Saving Scott (Kobo) (23 page)

“Is Belinda
at her store?” he asked.

“No, she
closes at five-thirty.”

“Okay, I’ll
be there in a few minutes. No, wait.” His mind processed the possibilities. “Are
you finished for the day?”

“Finished
enough. It’s all bakeoff stuff now, and I can do that from home. Why? Am I in
danger here?” Anger, not fear, crept into her voice. She clearly didn’t like
being kicked out.

“No, merely
a precaution. Humor me, okay? Bring the mug. I’ll meet you at your place.”

She gave a
long, slow sigh. “All right.”

Scott pulled
his car as close to the door of the station as he could and hurried to the
detectives’ office.

Detweiler
nodded in Scott’s direction and held up a “one minute” finger. “Gotta go.” He
set his phone down. “Thought you were going home.”

“Ashley
Eagan just called. Belinda Nesbitt gave her a gift, which was one of those
blue-flowered mugs. She also donated one to Ashley’s grand opening as part of a
gift basket. It’s probably nothing, but I wanted to pass the word along. I told
Ashley to go to her apartment. I’ll pick up the mug and bring it back here on
the remote chance there’s anything we can collect from it.”

Detweiler
appeared to be considering all angles before he spoke. “I’ll go. I agree, I
doubt we’ll find anything other than prints from the two women, but we should
cover the bases.”

“I’ll meet
you there, then.” Scott paused. “Does Belinda Nesbitt know the poison was
apparently delivered in one of her mugs?”

Detweiler
shook his head. “No, and the fact that she’s giving them away indicates she’s
not involved. Sarah said she saw six of them on the shelf in the kitchen store.”

Scott
smiled. “But you’ll be questioning Belinda again, to make sure.”

“Wouldn’t be
doing my job if I didn’t.”

Detweiler
and Scott arrived at Ashley’s apartment minutes apart. She stood at the door, a
gold box in her hand. “Hi, Randy. Welcome back. I hope you managed a little
time at your party.”

“I did, and
thanks. Your spread was fantastic. Sarah’s been raving about those spicy
chocolate cookies. You’re going to sell them, right?”

Ashley’s
cheeks pinked. “I’m glad she liked them, and yes, they’ll be on my menu.” She
surrendered the mug to Detweiler. “I don’t see what this could have to do with
Felicity’s murder, but you’re welcome to it.”

Detweiler
opened the box and peered inside. “This is everything she gave you?”

Ashley
nodded. “That’s it. Oh, she did say that she usually includes a packet of
gourmet instant cocoa, but she didn’t think it was appropriate given the nature
of what I do, so it was just the mug.”

Scott and
Detweiler exchanged a glance. “Do you know what kind of cocoa mix?” Detweiler
said.

Ashley
shrugged. “Sorry.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. There might be a packet in the gift
basket.”

***

Ashley
darted to the array of donations and grabbed the basket from The Happy Cook.
She lifted it, turning it, trying to see if a cocoa packet was one of the
offerings.

“May I?”
Randy reached for the basket.

“Can you
tell without taking it apart?” Her eyes sought out Scott. “I don’t want to mess
up Belinda’s donation.”

“We’ll be
careful,” Scott said.

“There is a
cocoa packet in here. I’ll need it.” Randy set the basket on the coffee table
and reached for the ribbon, twisting and pulling.

Ashley
considered his large hands and the intricate bow. “Wait. I think there’s an
easier way.” She went into the bathroom for her manicure scissors and returned.
Randy had waited, although she could tell both he and Scott were impatient and
would have ripped the basket apart if she weren’t here. She found the tiny
strip of ribbon securing the cellophane under the bow and gave it a snip.
Gently, she pried the cellophane back far enough so the cocoa was reachable.
Randy pulled out a handkerchief and grasped the packet by a corner, easing it
out, and adding it to the box with the mug.

“You think
Belinda would have doctored the cocoa and put it in a gift basket? She wouldn’t
have any idea who’d get it. That’s…sick,” Ashley said.

“Any other
cases of overdoses, not necessarily fatal, recently?” Scott asked.

“Nothing
that’s crossed our desks,” Randy said. “But there’s a first time for
everything.”

“What are
you going to do?” Ashley asked.

“First,”
Randy said, “we’re going to have this packet analyzed. We might be able to
compare the contents to what we found in the mug and see if they’re the same.
If so, we’ll pull them from Belinda Nesbitt’s shelves to see if any are
tainted.”

Scott and
Randy exchanged another one of those “cop” looks.

“What?” she
asked. “And don’t say ‘nothing’ because it’s obviously not nothing.”

“If there’s
something wrong with the cocoa, it might mean a recall of all the packets. Not
just from Belinda’s shop. Everywhere. Could get messy.”

Ashley sank
to the couch. “You think there’s a mad poisoner out there doctoring packets of
instant cocoa? That’s a rather high-end, gourmet brand, but it’s probably sold
in specialty shops all over the country.”

“How are
they usually packaged?” Randy asked. “In individual packets, or in boxes, or in
sets, or whatever?”

“I’m not
sure. I don’t buy instant cocoa. But I could look on their website.” Ashley
gave it some thought. “Wait. I’m brain dead. Look at the packet itself. If it
came multi-packaged, it should say, ‘Not labeled for individual resale’ or
something to that effect.”

Randy opened
the box. “Yep. That’s what it says.”

“There’s
nothing to stop Belinda—or anyone else who’s bought a box—from opening it and
doing what they want with the packets as long as they don’t sell them. And the
manufacturer might still sell them, or others like them, individually,” Scott
said.

“Okay, so I’ll
check the website.” If Ashley thought her brain had been working overtime
before, she’d reached total overload. But she found the website, and with both
men looking over her shoulder, confirmed that the company did not sell
individual packets of cocoa.

“I’ll take
this back to the station,” Randy said. “I’ll start looking at Oregon
distribution for the cocoa. And I’ll talk to Belinda Nesbitt in the morning.”
He turned a stern expression to Ashley. “And please don’t say anything to her.”

“I won’t. Am
I allowed to put the basket back together, minus the cocoa packet?” Ashley felt
as though she ought to replace it, but she didn’t have the energy. And if she
rearranged things, she didn’t think Belinda would notice the missing cocoa.

“Go ahead,”
Randy said. “Thanks for your help.” He palmed the gold box and he and Scott
left.

She heard
them talking, then Scott’s door open and close. Why had she thought he’d want
to stay? And if he had, so what? She had too much to do.

Like sit
around and wonder if Belinda was some crazed lunatic who randomly poisoned
people. Like whoever tampered with Tylenol bottles and all those other nutjobs
who’d made it virtually impossible to open a package of anything these days.

Regrouping
was in order. She decided a cup of hot cocoa was
not
what she wanted to
unwind with. No, she needed to work. She settled in front of her laptop and
checked her bakeoff notes. She made a mental note to touch base with Elaine,
who hadn’t been at today’s meeting. Next, she dove into her menu for her grand
opening offerings. Once she’d decided what she’d have for her first few days,
she moved onto a shopping list. Now that she had a place to work, she could
order her startup perishables.

When her
phone rang and it was Scott, she forgot all about everything else she had to
do. “Want some dinner? I’ll cook.” Why had she said that? She was on a roll,
she’d actually forgotten about the police investigation, and after all the baking
and the stress of the day, cooking wasn’t on her top three “things I want to be
doing” list. She’d figured she’d have a yogurt and call it a night.

“I ordered
delivery—Chinese. Thought you might want to join me,” Scott said. “I can never
make up my mind, so I order too much. It’ll be here in half an hour.”

“Sounds
good.” His place or hers? Did it matter? Was there some sort of rule? He’d been
at her place last time, but it wasn’t like a date. Was it? He’d only been in
his apartment a couple of days. He probably wasn’t set up to have people over
yet. “You want to eat over here?”

“You sure? I
think it’s my turn.”

Those were
his words, but his tone said, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Half an
hour, he’d said. She showered, washed and dried her hair, put on some makeup—not
too much—no reason for him to think she was primping on his behalf. Lightweight
khakis. Navy polo or pale blue blouse? Blouse. But as she buttoned it, she
couldn’t shake the vision of Scott’s fingers unbuttoning it. Maybe the polo was
a smarter move. It had buttons, but only three, and they didn’t go all the way
down.

What are
you thinking? It’s Chinese food. Delivery. Not a date.

She decided
on the blouse, but with a lace-trimmed cami under it. As an afterthought, she
added a spritz of perfume.

She’d
finished setting the table when Scott arrived, accompanied by a large paper bag
and the heady aroma of garlic, ginger, and soy sauce. He set the containers on
the counter. “You shouldn’t have gone to any trouble.”

“What
trouble? I put out two plates.”

“And cloth
napkins, and placemats. Forks
and
chopsticks. And water glasses.”

“Well, we
have to eat on something, with something, and I like to drink something with my
dinner.”

He gave a
sheepish grin. “I usually eat right out of the container. Paper plates if I’m
feeling elegant. Beer out of the bottle.”

Which was
why she’d invited him over. “Well, I like plates. I don’t have any beer,
though.”

“Water’s
fine.”

Scott had
showered and changed as well. Ashley stifled a giggle when she saw his khakis
and navy polo. If she’d worn hers, they’d have been wearing the same outfit.

By some
unspoken agreement, they left the investigation alone as they ate. Dinner
passed in companionable conversation, exchanging the autobiographical
information typical of a first date. But it wasn’t a date. She didn’t mention
Barry, however, and Scott didn’t say anything about his accident.

He insisted
on loading the dishwasher. Now what? Did she say thanks and show him to the
door? She didn’t think she could stay awake through another movie. “How about a
nightcap? After today, I think a drink is in order.” Where the heck had that
come from? Seems that her brain and her mouth totally disconnected when Scott
was in the room. Or on the phone. Or in her thoughts.

After today,
a drink was
definitely
in order. Scott had put off taking another dose
of meds. He perused the contents of Ashley’s liquor supply. Fancy flavored
liqueurs. Every flavor on the planet, apparently. He moved bottles aside,
looking for more options. “Ashley? Don’t you have any
real
booze?”

“What do you
mean?”

“You know.
Booze. Vodka, bourbon, gin, whiskey.”

“None of
which I have. I’m not a big drinker. I had a bottle of rum, but I used it when
I was trying out recipes.”

“It’s not a
big deal,” Scott said. “I can do without.”

“Wait one
second.” Ashley popped into the living room and returned with a bell-shaped
bottle. “How about this one? It’s some kind of cognac. It was a gift, and I
haven’t opened it.”

Scott took
the bottle and read the label. Hennessy XO. “Ashley, I can’t drink this.”

Her brows
came together. “Why not? Is there something wrong with it?”

“No. It’s
much too expensive. You should save it for something really special. To
celebrate your grand opening and the success of your bakeoff.”

“You didn’t
plan to drink the whole bottle tonight, did you?”

He laughed. “No,
not tonight.” Although there was a time not so long ago when he might have.

“Then why
don’t you pour us each a nightcap, and we can celebrate again after the
bakeoff.” She went back to the living room and this time returned with two
crystal snifters.

He poured,
carried both to the coffee table and excused himself to use the bathroom. As he
washed his hands, he eyed the bottle of mouthwash on the counter. He tasted the
garlic from dinner and wondered if tonight might turn into a repeat of last
night.

You’re
hoping it will. Why else did you shower and shave before coming over?
Otherwise, you’d be in the Jacuzzi.

He rinsed
his mouth.

When he got
to the living room, Ashley was curled up in a corner of the couch. Her snifter
was almost empty. She lifted the glass in a wobbly toast. “This stuff is
good.
I don’t know why I didn’t open it before.”

Scott
crossed the room and eased the glass from her hand and set it on the table. “Hey.
Take it easy. You’re supposed to savor it, not swig it. This bottle cost well
over a hundred dollars. Maybe closer to two.”

Ashley’s
eyes widened. She looked at the glass. Then picked it up, swirled the liquid up
to the light. “And worth every penny.” She held out her glass. “Refill?”

He added a
little more, then sat beside her, warmed when she scooted closer and rested her
head against him. He wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and took a sip of
the cognac, letting it sit on his tongue, savoring the flavor. Easy to see why
Ashley had made short work of her first glass. But this stuff could hit you
like a runaway locomotive, especially if you weren’t a drinker.

Despite his
warning, Ashley finished her drink in a matter of minutes, while he was content
to nurse his, which surprised him. Since he’d met Ashley, his path toward
recovery had accelerated like a boulder plummeting down Mount Hood.