The men shifted, looking contrite.

  “I’m sorry, Linda.”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  She pointed to their trucks parked on the street. “Go, both of you.”

  “At least let us finish,” Oakley said.

  “Yeah,” Stone added.

  Linda jutted her head forward. “Go.”

  They went, dragging their lawnmowers with them, grumbling to each other even as they loaded the machines into their trucks. Linda watched until they were gone, then surveyed the sloped yard. Some rows were cropped practically to the dirt, some were ankle high. In between tall tufts had been missed altogether.

  “Looks like shit!” Octavia yelled helpfully as she backed out of the garage and down the driveway.

  Linda had to agree. Shaking her head, she walked back to the garage and threw a frown at the gasoline push mower parked in the corner. Mowing the grass shouldn’t be such an arduous chore.

  An idea slid into her head, prompting her to snap a photo with her phone.

  She rescued her purse from the garage floor, then walked into the house. The noise coming from Jarrod’s room was cacophonous.

  “Hi, Mommy!” Maggie threw her arms around Linda’s waist. She had cotton balls stuffed in her ears. “I’m glad you’re home. Can you make Jarrod stop?”

  “I’m working on it, sweetie.” She gave her a kiss and a squeeze. “Go wash up for dinner, okay?”

  Maggie ran toward the hall, followed by Max, also sporting cotton-stuffed ears.

  Linda opened the aged laptop on the breakfast bar and signed onto a neighborhood marketplace. She transferred the photo from her phone to the machine, then posted it on the marketplace along with the item she was looking for, offering to swap.

  While she put together a simple dinner of chicken and vegetables, she squirted the spray cheese onto crackers and occasionally into her mouth. Lord, what a day.

  Gradually the decibels coming from Jarrod’s room began to diminish. Poor boy was wearing himself out.

  A notification sounded from the laptop. Someone had already responded to her offer, posting a photo of what she was looking for. She smiled, then put her hands on the keyboard and typed. “Deal.”

  Chapter 12

  “WHY WOULD anyone eat something called a Moon Pie?” Octavia muttered. “And banana, at that.”

  She loaded the squishy treats into the slot of the vending machine, then made a note on the inventory sheet. The best thing about working late was most of the buildings were empty so the work went faster.

  Next came chocolate chip cookies, Twinkies, and more flavors of M&M’s than she knew existed: milk chocolate, dark chocolate, peanut, peanut butter, fudge brownie, pretzel, caramel, crispy, almond, coffee nut, and chocolate mint.

  The people who worked in this building were sugar fiends.

  She closed the machine and locked it, then double-checked the inventory sheet. When her stomach growled, she frowned into the box of snacks. She picked out a banana Moon Pie then dropped it on the floor.

  “Oh, look, this one is damaged.” After marking it on the inventory sheet, she retrieved the snack and kicked back in one of the break room chairs, propping up her feet. She opened the package and sniffed the spongy cake, then bit into it. Hm… not bad.

  She’d already stuffed business cards into the frame of the room’s bulletin board. They’d left nearly a thousand cards in corporate snack rooms all over town, but so far, they hadn’t received a single inquiry.

  Which was why she had to find Grady Pierce. Like Rogena Everwild, she suspected he was still alive. A little legwork in the business licensing office combined with info from former retail neighbors of the sporting goods shop indicated the Pierces had lost a small fortune in the unsuccessful endeavor, and reportedly were close to losing their big home in Palomar Estates. But the surveillance reports of the home and of Dr. Bower’s residence had shown no sign of the man who had allegedly died.

  But if he was alive, where was he?

  She took another bite and chewed.

  If the trio was smart enough to orchestrate such an elaborate scheme to collect the life insurance money, surely they were smart enough to keep Grady in a place where he wouldn’t be found. He might already be out of state or out of the country, waiting for his co-conspirators to join him after the payout. If that were the case, she didn’t have a chance of finding him.

  But from searching for Richard and watching TV shows about fugitives, she knew that most people were creatures of habit and tended to stay in familiar areas, even when they were hiding out. So chances were good that Pierce was still in the vicinity—she just needed to find something in his background that tied him to a particular place… or habit… or vice.

  She took a larger bite of the Moon Pie and moaned with pleasure… if the banana flavor was this good, how delish must the chocolate ones be?

  The door opened and she straightened, dropping crumbs all over her blouse. A tall well-dressed man walked in, jingling change in his pocket. He glanced at her, then away, then back again. They recognized each other at the same time.

  “Octavia?”

  “Emmett?”

  A grin spread over his face. “What are you doing here?”

  She stood, brushing her clothes. She and Emmett had cheered together at UK and had reconnected briefly at Sullivan’s funeral. She tried to get rid of the half-eaten Moon Pie by tossing it into a trash can, but she missed and the wrapper landed near Emmett’s five-hundred-dollar shoe.

  “I’m… working,” she said brightly, her mind racing for a good lie.

  “You work in this building?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding.

  “So do I, what are the chances? Wait—did you move back to Lexington?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Um, I’m staying with my sister. You know, she’s alone now… and so am I.”

  His expression clouded. “I was sorry to hear about Richard’s troubles.”

  “Oh, he’s going to beat the charges, you’ll see.” Now she was babbling.

  “Glad to hear it.” Emmette bent to pick up the wrapper and disposed of it. “Still have a sweet tooth, I see. What are you doing now? Do you work on this floor?” When his gaze landed on the box of snacks and the clipboard, he shot her a questioning look.

  She fished a business card out of her pocket. “Linda and I took over Sullivan’s investigation agency and changed the name.”

  “You’re a P.I.? Wow.” His gaze landed on the cards she’d pinned on the bulletin board across the room.

  “And until things get rolling, we, um… fill vending machines part-time.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Okay… wow again.”

  “Not for money,” she said hastily. “It’s part of our strategy to have access to buildings all over town—you know, for surveillance and… stuff.” She really needed to brush up on the terminology section of the coursework.

  “Smart,” he said. “And you get free snacks.”

  He laughed and she joined in, although her laugh sounded false even to her own ears.

  “So your event planning business is in this building?” she asked.

  “Just around the corner.” He produced his own business card.

  Foiled and printed on premium paper, it made their card look cheap and garish by comparison. “Kingsley Occasions… nice. I knew you’d be successful at something creative.”

  “I knew you’d be successful, too. I just never pictured you doing this.”

  She nodded. “Life is full of surprises.”

  He gestured to the vending machine. “I’m working late, came to get a snack for energy.”

  She pulled a granola bar from the box of supplies and extended it to him. “On me.”

  Emmett gave her a sad little smile. “Thanks.” He held up her card. “I’ll call you.”

  She smiled wide. “Great.”

  “Bye, Octavia.”

  “Bye, Emmett.”

  She waved and smiled until he disappeared down the hall, then bit into her lip to stem the tears pressing behind her eyes. She gathered up the vending supplies, her face flaming with embarrassment.

  Emmett wouldn’t call… they lived in different worlds.

  Chapter 13

  LINDA FOCUSED the binoculars on the entrance to the four-story apartment building and saw movement. “Come on out, Tucker Bilson.”

  The door opened, but a college-aged couple emerged. Probably about the age of Nan and Tucker when they’d made the sex tape, she mused. She was still unable to picture Nan as a swinging coed, but…

  No, her mind just wouldn’t go there.

  She lowered the binoculars then reached over to scratch Max’s long velvety ears. He gave a grateful whimper, his tongue lolling out.

  “You’re a great stakeout partner. Do you remember doing this when you were on the force?”

  Max barked, happy for conversation. He was long retired as a police canine, but sometimes when he slept his legs bicycled and she imagined he was running down criminals in his dreams.

  She looked back to the class notes in her lap and read a few more paragraphs in the section under forensic pathology. The ways to take a life were many and varied, but science had figured out a way to identify most of them. She winced over some of the more graphic descriptions of wounds, then reminded herself that moms all over the world saw scary wounds every day—broken bones, busted mouths, skinned knees, mashed fingers, bloody noses, lost teeth.

  The section on poisons was interesting—there were naturally occurring poisons and synthetically created poisons, slow-acting and fast-acting, detectable and almost undetectable.

  Linda glanced up and saw movement across the street. She picked up her binoculars just as a stocky man emerged. She focused in on his face. He was about fifty pounds heavier and his hair a few shades grayer than the photo Nan had given her, but it was Tucker Bilson.

  “Bingo, Max.” Max looked over the dashboard and gave a little bark.

  Bilson walked to a beater Ford sedan, opened the trunk, and removed a spare tire.

  Linda’s mind raced for a way to take advantage of her lucky break. “Time to shine, Max.” She scrambled to hook a leash to his collar, then got them both out of the van as quietly as possible. She led Max across the street and onto the sidewalk where she adopted a normal walking pace. As they approached the apartment building, she noticed Bilson was attempting to change the front right tire that was flat.

  As she and Max walked up, she scanned the open trunk—cluttered with tools and paint cans—an unlikely hiding place for the tape. She continued around the car. “Hello.”

  Bilson looked up from where he was positioning a jack. “Hiya.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Linda said. “I used to have a car just like this one. Do you mind if I look inside?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Linda took him at his word, opened the driver’s side door and scanned the interior, looking for the tape. It was a mess inside, strewn with fast food bags, Styrofoam cups, and discarded clothing. She lowered herself into the icky driver’s seat, then took a chance and ran her hand over the trash, feeling for something solid underneath, but no luck.

  “Yeah,” she shouted. “My car was just like this. I loved the console storage.” She lifted the lid and peeked inside, but it was full of CDs.” With a few contortions she ran her hands under both seats and checked both visors. Then she opened the glove compartment.

  No tape… but there was a gun.

  Max barked and she slammed the glove compartment.

  “Hey,” Bilson shouted through the passenger side window. “What the hell are you doing?”

  She held up her hands and climbed out. “I was just taking a trip down memory lane. Thanks for letting me look. I sure miss my old car.”

  He glared at her, then he scratched his temple. “Wanna buy this one?”

  Seeing an opportunity, she nodded. “Maybe. I need to talk to my boyfriend, but I think he’d like it. Can I get your contact information?”

  He opened the passenger door and tore a corner off a paper bag, then rummaged in the floor until he came up with a pen. “Name’s Bilson. Here’s my phone number.”

  She took the ragged piece of paper, then gestured to the apartment building. “And you live here, Mr. Bilson?”

  “Yeah, apartment 3C.”

  “Great. I’ll get back to you.”

  She smiled, then jostled Max’s collar. “Come on, boy.”

  Max fell into step next to her. When they were out of earshot, she leaned down. “Good boy, thanks for the warning.”

  She had the information she needed, but the gun was concerning. A few yards down the sidewalk she led Max back across the street and a circuitous route back to the van in case Bilson noticed them. But when she climbed into the driver’s seat, he was still on his back changing the tire.

  She leaned over to pick up the hastily dropped notebook for the class then scanned to mark where she’d left off reading. Ah… poisons.

  Linda moved the sticky note she used for a bookmark to the section, then stopped.

  One of the best detectors of toxic substances is the canine nose. Dogs can be trained to detect the most minute amount of poison and alert their handlers to prevent human exposure.

  A memory chord vibrated… Max sniffing at the dead ficus tree… the one she’d emptied the remnants of Sullivan’s coffee cup into.

  She turned her head to study the bloodhound—droopy eyes, hanging jowls… and one of the most sensitive noses in the animal kingdom. A finger of fear nudged her heart.

  Linda picked up her phone and pulled up Oakley’s number, then connected the call. He answered on the first ring.

  “Linda, I’ve been wanting to call to say I’m sorry about the other day.”

  “Oakley, do you know if Max was trained to detect poisons?”

  “Hm? Max? Yeah, probably. Why?”

  “If he did smell something he thought was dangerous, how would he signal?”

  “By sitting down.”

  And he had… twice. Before she’d tossed the plant in the dumpster. The empty dumpster, which meant the dumpster would be emptied… she counted backward… today.

  “Linda, is everything okay?”

  “I have to go, Oakley. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  She dropped the phone and buckled her seat belt. Her hand shook and her heart was beating like mad as she started the engine. “Hold on, Max.”

  She pulled onto the street and turned toward the agency, driving as fast as she dared. It was late in the afternoon. The agency and most of the businesses would be closed, and the garbage had probably already been picked up. But if there was a chance…

  Long minutes later when she screeched into the parking lot, she gasped to see a big garbage truck disappearing around the back of the strip mall.

  “No! Wait!” Linda fought with the seat belt, then pushed open the door and was out in one motion. She sprinted around the side of the building yelling at the top of her lungs. “Wait! Stop!”

  The garbage truck had inserted its flat metal arms under the dumpster in preparation for lifting and dumping the contents.

  “Stop!” she shouted, waving at the driver.

  He rolled down the window. “What’s wrong?”

  She cupped her hands over her mouth. “There’s something important in the dumpster, I have to get it out.” When he hesitated, she said, “Please! I have to get it out.”

  He frowned in annoyance, then backed the big truck away from the dumpster. Linda darted to the metal container overflowing with garbage and began pulling out bags. When she could no longer reach them, she hauled herself up and over the side and dropped down into the muck.

  The driver and his helper jumped down from the truck and walked over. “What are you looking for?”

  “It’s a tree,” she said. “A dead tree.”

  The men looked at each other as if she were insane… which was entirely possible.

  “It was in this corner,” she said. “At the bottom.” She removed another dozen bags before she spotted it, lying on its side. The leaves were gone, leaving the spindly branches bare. “Found it!” The plastic bag she’d tied around the pot had protected the soil from spilling out.

  She handed it to one of the garbagemen and the other one helped her out. She was wet and dirty up to her knees and her arms were covered with unidentifiable filth.

  “Hope it was worth it,” the guy said.

  She picked up the plant and headed back to the van. “So do I,” she murmured.

  Chapter 14

  OCTAVIA TURNED her head to study Linda. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  Linda, wearing the long brunette wig, sat watching the apartment building across the street. “I just want to get this over with. I don’t like knowing Bilson has a gun.”

  “It’s better than not knowing.” Octavia scratched under her own wig, the short blond one. “I can’t believe Nan Boyd has a sex tape. I don’t even have a sex tape. Hey, did you find the charger for Sullivan’s phone?”

  “Not yet. I might have to buy one.”

  Octavia frowned. “Seriously, is something wrong?”

  Linda gave a little laugh. “You mean more than usual?” She nodded to the file Octavia held in her lap. “Any luck with the Pierce case?”

  “Not yet. I’m reading the interview with his wife where she described how he died. Listen to this. ‘Grady and Eden and I were celebrating Grady’s birthday. He wanted his favorite—rolled oysters with jalapeño beer cheese.’” She made a face. “That sounds nauseating.”

  “Agree.”

  “‘When we got home, he wasn’t feeling too good, said his chest felt tight. I just assumed he’d eaten too much and gave him some Alka Seltzer and told him to lie down. He walked out of the room, and we heard him fall. Eden gave him CPR while I called 911.’”

  “Was a 911 call made?”

  “Yeah, and the transcript is here. She told the dispatcher the same thing—that he’d eaten rolled oysters and beer cheese and complained of tightness in his chest, then collapsed. The dispatcher noted she could hear CPR being performed in the background.”