“That doesn’t sound like Lucy.” Nate settled the bag he was carrying over his shoulder. “Look, I can’t let you back on the crime scene. You’re too close to this, but you can do some research. If you don’t want to research the company, you can figure out where the nearest place a person could buy cyanide from would be.”
“The Dark Web is where I would go.”
“Lucy doesn’t own a computer. I don’t think she would know how to access the Dark Web even if she did.”
“It could all be an act. She could know far more than she’s saying, and she could find a computer to use.” Michael felt stupid pointing these things out. They sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, but he also knew he would have felt the same way if he’d said them about Jessie at the time.
“We could check the new library branch.” Nate was obviously placating him. “It opened last month, and they have three whole computers anyone can use and the best Internet access in the valley.”
“I’m just saying, if a person wants it badly enough, they can make it happen.” He wasn’t wrong about that. He’d seen it time and time again. “I don’t know much about cyanide. I can take a look into it and write up a report.”
“I would appreciate that. I don’t know much about it either. I worked for the DEA for years, but that wasn’t the kind of drug we dealt with,” Nate admitted.
A familiar figure caught Michael’s eye. Nell Flanders walked toward the elevator, Henry beside her. Nell had a bundle in her arms.
He’d spent time with Nell Flanders. He’d known she was an author before most of Bliss had. He also knew she was a walking encyclopedia of weird knowledge. Nell had written twenty plus romance novels, many of them romantic suspense with surprisingly gruesome murders for the hero and heroine to solve.
She would likely be on several FBI watch lists if her husband wasn’t so good at getting around the Internet without leaving a footprint.
“Nell,” he called out.
She turned, her gaze going straight to him. Her expression immediately softened, and she strode over. “Michael, I’m so sorry poor Lucy got caught up in all of this. How is she?”
“Please let her know we’re here for her,” Henry said before turning to Nate. “I finished the initial interview with Sylvan Dean. He was very helpful and concerned for Lucy. I wrote up the report. It contains all my thoughts, but I can tell you I don’t think he did it.”
“Have you talked to Lucy?” Michael asked. Henry’s CIA training made him an excellent interrogator.
Henry snorted while Nell full out laughed.
Then they both seemed to realize Michael wasn’t joking, and Henry cleared his throat. “Uhm, no. I don’t have to talk to Lucy to know she’s not capable of this kind of premeditated action. She could protect herself, but she couldn’t coldly plan a murder.”
Nell smiled up at her husband. “It was nice to watch Henry work. He’s very good at getting people to talk.”
She had that glowy look he’d wanted to see on Lucy’s face. She bounced her baby slightly. Poppy Flanders was six months old, and apparently her parents took her everywhere. Including interrogations.
“Nell, what do you know about cyanide?”
Nell’s eyes widened. “Is that what was used on that poor man? And by poor I mean it’s sad when anyone dies, but his corporation is a blight on the planet. I haven’t personally looked into Foster Incorporated, but I know they’ve been cited for environmental concerns in several countries.”
“Caleb believes it was very likely cyanide,” Nate assured her.
Nell held her baby closer. “That’s a terrible way to go, though at least it’s quick.”
“You know about cyanide?” Nate pointed Henry’s way. “I would expect him to know, not you.”
Henry’s hands came up. “I never used poison. Only guns and knives. And my hands. One time a spatula and five toothpicks.”
Nell’s glowy smile was back. “He was clever at using whatever was around him. When you think about it, he was very earth friendly. But he doesn’t do that anymore. And of course I know. I’m starting a new series of mysteries. It’s about a former spy who falls in love with a romance author, and they travel the world solving the mysterious deaths of the people who are murdered around them.”
“Okay, that sounds weird,” Nate said with a frown. “Why would people be murdered around them?”
Henry shrugged. “Murder, She Wrote ran for twelve seasons. Every person Angela Lansbury ran into dropped dead, and not once did anyone accuse her of being a serial killer.”
“Henry thinks Jessica Fletcher committed all the murders herself.” Nell sent her husband the stink eye. “It’s a very misogynistic view.”
Henry held his hands up. “I’m just saying it was a lot of murder around one seemingly harmless woman. And also, it would have been a great twist. They could have had a final episode that revealed how she did all the killings and covered them up by proving someone else did it.”