I’d almost made it when a car going about eighty miles an hour came flying into the lane, illuminating me in its high beams. It swerved and came screeching to a halt, spraying mud all over me.
A few seconds later, Serrano appeared through the fog and wrapped me in his arms.
I clung to him, trying to tell him about Ardine and the syringe, but all that came out was a garbled mess.
Serrano’s clipped voice cut through my incoherent babbling. “Calm down, Daisy. Where is she?”
I pointed toward the trailer with a shaking finger.
“Get in the car.”
“I’m all muddy.”
“Come on.”
I hobbled around to the passenger side, got in, and he took off at high speed. I gripped the armrest, thrown back against the seat as we nearly went airborne bumping over potholes. Behind us, I could see headlights in the wing mirror from two more cruisers pulling into the lane.
Serrano slammed the brakes on when the piles of salvage blocked our way and jumped out of the car, gun drawn. “Stay here, Daisy.”
The other officers followed him, splashing through mud, and I watched as they all ran over to where Ardine lay on the ground, not moving.
Holy crap. Had I killed her?
Despite strict instructions to the contrary, I got out of the car. Serrano glanced at me, but didn’t tell me to go back as I stumbled up alongside him.
I gasped as I stared down at the body of Ardine Smalls, the deadly syringe still clutched in her hand, but now sticking out of the side of her neck.
Chapter Twenty-two
A few hours later, after a visit to the station to give my statement, and then a long hot shower, I was ensconced on our leather couch in the study, my foot bandaged and propped up on the steamer trunk. The toe wasn’t broken, just badly bruised. Eleanor and Serrano sat facing me on the other couch.
Joe was at the bar cart, fixing drinks. A bottle of Belgian beer for Serrano, an ice-cold Beefeater martini for Eleanor, and a glass of merlot for me.
“So, Serrano, how did you know to look for Daisy? How did you know she was in danger?” Eleanor asked.
“That hair I pulled off Ardine’s coat?” He nodded at me. “We’d found a few dog hairs at Harriet’s house, but of course she didn’t own any pets. I got the lab result back this afternoon and it was a match. Told you the killer always leaves something behind.”
He took a sip of his beer. “Then I got your message, Daisy, and everything came together for me. I called Joe and he said you’d probably gone to feed the cat.”
He chuckled. “What do you call that iron thing again that you planned to drop off at Cyril’s? We might have to institute a new standard-issue weapon for the department.”
I glanced at my bag sitting on the floor. “A sad iron,” I mumbled.
Eleanor narrowed her gaze at me. “You were getting rid of my gift?”
“Yes, sorry, I was, but I guess I should keep it now. After all, it did save my life. Actually it was Cyril’s cat who really saved me. He distracted Ardine so I could get in a good enough shot to whack her with it.”
The corners of Serrano’s mouth quirked up. “I would have loved to have seen that.”
“What the heck was in that syringe anyway?” I asked.
“A powerful muscle relaxant. Part of the cocktail they use for lethal injections. The part that leads to respiratory arrest.”