Ramsey’s cheeks puffed before she blew out a breath. She pushed her plate away and poured herself a glass of red. “What’s the connection in your mind? Obviously, you’ve made one.”
“I’m entertaining one. There was a can of Caribbean Coast on the kitchen table of the last OD I responded to this week. No paint job in progress or one that had been recently completed, but the can had been opened and resealed. There were drippings on the can and some spattering on the table. I can’t say the same about the other overdoses. Maybe there were cans where I couldn’t see them. Maybe there were no cans at all.”
“Not a lot to hang your hat on.”
“Exactly.”
“But your hypothesis is that there are drugs inside the Coast cans. Is that it?”
“See? That’s why I kept it to myself. Ridiculous, right?”
“I don’t know. What kind of drugs?”
“Fentanyl. Bagged, of course.”
“The paint isn’t terribly expensive.”
“Neither is fentanyl. A little goes a long way.”
“Have you considered just buying a can of Caribbean Coast and looking inside?”
“Sure. Thought it. Did it. Nada.”
“Nada?”
“Paint. Nothing but paint. Now I own a gallon of a color so boring that I wouldn’t use it on a bet.”
“I seem to recall that your bathroom walls are bisque.”
“They’re biscuit.”
“Yikes. My bad.”
“It has hints of pale gray. Bisque is more of an off-white shade.”
“Good to know. I beg your pardon. Obviously, you watch more HGTV than I do.”
“No, probably not. Biscuit was on sale.”
Ramsey laughed, shook her head, and returned to the real concern regarding the paint. “But you’re still thinking there’s something about the paint. You wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”
“It could be a specific lot number.”
“Or it could be you’re way out in left field.”
“Or it could be that.”
“But then you could be onto something. When I was chatting with Mason, I noticed that the men clustered in paints didn’t talk much. No one looked strung out. I’m pretty good at evaluating that. It’s part of my personal safety plan.”
Recalling that she had stopped a meth head exiting the store, Sullivan arched an eyebrow at her. “Oh? You have a personal safety plan?”
“I didn’t say I always follow it. Sometimes a shoplifter pisses me off and I can’t help myself.” She sipped more of her wine. “How can I help? You want me to scope out lot numbers, start an inventory?”
“Have you already forgotten what I said about interfering?”
“That? You were serious about that?”
“Uh-huh. Don’t make me regret telling you.”
