Jolene yelped and scrambled back, her boots squeaking on the polished tile, phone still clutched in her hand.
“Aiden,” I gasped, stumbling forward. His body sprawled between the benches, shoulder twisted awkwardly beneath one. He was out cold. Completely gone.
Chapter 30
After leaving Aiden at the small Silverville community hospital, where he had already driven one nurse to quit, I slid my Fiat to the curb in front of Nana’s shop and climbed out. Bulging gray clouds stacked above the street, and the wind cut through my jacket. Another rainstorm crept closer and would probably smother the entire town in minutes.
I crossed the sidewalk and halted at the window next door. A new sign hung inside Gloria’s place, right by the Walton Optometry notice: Gloria’s Supplements: We Don’t Drug You. I read it again. My mood, already raw, dropped another notch.
I knocked on Nana’s door. She opened at once and pulled me in, the bell giving a quick jingle.
Her eyes widened. “How is Aiden? I would’ve gone with you, but that reporter wouldn’t leave. I needed to get away from her.”
“I know. Jolene O’Sullivan never quits,” I said, wondering which story she’d chase first, Nana’s arrest or Aiden Devlin passing out. I tried to block her, but she grabbed shots of him out cold, wedged between benches. “For now, we focus on the tea and what happened.”
“Okay.” Nana moved behind the counter where receipts covered the surface. “We sold all of the tea they claim got spiked.”
“All right.” I exhaled hard. I hadn’t had time to talk to her or the sheriff. The second Aiden opened his eyes, I hauled him to the hospital, where the doctor had admitted him with orders to take it easy. Aiden didn’t even know what easy meant. I rubbed the back of my neck, heat and worry grinding at the same spot.
Aiden always felt invincible to me, like nothing could touch him. Then he hit that bench and folded. The sound kept looping in my head, a dull crack that turned my stomach. He carried strength like most people carried breath, and yet I had watched the lights go out in his eyes. No control. No warning. I kept seeing his hand reach for mine and then miss, fingers sliding off the polished wood. The room had tilted. I hated that feeling, the one where I couldn’t fix a thing.
“I doubt I can hold him in that hospital,” I said. “He’ll push to leave by tomorrow. Maybe sooner.”
Nana nodded. “All right. Back to the tea. I don’t know, dear. Here are my receipts.”
“Hold up,” I said, catching her wrist before she could retreat into the stack. “What did the sheriff say? How did they even learn about the mushrooms being in the tea?”
“Oh, the O’Connor kid. Jimmy, the one in high school. He got high after drinking the tea. His grandma gave it to him for a sore throat. He’s fine now.” She shook her head. “So the sheriff came, and I didn’t have any more tea to give to him. I handed over my receipts, and he’s tracking most of them down.”
I blinked. “You’d sold quite a few cylinders of it before I arrived to help you.”
“Yes. Brad Backleboff bought twenty of them.” She smiled. “I thought it kind of him.”
Kind? Yeah, that was suspicious. How, I wasn’t sure. “I’ll talk to him.”
She looked tired, color leached from her cheeks. “I don’t understand how this happened.”
“Okay.” I pressed my fingertips to my eyes. Lavender and eucalyptus drifted from the diffuser, the usual calm trying to land. My pulse kept kicking. “Let’s start with the supply chain. Give me the name of your distributor.”
She blanched. “Honey, I really don’t want to do that.”
I held the counter and breathed, slow and steady. The shop usually settled me right away. Shelves sat neat and full, labels straight, jars catching the low light. The old wood floor carried a soft polish, the scent clear and familiar. None of it reached the knot in my chest.
Even so, I softened my voice for my grandmother. “I need the name of that distributor. If a bad batch slid through, I want a contact, a phone number, a warehouse, anything. We need to move fast, Nana.”
Nana glanced toward the back room, then back to me. She hesitated, guilt creeping into her eyes.
“I know you want to protect people,” I said, voice low. “Right now, protecting means answers.”
The bell over the door clicked in a soft draft. Outside, the wind picked up. Clouds pressed lower, streetlights flickering even though afternoon still held. I squared my shoulders and met her gaze. “Name. Number. Then we start calling.”
Nana looked around the shop, her eyes darting. “Yes, dear?”
“Nana.” My tone sharpened.
Finally, her gaze met mine. “What?”
“I’m your lawyer. You have to help me help you.”
