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“I’ll let you know after I talk to Sara,” I told him, and he smiled.
“Good enough for me.”
That was why we were headed west at a little after six, with the lowering sun blazing full into our eyes. I’d already texted Sara and asked her if we could talk again, and she’d said it was fine, and that she’d be home by six-thirty.
Meaning we should be done with our chat in plenty of time for Calvin and me to go to our favorite Cajun place in downtown Gilbert, and have a nice dinner that would make up for the drive in case it turned out I didn’t learn anything new.
When Sara answered the door, she was still in her mint-green scrubs, telling me she hadn’t had time to get changed after work. Her expression was game, if a bit puzzled, and just like the first time I’d visited, she offered me a seat in the living room and then asked if I’d like a glass of water.
Maybe accepting some water from a woman I wasn’t sure was a poisoner wasn’t the best idea in the world, but I was thirsty, since Calvin and I had hurried out of the house almost as soon as he got home, and neither of us had stopped to fill our go-cups.
“That would be great, thanks,” I told her.
She headed off to the kitchen, where I heard what sounded like her filling a glass from the dispenser in the refrigerator door. That reassured me somewhat, since I figured it would be pretty hard to tamper with something that was coming right out of the appliance, rather than being poured from a pitcher or even from the tap.
Also, she had a glass for each of us when she returned. I took one of them from her and waited for her to take a seat at the opposite end of the sofa. Her gaze was questioning, and I figured there wasn’t any point in beating around the bush.
Besides, just like before, I had Calvin waiting for me in the car, and a text message ready to go to ask for help in case I needed it.
“We found out that Jeffrey was poisoned with atropine.”
Sara’s big blue-gray eyes flared wide…and then almost as quickly sharpened with realization. “That’s why you’re here? Because you think I had access to the drug?”
“Well, do you?” I asked simply.
A few seconds passed while she appeared to deliberate how much she should tell me. “We have it in the drug locker at work,” she said. “But it’s strictly monitored.”
Since I’d already guessed she would say something along those lines, I didn’t let her reply dissuade me. “But could someone get it out of there if they really wanted to?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
She sounded more annoyed than worried, as if she didn’t like admitting that the security measures in place at her work weren’t quite as good as the people in charge wanted to think they were.
“But I didn’t take it,” she added, her tone insistent. “Really, do you think I’d be stupid enough to use a drug that I have access to daily at my work?”
Her gaze met mine steadily, challenging me to answer. Was she bluffing?
“No,” I said, since there wasn’t any other real way to reply. “I don’t think you’re stupid. But I also think that maybe you aren’t telling me the complete story.”
Now she blinked and looked away, and I noticed how her fingers tensed around the glass she held before she lifted it to her lips and took a careful sip. However, she didn’t seem interested in replying, and appeared much more fascinated by the cheerful bunch of yellow alstroemeria that bloomed on the side table in the tiny foyer.
“Was it something about Jeffrey?” I persisted.
Sara set down the glass. “Okay,” she said in a small, tight voice. “Maybe I wasn’t totally honest with you before.”
“About what?” I asked, knowing how disingenuous that question was.
She must have thought the same thing, because she sent me a withering look. “About there not being anything between the two of us. We were seeing each other when he died.”
This admission came out in short, clipped tones, as though she needed to keep as tight a rein on her emotions as possible rather than risk breaking down in front of someone who was next to a stranger.
What was it with that guy? He hadn’t been particularly good-looking, and it wasn’t as though he was rolling in money or possessed any other redeeming qualities that would have seemed desirable to a single woman.
Maybe he’d been a silver-tongued devil, the kind of man who would promise a woman the moon and have her believe it. As a Gemini myself, I had a deep-seated distrust of anyone who seemed too glib, so I doubted I would have fallen for that act.
But NancyAnne Nielsen had, and Sara Tilden, too…apparently.
“I’m sorry,” I said, even if I privately thought Sara could do much better. As my mother often said, however, there was no accounting for taste.
