“Of course.” Ilene’s voice grew muffled. “I have your information.” She repeated Carlita’s email address. “I’ll forward a copy of the report.”
“Thank you.” She started to end the call. Ilene stopped her. “Do you plan to pick up the samples?”
“What are my other options?”
“We can dispose of them for you.”
Carlita hesitated. Technically, it was potential evidence, but the implications, putting Ravello’s in the center of another police investigation, were concerning.
Although it wouldn’t matter. The police had their samples and more than likely already had the results, which meant soon…very soon, the cops would be on her doorstep again, this time looking for her.
Reservations were already tanking. A full-blown investigation with news coverage was all it would take to ruin Ravello’s.
“Can you hang onto them for me? I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“Of course. While we were talking, I forwarded the report.”
“Thank you.” Carlita ended the call and sat staring blankly into space. A horrifying thought occurred to her. She dialed Arnie’s cell phone number.
“Hey, Carlita. I’ve been wondering if you heard back from the lab yet.”
“I just got off the phone with them.”
“What did they say?”
“The fettuccine contains traces of first-generation…” Carlita consulted the notes she’d jotted down while talking. “First-generation rat poison, not enough to kill someone but enough to make them sick. Do we have rat poison at the restaurant?”
“No. We have a local company that handles pest control. They use a non-lethal, non-toxic product safe for restaurants.”
Carlita clutched her chest. “That’s a relief.”
“Someone brought the poison with them and mixed it in the pasta?”
“It appears so.” She told him the lab was holding onto the samples until tomorrow, until she decided what to do with them.
“I’m sorry this happened,” Arnie said. “What is the saying? Let no good deed go unpunished. If you need me to do anything, let me know.”
“I will.” She thanked him. After ending the call, she opened her email account, confirming Ilene had forwarded the report.
Carlita skimmed through the entire document. Most of it was mumbo jumbo—technical terms she didn’t understand, although words popped out, the words Ilene had used including first-generation warfarin.
Using the cut-and-paste feature, she began researching side effects of the poison, all of them matching Sonny’s and Yvonne’s symptoms. Nausea, vomiting, stomach cramps.
Carlita thought about what Reese had told her: how Sonny complained about his motorcycle’s brakes not working. There was also the Thursday Riding Club’s accident. The more she learned, the more she was convinced Creed wasn’t the intended target. It was Sonny.
Perhaps Paul Maul was behind the frightening series of near-missesandeventual demise of the man, but how could Carlita prove it?
She tracked down the city’s website and typed Sonny’s name in the search bar. Drilling down, she finally found him listed under the tax commissioner’s office. His official title:Sonny Skidz, Tax Records Supervisor.
Pete returned home and found his wife seated at the kitchen counter, papers strewn everywhere. “What are you working on?” He hung his keys on the hook by the door and gave her a quick hug.
“I’m trying to piece together the events leading up to Sonny Skidz’s demise.”
“You finally heard from the lab?”
“I had to call them. They found traces of rat poison in the fettuccine.”
“Rat poison?”
