more information, but knew I’d never get anywhere without a name to go with the account.
Though I had a pretty good idea who it belonged to.
My cell rang. Kevin. “Just talked to Riley,” he said.
“Oh?”
“What have I told you about breaking into places?”
“Not to leave my prints behind. Besides, it wasn’t break -
ing. We had a key.”
“Nina, if I have to put you in lockup, I will. A murder investigation is going on. Stay out of it.”
“Murder? Did Russ’s tox reports come back?”
“His and Greta’s.”
“That was fast.”
“I don’t question. I just appreciate.”
235
“Was Russ murdered? Did he have hallucinogenic mushrooms in his system?”
“No. His reports were clean. He died of a heart attack.
Plain and simple.”
Surprisingly, my inner voice didn’t have anything to say.
“Not so simple if I’m going to be charged with his murder.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m not? When did this happen?”
“The prosecutor’s office decided that since you weren’t perpetrating a crime when Russ had his heart attack, they wouldn’t charge you.”
I slumped back in pure relief. “And Greta?” I asked.
“What about her tox reports?”
“Ever hear of a death cap?”
“The mushroom?”
“Highly toxic.”
“Someone poisoned her with a death cap?”
“It was in the soup she’d eaten for dinner. Evidence collected at the scene supported the findings.”
I remembered seeing the Growl soup bowl in the trash, little bits of mushrooms clinging to its sides.
“We’re interviewing people at Growl, seeing if anyone remembers Greta coming in. So far no one does.”
In a flash I saw that Growl bag, the fisted hand that held it.
“You won’t find anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Russ brought that soup home the day he died. He’d been feeling sick, came home early from work, had a Growl bag in his hand. He brought the soup inside the house, came back out to yell at me and very inconveniently drop dead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure he died.”
Kevin sighed. “About the soup?”
236
Heather Webber
Sometimes it was so fun to play with him. “Not one hundred percent. But it’s too much of a coincidence and I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Yes, I know. It’s a commandment.”
“Don’t mock my commandments.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You know what this means, right?” I asked.
“What?”
“That soup was meant for Russ. Not Greta. Someone had been trying to kill him, but the heart attack beat them to it.”
