder. “It’s pinned on the second rock in Raft Ripper. Ajax’s bunch was from Japan, and they didn’t understand English very well. He couldn’t get them to follow his commands and was fighting their mixed-up paddling the whole way down the river.”

“I’m really sorry.” Ajax fumbled the knot he was tying and loosened it. “I know how tight things are for the company. I hate to add to your problems.”

Being another raft short was a
big
problem. Mandy needed four rafts the next day. With the torn raft, she was out of spares, and Saturday during FIBArk was the biggest day of the season. All the other outfitters would be busy Saturday, too, so finding a loaner raft would be impossible. Her head whirled as she tried to think of a solution. Then she noticed Ajax’s hang-dog expression.

“I’m sure you did your best under difficult circumstances, Ajax. No reason to be sorry. Was anyone hurt when you pinned?”

“No. They all washed downstream, and Kendra and Dougie picked them up.”

“That was part of the problem,” Kendra said. “Ajax didn’t have anyone to help him high-side the raft.”

“Did you try to pull it off?”

“Of course. We roped it up and worked on it for almost an hour. Even had the customers helping us pull on the line from the bank. It’s really wedged.”

A frustrated sigh escaped Mandy’s lips.

Ajax jumped down from the trailer. “We plan to come back with more ropes and pulleys, but we decided we’d better send these folks on their way home first. They were getting pretty impatient while we worked on the raft.”

Mandy glanced up at the back bus windows and saw a couple of glum faces staring down at her.
Great. The customers had a bum time. That doesn’t bode well for repeat business.

“It must have been a cramped ride the rest of the way,” she said, “with everyone in two rafts. At least it happened toward the end of the trip. Did you get many complaints?”

“Some,” Kendra replied, “but a couple of the kids had gotten tired of paddling, so we put them in the middle—along with Ajax. He kept them entertained.”

Ajax rolled his eyes.

Mandy knew what that meant. Pulling out all the old knock-knock jokes and hand games. Increasing the self-deprecating banter to put the blame on himself and off the customers. Trying desperately to convince them that they were still having a good time.

“Okay.” Mandy rubbed her hands to convey more self-assurance than she felt. “Damage control time. Put your smiles on and chat them up on the way back. By the time I get the bus to home base, we need to convince them they had more fun today than if they’d gone to Disneyland.”

As they neared the front of the bus, she clapped a hand on Ajax’s back. “I’ve got the emergency package of chocolate chip cookies in my duffle bag. Why don’t you be the one to pass them out?”

_____

An hour later, Mandy waved goodbye to the last carload leaving the rafting company parking lot. She dumped a stack of coupons for “ten-dollars-off your next ride” on the office counter. She had passed them out to the customers along with a cheery speech encouraging them to come back. As her hand dropped to her side, pessimism soaked in. Very few of the customers looked like they had been convinced.

She still had the closing-out paperwork to do, and she needed to prep for the next day’s trips, but first that raft had to be retrieved. And it was already almost six thirty. There wasn’t much daylight left for the long task ahead.

She donned her wetsuit and grabbed some power bars from the kitchen. After locking the front door, she went out back into the equipment yard to see what she could do to help the guides. The rafts and paddles had been stowed. The customers’ wetsuits, booties, helmets, and PFDs were collected, washed out, and hanging up to dry.

Kendra, Dougie, and Ajax were all still dressed for the river. Kendra had added a wetsuit to her ensemble, and the guys had put on spray jackets. If the sun went down while they were still working on the stuck raft, the air would get chilly fast. Dougie was tossing ropes and carabiners into the back of his pickup truck, and a raft lay nearby.