Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

Shadow didn’t seem to pay much attention. He seemed more intent on evading her, although he didn’t turn to the more drastic tactics he’d used on Lee Trehearne. There was no spitting, no clawing. He just dodged when she grabbed. Sunny managed to head him off when he reached the head of the bed, keeping him from leaping off and hiding under the bed frame.

But he darted back, somehow worming his way between the mattress and the headboard. Sunny hesitated over the bed, trying to figure out where Shadow would pop up next.

Instead, something else popped out. As Sunny knelt, completely distracted by the object on the floor, Shadow disappeared under the bed and then rocketed out the door.

It was a small plastic bag, with one of those resealable zip tops, the kind Sunny used for storing leftovers. Except in this case, the bag was half full of pills. Most of them were white tablets with a score line on the back. They reminded Sunny of one of her father’s heart medicines.

But there was also a blister pack of other pills. Sunny could see them through the little plastic bubbles. They looked pink and crumbly. She jumped up and searched around for something she could use to turn the bag over without letting her fingers touch it. Finally she found a pencil. With a couple of careful pokes, she managed to flip the bag and see the foil-sealed back of the blister pack. There was something printed there, but not in English. It was in an alphabet she didn’t recognize.

A sudden crash brought her to the room next door, where she found a screen on the floor and a cat’s rear end disappearing out the window. By the time she got there, Shadow had made a death-defying leap into the shrubbery below, promptly disappearing.

There goes any hope of catching up with him, Sunny thought as she returned to Beau’s room and the other problem she faced.

Frowning, she tried to decide what to do. For all she knew, this little supply of pills could have been jammed in place years ago. Just because Beau was a medical student, working in a hospital, it didn’t necessarily mean these drugs were his. Though if this is Beau’s stash, she thought, taking it will alert him that someone has searched his room.

Sunny pondered possibilities for several minutes, and finally brought out her cell phone. She activated the camera and began taking shots of Beau’s room, including the bag on the floor. Then she knelt over it and focused several close-ups.

Finally, wrinkling her nose, Sunny used the top of one of the socks on the floor to pick up a corner of the bag and wedge it back into its hiding place. She left the room—and the house—much more quickly than she’d gone in.

But as she came down the steps to reach the private road, she slowed down, trying to fit what she’d found into what she knew.

I guess a supply of pills might suggest why Beau seems zonked out all the time, Sunny thought. Does the fact that he’s using drugs add anything more to motive, opportunity, and means?

The answer seemed to be “not really.” Despite ticking the most boxes as a suspect, even at his worst, Beau seemed grumpy rather than murderous. Peter Van Twissel, on the other hand, came off more dangerous while under the influence.

Once safely on her side of the street, Sunny sent a text to Will: THIS CLD BE EVIDENCE, and attached photos of the plastic bag. Maybe this was just a distraction from her search for Eliza’s murderer. It could even be a dead end. But she had to follow it.

Beau looked like a new man when he returned from town and came up the path to the pool. The hairdresser hadn’t just trimmed off the shaggy bits of his mop, he’d given Beau a haircut sculpted to complement the shape of his face and his features. He’d gone from looking like a frat boy gone to seed to the young medical professional he was aiming to become.

Sunny caught up to him just before the gate to the pool. She’d been watching for him, trying to devise some sort of a plan. Finally she decided this was the place to brace him, just out of earshot but within view of the other people around the pool. Hopefully, the presence of witnesses would keep Beau from trying anything drastic.

“You look good. How do you feel?” Sunny asked.

“Lighter.” Beau ran a tentative hand along the back of his neck. “Have I got a tan line back there now?”

“No, you were smart enough to spend most of your time sleeping in the shade,” Sunny told him. She decided to jump right in. “Speaking of which . . .” She brought out her phone and showed Beau a picture of the bag of pills. “Is this how you manage to stay so calm and rested?”

For a moment, Beau seemed to loom over her, his face gone blank. Then, as if he’d developed a sudden leak, he deflated. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like a supply of pills,” Sunny said. “Of course, some people say that’s almost a required accessory for med students.”

“And they might be right,” Beau shuffled his feet, kicking at the gravel in the path. “It’s pretty hard to stay sharp when you’re averaging about four hours’ sleep a day. I got some . . . chemical help. Something to pep me up. Thought I could keep a handle on it, but I couldn’t. It sounds about as stupid as I feel, but . . . I got hooked.”

Sunny stared at him, thinking of Beau’s constant drowsiness. “If those pills are supposed to pep you up, I don’t think they’re working.”

“You don’t understand,” Beau said. “Those pills aren’t uppers. They’re supposed to help me get off the uppers. I knew I was getting messed up. This time off would be my only chance to stop using. If I took this stuff, it would help me detox with minimal withdrawal symptoms.”

He gave Sunny a rueful, mirthless smile. “Unfortunately, there’s a side effect that affects a very small percentage of users, so I didn’t worry about it. But some people taking this stuff suffer lethargy and extreme tiredness.”

Sunny nodded. “And you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“It’s like I’m making up for all the sleep I lost in the last year.” Beau looked embarrassed. “I even dozed off in the barber’s chair.”

“So I presume that explains all the white pills,” Sunny said. “What about the pink ones?”

Beau’s expression suddenly became guarded, but Sunny pressed. “Are they an emergency supply of uppers in case your do-it-yourself detox didn’t work?”

“Look—please.” His voice was strained.

“You’ve come clean this far,” Sunny told him. “Why not go all the way?”

Beau’s big shoulders slumped. “It’s true. You know my secret now . . . but so does someone else. I was blackmailed.”

Sunny struggled to keep her expression neutral, while internally she thought, Hot damn—looks like Randall might be right!

Beau’s face became relaxed as he unburdened himself. “When I got the demand, there wasn’t much I could do. Residents with drug dependency issues usually don’t become doctors. And it was supposed to be a one-time payment—a hefty one, but I managed to scrape it together and wire it off.”

A one-time payment, Sunny thought. That fits .

“Why would you trust that there’d only be one payment?” she asked.

“It’s not like I had a choice.” Beau shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Besides, Carson and some of our other friends knew other people who’d gotten similar demands. I heard them talking. Bits and pieces, rumors and gossip. But the payment seemed to work. There were no more demands for money.”

His voice ran down, but Sunny knew there was more. “The problem was, you still owed a favor.”

Beau jumped as if he’d been stung. “How do you know?”