Floral Depravity (20 page)

Shortly before we reached the tournament corral, my father called out and fell into step next to me. He was wearing his cassock again, his hands folded above his prosthetic belly, looking every bit the meek medieval friar.

“Good morning, Audrey. Liv told me you would be here today. She told me a few other things, but let's not get into that now.”

“She's got my back.”

“Maybe you should give her a refresher on your moratorium against infighting. But I've been keeping an eye on Raylene Quinn for you.”

“Anything to report?”

“Yes. When you pay too much attention to one woman, she starts to get the wrong idea. I think I'd better keep an eye on the other three today.”

“Then we'll bump into each other again. That's what I'm working on.”

“Audrey . . . this stuff is dangerous. I don't trust any of those people. Brooks was a magnet for trouble. Does your mother know you're messing with this murder business?”

I stopped in my tracks and the horse did as well. I bit back the obvious retort, that neither my mother or me were any of his business. Meanwhile the horse plopped a load of manure into the pathway.

You got that, sister. “I need to get this horse to the tournament,” I managed to say, and left the good friar standing next to the fragrant lump.

Carol led the way to the small corral where the horses were waiting for their riders. Meanwhile, out of harm's way, archers were competing on the longbow. I wondered if Raylene was in the thick of it.

Carol leaned against the fence. “So that was your father back there, huh?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“You didn't look too happy to see him.”

“It's complicated. He's been out of my life so long that I don't know what our relationship is supposed to be.”

“Be careful. You know what they say. The one who stays cares the most. My mother raised me singlehandedly, and I don't suppose I appreciate her enough.”

And my unreturned calls to my mother burned my conscience. “But my father came back. That has to count for something. I guess I owe him—”

“I doubt that you really owe him anything. But I hope it works out for you.”

“Thanks.” Come to think of it, he hadn't really come back since our encounter was an accident.

I picked up a tall blade of grass and put it in the corner of my mouth, like the cool cowboys always did in the old Westerns. But it tasted terrible, so I spit it out. “So what's the agenda today?”

“All messed up, as usual,” she said. “They're starting with the archers. Longbow first, then crossbow. After lunch, they're having the melee, and then the jousts. Of course, in the Middle Ages, the joust would have been first, the night before the melee.”

I nodded, even though I only could follow about half of what she was saying. “The melee being?”

“The battle itself. It includes the archers, the warriors, and the horses.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Maybe a little,” she said. “That's why they make everyone sign a release. Still, there are rules. The weapons are dull, and a strike counts as a kill. Think of it as an ancient version of paintball.”

I watched as the crossbow participants took their stances at the line and made their first shots. Many went wild of the target area.

“My horse ready?” Kenneth Grant, the other male member of Brooks's team, stood just outside the corral.

“You bet,” Carol said.

“I'd better warm her up before the melee.” He climbed the fence and walked to the horse whose coat matched his own surcoat. Like medieval Garanimals. After one aborted try, he mounted and rode to the gate, which Carol opened and then closed behind him.

“The horses don't get hurt in all the fighting?” I asked.

“Never seen it happen,” Grant said. “Although this is only my third year here. Everyone's really careful about the horses. Barry made sure of that.” He shook his head. “The games won't be the same without him.” Grant looked over the crowded tournament stands. “It wouldn't surprise me if this was the last year.”

“Surely they can get horses from somewhere else,” Carol said. “I'd hate to see them close down this place.”

“Not everybody liked Barry Brooks, but in a lot of ways, he was a lifeline for the Guardians of Chivalry.” Grant shrugged. “Gotta take the bad with the good.”

“Was that how it was to work for him?” I asked. “Did you have to take the bad with the good?”

“Like anybody, I imagine.”

“Well, one hears rumors,” I said. I'd once seen Amber Lee use this line on a woman, who then unloaded about half a dozen items of gossip. Amber Lee confessed to me later that she hadn't heard anything, that she was just fishing.

But Grant didn't look as anxious to take the bait. He pursed his lips and squinted at me. “What are you asking?”

I took one step backward, grateful that Carol was nearby and I wasn't alone with the man. But what could she do to help if Grant turned violent? At least there was a crowd of people nearby who could hear me scream if he got out of hand. Including my father, whom I spotted still mingling in the crowd, his neck craned in my direction.

Grant leaned a little closer. “Yes, there were some irregularities in the business, but I was trying to do something about it.”

I took another unconscious step back. In the corner of my eye I saw Carol move closer. “Brooks couldn't have been happy about that. Perhaps you fought?”

Grant's jaw tightened. “I'm pretty sure Brooks didn't have an inkling of what I was doing. If he had . . .”

“What exactly were you doing?”

Grant looked around him. He dismounted his horse before continuing. “I have the number of a guy in Washington. Look, if you check with him, you'll discover that I was working with law enforcement.”

“With law enforcement? Were you some kind of informant?”

He shushed me. “Not so loud. Right now with Barry dead, I have no idea if they're going to follow through on the investigation. The FDA was about to bring in the DEA and the FBI, but now? I don't want to be without a job if they drop the whole thing. After all, there's not much call for FDA informants these days.”

“FDA? So the business irregularities you're talking about was the diluting of the drugs.”

“Which is why it fell under the FDA,” he said, “but when I got wind that they were selling the extra . . .”

“Selling where?” I asked.

“That I never figured out. Brooks has that whole organization so divided, and the people so intimidated, that I never get a decent lead.”

“What did you learn?” I asked.

“The company ran just one shift. I'd leave at night, and there'd be boxes stacked up on the dock, ready to ship the next morning. When I came in the next day, they'd be moved around. At first I thought it was my imagination because nothing was missing. Kind of like that old Steven Wright joke about everything you have being stolen and replaced with an exact duplicate.” He paused.

I shrugged.

He sighed. “I guess you have to be Steven Wright to pull that one off. Anyway, when I paid more attention, I could tell they weren't just moved around. The labels would be different. Sometimes you could see where the packing tape had been removed and put back on. There was never anything missing, so I don't know how long it went on before I noticed.”

The horse grew a little antsy, but Grant removed his gauntlet and stroked the animal and it settled down, like a cat might. Maybe that was the secret to overcoming my unease with horses: to think of them as just very large cats. But then a panther sprang to mind as an example of a large cat, so I decided I'd better squelch that thought.

“Brooks was doing it,” he said. “I stayed late one day, hid in the men's room until I heard someone coming, and caught him lifting one of the boxes. I asked him what he was doing, and he told me Quality Control needed to inspect the outgoing shipments.”

“But you didn't believe him.”

“As if the CEO would be spending his time running errands for Quality Control, rolling boxes around on a dolly. No. Something about that guy was oily. For a couple of weeks I checked the labels of the boxes that”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“Quality Control had checked against the shipping manifests, and they were always drugs that could be sold on the streets—opioids, stimulants like Ritalin. But it's when those weeks went by and nothing happened that Brooks must have figured I was playing his game. There was a twenty percent raise in my paycheck. I started getting free sports tickets and invites to things like this place. So I called my cousin in the FDA.”

Carol shook her head. “Lowlife.” While Grant was talking, she must have crept closer.

When Grant blanched, she clarified it. “I mean Brooks, taking drugs from people who needed them and selling them on the streets.”

“That was the theory,” Grant said, “but we were never able to prove it. Only that he took the drugs—and that they lacked potency on delivery. The FDA intercepted several shipments and found the drugs were cut with inert fillers.”

“So the drugs arriving at the drugstores were already compromised,” I said. “Strickland was telling the truth.”

“Who?”

“Your contact in the FDA didn't mention him?”

“To be honest, they seemed more interested in getting information than giving it out.”

“So you have no idea who else in the company was involved?” I asked.

“That place is a fortress with security cameras. We know Brooks must have had at least one accomplice—someone willing to look the other way—in Security. And there's only so many places in that building that wouldn't be captured on film.”

“What about Raylene Quinn?”

“I wish I could say I knew she was involved. She was close to Brooks. She might have had her hand in it. And she'd definitely be able to handle the lab work part of it.”

“What about Kayla Leonard? What does she do in the company?”

“Now that's interesting,” he said. “She's actually in Quality Control. But like I said, we have no proof.”

“Did you tell any of this to Bixby?” I asked.

“No. Didn't think it was connected. And I didn't want to say anything until I talk to my contact in the FDA. I'm not sure they even know Brooks is dead. Unless it's been on the news. I don't have a phone.”

“Call them.” And I palmed him my cell phone.

“Gotcha.” And he awkwardly climbed back into the saddle and cantered off toward the woods.

*   *   *

A much perturbed
Brad showed up at the tournament right around lunchtime and found me sitting on the wooden bleachers. He was carrying a trencher containing a whole roasted chicken but no utensils. “I guess you're supposed to tear it with your hands,” he said.

I'd washed my hands under the pump near the horse trough, but I was glad I thought to carry my hand sanitizer in my little bag. I shared it with a grateful Brad.

“I washed my hands three times,” he said, “and I still couldn't seem to get the stink of that barn off them. Thanks for leaving the grunt work to me.”

“You did say you wanted to help. Besides, I got to talk with two of the three people I wanted to, so it was all good.”

“All good for you, that is.” He nudged me in the arm. “Don't look now, but your dad is staring at us.”

“He's been doing that all day. I've started to get used to it.”

Brad ripped off a chicken leg for himself. It seemed like the most accessible part. “So who's the third person you wanted to talk with?”

“Kayla Leonard.” I shared with him all I'd learned from Kenneth Grant, who had promised to hunt down Bixby right after the jousts that night, after getting the green light from the FDA.

“Wow, you have been busy. So how does this Kayla Leonard fit in?”

I considered the chicken and managed to tear off a wing. “Only that Brooks said the boxes were going to the Quality Control Department, and she's quality control. She's also a pretty girl, and I suspect a man like Brooks noticed that.”

“Ah.”

Moments later Nick slid in next to us. He had grapes and some cheese to share. They were a little easier to handle than the chicken.

Brad also had some grapes and offered the chicken, now void of its accessible pieces, to Nick.

“Don't mind if I do,” Nick said, and took out his knife and managed to carve the rest of the chicken for us.

“So that's how you do it,” Brad said.

Nick laughed. “Remember, I've been here before.”

A man in plain medieval dress walked into the empty tournament area with a falcon perched on his gloved arm. Soon the hawk was airborne.

Brad leaned over and whispered, “I hope he doesn't mind that we're eating his cousin.”

I watched the hawk as it rose higher into the sky then effortlessly glided in concentric circles. It was hard to think of murder at a time like that, or even of modern times, just the soaring of the bird as it and its ancestors had for centuries before.

And then the falcon swooped and caught another plump bird right out of the air and, grasping it in its talons, took it to the ground and started plucking and disemboweling it. He really needed to learn some new tricks.

The audience applauded.

I set down my piece of chicken. “Okay, lunch is over. For me at any rate.”

I had been scanning the crowd for Kayla Leonard all morning, and I thought I saw her seated in a special box with King Arthur's crew. Mel and Andrea Brooks were also there. I recalled Andrea telling me that the newlyweds had been chosen as prince and princess, so I guess this was one of their perks.

Kayla was dressed royally in a rather warm-looking scarlet brocade dress complete with a matching hat. I wondered what she had done to rate being a part of the court, and then I decided that I didn't want to know.