that was already tightly tucked in.
“Howdy. Bill Hutchins.” His voice immediately reminded Sam of her father. She greeted him in the same tone. They went back and forth with a little where-are-you-from chat and learned that they’d grown up less than fifty miles apart. He’d bought the small van because his wife loved antiquing and wanted to open a shop. They’d planned to make buying trips all over the area but then she’d broken her hip last winter and it soon became clear that the business would never get off the ground. He’d decided to sell the van since it was a painful reminder to his wife that her dream wasn’t going to happen.
“I want to take her on a cruise,” he said. “Them ships got ever’thing now. She’ll like that, gettin treated like a queen.”
Sam circled the van while he talked. It truly was perfect for her needs. There were back seats but they folded down to create a large cargo area. A remote opener gave hands-free access to the back, a huge help when she was loaded down with a big cake. It even had a trailer hitch already mounted, which would allow her to hook up her utility trailer and continue with her caretaking job. And it still smelled new.
“I like it a lot. I just have to work out the money part,” she told Hutchins, waving toward the big red Silverado. “I brought cash for a deposit but then I have to sell my truck.”
He gave a little frown. “It’s just that I got her listed online, you know?”
Sam caught a glimpse of Rupert, signaling her from the front of the van. She excused herself and walked over to him.
“Sam, how much are you short?”
“I need ten thousand, and it really has to come from selling the truck.”
“Why? You might need the truck sometimes too. Let me give you the money. You can use two vehicles.”
“Absolutely not! You can’t do that.”
“Honey, Victoria makes more money than I can spend. I’ve got money with me . . .”
She looked again at the van and at Bill Hutchins. “I can’t really ask him to hold it for me, can I?”
“No. And it’s perfect for you.” Rupert’s enthusiasm tugged like a tidal wave. “I’m seeing your Sweet’s Sweet logo, done in that technique that covers the whole vehicle.”
“Oh, no. Something small and tasteful,” she insisted. Here she was, planning a paint scheme already?
Rupert nudged her. “Tell him you want it.”
Sam wavered. Technically, she could take the money from her savings but she would lose interest on it and she’d promised herself that money would go toward equipping her bakery kitchen. Her truck was in good shape and it should sell quickly. “Only if we call it a loan. I’ll pay you the minute I sell the truck.”
“Fine.” He looked like he really didn’t care how long it took.
They consummated the deal and Hutchins signed over the title. Sam nearly choked when Rupert pulled out a wad of hundreds but she didn’t say anything in front of the other man. Hutchins pocketed the cash, shook hands and went back in his house.
“I saw a cute burger place on the main drag,” Sam told Rupert as they were about to get into the two vehicles. “Let me buy you lunch.”
Rupert was never one to pass up a hearty meal, she’d noticed, and he grinned at the suggestion. He climbed into the Silverado and she took the wheel of her new van. They parked in front of the ’50s-themed burger place a few minutes later.
“So, Rupe, don’t tell me that you always carry that kind of cash on you.”
He shrugged. “Actually, never. I just went prepared to the art fundraiser last night and then I didn’t buy anything.”
“Thank you.” She stood on tiptoe and gave him a long hug. “You’re a wonderful friend.”
Sam found herself in a mellow mood driving back over the mountain, after devouring thick, juicy burgers and freshly cut fries. They parked both vehicles at her house and she gave Rupert a lift home in her new van, hugging him again before he got out.
Beau had left a message on her machine at home and she called him back. He let her go on for a minute or so about the great vehicle find before she remembered to ask him what he’d called about.
“I spent the morning in Santa Fe, questioning Bart Killington.”
“Really? And?” She held her breath in hopes that the case had been neatly wrapped up.
“And not much,” he said. “He swears he knows nothing about any poisonous plant, that he never harmed his uncle.”
“Bull! I just don’t believe it.”
“I don’t know, Sam. I’ve questioned a lot of people over the years. This guy’s whole demeanor just seemed truthful.”
“You’re kidding! He admits he was living in the house with Cantone. Residue of the plant is all over his bedroom. The kitchen fairly reeked of the stuff. That had to be the place where he ground up the plant and added it to the old man’s food or drink or whatever.”
“Sam, he was even willing to give fingerprints so we could check for a match.”
“Really?” She felt a flicker of uncertainty. “And?”
“The prints of plant residue that we lifted don’t match Bart Killington.”
Chapter 25
Sam felt an almost physical shock. “Did you say they
“Don’t. Do not. The prints aren’t Bart’s.”
What could that mean? Maybe the prints belonged to the artist himself and maybe he really had picked the plants and eaten them. What other explanation could there be?
“. . . and should have an answer in the next day or two,” Beau was saying.
“Sorry. I didn’t catch all of that.”
“Prints from Cantone’s body. We’ve got an expert coming in, a guy who knows more about getting partial prints from other places—wrists, palms of hands, and such.” His voice softened. “Sam, you can’t let this get to you so much. It’s probably the hardest thing in law enforcement, not to force the evidence to fit the outcome we want. But we can’t do that. You may not like the answers but whatever they are, they’ll be the truth.”
She forced herself to breathe slowly and counted three beats before she responded.
“I know, Beau. I know.”
“We can re-examine the motives of those other suspects, the neighbors Cantone didn’t get along with. They’d all have access to the plants, and maybe one of them was a whole lot angrier than we realized. But frankly, Sam, those possibilities seem thin. I’m thinking the old guy probably accidentally ingested the stuff.”
She hung up feeling a huge letdown, puzzling over the new twist. Just when she was about to call Beau back to ask more questions, she noticed that a car had pulled up out front and a man was walking toward her truck. She gave him a minute to circle it and when he stayed she went out to greet him.
“I’ve been wanting a truck like this ever since we moved here,” he said. “We’re up on a dirt road in the hills and that sedan just doesn’t make the climb whenever it’s wet out.”
“She’s good in snow, too,” Sam said, wondering whether she’d miss her old 4x4 when it was gone.
She opened the door for him and he sat inside, clearly enjoying himself. Then he looked under the hood and prodded the tires to see how much tread they had left. Twenty minutes later they’d worked it out that he would give her a check for the full amount now and leave the truck with her. Monday they’d meet at the bank, cash the check, she’d sign over the title.
She took the For Sale sign off the truck then called Rupert to let him know that she could repay his loan by Monday afternoon.
“I don’t know what to think now about Pierre Cantone’s death,” she said, after telling him what Beau had said about the non-matching fingerprints. “Maybe I completely misjudged Bart.”
“Well, I still think he’s one cold fish,” Rupert said. “I mean, anyone who could stick a relative into a grave in
