Patience snorted, pulling me out of my reverie. I realized she was looking over my shoulder at the photo. I didn’t know how long I had stood there staring at it, but the old man and the boy were gazing at me as well.
“Sorry,” I said, clearing my throat and holding the wallet out to them. “Have you seen this man here?”
Both sets of eyes widened. The old man spoke for a moment, seeming agitated. The boy nodded, then turned to me and said, “He used to be a good customer. But now we would like him not to come back, please.”
“Why? What happened?”
“He was asking for Chuan Wu tea,” said the boy. “But raw.”
“What kind of tea is that?”
“Sometimes it is used for pain. But if it is not processed properly, it is a deadly poison.”
“Do you know what it’s called in English?”
The man looked something up in an old catalog, then showed it to the boy. “Here, it says monkshood, or wolfsbane.”
“Those are aconite plants,” I said.
“Yes.” The boy nodded. “It is a poison. Last year a lady died after drinking some tea that was improperly prepared.”
“This man asked for that?” I said, holding up Sailor’s photo again.
The boy nodded. “But . . . he didn’t look nice—he didn’t smile like this. He was sort of whack.”
“Whack?”
“Scary. A little bit crazy-seeming. He didn’t speak, just wrote things down.”
“Did he say—or write—anything else?” I asked.
The boy turned to the old man and translated my question. “He asked for mushrooms.”
“What kind of mushrooms?”
“Amanita mushrooms. They are poisonous, too. Grandfather says he does not deal in such things. We would like this man not to come back, please.”
• • •
“That’s a lot of poison talk,” said Patience as we walked back to the car.
“True. But many medicines—maybe even most of them—are poisonous in the wrong dosage but helpful if administered very carefully. Like the aconite tea, which is used in a number of ways, such as to treat pain or bruising. It’s only deadly when not prepared properly.”
“So you’re saying maybe this fake Sailor guy was in the market for medicine?”
“No, you’re right. He was probably looking for poison. The question is, why? I’ve been thinking . . .”
“Good place to start.”
I opened the car door and looked at her over the roof. “Maybe there was no motive.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if someone wanted to set up Sailor, for whatever reason, and Dupree was simply a victim of opportunity?”
“You’re saying some Sailor look-alike wanted the real Sailor out of the picture?”
“It’s possible. It would explain why he was so obvious about leaving the scene of the crime.”
“Putting aside the fact that this mystery assailant just happens to look exactly like your boyfriend—”
“Fiancé.”
“Whatever. How would this person know that Sailor knew Dupree, much less that Sailor had threatened him earlier in the day?”
“Good question. The only ones who heard that were Sailor, me, and Carlos.”
“You trust Carlos?”
“I’d trust Carlos with my life.”
“How about with Sailor’s life?”
“That, too.”
“All right. What about that dubious character who hangs out on the sidewalk in front of your store?”
“Conrad? I suppose he might have overheard, but he wouldn’t be involved in something like this.”
“You sure about that? Needs money for drugs, maybe thinks it’s no big deal to do a little informing on the side, doesn’t think he’s hurting anyone . . . ?”
“No way,” I said with a firm shake of my head. “Not Conrad.”
She shrugged. “So what’s next, then? We go to Aidan and grovel? By which I mean you’ll grovel, of course. I have no beef with the man.”
“I have a better idea. First let’s check out Sailor’s apartment. We can leave the car here; it’s just a couple of blocks over.”
“I’ve never been to Sailor’s place,” she said.
“Never?”
Patience pressed her lips together, looking displeased at the thought that she had been denied the privilege.
I waved off a man in a Mercedes who had been waiting for my spot. Clearly disappointed, the driver made an obscene gesture, which Patience returned with enthusiasm.
I extracted my supplies from my trunk. After being caught without it the other night, today I had remembered to bring along my Hand of Glory. I also had my woven backpack packed with talismans, salts, herbs, and a widemouthed mason jar full of protective brew.
“What’s all this?” Patience asked when I handed her the wooden box.
“Just in case.”
“More silverfish?”
“Not hardly.”
She gave a wry smile. “What exactly do you think we’re going to find in Sailor’s apartment?”
“Nothing. Probably. It just pays to be prepared.”
“What an excellent Girl Scout you must have been. So you cart around all this stuff in your trunk, do you? You must live a pretty fraught life.”
“You have no idea. Hey, it occurs to me,” I said, slowing my pace. “Sailor would hate the thought of us poking around in his apartment, looking through his things. He’s pretty big into privacy.”
“Aren’t we all? But at the moment I don’t particularly care what Sailor wants. He got himself thrown in jail, so his desires aren’t paramount to me right now.”
“It’s not as though he got arrested on purpose.”
“So what? The result’s the same: He’s detained and we have to spend our time and energy finding a way to get him out. So in this case, at least, the ends justify the means. And anyway, he should have known the police were coming for him.” She shook her head. “He’s been distracted lately.”
“Are you suggesting Sailor ‘let’ himself be arrested because he’s distracted by me? I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to cop to that.”
“All about you much?” she said. “No, I wasn’t blaming you. At least, not this time. There’s been something going on with him, with his trance state. I can’t say exactly what, but something’s been off.”
“Off, in what way?”
“He’s just . . . not fully himself. You’re familiar with trance states, right?”
“Sort of. I approximate a trance when I’m brewing sometimes, or casting a complicated spell. But I don’t think it’s the same.”
“No, not by the sound of
