Southern Poison (26 page)

Chuck gave Peggy a salon gift certificate to get herself fixed up and had some clothes and shoes delivered to her apartment. It made her feel pampered, she said over and over again as she thanked him. Showing off a new haircut and style, and wearing a slinky white cocktail dress, Peggy was now presentable. Almost pretty. She hadn’t quite gotten the hang of walking in the heels, but the dress showed off her slim figure and shapely breasts.

Before they left his hotel room for the mixer, Chuck made Peggy promise not to discuss her work in the lab, for obvious reasons. Confidentiality was imperative, he told her, and in a few more months, when he sold off the Derma-Zing branch of his company, she’d be a wealthy woman. He made sure to periodically dangle the money carrot, and so far it had worked to keep her motivation up. That, and the fact that Peggy thought their personal relationship held promise. The gullible idiot actually believed he was in love with her. Chuck planned to fuel the fantasy, right up until the chemist had served her purpose.

Walking into the hotel, Peggy grabbed his arm—only slightly wobbling on her heels—and stretched to kiss his cheek. “Oh, Chuck. This is fabulous. I’m so glad we’ve started going out, to do things together.”

Chuck almost scolded her for kissing him in public when a thought bloomed. On the off chance that Project Antisis were to be discovered, he could pin everything on his chemist. She would make the perfect scapegoat. She worked solo and had zero social life. He could claim to know nothing of her past research with fertility drugs.
He’d simply made a bad judgment call by dating an employee, and everyone who saw them together could vouch for the fact that Peggy was enamored with him. All he’d have to do is explain that Peggy was so screwed up in the head because he broke up with her. She was a terrific insurance policy.

He rubbed her back. “You look very pretty, Peggy. And I’m glad you’re having a good time. Just remember what I said about not talking work to anyone, understand?”

“Okay.”

Chuck rarely drank alcohol, but tonight would be an exception. He found a bar and ordered a screwdriver for himself and a glass of wine for Peggy. When he passed it to her, she declined.

“I thought you wanted to have fun tonight, Peggy,” he said. “Lighten up a little.”

Not wanting to disobey him, she took the glass of wine and pretended to sip. As soon as he wasn’t looking, she quickly poured some of the liquid out, into a discarded lowball glass. The doctor told her it would be best to completely abstain from alcohol and she eagerly agreed. She wasn’t even going to take aspirin or acetaminophen.

Hanging prominently above the stage where a live band pumped out music he didn’t recognize, a large Derma-Zing banner was illuminated by two spotlights. Chuck didn’t recognize anyone in attendance, but the coordinator made it a point to introduce him and ignite conversations. The party was what he expected: average hors d’oeuvres, loud music, a few local newspaper photographers snapping human interest pictures, smiling businesspeople and professionals who’d come to network, parents of aspiring Miss North Carolina contestants, and lots of pretty girls—most of whom wore delicate ankle or wrist designs. Eyes scanning the ballroom, he spotted one of his spokesmodels strutting his way.

“Hiya, Doc!” Lindsey
, said, reaching Holloman first. I’d driven her and a friend to the Wilmington Hilton, where Derma-Zing had sponsored a charity event.

“Why, hello ladies.” He bumped Lindsey’s fist when she held it out. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a local celebrity now. I get invited to all these things. Besides, your PR lady told me I need to start making more public appearances, even though you don’t pay me for all the extra time.”

He laughed. “You’ve been reimbursed quite nicely for your time so far. By the way, how are you feeling?”

The girl shrugged. “Okay, I guess. My stomach still hurts, so the doctor is going to run some tests.”

“Really? What tests?”

“Nothing major, Dr. Holloman,” I intervened. Lindsey’s medical history was none of his business. “We didn’t realize you were in town.”

He pointed to the Derma-Zing banner. “My company is a sponsor,
Jersey. We support all types of charitable causes in communities nationwide.”

“You mean your company ECH Chemical Engineering&Consulting, in Roanoke?”

The comment caught him off guard and I sensed his memory backtracking to recall if he’d ever mentioned Derma-Zing’s parent company in front of me. “Why, yes, that’s right,” he said.

I turned my attention to the woman standing next to Holloman, nervously fidgeting with her wineglass. Since Holloman hadn’t bothered, I introduced myself and Lindsey, explaining that Lindsey had done the Derma-Zing television commercials.

“Magazine spreads, too,” Lindsey said.

The woman looked up and did a half-smile. “Hello, I’m Peggy Lee.”

She looked much different tonight, I realized, but Peggy Lee was the woman I’d met in the doctor’s office waiting room. The pregnant chemist. Before I could acknowledge that we’d already met, the woman excused herself and hurried off, walking as though her shoes hurt her feet.

Holloman ushered me and Lindsey away from the too-loud music. We found a table and, when I mentioned that I was starved, he graciously left to get a plate of finger foods. As soon as he’d gone, I asked Lindsey if she’d been discussing her doctor visits with Holloman. Sure, she replied. He called almost every day to see how she felt, ever since he heard she’d been sick. That factoid sent a chill along my spine. Why was he so interested in Lindsey’s health? From where he stood, she was simply one of several Derma-Zing models, and none were indispensable. I told Lindsey never to discuss anything personal with the man, starting right now. She didn’t understand why, but agreed with a shrug and a “whatever.”

Holloman returned with a plate of peeled shrimp and freshly cut fruit, each stabbed with a toothpick. He told us to help ourselves.

“Is your father here tonight?” he asked Lindsey.

Lindsey ate a bite of cantaloupe. “Nope. Jersey brought me and a friend. Cindy’s outside talking on her cell phone, but she’ll be here in a minute.”

“That’s too bad.” He finished his orange juice. Since a lime wedge floated among the ice, I assumed the glass contained vodka, too. Odd, since he’d never had an alcoholic drink during all the times he’d been at my pub. He’d never had Peggy Lee on his arm, either. “I want to tell Mr. Oxendine what a fabulous job you’ve done for us,” Holloman said.

“Thanks,” she said, and spotting her friend, excused herself. Talking with Holloman was one thing, but letting her friends see her hanging at a table with the adults was another. That would be totally not cool in Lindsey’s world.

When the girl moved out of earshot, Holloman quizzed me about my knowledge of his company. The fact that I knew of ECH bothered him, which made me wonder why it mattered. I find the direct approach works well, especially to shock someone into showing a reaction. I’d done a background check, I told him, and learned that ECH produced quite a few different adhesives for commercial use. Most impressive, I said, was the government contract he’d just secured to manufacture a new sealant material for hazmat suits.

His mouth pursed briefly and something flashed in his eyes. Anger? Surprise? “You’re quite thorough for a bar owner, Miss Barnes. That’s confidential information, as we’re a privately held corporation.”

I gave him my bimbette smile, complete with a hair toss. “Really?”

“It’s been nice talking, but I should go find my date and circulate.” He stood up, leaving the food and his empty glass. “Tell Lindsey I said good-bye, will you?”

I’d been keeping my radar on Peggy Lee and knew she’d gone into the hotel’s corridor. I dumped the ice from Holloman’s glass, wrapped the glass in a napkin, and dropped it in my handbag. Following
Peggy Lee, I caught a flash of white dress as she disappeared into the women’s restroom.

I found her standing at the sink, doing a bad job of applying lipstick. Her wineglass sat on the counter. “Peggy Lee, hi, it’s Jersey. Remember me from the doctor’s office?”

She stared at my reflection in the mirror with nervous eyes.

I handed her a paper towel to blot the lipstick. “What’s wrong? You left so quickly, we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

She realized she was supposed to use the paper towel on her lips, and did so. “Please don’t say anything to anyone about the baby, okay?”

I dug in my handbag to find some lipstick of my own and swiped the tube across my lips. “Sure, okay. Your business is your business. But I have to say that I don’t think you should be drinking.”

“Oh, I’m not.” She turned to me, unsure of whether or not to confide in a stranger. I gave her my friendly woman-to-woman smile. “I’ve been pouring the wine out,” she finally said.

“Whatever works,” I said, sounding like Lindsey.

“See, Chuck doesn’t know I’m pregnant,” she explained. “I mean I was all excited when I found out and couldn’t wait to tell him. But then his reaction … well, he didn’t want a baby. He thinks the earth is already overpopulated. As far as he knows, I got an abortion.”

“How do you know Charles Holloman? I mean, Chuck.”

“I actually work for him.”

“You’re a chemist, right?”

She nodded. “I’ve got a lab here in Wilmington. I make a raw material for Chuck.”

“What else does your lab do?”

“It’s really his lab. But I’m the only chemist there.” She bent over to adjust the strap on a shoe. “I only make the one ingredient, and it gets shipped to the production company for—”

“Production company for what?”

Clamming up, Peggy Lee said that Chuck was probably looking for her. I agreed that he was.

“Lindsey is a beautiful girl,” Peggy Lee said. “Is she your daughter?”

“She’s my best friend’s daughter, but to me, she’s family.”

A vertical crease appeared between her eyes as Peggy Lee headed out of the restroom.

“Don’t forget your glass.” I handed the wineglass to her, along with a Barnes Agency business card. “Call me anytime you need to talk. And I won’t say anything to Chuck about your baby, promise.”

She dropped the card into her purse, poured half her wine into the sink, and left with a tentative wave.

My mobile phone buzzed and the display was JJ’s number—her signal that the job was done. I headed outside and found her in the valet parking area.

“All set,” she said. “You’ve got full coverage on Holloman’s rental car. I’ll let you know where he goes and what he does for the rest of the week. He’s reserved the car through Sunday. By the way, how’d you know he’d be here?”

“The PR lady told Lindsey she really needed to attend, since Derma-Zing is a main sponsor. Figured Holloman would want to see that his money is being well spent,” I said. “What about our equipment?”

“Manager at the rental company will hold the car until I recover the electronics. I made up some private-detective-cheating-spouse story. Told him I needed to check the car for ticket stubs, that sort of thing. Cost you a hundred bucks.”

“Good job. Let me round up Lindsey and Cindy, and let’s get out of here.”

JJ stuck out a hip. “Can’t I at least come in and get something to eat? You promised me free chow.”

“You look like a cat burglar. Besides, I meant you’d get free food at the Block.”

Bored, Lindsey and her friend sat in the hotel lobby, applying a Derma-Zing design to a grinning valet parking attendant. I asked if they were ready.

“Sure,” she said. “This party blows.”

I’d parked the corpse caddy across the street and once on the road, Lindsey and Cindy cranked up their music in the back. JJ pushed the button to close the sliding divider. “Cripes. Did we used to like that kind of noise?”

“Probably,” I said, lifting my dress to remove the Sig and thigh holster. I checked my rear- and side-view mirrors out of habit. The roads were quiet, normal, except for Ashton’s coverage, which I’d already spotted earlier in the evening. One of them had stayed with the hearse and the other tried to meld with the partygoers. I ignored them, just like I was supposed to.

My mobile phone chimed, alerting me to a text message. I handed the phone to JJ and asked her to read it.

“Who’s Jill?” she said and read the message out loud.

Jill Burns is a nice name. Jersey Barnes is a better one.

So John Mason hadn’t left town. And he had done some digging. “My roach coach alias,” I said, realizing that not only had the identity of my boat been compromised, but now, he knew the name and whereabouts of both the Barnes Agency and the Block.

Using JJ’s phone, I placed a call to Ashton.

Think you’re untouchable? Think again.

The second text message that came from an unknown sender was more sinister than the first. When I alerted Ashton, he wanted to put me in a safe house until the “situation” was over. I refused, logic telling me that a former SWEET agent would be able to track down a safe house. He’d never become a true field agent, but John Mason had made it through the first level of training. If he wanted to find me, he would. My strategy was to be prepared and, as Ox had taught me, hope the spirits were on my side when it happened. Meanwhile, I needed to find out what Edward Charles Holloman was up to.

Rather than force me into a safe house, Ashton put full coverage on me, the Barnes Agency, the Block, and my vacant boat. He read me the riot act about keeping my cell phone powered on and went so far as to suggest a microchip bracelet. I knew the price tag for my protection continued to grow and wondered if Ashton was sorry he’d called me back into service. I didn’t fret over the flowing government dollars for too long, though. The background research on Peggy Lee
Cooke and Holloman proved a much more interesting use of my time.

The fingerprint obtained from Holloman’s glass revealed that he’d applied for a conceal-carry permit, which meant he had a predisposition to be armed but also held an appreciation for rules. They also told me that Holloman didn’t have a criminal record. His parents were killed in an overseas industrial accident, after which Holloman founded his chemical engineering company. What struck me as suspicious, however, were the radical environmental causes that he supported. His company prospered by making all sorts of commercial adhesive products and sat nowhere near the green end of the environmentally friendly scale. Yet he gave hundreds of thousands of dollars to a hardcore cult whose mission was to reduce usage of the earth’s natural resources.