“I’m telling you this because if I’m right, the killer is fixed on you and will try to rectify his or her mistake while you’re still in town.”
“He won’t just let bygones be bygones, huh?” Ugh. Not funny. You don’t have to crack a joke every time like some deranged court jester.
“Perhaps not. And if I’m right, the killer will now fixate on you. It’s likely someone you know, even if only peripherally.”
“Well, son of a buggering switch,” she managed, because sometimes actual profanity was woefully inadequate.
Seventeen
THE LIST
Avoid killer
Return union rep’s call
Sushi?
“You found what in my urine?”
“Marijuana, cocaine, meth, PCP, benzos, oxy, ecstasy, and PCP.”
For a second, Ava thought she was going to topple off the hotel bed. The room actually tilted a bit as she took in the rep’s words. “You … you said PCP twice.”
“Yeah, well … there was a lot of it.”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
“Oh, and you’ve also got a vitamin C deficiency.”
Wait, so I might actually be getting scurvy? That’s amazing!
This is not what you should be focusing on. “Jan, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Drink more orange juice?”
“I don’t actually give a shit about the vitamin C thing, Jan!”
“Sorry.” The union rep let out a polite cough. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“The mood should not be lightened, Jan. At all. What is going on?”
“Well, you know how it goes. I got a call from the MRO* and your drop wasn’t clean.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Ava muttered.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jan admitted. “I’m pretty sure there are full-on meth addicts who don’t have as many drugs in their system as you do right now.”
“Jesus Christ! Jan, I’m aware that most people who flunk a drug test instantly insist the lab must have made a mistake, but I’m telling you, the lab must have made a mistake!”
“Pretty big one.”
“I know how it sounds. But I swear I’m telling the truth. If I was rocking on weed and coke and meth and PCP and ecstasy and PCP and … uh…”
“Benzos and oxy.”
“Right! If I was high to my eyeballs on all that, don’t you think someone would have noticed?”
“Yes.”
“Look, I don’t care what we have to—wait, you’re agreeing?”
“Yes.” Jan lowered her voice. “Ava, I’m willing to bet my reputation that it’s a mistake. I mean … c’mon. That’s just a ridiculous amount of drugs. I know you had a problem way way back in the day, but you’ve never flunked one of these in all the time you’ve been working here. Hell, I remember when you self-reported eating a non-pot brownie. You said it was so good it might be laced with something. That’s how careful you are.”
“That was a good brownie,” Ava admitted. Moist, but with chewy outer edges and yummy and dense. Two kinds of chocolate … mmm. Which wasn’t relevant. But Jan’s tact was. Especially since “you had a problem back in the day” could also be described as “when you were barely old enough to vote, you were so hooked on Ambien you needed eight a night to sleep.”
“Obviously, we’re going to run another test ASAP. But … you know the rules.”
“Yeah.” Company policy—any dicey test results = grounded for seventy-two hours. Minimum.
“You’re still at MSP, yes?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Right. Well, stay put for a bit. There are two DOT-compliant NIDA labs in the area—Hastings and Cottage Grove. You know the area, right?”
“I grew up here.” Hastings was a charming river town about twenty minutes away from Saint Paul. If she had to be in Minnesota, she could tolerate Hastings for the access to Emily’s Bakery if nothing else.
Cottage Grove was where she and Danielle had lived. And where one of them had died. Cottage Grove.
“I’ll get you an appointment wherever’s quickest for another test,” Jan was saying, “and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay, Jan. Thanks so much. Sorry for all the screaming. I know you didn’t want to be the bearer of bad tidings.”
“Actually, I get off on it. And it would have been weird if you hadn’t screamed. That is a shit ton of drugs.”
“Your delicate way with words is always an inspiration.”
Ava hung up, still freaked but relieved Jan believed her and was being accommodating. Her cynical side pointed out that Northeastern Southwest had no interest in letting the world find out Captain Bellyflopper was possibly a raging meth/weed/coke/PCP/benzo/oxy/ecstasy/PCP addict. But whatever the reason, she was grateful.
And now that she was temporarily grounded, she could help Tom. Which should not have cranked her heart rate, but there you go. Or maybe it was the fake meth making her pulse spike. Either way, she had more calls to make.
* * *
“Good God, are you all right?”
A complex question that demanded an even more complex answer. But she doubted G.B. had that kind of time. “I’m fine if the bar is set at ‘Were you murdered?’ but much less fine if the bar is set at ‘Did something weird and terrible happen last night?’”
“I saw it on the news.” Doubtless while eating fistfuls of kettle corn, going by the chewing in Ava’s ear. G.B. and kettle corn had a long and complex history. “Some loser actually vandalized the funeral home?”
“Yes. And the ME thinks it might have triggered Danielle’s killer. Or been done by her—wait, it made the news in Vegas?”
“Yeah, tenth anniversary of Danielle’s death and all that. I don’t think it would have gone national if not for the whole trashing-the-place thing. And why are you talking to medical examiners?”
“It’s a long story. Well, it isn’t, but I don’t want to go into it right now because I just got some bad news from Jan.” She shared the gory details and heard G.B. nearly choke on his popcorn.
“Jesus Christ!”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“That sucks! That is epically sucky to the nth degree!”
“Well put.”
“So you’re grounded. Right? Seventy-two hours?” Munch. “Which is a goddamned shame because you’re one of our best—never mind.” Crunch. “Look, deadhead home and we’ll hang out.” Munch-munch. “Don’t be alone.”
“Too late.” She was touched by his offer, and she knew he’d overnight a canister of kettle corn to her if she asked, but he couldn’t help her with anything nonpopcorn- or nonflying-related just now.
The person who could, though? Was right here in the Twin Cities. So for now she wasn’t budging. Well, she was budging, but she wouldn’t cross state lines. Yet. “But I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, that’s your code for ‘I’m putting the emotional wall right back up and will retreat rather than engage.’”