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Andrei leaned toward the speakerphone. “What does it do?”
“In smaller doses, it’s considered a painkiller or hallucinogen. In larger doses, it’ll kill. Although there wasn’t enough concentration in their blood to kill them, it would certainly have made them very high, docile and malleable.”
Andrei sat back, his mind wrapping around this new information. “Where would someone get this drug?”
The medical examiner paused before answering. “They don’t sell it in the drugstore, that’s for sure. And you can’t just order it online. Someone would have to grow the plant itself. Someone with an herb garden, possibly in a greenhouse.”
Silence stretched over a full minute before Gordon broke the tension. “That’s all the new information I have. I still have a few more things to check. Hope it helps.”
“Thanks, Gordon. It helps.” The captain hit the off button and stared down at the phone for several long moments. “Who has a greenhouse or herb garden in this area?”
Andrei’s mind wrapped around the knowledge that an herb was used in drugging the young women. The only person he knew who might understand the use of herbs was the woman he’d met this morning beside the cliff. “How long has Jocelyne Baker been back in town?”
Captain Swanson shook his head. “Not long enough to have committed the first three murders. Besides, she’s in good shape, but she’s not strong enough to strangle a full grown young woman, drugged or not.”
“Yeah, besides, she’s pregnant.” He glanced up at the captain. “Where’s the husband?”
“She told me that she came back alone. The father of her child isn’t part of her picture. Whatever that means.”
So she wasn’t married. A swell of relief filled Andrei’s conscience, and he quickly downplayed it. Not that he was interested in the strong-willed Jocelyne Baker. Although it was sad to think she’d be faced with raising her child alone.
Swanson tapped a finger to his chin. “Miss Baker might be a good source to consult over the use of this herb, henbane. Being a holistic healer, she’d have a good understanding of the chemical properties of natural substances.”
Andrei stood and stretched the kinks out of his back. “I’ll drop by the inn tomorrow and see if she knows anything. Maybe she can point to the nearest greenhouse or herb garden. After all, she’ll be looking for a new source of the herbs she uses in her business.”
Jocelyne Baker might be strong-willed, but Andrei couldn’t see her as a murderer. With nothing else to go on, he needed a straw to grasp and she was his straw. He had to find the murderer for his sister. If getting close to Jocelyne helped him in his search, then he’d stick to her like duct tape.
“I was by there earlier to get her statement and that mastic gum, so be forewarned she might be leery of another cop snooping around.” He patted his belly. “So far the stuff she gave me seems to be working. My stomach doesn’t hurt nearly as bad.”
Andrei’s lips twitched. The woman knew her stuff and she knew her mind. She’d given as good as she got when he’d held her against her will by the cliff. She sure as hell wouldn’t make it easy on him if he came around asking more questions. He’d have to come up with some way of making her want to help him. Make it sound like her idea. He’d have to turn on the Lagios killer charm.
The captain turned toward the door, stopped and glanced back. “While you’re at it, check out her mother.”
Andrei glanced up from plotting the strategy he’d use on the lovely Jocelyne, suddenly anxious to get started. “Isn’t she the one everyone thinks is a witch?”
“Yeah.” The captain’s eyes narrowed. “She might just be crazy enough to be in cahoots with the killer.”
Chapter Three
A restless night’s sleep did nothing to refresh Jocelyne’s mind or body. Her dreams had been full of the overwhelming sense of fear. Dark clouds churned the sky and some unknown hand stirred the sea into a slate-gray froth of swells, the waves slapping against the rocky shoreline.
In the relative safety of her childhood home, a dark stranger lurked in the shadows of the Cliffside Inn, waiting to strangle her and toss her into the sea. She’d been wearing the white skirt she’d worn yesterday, almost like the one the dead girl in the water had been wearing. Two times in the middle of the night, she’d awoken drenched in sweat as if she’d been running. The baby kicked in protest, recognizing its mother’s distress. Exhausted and dispirited from lack of sleep, Jocelyne gave up near dawn and climbed out of bed. She went to her computer, answering e-mails and responding to orders for her herbal remedies.
A couple hours later, the smell of bacon, eggs and homemade biscuits drifted through to her upstairs bedroom, reminding her of her need to nourish the growing child in her belly. Despite her intent to remain aloof from other boarders and guests of the inn, Jocelyne couldn’t resist the breakfast call and descended to the bottom floor.
In the kitchen, with an apron tied around her gently rounded figure, her long, fading red hair neatly twisted into a knot on top of her head, Hazel Baker scrambled eggs in a large skillet. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Could you hand me that bowl on the counter over there?”
Jocelyne settled into the routine she’d grown up with, helping her mother cater to the guests that made living in the huge old mansion possible. “What can I do to help?”
“Mr. Gibson likes toast instead of biscuits. Would you pop two slices in the toaster?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her mother scraped the eggs off the bottom of the pan and flipped them, careful not to brown the pale yellow. “You look tired, dear. Are you not feeling well?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Jocelyne slid two slices of bread into the toaster and prayed her mother wouldn’t question her too much on her dreams.
Hazel’s hands paused in stirring the eggs. “I’m not sure now was a good time for you to come home, honey.”
A lump settled in the empty cavity of Jocelyne’s belly. “What do you mean?” After all these years, she’d come home to mend fences and wash away all the built-up resentment of her childhood. And now her mother was trying to get rid of her?
“What with the curse and all, it’s just not safe for you and my grandbaby.” Her mother stared across the hardwood floors of the kitchen at Jocelyne, her gaze dropping to her daughter’s midsection before she turned back to the eggs. “Maybe you should go back to New Jersey.”
Her words hit with the force of a baseball bat to Jocelyne’s chest. “I can’t, Mom. I don’t have a home to go to. I gave up the lease on my apartment and I have my entire inventory here. I don’t have any other home. Raven’s Cliff is the only home I have left.”
“Don’t you have a friend you can stay with until after the baby is born? Maybe by then I’ll have come up with a cure for the curse.”
Jocelyne pulled the slices from the toaster and carefully laid them on a plate. Then she dusted the crumbs from her fingers and walked across the kitchen to where her mother scraped the eggs into a large serving tray. When she set the pan in the sink, Jocelyne stood in front of her. “What curse are you talking about?”
“Captain Raven’s curse, of course.”
“The one about Beacon Lighthouse? I thought that was an old fish story.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, my dear. Captain Raven left strict instructions that the lighthouse was to be lit and pointed to the exact position where his ship went down. He lost his entire family in that wreck, all those years ago.”
“So where does the curse come in?”
“The Sterling family kept the promise to shine the light on that day until five years ago. Young Nicholas Sterling the Third…forgot.” Her mother’s voice softened, her eyes became sadder.
Despite her determination not to let her mother’s superstitions affect her, Jocelyne couldn’t stop the goose bumps rising across her arms.
“When his grandfather saw that the light wasn’t lit, he climbed the steps himself, but it was too late. In his attempt to light the flame, he started a fire that destroyed the lighthouse. Nicholas tried to rescue his grandfather from the inferno, but he fell into the sea. It was all so horrible and his body was never recovered.” Her mother buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
The older woman had bought into the curse with all her heart. Jocelyne pulled her mother into her arms and held her, rubbing her back until the sobs diminished. When Hazel raised her head, tears trembled on faded red lashes, her pale skin splotchy and wet, emphasizing the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and the worry lines on her forehead. “I missed you, sweetie, but I’m so afraid for you.”
“Don’t worry about me, Mom. I can take care of myself. Why don’t you go lie down and let me finish getting the breakfast out on the table?”
“Oh, no, you’re the one who’s pregnant. You should go put your feet up. I’ll be all right.” She wiped the tears from her face with the corner of her apron.
“I’m pregnant, not crippled. I’m in better physical shape than I’ve ever been.” Jocelyne gently pried the spatula from her mother’s hand. “Let me help. It’s the least I can do to repay you for giving me a home to come to.”
“You’re always welcome, dear. This will always be your home. I just wish it was safe for you and your baby.” Her mother wiped her hands down the front of her apron and stared around the kitchen. “The biscuits will need to come out of the oven in a few minutes. Don’t forget the pancakes in the warmer.”
“I can find things, go lie down.” Jocelyne steered her mother toward the dining room.
Leah Toler was busy setting out napkin-wrapped silverware at each place setting. “Morning, Jocelyne.”
“My mother is going to lie down for a few minutes. I’ll be handling the kitchen duties.” She gave her mother a stern stare. “We’ll do just fine. Now go.”
“I’m not used to letting someone else handle the kitchen.”
“Then get used to having a little more help around here.” Jocelyne smiled at Leah to let her know her comment wasn’t meant to belittle Leah’s work. She’d been a godsend to her mother.
Once her mother was out of the dining area, Jocelyne turned to push the swinging door into the kitchen. At the same time, the door swung toward her, jamming her hand. Pain shot through her wrist and she jumped back. “Ouch!”
Rick Simpson strode into the dining room from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” He grabbed her hand and held it, studying her wrist for a brief second. His hands were cool and clammy like beached fish.
Jocelyne jerked her fingers out of his grasp. “I’m fine, you just surprised me. Most guests enter through the front door.” If her voice was sharp, count it up to the shards of pain shooting through her jammed fingers.
“So they do.” Simpson’s attention moved from her to the breakfast buffet set up against the wall of the large dining room. Without another word, he stepped around Jocelyne and lifted a plate so that he could be first in line when the food came out.
Jocelyne used her other hand to push the swinging door. “Jerk,” she muttered beneath her breath as she strode across the kitchen, shaking the kink out of her damaged hand.
“I hope you’re not referring to me.”
The voice behind her made her jump. “Don’t do that!” She faced the man who’d occupied much of her thoughts yesterday and most of last night in her dreams. If not for him, her nightmares would have been much worse, but that didn’t excuse him sneaking up on her.
He leaned against a counter, incredibly handsome in his police uniform.
“Guests enter through the front door, not the kitchen.” She marched to the oven and pulled out the tray of biscuits, ignoring the tingle of awareness she’d felt at his nearness.
“I’m not here to eat.” Andrei Lagios pushed away from the counter he leaned against and moved toward her, gliding like a jaguar toward his prey.
Had heat from the open oven caused the temperature to rise so dramatically in the room? Jocelyne stood in his path, her gaze fixed on his mesmerizing dark eyes. Not until heat seeped through the hot pad did she return to her senses. “Yow!” She looked for a place to set the hot tray but the countertops were full of the dishes to be carried to the dining room.
Andrei snatched an oven mitt from a hook on the wall and relieved Jocelyne of the laden cookie sheet. “Do you have a basket you want to put these in?”
“Uh, yes. Of course.” She scrambled for her wits and the basket her mother had set out. After laying a colorful cloth on the bottom and draping it over the side, she plucked each fluffy biscuit from the pan and dropped it into the basket, all the while gathering her thoughts. “Did you have further questions for me, or is this a social visit?”
“Questions.”
A small part of her that she had thought buried poked its disappointed head up. She squashed it down and dropped the last biscuit into the basket. “You can put the pan in the sink.”
While Andrei’s back was turned, Jocelyne took the opportunity to study the man who’d carried her most of the way back to town yesterday. Encased in a sexy blue-gray uniform shirt, his impossibly broad shoulders all but filled the air in the spacious kitchen. No wonder he could carry not only a woman, but a pregnant woman that far and not look the least worn out. He was a cop, he probably worked out on a regular basis. Jet-black hair was longer than what she’d consider regulation for a man in his profession, but then it made him look more dangerous, a rule breaker. And the eyes—
He chose that moment to face her and pin her with his ebony gaze. “I found out something interesting yesterday you might be able to help me with.”
“Me? I’ve been out of this town for close to ten years. I barely know anyone. How could I possibly help?” And she didn’t want to spend any more time than she had to with this man who made her feel strangely off balance.
Leah poked her head through the swinging door. “Better hurry with the food. The natives are restless.”
“You’re busy, let me help you get this food out before your customers start shouting.” He lifted a tray of scrambled eggs and the basket of biscuits and left the room through the swinging doors.
More intrigued than she cared to admit, Jocelyne grabbed the pancakes out of the warmer and the tray of condiments and followed. What had he found and why come to her?
ANDREI STOOD BACK WHILE Jocelyne arranged the food on the buffet, placing serving spoons and spatulas within easy reach. He admired her smooth efficiency and easy smile for the guests, finding himself envious of her attention.
The customers waited patiently in line until she’d finished. Andrei, with less patience than the hungry patrons, stood by the kitchen door, arms crossed over his chest, his toe tapping the wood flooring of the elegant old house. He’d been here for breakfast on one or two occasions, but he wasn’t here about food. He was here on business. Although the scent of bacon and pancakes were making his mouth water.
Finally, Jocelyne stood back and announced, “Help yourselves.” With that she grabbed her hot pads and hurried toward the kitchen, leaving the pretty blond worker to fill glasses.
Andrei held the door for her and as soon as it closed behind them, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Are you familiar with a plant called henbane?”
Jocelyne reached for the color picture of an ordinary-looking plant. “A little. I know that it’s dangerous. A person can die if given a lethal quantity. The pagans used it in Medieval Europe as a painkiller and sometimes as a poison….” She glanced up at him. “Why do you ask?”
“Do you know of anyone who might have access to it?”
Her brows drew together and her teeth chewed on her bottom lip. “It’s not something you can find easily in the States—” Jocelyne froze, her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No way. She wouldn’t.”
“Who wouldn’t what?”
She spun on her heels and flew toward a door at the opposite end of the kitchen, flinging it wide to reveal the entrance to a lower level beneath the house. Before he could stop her, she was racing down the steps into the darkness.
For a split second, panic seized Andrei’s chest and he rushed for the doorway, staring down into pitch black. A light flickered below and Jocelyne’s silhouette appeared.
“Wait.” He took the steps two at a time, catching the bottom step with the edge of his heel, stumbling before he could right himself.
The innkeeper’s red-haired daughter was nowhere in sight, but her footsteps echoed against the damp walls.
In the back corner of the sprawling subterranean room were long tables stretched out beneath fluorescent lights. Jocelyne hurried along the rows of greenery flourishing in the underground greenhouse.
Was she on to something? Had she found his source of the drug used on the four victims of the Seaside Strangler? Andrei hurried to catch up to her.
When she stopped before one plant, her face turned an alarming shade of white. “This is it…” Her voice came out in a whisper and she handed him the sheet of paper, pointing to the plant that was the exact replica of the picture he’d pulled from the Internet. “This is henbane.”
“Well, Ms. Baker. Seems we have a problem.”
“Oh, Mom, why do you have such a dangerous plant?” The self-assured and self-proclaimed independent woman, who’d had Andrei scratching his head since he’d met her, turned a sickly pale green and sank toward the floor in a dead faint.
Chapter Four
Strong, warm arms held her against a solid wall of muscles. Seems she’d been here before. Jocelyne opened her eyes and stared up into dark brown eyes, hooded in the shadows of the overhead lights. “Did I do it again?”
“Uh-huh.” He pushed a strand of her hair away from her face. “You’re not such a good advertisement for a holistic healer.”
“Shut up.” She pushed away from him and attempted to stand. Her knees refused to hold her weight and she fell back into Andrei’s lap. Despite the coolness of the basement’s musty interior, her cheeks heated. “My blood sugar must be low.” Only a healthy breakfast and maybe some dry toast would make her better.
He set her to the side on the cool stone flooring and rose to his feet, extending a hand to her. “How many months along are you?”
In one swift tug, he had her up on her feet.
The rush of air in her face and blood to her legs made her stagger and fall against his chest. “What business is it of yours?”
“A man kinda likes to know a few details when the woman with him faints into his arms. Twice.”
Jocelyne pushed away from him and smoothed a hand over the baby growing inside. “Six months. I’m six months along.”
“And the father?”
