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“There used to be some rat poison.” Ann looks at Trudy. “Also useful: antifreeze or eye drops. But it would take a lotta eye drops.”
I blink at the woman. I honestly had no idea.
“The rat poison is stored in the shed. More accessible to them than us.” Trudy ponders. “Can’t think of any antifreeze or eye drops readily available.”
“What about the first aid kit?”
“Saline solution for eye rinse. Not the same. But it does have—”
Both women get it at the same time. “Laxatives!”
They turn to me. “Would that work?”
“Umm, incapacitate? I would think most definitely. Can you slip laxatives into a tomato sauce?”
“A little extra garlic, we can disguise just about anything.” Trudy waves a confident hand.
“How are you gonna deliver?” Charlie asks, his gaze on the lengthening shadows outside.
“Good question. I’m thinking keep it simple. I’ll load up a tray, then walk next door to the storage shed with the refrigeration units. We can turn on that outside light from here, yes?”
All three nod.
“Then I guess I’ll just stand there, make some kind of loud proclamation that we have some dinner for them. They must be watching us, right? At least in hearing distance?”
“I would be,” Charlie agrees. He shifts, the light catching him across one side. His face is a terrible patchwork of dark purple bruises, fiery red scratches, and pasty white pallor. He’s exhausted. You can tell it just by looking at him. But he has a firm grip on the shotgun and a resolved set to his shoulders. He’s not standing down anytime soon.
“Even better, smelling distance.” I’m warming to my plan now. “Maybe sitting in the bush, getting wafts of this wonderful feast we’re all about to have and not them…”
“If I were them,” Ann speaks up, “I would question free food. Assume it was poisoned. Does Brent know we have rat poison?” she asks Trudy.
“He’s seen all the bill of lading receipts involved in transport. In theory he knows everything.”
Ann turns back to me. “I wouldn’t eat the food.”
“Okay… How about I make a big show of taking a bite? Proving it’s edible. One bite of laxative sauce can’t hurt me that much, right?”
“We can put a little of the untampered sauce on one corner,” Trudy suggests.
“Perfect. I eat that one corner. Then set the tray down… Wait, if I put it on the ground, the crabs will have it in minutes.” Now I’m struggling again. I have no idea what effect laxatives have on hermit crabs, but it seems a mean thing to do to Crabby and his friends.
“There’s a shelf, on the outside wall. Take off whatever’s there, put your tray on.” Ann glances at Trudy. “Crabs can still climb up, but it will take them more time.”
“While providing pressure for Brent or Keahi to grab the meal sooner versus later,” Trudy seconds.
Charlie offers up: “I can cover you from the rear porch, as long as you stay beneath the floodlights. But the minute we step outside we both make ourselves targets. Meaning it’s not the safest plan, though not the craziest, either. And if you can get them to take the food, weaken them in any way…”
I nod, addressing Ann and Trudy. “Start prepping. Keep it on the DL. I’ll smooth over food delivery with Vaughn and MacManus.”
“But you’re not going to tell them about the special sauce?” Trudy and Ann shift uncomfortably.
“I don’t want Leilani to know.”
“You said she was the victim.”
“I think I got played on that subject.” I glance at Charlie. “You seem to have opinions about Leilani. I saw the way you were staring at her earlier—with a nearly visceral level of hatred.”
Trudy and Ann study him with renewed interest. He scowls at all three of us, then winces as it pulls at the scab on his forehead.
