Blind Trust (21 page)

“Oh, yeah, that's a good one.” Kate put the kettle on and tipped open the oven door to check on the muffins. The aroma that wafted out reminded her of her visit with Verna. “That's weird.”

“What?”

“Just talking to myself.” Kate couldn't quite dismiss the thought. She chewed on her thumbnail, bothered by the impression. “When I visited Verna at the nursing home, there was a nice aroma in the room. The nurse said from her tea, but I think it was nutmeg.”

“In tea? I've never heard of anyone putting nutmeg in tea.”

Kate's gaze fell to the image on the front cover of the DVD of a frightened Joan Fontaine looking at Cary Grant. She gasped. “Beth wouldn't.”

“Beth wouldn't what?”

“She wouldn't put nutmeg in Verna's tea . . . but Brian might!” Her heart hitched at the possibility.
Nutmeg psychosis.
Kate picked up the DVD. “It would explain Verna's mild euphoria the weekend before last, then her sudden agitation and confusion later. Hallucinations are even a symptom of acute poisoning.”

“You think Brian poisoned his own mother?”

“It explains everything—including the near-empty bottle in her cupboard! The effects wear off after a few days, which explains why she looked so much better after going to the nursing home. That is, until her grandson delivered a new batch of tea.” Brian's exultant smile flashed through Kate's mind. “The next time I saw Brian there, he'd seemed almost pleased to see his mother confused and agitated. How had I not guessed it sooner?”

“Whoa, you better be sure before you start accusing him.”

“That has to be what he did. He's probably been using her to fence counterfeit money for him, all the while feeding her just enough nutmeg to keep her a little off balance.”

Julie plucked the DVD from her hand. “Don't you think the doctor would pick up on that?”

“Not if he's not looking for it. She's old, susceptible to dementia. He saw what Brian set him up to see. After Tom came to talk to Verna about the incident in the grocery store, Brian must've upped the dose.” Kate whirled toward the oven and yanked out the muffins. “We have to get to the nursing home. C'mon.”

Julie snagged one of the muffins, only to drop it again and blow at her fingers. “Can't we eat first?”

“Not without risking Verna consuming even more nutmeg.” She pushed Julie toward the door. “I'll drive.”

Julie dragged her feet. “Are you sure this is a good idea? What if Brian finds out?”

Kate's arm tingled where he'd clutched it less than an hour ago. She lifted her chin. “If my theory's right, he'll be sitting in jail.”

Tom had waited until Julie's car was out of sight before following Kate's father. The chance meeting had been way too close for comfort. Never mind how frustrated his hedging at her questions about “Beck” was making her.

Where did he disappear to? Tom glanced at his watch. The computer forensics investigator had agreed to meet him at Kate's lab in twenty minutes. He didn't have time to play hide-and-seek. But he needed straight answers about who was most likely behind this latest threat, not to mention about the plant Kate found and how on earth Baxter was connected to Zoe Cortez.

A zillion questions had been running through his mind since the call from his NSA buddy.

Tom circled the hedge maze, then expanded his search to the picnic area. If Baxter would give him a phone number, it'd be a whole lot easier.

The temperature had dropped into the sixties, and with the gathering storm clouds, the area sat empty. Tom scanned the faces of a group milling around the bandstand where a bluegrass concert was scheduled to soon begin.

Baxter peeled himself off a bench and veered into the rose garden.

Tom meandered after him, feigning interest in the large pink blossoms.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Baxter said without turning to look at him.

“Yeah, and this time I want straight answers. Why is GPC trying to locate here?”

Baxter pinched off a dead rose blossom. “I don't know.”

“But you have suspicions.”

“What makes you say that?” Baxter tossed the question like a boxer testing his opponent's reflexes, gauging for weak spots.

Tom discreetly caught him by the wrist and gave it a hard twist. “We're done playing games. I need answers, or your daughter will end up exposing exactly what I think you're really here for.”

“What are you talking about?” Baxter said under his breath. Only his pasty white pallor said he knew.

“You knew the plant was in Port Aster, didn't you?”

His gaze darted about. “We can't talk about this here.”

A couple walking hand-in-hand headed toward them.

Still holding Baxter by the wrist, Tom jerked his chin toward the street. “We can talk in my car.”

Baxter shook his head. “Can't risk it.”

“They think you're dead, remember? No one's going to suspect anything.” Tom dropped Baxter's wrist before the couple got any closer. “Start walking out of town. As I drive up, stick out your thumb.” Tom walked away without waiting for a response and prayed Kate's father cared about her enough to obey. He glanced at his watch. Weller would be getting to
the research station soon to look at Kate's computer. He didn't have a lot of time.

Baxter left the park at a brisk pace. Tom waited until he reached the end of the town's sidewalks and moved onto the shoulder, then started his car. As instructed, Baxter hitched a thumb in the air as Tom approached.

The guy had the passenger door open before the car came to a full stop. “I'm in. Go!”

Tom headed toward the research station. He'd worry about how to get Baxter back to his car later. “Start talking.”

“I shipped the seedlings to my wife's father from the airport. He was a farmer. I'd hoped he could keep them alive until we took GPC down. But after the way things went, I didn't dare contact him.” He drew a quick breath and barreled on. “I figured he'd probably destroy them for the family's protection. My wife may have changed her name, but GPC knew she moved here. You can bet they watched their every move for months.”

“So when GPC announced plans to set up here, you were afraid they'd found the plant?”

Baxter grabbed the dash. “Have they?” The panic in his voice sent Tom's pulse skyrocketing.

“Answer the question,” he ground out, not about to lose control of this interrogation to Baxter's agenda.

Baxter's gaze drilled into the side of Tom's head for what seemed an eternity, but Tom kept his attention fixed on the road, refusing to give ground until he got the answers he needed.

Finally Baxter sat back and turned his attention to the passing scenery. “Not at first. I thought the proposed move had to do with that Daisy woman's research.” He fussed with the hem of his shirt, repeatedly rolling it in his fingers, then smoothing
it straight. “My father-in-law has been dead for years. I never imagined—” He suddenly straightened. “Is it in those woods you chased me from?”

Tom ignored the question. As long as he knew something Baxter wanted to know, he had leverage. “What did GPC plan to do with the plant?”

“It is, isn't it?” Baxter let out an exhilarated sound. “I can't believe it survived.”

Tom jerked the steering wheel a hard left to veer into the research station. “Is that all you care about? We're talking about your daughter's survival here.”

The disgust in Tom's voice snapped Baxter back to cold reality. “Does GPC know? Does Katy?”

Tom's throat tightened at Baxter's strangled question. “What's GPC want with the plant?”

“Are you kidding? This plant healed more diseases than ten Nobel Prize winners combined. If they controlled it, they'd control the entire pharmaceutical industry.”

“But it's a plant. They can't patent a plant.” When Baxter didn't respond, Tom added, “They can't, can they?”

“No, but if they could figure out exactly what chemicals in it have healing properties, and synthesize them—they could patent those.”

Tom shifted into Park at the curb outside the front doors of the practically deserted main building. “And by destroying the only source of the plant, they guaranteed themselves no competition.”

“Yeah.”

“But by hijacking the plant, you deprived the world of the cure.” Tom shifted in his seat to face him. “Which is worse?”

“It wasn't supposed to happen that way.” Indignation sim
mered in Baxter's gaze. “They destroyed a village to capitalize on the secret. Innocent people died.”

Tom's thoughts veered to the name and phone number of his partner's murderer in Baxter's police file, and the NSA's cease and desist call.

The NSA wasn't interested in pharmaceuticals.

“What can you tell me about Zoe Cortez?”

Baxter started at the name. His gaze flicked to the side-view mirror. His fingers curled into his shirt again as an unmarked police car pulled up behind them.

“That's the computer forensics investigator I'm supposed to meet,” Tom said. “I've got to go inside and get him started on analyzing Kate's computer. Stay put. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

As quickly as he could, Tom had security escort him and Officer Weller—the department's newly qualified CFI—to Kate's office. He gave Weller a quick rundown of what happened and said he'd be back in a few minutes. He hadn't been inside more than ten minutes. Fifteen tops.

But when he got back outside, Baxter was gone.

Twilight had slid toward night, and the building's outdoor lights clicked on, throwing disturbing man-like shadows from every tree and shrub around it. Tom rounded the building, peered into the orchards, jogged through the gardens. “Mike,” he hissed. “Where are you?” He waited expectantly, but Baxter didn't emerge.
Terrific.

Tom jumped in his car and circled the lanes crisscrossing the grounds, then drove a few miles back toward town. There was no sign of the man. He must've hitched a ride, gone after the plant. A loud clap of thunder shook the car. Rain pinged the windshield. He wouldn't likely succeed in this weather.

Tom's cell phone beeped. A text message from Weller that he'd found something.

Tom squinted into the distance, then pulled a U-turn to return to the station as his mind replayed Baxter's reaction to the mention of Zoe Cortez. Baxter had definitely recognized the name. Then resumed his fidgety habit of rolling the hem of his shirt.

Tom slammed his hand into the steering wheel. How had he missed it? Zoe's name had made Baxter downright edgy.

What did that mean for Kate? How could Baxter just up and disappear without giving him more information to go on to keep his daughter safe?

Outside the research station, Tom peered again into the darkness as a disturbing feeling seeped over him—he'd been as wrong to trust Baxter as his dead partner had been to trust Zoe Cortez.

“They're not just going to hand over your neighbor's tea for no reason,” Julie hissed as they waited outside Verna's locked ward for someone to let them in.

Kate shushed her as an aide answered their knock. “Follow my cue.”

“The residents are having dinner now,” the aide explained. “Would you mind coming back in half an hour?”

She'd already started to pull the door closed again when Kate jutted out her foot to block it. “Actually, we're here to collect the herbal tea Verna Nagy's grandson brought for her.”

The aide didn't ease off her hold on the door. “I'm afraid I can't h—”

“It's very important,” Kate cut in. “We believe there was contamination in the mix that might explain her turn for the worse.”

“That's terrible. Wait one moment. I'll need to consult the nurse.” She pulled again at the door, then looked pointedly at Kate's foot still blocking it.

Kate immediately stepped back, and the aide hurried off, the door closing between them.

“I don't like this.” Julie paced from one side of the wide hall to the other, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if the building were an icebox rather than a comfortable seventy-five degrees. “What if Brian visits tonight and she tells him you took the tea?”

“Unless he's guilty, he's not going to make a fuss.”

“It's his being guilty I'm worried about.”

The aide reappeared with two paper sacks—the one Kate had brought in and the one Verna's grandson had presumably delivered. “Here they are.”

“Thank you. It would probably be better if you don't mention to Verna or her family that we've taken them. We don't want to cause undue stress before these are analyzed.”

“Not a problem. The doctor recommended she avoid them for a few days anyway. We'll take good care of her.”

Julie laughed as they dashed through the rain to her car. “You're good. I can't believe you got her to just hand them over.”

“Verna has you to thank for the rescue. If you hadn't asked me to bake those muffins and then brought over that movie, I might not have figured out what was going on. C'mon, let's hit the lab so I can prove my theory.”

“You're not going to believe what I found in the computer's trash bin,” Weller called from Kate's office adjoining her lab.

Shedding his wet coat, Tom dismissed the security guard who'd escorted him back to the lab and then peered over the shoulder of the computer forensics investigator.

Weller clicked on the file and a scanned image of a twenty-dollar bill popped up on the screen.

Tom's throat instantly dried. This was not good.

“Looks like your girlfriend's been playing you.” The guy zoomed in on the image with a you-are-so-cooked chuckle, making Tom regret playing the “it's for a friend” card to get Weller here after hours.

Tom pulled out his notepad and pen and thumbed to the page where he'd recorded the serial numbers of the other counterfeit bills. “Number doesn't match any bills we've recovered so far.” He jotted it down for future reference.

“Doesn't matter. I'm going to have to take the computer in to the station now. Log it in as evidence. Get a warrant for its examination before I go any further.” Weller moved the mouse to the X in the corner.

“Wait.” Tom jabbed his notepad back into his pocket. “Her hacker could have planted the file.”

Weller's hand hovered over the mouse.

“C'mon, what'll it hurt to quickly check?” Tom squelched the impulse to remind him he'd come out tonight as a favor and that the department didn't even know he was here. The last thing Tom needed was Weller thinking he was trying to cover something up.

Weller pressed a few buttons. “Nah, not a plant. The file was created and then trashed over a week ago.”

“Before or after the grocery store incident?”

Weller compared the dates. “After.” He punched a few more buttons and brought up a screen full of information. “There's a record of one copy of the file being printed.” He glanced at the printer sitting next to the computer and then back to the screen. “On that printer.”

Tom stifled a groan. “Okay, pack it up.” He had no choice. The evidence had to be protected. He retreated to the adjoining lab room to collect his thoughts just as the hall door burst
open and Kate rushed in. The sight of her bedraggled, rain-drenched hair gave his heart a kick.

“Tom, I'm so glad you're still here. I've figured out who's doing the counterfeiting.”

“The counterfeiting?” He glanced at her friend Julie hurrying in behind her. “Where's Officer Reed? I told you not to go anywhere alone.”

Kate skidded to a stop halfway across the room as Weller let out a snort from the doorway to her office, her computer in his arms. “What's he doing? He can't take that!”

“It's evidence, ma'am,” Weller answered for him, the angry scar that slashed from the corner of his mouth to his jaw line, courtesy of a domestic violence call gone bad, making him look more than a little intimidating.

“Set it down a minute, will you, Weller?” Tom said, not thrilled to have to confront her with what they'd found in front of an audience. He motioned Kate to take a seat.

Julie, carrying two small paper bags, took up sentry beside her.

“Who do you think is behind the counterfeiting?” Tom asked, ignoring, for the moment, her question about the computer and the fact she'd come out without her bodyguard.

“Brian Nagy.” Kate's eyes lit as she grabbed one of the bags from Julie. “And as soon as I run a couple of tests on this, I'll be able to prove it.”

Weller let out another snort.

Tom threw him a scowl.

“What's with the computer?” Julie asked, clearly reading the escalating tension between him and Weller.

“Yeah.” Kate eyed Weller suspiciously. “You said the IT guy could scan it here so I wouldn't be without.”

Yeah, so much for using Weller's zeal to his advantage. Tom
checked the urge to reach for her hand. He couldn't afford to show undo prejudice in front of the detective. The man had only recently received his certification and was way too keen to prove himself. Tom let out a sigh. “That was before he found an image of a twenty-dollar bill in the computer's deleted files and a record of it being printed on your printer.”

Julie gasped.

“You think I—?” The hurt that flashed in Kate's eyes cut him off at the knees. The laugh that followed sounded forced. “That was Darryl. He wanted to see how easy it would be. He showed Patti and me after he did it. Ask them.”

“I believe you.” Tom held her gaze steady, willing her to believe him. “But you understand that we'll need to take it into evidence until we can prove that it's not connected to the case.”

She chewed her bottom lip, clearly fighting the impulse to argue.

“Now tell me.” He hooked a finger on the top of the bag she held and peeked inside. “How will this prove Nagy's our counterfeiter?”

As if he'd flipped a switch, she bobbed forward with scarcely restrained energy. “He's poisoning her.”

“Poisoning who?”

“Verrrrr-naaaaa.” She enunciated slowly as if to compensate for how slow on the uptake he was. “With nutmeg in her herbal tea.”

Beside her Julie nodded as if Kate was making perfect sense.

“Nutmeg?” Tom repeated, dodging the skepticism that tried to creep into his voice. He was pretty sure nutmeg was what his mom had always used in her pumpkin pies, and they never killed anyone. At the sound of a snicker, he shot Weller a silencing glare. “But Kate, nutmeg isn't a poison.”

“In high doses it is.” Peeling off her wet coat, she rattled off all the symptoms, which admittedly did match Verna's.

“If Brian wanted his mother out of the way, why poison her with nutmeg?” Surrounded by counters overflowing with herbs of every description and test tubes and contraptions for siphoning who knows what out of the plants, he shouldn't be surprised that she'd imagine such a scenario. “And what does poisoning Verna have to do with counterfeit money?”

“Don't you see?” Impatience with his apparent denseness pushed Kate's voice higher as her hands flew into motion gathering petri dishes and tweezers and microscope slides. “He doesn't really want to hurt her. He just wants control of her assets. The symptoms from overconsumption of nutmeg are perfect.”

Tom sniffed the bag of tea. “Because they make her look like she has dementia?”

“Yes!” She grabbed his arm in her excitement, victory flaring in her eyes. “Which gave him the perfect excuse to coerce her into signing a power of attorney giving him authority over her assets.”

“Then once he has what he wants,” Julie piped up, “he can let the symptoms wear off.”

“That's why she seemed so much better soon after she went into the nursing home,” Kate finished breathlessly.

“Okay.” Tom still wasn't sure how any of this proved Nagy was a counterfeiter.

“But I must have spooked him when I brought up Verna's plan to donate her farmland to the town,” Kate rushed on. “Because he—well, his son—took more tea to her, remember? Then shortly after that she got all agitated and confused again.”

“A credible theory.” Tom rolled the top of the paper bag closed.

“But how can you prove it?” Weller grunted.

“The bottle of nutmeg I bought for Verna last week is practically empty.”

“You went in her house?” Tom's voice spiked along with his anxiety that she'd been so reckless.

At least she had the good grace to look sheepish about it. “I shouldn't have, I know. I was baking and . . . Never mind that.” Kate took back the bag and tipped a small portion of the contents into a clear glass dish on her workbench. “This is the tea Brian's son brought to the nursing home. When I test it, I'm sure we'll find it contains significant amounts of nutmeg.”

Tom nodded. The plan would be ingenious, but . . . “Even with attorney privileges, any proceeds from the sale of Verna's property would have to go toward her care first. I don't see what he ultimately gains.”

“If he controls her money,” Julie chimed in, pulling her chair over to where Kate had set to work, “he's going to be able to sneak payments to himself left, right, and center.”

“Okay, say you're right,” Tom said as Weller huffed impatiently. Tom motioned him to cool his jets. “How does this implicate him in the counterfeiting?”

“He must have been using Verna to fence his money,” Kate said without looking up from the dried herbs she was meticulously separating with tweezers onto individual microscope slides. “Only Verna didn't know. By making her look doddering, he probably figured the police wouldn't suspect her. Julie, could you grab me a rack of test tubes?”

“Not only that”—Julie set the requested test tubes on the
bench—“he's a traveling salesman. Who knows where else he could be spending the phony bills.”

Tom grinned at their exuberance. They made a compelling case.

Kate frowned at him. “You don't think it's possible?”

“Sure I do. That's why last week I checked with the police detachments in the areas where Brian travels.”

Her tweezers stopped mid-tweeze. “And?”

“There has been a slight increase in reported counterfeiting.”

“See!”

Weller cleared his throat. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Where'd you get the sacks of tea?”

“From the nursing home,” Kate said.

Weller shook his head.

Kate set down her tweezers. “What's wrong?”

“The evidence won't stand up in court,” Weller barked as if any idiot should know as much. “There's no warrant, no chain of custody. Even if there's nutmeg in that”—he flicked his finger toward the herbs she'd spread out—“there's no way to prove how it got there.”

“Well, I couldn't just leave it there and let him keep poisoning her!”

Tom touched her arm. “He's not saying what you did is bad, Kate. Just that it won't give us enough to arrest him.”

“But once you're certain it's him, you can look for other evidence. Right?” Julie insisted.

Kate's brow suddenly furrowed. “But Verna might not get better soon enough to stop Brian from selling the property.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Can't you talk to that Office of the Public whatever-it-was and get them to put some kind of stay on Brian's powers until you get your proof?”

Weller let out another of his unhelpful snorts. “Not likely. Maybe if that receptionist who gave her kid the phony five worked for Nagy instead of the paper you'd have something.”

“Izzy Lawton, Vic's wife?” Kate's eyes lit. “She had a phony bill?”

“Yeah,” Tom said cautiously, trying to anticipate where she was going with this new information. “But we checked her home computer and printer. They were clean.”