Page 39 of Bad Blood
LikeIwas missing something.
“You okay?” Agent Sterling asked me. In an attempt not to look like a cop, she’d chosen to wear jeans. She still looked like a cop.
“I’m fine,” I told her, glancing back over my shoulder, then forcing my eyes to the front. As we turned a corner, a wrought-iron gate came into view. Beyond it was a stone path, landscaped on either side with all manner of plants.
For a split second, I couldn’t breathe, and I had no idea why.
Dean walked ahead and stopped at the sign in front of the gates.
“Either Redding is constipated,” Michael said as he took in a subtle shift in Dean’s body posture, “or things are about to get interesting.”
I walked toward Dean, overcome with the uncanny sense that I knew what the sign was going to say.Poison garden. Those were the words I expected to see.
“Apothecary garden,” I read instead.
“Apothecary,” Sloane said, coming to stand next to us. “From the Latin word meaningrepositoryorstorehouse. Historically, the term was used to refer to both the historic version of a pharmacy and to the historic version of a pharmacist.”
Without waiting for a reply, Sloane bopped past the gates. Lia followed her.
Dean slid his gaze over to me. “What do you think the chances are that it’s a coincidence that Nightshade grew up in a town with an apothecary garden and”—Dean jerked his head toward the building next door—“an apothecary museum?”
A chill spread slowly down my spine. Nightshade’s weapon of choice had been poison. There was a thin line between knowing the medicinal properties of plants and knowing how to use them to kill.
“I can sense this is a romantic moment for the two of you,” Michael said facetiously, patting us each on the shoulder. “Far be it from me to ruin it.” He strolled past us into the garden, but the way he glanced back tipped me off to the fact that he recognized the unsettled feeling twisting in my gut.
“If you folks think that garden’s something,” a voice called out, “you should venture inside.”
An older man—my guess put his age in the neighborhood of seventy—came to the door of the apothecary museum. He was small and compact, with round spectacles and a voice at odds with his appearance: deep and scratchy and utterly uninviting.
A much younger guy came to stand behind the old man. He looked to be nineteen or twenty and wore his white-blond hair combed back, accenting a widow’s peak hairline.
“The garden is free for all to enjoy,” Widow’s Peak said tersely. “Visitors to the museum are asked to make a donation.”
He may as well have stuck a giantNO TRESPASSINGsign over the building’s entrance.
Agent Sterling moved to stand beside me. “I think we’re fine with the garden for now,” she told Widow’s Peak.
“Figures,” the boy muttered, retreating into the building. There was something about him that gave me the same unsettled feeling that had coated my body the moment I’d seen the wrought-iron gates.
“You folks stay cool,” the old man advised us, his gaze lingering on Sterling. “Even in spring, Gaither heat has a way of sneaking up on you.” Without another word, he followed Widow’s Peak back into the museum.
Agent Sterling preempted any comment from Dean or me. “Walk through the garden, pretend you’re enjoying this lovely spring day, and think about what you’ve learned,” she advised.
You want us to take this slow. To avoid tipping our hand.
I did as instructed.St. John’s wort. Yarrow. The alder tree. Hawthorne. As I passed each labeled plant in the garden, I parsed my first impressions. My gut said that the older man had lived in Gaither all of his life. Widow’s Peak was protective of him—and of the museum.
You don’t like tourists, but you work in a museum. That spoke of either a contradictory personality or a lack of employment options.
I turned on the path, following the loop back to the iron gates. As I reached them, I got that same sense of déjà vu I’d had when I saw the garden for the first time.
I’m missing something.
As I scanned the surrounding street, I pegged a pair of tourists, then turned my attention to a local walking her dog. She turned around a corner and disappeared. I didn’t mean to do more than follow her around the corner to see what was on the next block, but once I started walking, I couldn’t stop.
I’m missing something.
I’m missing—
