CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - The Winners and Losers

“This is quite the rum sort, innit?” Fergus said to Charles. “Three sets of prints, two different individuals’ DNA.”

“Let me take a look at that,” Charles said. “According to this, two sets of prints match for familial DNA. That means two people who handled this glass are related, and the other is not.”

“Correct, mate,” Fergus said.

“We’re going to have to tell Myra she needs to find out who served the drinks that night.”

“Right.”

“I’ll ring her.” Charles hit the speed-dial number for Myra.

“Morning, love.”

“Hello, Charles. How are you this fine day?”

“Well, it’s almost lunchtime for us.”

“It is, indeed.”

“Speaking of lunch, when you see Milton today, ask him who served the drinks the night of his heart attack.”

“Of course, but why?”

“There are three sets of prints. Two have closely related DNA.”

“I don’t understand.” Myra was perplexed.

“Two people who handled the glass are family members. The other is not.” Charles spelled it out for her.

“Oh, well, that’s interesting. What about the sample from the rug or the glass?”

“They’re still working on it. Should have something later today or tomorrow,” Charles replied.

“Alright.”

“What time is Gaines arriving?” Charles asked.

“Around three,” Myra said.

“According to Eileen, there was some suspicious activity last night at Dickie’s cabin,” Charles said.

“What kind?” Myra asked.

Charles explained the drive from Salem to Blaine to Silver Falls. The big box in and the folded box out. “Could be an actual dishwasher, or it could be contraband.”

“This is getting very convoluted,” Myra said with dismay. “We have missing people, possible drugs, mysterious DNA, and appliances?”

Charles chuckled. “That about sums it up.”

“Oh, dear. Well, we shall see what we can gather today.”

“Be safe, love. Tootles.” Charles signed off.

Myra informed Annie and the others of Eileen’s observations. “Maybe when Chris gets here, we should check out Dickie’s cabin?”

“But what are we looking for?” Annie said.

“Drugs? A person?” Myra said. “We have small samples of the powder.”

“What about Lori’s DNA?” Annie asked.

“Wait! I have something!” Maggie exclaimed. “Her mom gave me this amulet that Lori made. She made a bunch of them to sell at an Indigenous Peoples festival.”

“Why did she give it to you?” Myra queried.

“As a symbol of appreciation? A physical thing to connect me to Lori? She hoped my story would bring her safely home? All of the above?” Maggie speculated.

“You didn’t get any Cheetos dust on it, did you?” Annie asked jokingly.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “No. Somebody stole the bag from my tote.” She held up her fingers. “No orange stuff.”

“Well, then, all the dog has to do is sniff it, right?” Myra asked.

“Excellent!” Annie clapped. “Let’s put it in a plastic bag so we don’t contaminate it further.”

“I beg your pardon?” Maggie feigned being insulted.

“After we’re done with lunch, I’ll pick up Chris and Chandler and take them to the cabin. Maggie, Myra? One of you will have to keep Dickie distracted.”

Maggie raised her hand. “I’ll tell him I’d like more background on the Spangler business and why Mr. Spangler still has the rewards posted.”

“Great idea,” Myra said. “Isabelle will be back this afternoon. Then she may want to go up to Blaine.”

“It’s a six-hour drive,” Annie reminded her. “But my jet will be here later today, so Izzie can fly up there.”

“How are we going to explain that to Dickie and Oliver? Remember, only Milton knows that Isabelle is with us.”

“Good point,” Annie said. “Maybe I can work it into the conversation somehow.”

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.” Myra smiled.

* * *

Maggie phoned Dickie and asked if he was available that afternoon to do a short interview about the Spangler family business.

“I’d be happy to do it.” Dickie was a little more relaxed now that the latest package was sequestered away from any possibility of discovery. “Do you want to meet at the office?”

“That would be perfect. I’ll take some photos if that’s okay.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” Dickie was all puffed up. Someone was actually interested in hearing what he had to say.

* * *

It was getting close to noon. Myra and Annie stopped at a gourmet shop and picked up a variety of sandwiches. Patricia had volunteered Ruby to prepare something, but Myra and Annie insisted they would bring lunch.

When they arrived at the Spanglers’, Patricia was on her way out. “Hello. Milton is on the patio. I’ll be back around three.” She zombie-walked to her car.

“Is she alright?” Annie squinted.

“She hasn’t been alright since we got here,” Myra replied, as she watched Patricia get behind the wheel of her BMW.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Annie motioned to Patricia starting the engine.

“We have our hands full, dearie. She’s a big girl.” Myra tended to agree with Annie, but what could they do? Tell Patricia they didn’t think she was fit to drive? That could cause a big issue. And they had work to do.

They entered the house and made their way to the kitchen, where Ruby was having a cup of tea. “Hi, Ruby! We brought lunch for Mr. Spangler. Can you help us with some flatware and dishes?” Myra asked.

“Of course.” Ruby got up, went to the large cupboard, and took out plates and platters and set them on the counter. “Beverages?”

“Herbal tea?” Myra asked.

“Yes. Peppermint, chamomile, ginger?”

“I’ll take peppermint,” Annie said.

“Ginger for me, thanks.”

Ruby busied herself with the tea making while Myra plated the sandwiches and Annie tossed the salad.

They brought everything out to the patio, where Milton was gazing at the spectacular view.

“Hello, darling!” Annie said as she carried the tray of goodies.

“Ah, two of my favorite people.” Milton got up and gave Myra a hug, then Annie, after she set the tray down on the table.

“This looks wonderful. Patricia has had me on pablum and kefir.”

“Oh, she does not.” Myra tsk-tsk ed.

Once everyone was settled at the table, the women began their subtle interrogation.

“Mill, the night of your heart attack, what were you drinking?”

“Brandy, why?”

“Just curious. They still haven’t found out what caused it, have they?”

“No. Whatever it was got into my system, and out just in time, I suppose.”

Annie was trying to figure out the best way to ask who had poured his drink. “So, it was you and Oliver?”

“Patricia came in with Benjamin to say hello to Oliver,” he recalled. “That’s when she poured my brandy and Oliver’s tequila. She handed the glasses to Oliver, who handed mine to me. Benjamin had a glass of pinot noir, if I remember correctly. Why?”

Myra steadied herself. Her mind was racing, as was Annie’s. “Just curious. It’s such a mystery.”

“Yes, it is,” Milton replied.

Myra placed her hand on Milton’s. “Mill, what was the real reason you got in touch with me?”

He let out a long sigh. “Lots of unexplained things. I needed an objective point of view. Everyone around here knows everyone, and it would be hard for me to find someone who could get down to the nitty-gritty without raising concern.”

“I understand. So tell me. Start from the beginning.” Myra spoke softly, with compassion.

“For one, the electric bill for the Salem inn is almost double the others. I suppose there’s a reasonable explanation. The cost of concrete and steel for renovations was higher at Salem, Blaine, and Eugene, but there could be an explanation for that, as well. But then I noticed there were three steel doors that were ordered for those three inns. They were fireproof and bulletproof.”

“Why would you need bulletproof doors?” Annie’s forehead furrowed.

“That’s what I wanted to know. I was going to ask Oliver. Then I got a call about our certificates from the Department of Agriculture.”

“What about them?” Myra said, as Annie was jotting down notes.

“They occasionally send out inspectors to confirm the logging companies are complying with regulations by planting the required number of trees.”

“If I remember, you plant more than required.” Myra’s jaw was almost about to drop.

“I do. At least that’s what I thought was going on. Apparently, someone has been cutting corners.”

Myra and Annie looked at each other. “Don’t you get certificates?”

“Yes, and they suggested the certificates had been falsified before they were submitted.” Milton looked forlorn. “I suppose whoever doctored them figured the DOA wouldn’t scrutinize every piece of paper. It’s a bureaucracy.”

“Who is in charge of submitting them?” Annie asked, but she had a good idea what the answer was.

Milton sighed again. “Oliver.”

“Oh, dear. So that’s what you wanted to discuss with him?”

“Yes, all of it.”

“Milton, I don’t know what to say.” Myra shook her head.

“Myra, I think Oliver is in some kind of trouble.” He hung his head.

Annie didn’t know if she should say something at that point. She glanced at Myra. Myra gave her the secret not now look.

“What kind of trouble?” Myra asked.

“I think he may be doing drugs.” Milton began to turn pale.

“What makes you say that?” Annie asked, although she shared the same suspicion.

“I’ve been around enough people who used coke back in the day. But from what I understand, it’s back, especially among young men who are upwardly mobile. Plus, he’s been acting erratic. Big mood swings.”

“Where do you think he’s getting it from?” Myra asked.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be very hard. The interstate is a cocaine and heroin highway that stretches from Mexico to Alaska.”

“This is a lot to digest,” Annie offered. “How can we help?”

“I’m not sure. How do you find out if someone is sucking money up their nose?”

“I have an idea.” Annie leaned in. “What if we get Kat to nose around? No pun intended. She could say she’s tired. Needs a boost.”

“That might work, but I don’t think Oliver would be so stupid as to incriminate himself.” Milton sighed again.

“What if we get a saliva sample?” Annie offered. “Or get hold of his handkerchief.”

“And do what?” Milton asked.

“Get it to a lab,” Myra replied.

“I’m not going to ask,” Milton said. “I’ll leave it up to you.”

“I told Oliver I’d be in touch today. I can fake a sneeze, ask for his pocket square, and there you have it.”

Milton fanned the words away. “I don’t want to know any of the details. As I said, I will leave it up to you.”

Annie excused herself and walked into the house. She called Oliver. “Good afternoon, Oliver. I was thinking about what we discussed yesterday.”

“Ah. And?” Oliver sounded antsy.

“And can we meet for a cocktail at my hotel later?”

“I am sure that can be arranged. What time did you have in mind?”

She checked her watch. She had to be at the airport by three-thirty, then the half hour flight to the cabin and another half hour back. “Say six-thirty?” She wanted to give herself some breathing room in case of traffic or some other detour.

“Perfect. I’ll call you from the lobby.” Oliver sounded elated.

* * *

Eileen followed Dickie to the office complex. He parked in his usual spot. Eileen moved her vehicle to the end of the lot. Several cars separated hers and Dickie’s. Once Dickie was inside the building, Eileen moved closer to his vehicle. She spotted a black ski mask on the floor of the passenger seat. That must have been the black cloth Dickie had carried from his van to the cabin. She took a quick photo and sent it to Avery.

Avery forwarded the shot to Charles, who notified Annie and Myra.

Ski mask.

* * *

Dickie walked into his office looking as if he had been to hell and back. He felt worse than any hangover he’d ever experienced. So this is what stress and sleep deprivation do to you. He opened his desk drawer and spotted a bottle of acetaminophen. It was the same bottle that contained several of their manufactured pills. It was also the same bottle he’d had one day when Patricia Spangler complained of a headache in the office. He meant to give her aspirin, but she took the bottle from his hand. There was no way he could stop her. A few days later, she was back in his office asking for two more of “those pills.” He hesitated. She gave him a cold stare. He had no choice. If he didn’t give them to her, she would blow the whistle on him.

It became a regular thing with Patricia, who started looking for a weekly supply. How many corners could one man get backed into? And now they had to halt manufacturing the tablets until all the problems had been resolved. His life was a train wreck in slow motion. He could see the cars flying off the tracks and smashing to pieces. He buried his face in his hands.

* * *

Yoko peered at the photos Myra had sent her. The privet was lovely, but she wondered why Myra would want foxglove, as well. Granted, they looked good together, but foxglove was highly toxic. She needed clarification and sent Myra a text explaining that the smaller plants in front of the privet were dangerous.

* * *