Royally Dead. Greta McKennan
blame you. That blond one could pass for a god in my book.” She waved an arm at my blouse. “You should do something about your shirt, there. What did you do, spill some coffee on it or something? Coffee will stain like anything, you know.”
“I know. I’d better go change.” I hastened off before she could say anything else. I dodged through the crowd so she wouldn’t see where I was going and made for the VIP tent. I slipped inside to grab Ladd’s flask.
It was gone.
Chapter 4
I stared at the table in disbelief. I scanned the entire tent, but the flask was nowhere to be seen. Just a few minutes ago, evidence of a poisoning lay in plain sight, and now it was gone. Someone had taken it. It could have been someone trying to be helpful, dropping it off at the lost-and-found or something. Or it could have been an attempted murderer, come back to remove traces of his crime. That thought chilled me to the bone.
The tent was empty. I stood at a loss, not sure what to do next. I had planned to call the police and tell them that Ladd’s flask had been tampered with, but I could no longer do that. As Gillian had pointed out, I was wearing traces of the poison on my blouse. Now, with the flask missing, that might be the only clue as to the nature of the poison. Unless…maybe the poison was still here, in the VIP tent, waiting for someone to discover it. A nosy someone…
I threw a glance over my shoulder and started searching the tent. There was a small folding table that held a water cooler and piles of paper cups, with a full trash can by its side. I considered the possibility that Ladd’s flask was in the trash and resolved to check through it once I’d finished my search. The podium Hart had used was pushed into a corner. There were two long folding tables set up in the middle of the tent, with piles of rosters and other papers next to a first aid kit and a variety of ribbons and trophies. Numerous cardboard boxes and plastic totes were stashed underneath.
With another glance over my shoulder, I knelt down and checked out the boxes, which all appeared to be filled with copies of Over the Sea to Skye. No flask there. I pulled out the first plastic tote, using my skirt to touch its plastic side. I slipped off the top and peered inside. The tote contained a conglomeration of clips, ropes, plastic flowers and greenery, and triangular pieces of nylon in all colors. The second tote was empty except for a scattering of sticky notes in the bottom, and the third one held several bottles of torch fuel. I remembered the torches stuck in the ground surrounding the athletic field, waiting for darkness, when they would be illuminated. I closed my eyes for an instant and then pulled out a tissue from my shoulder bag and began picking up the bottles, hefting them to find out if one had been previously opened.
Three bottles were unopened, but the fourth felt lighter, and the seal around the neck was broken. My heart beat faster as I unscrewed the top and brought the bottle up to my nose for a sniff. I gagged on the overpowering smell of fuel. It was the same smell I had picked up in Ladd’s whiskey. My hands shook slightly as I screwed the top back on. I’d found my poison.
I jumped as my phone dinged. I slipped the bottle back into the tote, which I pushed back under the table. I checked my phone, to see a text from McCarthy. It read: “Bad news. Ladd Foster died at the hospital. Call me.”
I heaved a sigh, trying to release the tension building up inside me. I had one more thing to check before I could leave the VIP tent. Wishing desperately for plastic gloves, I tipped out the trash can on the ground and sifted through the mess, looking for Ladd’s flask. It wasn’t there.
I shoveled the trash back into the trash can and pushed it into its spot by the water cooler. I checked around to be sure I’d left everything the way I found it and then snuck out of the tent and sought a relatively private spot behind the bank of portable toilets. The rank smell kept people from hanging out back there. I called McCarthy, but his phone went to voice mail.
I tucked my phone back into my shoulder bag and set off in search of a lost-and-found, on the off chance that someone had simply tidied up the tent with no malicious intent.
I wandered around the park for the next few minutes until I finally found someone at the admissions table to pull out a cardboard box for me to look in. There were a variety of items, including a couple of water bottles, a well-worn teddy bear, and even one of my tartan bow ties, but no flask. I thanked the woman and turned away.
The police had arrived.
Two police cars drove into the parking lot and four officers stepped out. My stomach sank as I watched them stride up to the admissions table and speak to the woman who had helped me. I dreaded what the next few minutes could hold for me. I could either become a star witness in a crime or the main suspect, through no fault of my own other than my unfortunate habit of sticking my nose into other people’s business. I squared my shoulders. Might as well get it over with. I’d rather talk to them here than disrupt the business at my booth under Letty’s watchful eye. I walked up to the officers.
“I’m Daria Dembrowski. You’re looking into Ladd Foster’s death, right?”
Two officers stopped, while the other two continued into the park. I had met one of them before, Maureen Franklin, a brisk young officer with dark hair and snapping black eyes that missed nothing. She frowned at me. “News travels fast.” She pulled out a notebook and jotted down my name. “How did you know he’d died?”
“Sean McCarthy texted me. He’s a friend of mine. He was at the hospital with Ladd.” I gulped and went on. “I have some information for you. Ladd’s flask of whiskey was poisoned.”
Officer Franklin and her partner, a weary-looking man whose name tag identified him as Butler, both stared at me.
I took a deep breath. “I had my eye on Ladd’s flask because he had given it to a teenage girl and I didn’t want her to take a drink.” I told them how the flask had ended up in the VIP tent and how I’d discovered it after Ladd collapsed. “Gillian came in and grabbed the flask and some of the whiskey got spilled on me.” I indicated the stain on my blouse. “It smelled terrible, kind of like gasoline or something.” The two officers exchanged a glance, and then Officer Franklin leaned in and sniffed at my blouse. If she came to any conclusions from the smell alone, she didn’t let on. I bit my tongue, resolving not to mention the torch fuel, because the officers would surely find it when they searched the VIP tent. I didn’t want to display too much knowledge about the crime for fear of standing out as the prime suspect.
“Do you have the flask now?” Officer Franklin asked.
“No, we left it in the tent when someone else came in, and when I went back it was gone.”
“Who else came in?”
I thought back. “Patrick Ames, one of the other athletes. He was getting a drink of water.”
Officer Franklin noted that down. “Come show us this VIP tent.”
“Okay.” I hesitated. “I’ve got a booth here, along with a friend. Can I let her know I’ll be a while?”
She nodded, and I texted Letty: “I’m talking with police about Ladd. Don’t know when I’ll get back to booth.” I pressed Send and looked up to see both officers looking at my phone screen. I quickly switched it off, wondering if they had learned anything from my previous exchanges with Letty.
I led the officers to the tent and showed them where I had first seen the flask, where I had been standing when Gillian and I struggled over control of it, and where we had placed it on the table when we left the tent. Officer Butler searched the ground but didn’t find any trace of either poison or whiskey there. All the spilled liquid had ended up on me.
Officer Franklin poked around the tent and then started pulling the boxes and totes out from under the table. I watched her, willing her to notice the torch fuel and spare me from having to confess I’d snooped there as well.
“Butler, take a look at this.” Officer Franklin picked up one of the bottles and held it out to her partner. I closed my eyes in relief and then popped them open again in case either of them was watching me. Lucky for me, they were both bending over the bottle, smelling