Secrets of Harmony Grove (22 page)

“There you are, Sienna. Got a sec?”

“Absolutely.”

“I have a question for you about the property.” Pulling from his pocket the sketch I had drawn last night, he said he needed to know about all of my outbuildings. “Your picture shows a large shed out back and an outdoor storage closet here, next to the pool. Is there any other outdoor storage at all?”

“No, that’s it.”

“How about inside the house? Where do you keep pesticides, tools, things like that?”

I explained that the tools were kept in the basement and that the bug sprays and ant bait were on a rack just inside the basement door, at the landing. “At least that’s where they used to be, though I suppose Floyd could have moved them at some point.”

“Okay, thanks,” Mike replied, folding the paper and sliding it back into his pocket. “That’s all I need for now.”

He turned to go, but I reached out and put a hand on his wrist.

“Look, I know you’re busy, but can you bring me up to speed at all? At least tell me how Floyd and Nina are doing?”

Mike glanced at his watch and said he had a few minutes, but we should get out of everyone’s way. There was activity all around us, so I suggested we move out to the side porch.

“Nina’s not doing too well. She’s still unconscious,” he told me as we walked across the dining room.

“How about Floyd?”

“He’s much better. Awake and talking.”

Mike pushed open the door and we stepped out into the cool morning air of the screened-in porch.

“What does he say about last night? Has he been able to explain what happened?”

Mike rolled his eyes and said that Floyd had an explanation, yes, but because of his present condition it wasn’t fully reliable. “According to Floyd, he was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich when he heard a woman outside screaming.”

“Nina?”

“Yep. He says he heard the scream and grabbed his gun. He found Nina at the pool, where she had just pulled Troy’s body out the water. She was trying to do CPR on him, but Floyd had to convince her it was no use because Troy was already quite dead.”

Picturing Troy’s open eyes, I knew exactly what he meant.

“Floyd says he and Nina were arguing about it when they heard a strange noise coming from the other side of the fence. They turned to look, and that’s when a big black creature rose up out of the brush and emitted a burst of fire. Floyd doesn’t remember anything after that.”

“He still says it was big and black?” I asked. “Yeah, with hollow eyes.”

Trying to picture it, I couldn’t help but shudder.

“Don’t get too worked up just yet, Sienna. Floyd tested positive for drugs. I’ve seen people on hallucinogens who thought their vacuum cleaner was
a giraffe, so I’m not putting much stock in his story. Floyd may
think
that’s what he saw, but the information isn’t very reliable, given that he was quite high at the time.”

“Which drug? Was it Ativan, like you suspected?”

“The info isn’t that specific yet. So far, tests show some sort of tranquilizer, so it could be. It’ll be a few days before we know for sure.”

“What does Floyd say? Does his doctor have him on tranquilizers? Nerve medication? Something like that?”

“No, Floyd swears he’s never taken anything stronger than aspirin his whole life.”

“So he was drugged by someone else,” I said, knowing all too well how easily that could happen.

“Possibly.”

“How about Nina? Same drug?”

“Nina did test positive for the same drug, plus one other.”

I looked at Mike, waiting. He hesitated a moment, as if he had already divulged more than he should have. Then he spoke.

“She also had some sort of toxin in her system, the same toxin found in the victim.”

“Toxin? Do you mean poison? Nina and Troy were definitely poisoned?”

Mike nodded. “Nina had such a small amount we’re thinking she probably was contaminated when she gave Troy mouth-to-mouth, or possibly from the water in the pool as she pulled him out. In any event, it doesn’t look like she was exposed to enough of the toxin herself for it to be fatal. But between that and the tranquilizer, she’s still unconscious and may be for a while yet.”

I turned and looked out at the sweeping lawn, the autumn leaves, the pastoral scene that surrounded us. Poisoned. Amid this paradise, people had been poisoned.

“So that’s Troy’s official cause of death,” I said, just wanting to understand clearly. “He was poisoned.”

“Technically, no, but causally, yes.”

“In English, please?” I asked, turning back toward him.

Mike explained that Troy’s official cause of death was drowning, but that he had been poisoned first by a central nervous system toxin that caused convulsions, which then caused the drowning.

“Though why he was in the pool when the convulsions began is anyone’s guess,” he added.

As I pictured the scene Mike was describing, I suddenly felt faint and had to sit down. I reached for the nearest chair and lowered myself into it, causing the wicker to squawk and crunch as I did. I exhaled slowly.

“How did it happen? Where? Who did this to him?”

Mike sat on the chair across from me and tried to explain what they knew thus far.

“The ME says it wasn’t cumulative, like someone putting arsenic in his coffee every day. That would point more toward intention, premeditation. This was likely a single acute exposure.”

“Exposure, how? Through food?” I asked, thinking of the technicians in the kitchen.

“Probably not. The ME doesn’t think the poison was ingested, but at this point it’s still a possibility. We’re rounding up all open containers on the premises to have them analyzed, just in case.”

Not wanting to end up like Troy—or Floyd or Nina—myself, I was glad to see all of the food go.

“The ME says that overexposure to certain pesticides can cause convulsions,” Mike continued. “She thinks Troy was contaminated through direct contact with the skin. He must have received a sudden, lethal exposure to some toxin yesterday afternoon, probably through his hands. The skin there is blistered front and back, plus there are slight trace elements of a chemical powder under his fingernails. Of course, any other residue on his hands would have been washed away in the pool. It’s probably too diluted to show up, but we’re testing the water anyway.”

“I don’t understand. How did this happen? Was it an accident?”

“That’s one theory. Judging by the physical evidence and what we’ve been able to figure out about Troy’s day yesterday, it could have had something to do with the tools he was using for his treasure hunt in the grove. Depending on how and where those tools were stored, there’s a good chance
he accidentally did it to himself. Maybe he was rooting around in the shed for a shovel and accidentally stuck his hands in a container of concentrated pesticide. Or maybe the shovel itself had inadvertently become coated with a toxic substance while in storage, and then as Troy used it and his palms began to sweat, the moisture helped speed that toxin into his bloodstream. However it happened, our hope is that by taking a thorough look in and around all of the structures on the property, we’ll find the shovel and other digging tools he was using, along with whatever pesticide or hazardous chemical was involved. A team is also searching the grove for pesticide concentrates right now. If we can find the substance that killed him, we might be able piece this puzzle together and rule it an accident.”

Feeling overwhelmed, I stood and walked to the screen, looking out toward the grove. It was just so big. If Troy had been poisoned by something already out there, trying to find that poison would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

“What about the cut on his leg?” I asked, my eyes still scanning the beautiful trees in the distance.

“The ME says the structure of the wound is looking more like an animal than an implement. By running the cut mark through the database, she ruled out the most obvious culprits: a chain saw or garden trowel or other known tools. She believes it was done by a single claw. There was also an enormous amount of bruising to the hips, thighs, and abdomen, so whatever got him got him good and hard.”

“Man,” I whispered, glad I was still facing away from Mike as tears suddenly filled my eyes.

“The cut was to the bone,” he continued, oblivious to the effect his words were having on me, “and fortunately debris was lodged in the tissue. They’re running tests now, growing cultures. We should get more info soon.”

“Wow,” I whispered. Poor Troy. Poisoned, attacked, drowned. What a way to go. Wiping away my tears in frustration, I turned back from the window and returned to my chair. “Troy said he was dizzy and feeling ill the whole time we talked yesterday. He must have been contaminated before he even called. At that point the poison was already working its way into his system.”

Mike pulled out his notebook and flipped to a page where he had obviously worked out a timeline.

“ME says exposure to the toxin likely occurred between 4:00 and 5:00 p.m. Troy called you at 5:17, so that would be correct. By the time he called you he’d been poisoned and probably didn’t even know it.”

“After he hung up on me, how long was it before he died? Did the medical examiner give an exact time of death?”

“Exact, no, but she gave us a range, and by combining that with other factors we’ve been able to narrow it down to him dying somewhere between 6:10 and 6:30 p.m.”

“So he hung up with me at 5:30 and was attacked and had gone into convulsions and drowned within the hour.”

“Yes.”

I didn’t know why all of this information was hitting me so hard, but I felt tears welling up again. Perhaps as the sequence of events became more tangible, the fact that Troy really was dead was beginning to sink in. Whether his death was intentional or accidental almost didn’t seem to matter as I thought about how much he must have suffered.

“Thanks for telling me all of this,” I said softly, knowing Mike had things to do. I hoped he would get back to them before I began to cry in earnest. When he didn’t rise to leave, I assured him that I was okay and that he could go back to work.

Still he hesitated, and when I looked at him through my tears I could see there was more he wanted to say.

“Listen, Sienna, this whole accidental poisoning angle isn’t the only theory we’re working. There are other possibilities.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now that we’ve had a chance to do some background research, we’ve uncovered some things that complicate matters.”

I waited for him to go on, suddenly afraid from the look on his face that he had found out about my government investigation. From there, he might even have assumed that I had played a part in Troy’s death somehow. Was I about to be arrested?

“It’s starting to look like Troy Griffin had a gambling problem, not to mention some shady associates.”

Relief flooded my veins, and I had to force myself to remain expressionless. That wasn’t what I had expected him to say, not at all.

“Gambling problem? What kind of gambling?”

“
Every
kind. Cards, dice, horses, sports, you name it. Your ex-boyfriend was a real high roller. He went to Atlantic City all the time. In the past few months, he was there at least twice a week, sometimes every night.”

I should have been surprised by this news, but as I thought about it I realized I wasn’t. Back when we were dating, Troy loved playing poker with his buddies or taking clients to casinos.

He had even talked me into going to Atlantic City with him once. I had no interest in gambling, but a client had given Troy two front row tickets to a concert by one of my favorite bands, so I had agreed to go. We had ended up having a great time, making the easy one-hour drive from Philadelphia, enjoying the concert, and sharing a free dinner in a restaurant afterward. Before heading back home, Troy had insisted on playing a little roulette in the casino, saying it was a matter of etiquette because the reason we’d been given the free concert and dinner was so that we would spend some money at the tables.

We only stayed about an hour, which, with a few good wins, was just long enough for him to lose several hundred dollars. Except for that, our evening had been great fun.

“He used to gamble when we were dating,” I said to Mike now, “but I didn’t think he was addicted. Not then, anyway. Not to my knowledge.”

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that our real estate ventures had been like gambling to him. The further we went with it, the more he enjoyed it. The bigger the risks we took, the more excited he had grown. No wonder he had urged me on so. He was feeding the need that burned inside himself at my expense.

“As it turns out, Troy is—well,
was
—very much in debt,” Mike said. “When there’s a death, heavy debt is always a red flag, either for homicide or suicide.”

My eyes widened.

“You think Troy committed suicide? That he poisoned himself on purpose?”

“No. I’m thinking homicide, given the players involved.”

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my knees.

“You think Troy was killed over a debt he couldn’t pay?”