“We haven’t talked her into it yet,” Avaline said, tossing back her mane of black hair. “Maybe you can convince her it won’t be painful, Tasha.” She laughed, and with a glance at her watch, excused herself, disappearing down the hall toward Lucy’s office.
“I’d guess it will be more painful for you than it would be for me,” I said, taking the opening Avaline had unwittingly supplied. “I mean, you knew Braden so much better than I did.”
Tasha Solomon drew in a fast breath, nostrils flaring wide. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you worked with him in that drug study, didn’t you?” I said innocently. “I’d only met him a couple of times with Rachel.”
A technician walked past us, unwinding cable from a big spool and I stepped aside. Tasha Solomon didn’t move.
“Ah.” She seemed to be thinking. “Who told you about the drug study?” Her eyes, hooded under heavy lids, watched me closely. “Not that I can confirm whether or not Braden McCullers was taking part.”
“I heard it from one of his friends,” I said, deliberately vague. “I guess there was some talk that maybe the drug made him light-headed or dizzy.”
“That’s bullshit,” she said, thrusting her face forward pugnaciously. “Relamin is a miracle drug. It’s going to make a huge difference in the lives of thousands of people trying to cope with depression. It’s—” She cut herself off. “Why am I explaining this to you?” She hefted her purse higher on her shoulder, preparing to leave.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said, a little startled by the severity of her reaction.
“No, I’m sorry for blowing up at you,” she said. Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. “This whole thing with Braden has made me a little edgy. He was a good kid and it’s just awful to think that someone would want to kill him. Ari—my daughter—spent a whole day in bed when she heard. Look, I’ve got an appointment.”
“I’ve played over that night so often in my head,” I said, falling into step with her as she moved through the door and out onto the steps. “I keep thinking that I might have seen or heard something useful, but if I did, I don’t know what it was. Did you see anything?”
“I was in the museum most of the evening, with Ari and Rudy.”
“So you were all together the whole evening? Even when the fireworks started?” I hadn’t seen her when I wandered into the museum.
Her tongue poked a tent in her cheek as we crunched across the gravel parking lot to her car, a white Volvo sedan. “Well, I guess each of us went to the bathroom at some point. And the kids went to check in with some of their friends. You know how kids are!” She laughed and fitted a key into the Volvo’s lock. “I don’t think any of them took the ghost-hunting thing too seriously. And who can blame them?” She arched her brows, inviting me to share her amusement at such an unscientific assignment.
“Not me,” I agreed. I dragged the conversation back to the drug study as she slid onto the front seat. “Can you give me a ballpark figure for how much a drug like Relamin would be worth if it gets on the market?”
She scowled. “I don’t have anything to do with marketing or accounting.”
“What’s your best guess?”
Turning the key in the ignition, she said, “Five hundred, maybe?”
I felt let down. Half a million wouldn’t be worth killing Braden, not for a pharmaceutical company.
“Maybe even three-quarters of a billion,” Dr. Solomon continued, “depending. And it will get approved.” She started the car forward, almost clipping me with the still-open door before she pulled it shut.
Five hundred million, not thousand. That was real money. I stood in the small lot for a moment, the wind whipping at my hair, and speculated about what kind of money Dr. Solomon got for ensuring the drug made it through the FDA wickets. I’d bet last week’s tips that it was enough to murder for. It crossed my mind that Dr. Solomon didn’t have much of an alibi for Saturday night—although she’d freely admitted that, so maybe she was innocent?—and I wondered where she’d been on Sunday night when a werewolf-costumed murderer smothered Braden. Her daughter had hosted a Halloween party for her friends. Had Dr. Solomon been there, chaperoning again? Or had she played least in sight, trusting her daughter and her friends, or giving herself an opportunity to drive to Brunswick with no one the wiser?
Chapter Sixteen
I HAD JUST STARTED TOWARD MY CAR WHEN THE sound of an approaching motor brought my head around. Glen Spaatz’s Corvette cornered into the lot and came to a stop in front of me, blocking my path. Looking impossibly handsome, Glen grinned from the driver’s seat, all white teeth and crisp dark hair against a red Henley shirt. His tanned hands flexed on the leather steering wheel cover. “You’re here to find fame and fortune in Hollywood, right?” he asked through the open window.