Archer looked thoughtful. “Owen always was a pretty good shot with a hunting rifle. I assume he was the one who tried to take you out that day at the old ranch house?”
“Right,” Jake said. “He followed me when I left the Glazebrook offices that day. It was a desperate, preemptive attempt to get rid of me. When that failed he went back to the drawing board and came up with the steamed veggie plan instead.”
“Bizarre,” Myra said.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “So bizarre I wouldn’t be surprised if the enhancement drug had begun to affect the rational side of his mind.”
Archer’s brows bunched. “How the hell did he know you were going to search his house that night after you returned from Tucson?”
“He didn’t,” Jake said. “But he was watching my place, waiting for an opportunity to collect Clare and me to cart us off to the spa. He saw me drive away just as he was getting ready to move in on us. He followed me.”
“Straight back to his house,” Elizabeth said. “Where he took you out with his psychic mind blast.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t circulate that story too widely,” Jake said. “I don’t think it would be good for business.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Don’t worry. Who, aside from a few folks at Jones & Jones, would believe us if we told them that Owen Shipley was a psychically enhanced sociopath involved with a mysterious cabal intent on building secret labs to create new versions of an ancient alchemical formula?”
Myra shuddered. “Don’t even think about telling anyone in Stone Canyon. We would be asked to cancel our membership at the country club, and I would very likely have to step down from any number of boards. I assure you, no one around here would want a person who took psychic cabals and alchemical formulas seriously to be president of the board of directors of the Arts Academy.”
Archer sat forward abruptly, startling all of them.
“Hell,” he said, “those injections Owen was taking. I’ll bet that was the para-enhancer.”
“What injections?” Jake asked.
“A couple of times when I was with him Owen had to stop and give himself a shot,” Archer explained. “The last time was on the day Valerie died. He told me it was medication for some kind of neurological problem. Said he didn’t want anyone to know about it because he had his image to maintain.”
Jake drummed his fingers on the table. “Wonder if there’s any of the stuff left at the Shipley house. Fallon would give a lot to get his hands on it to run some tests.”
“The refrigerator,” Myra said slowly.
“What are you talking about, Mom?” Elizabeth asked.
“I went to see Valerie one afternoon about a week ago,” Myra said. “Owen asked me to do it. He was trying to cement the image of Valerie being in need of rehab, I suppose.”
“What happened?” Clare asked.
“Valerie was drunk, as usual,” Myra said. “She offered me a cocktail. I said no. She said there was a fresh pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator in the kitchen and told me to help myself. So I did.”
Archer gave her an inquiring look. “What are you getting at, honey?”
“There was a glass vial stored in the very back on the top shelf. It looked like a regular medicine bottle but I remember thinking it was odd that there was no label on it. You know how carefully pharmacies label meds.”
Jake was on his feet, anticipation flowing off him in waves. “The drug must require refrigeration. Not many places in a household can provide that. Damn. I’ve got to get over there before the cops think to search the kitchen.”
Chapter Fifty
No one looked pleased to see him when he arrived at the Shipley house, but he was waved inside.
“Guess we owe you that much,” the detective in charge said. “And you’re a pro. You know enough to stay out of the way and not contaminate anything. Not that we’re turning up anything useful here.”
Jake wandered into the kitchen. There was no one in the room. He opened the refrigerator. The unlabeled bottle of clear fluid was still sitting on the top shelf.
He tucked the bottle inside a pocket and made his way leisurely to the front door. A man stood just outside, trying to talk his way into the crime scene.
“The name is Taylor,” the stranger said. He sounded edgy. “I’m with the Phoenix Star.”
“Sorry, Mr. Taylor, no press allowed inside,” the young officer said firmly.
“Look, my editor is going to be really pissed if I don’t get this story,” Taylor said. “Give me a break here.”
Jake felt his hunter senses stir. Taylor practically vibrated with tension. Definitely not your typical hard-bitten, seen-it-all-and-written-about-it crime reporter. Running hot.
“Excuse me,” Jake said, moving past Taylor and the cop.
Taylor swung around abruptly, eyes darkening with sudden suspicion. “Who are you?”
“Knew the family,” Jake said casually. Clare was right. He did do the truth-veiled-in-a-lie thing rather well.
He walked back to the car and got inside. Taylor threw him one last uneasy look and then resumed his urgent appeal to the cop.
Jake reached into the glove compartment, removed the small digital camera he kept there and took a shot of the reporter.
Might be nothing at all, he thought. But he would e-mail it to Fallon when he got home. Couldn’t hurt.
When he loaded the photo onto his computer a short time later he realized that he had taken a pretty good picture. Taylor’s features were very clear. Fallon ought to be able to identify him fairly easily.
He studied the picture for a long moment and concluded that he had been right back at the Shipley house. The hunter in him had sensed more than tension in Taylor. What he had detected was fear.
He picked up his phone and dialed the familiar number.
“What have you got?” Fallon asked.
“I think the cabal sent someone out to collect what was left of the drug Shipley was taking. Guy called himself Taylor. Said he was a reporter. I’ve got a photo for you.”
“What about the drug?” Fallon asked urgently.
“Got that, too.”
“You just earned that inflated consulting fee that you’re charging J&J.”
Chapter Fifty-one
Two days later…
“Owen Shipley was committed to a psychiatric hospital for observation?” Clare lowered the morning edition of the Stone Canyon Herald and looked at Jake, who had just ended a call.