“Unfortunately,” I said, “if they’re as backed up as usual, it could be days before the crime lab tells the chief whether Fred’s mug contained anything other than coffee and Scotch. I have a cousin who’s a crime-scene technician,” I added to the chief. “And he’s always complaining about that.”
Chief Heedles frowned and nodded.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll manage,” Grandfather said. “In fact—Scotch?”
“Scotch,” the chief said. “Whatever else was in the mug, it was self-evident that it contained both coffee and a healthy dash of Scotch.”
Grandfather frowned as if this both puzzled and troubled him. Then he got up and strode off.
“Come with me,” he called over his shoulder. “Show you something odd.”
The chief looked at me. I shrugged to show I had no idea what was up. She took off after Grandfather. I tagged along.
We found Grandfather in his Airstream, pulling bits of trash out of a brown paper shopping bag and strewing them on the floor.
“You wanted to show me something?” the chief asked.
“Here it is.” He held out a crumpled wad of green wrapping paper and a length of purple ribbon with a gift tag attached.
The chief put on a pair of gloves before taking the ribbon and paper from him. Then she turned the card so she could read it. There, in a block print that seemed deliberately chosen to be as anonymous as possible, were the words WELCOME TO RIVERTON.
“This has something to do with the suspected poisoning?” the chief asked.
“I came in here sometime this morning and found this purple and green package,” Grandfather said. “Thought it was a present from the local Chamber of Commerce or something of the sort. So I opened it to find a peculiar decanter shaped like a stag being savaged by a couple of wolves.”
“Someone must know how much you love wolves,” I said.
“A pity they don’t also know how much I detest cheap booze,” Grandfather snapped. “It was full of some off-brand of Scotch.”
“Grandfather only drinks designer Scotch,” I said.
“I only drink good brands. Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Macallan—”
“What did you do with the decanter?” Chief Heedles asked.
“Gave it to the first person who stuck his head in the trailer,” Grandfather said. “Told him to find someone who could use it.”
“And was that person—”
“Fred,” Grandfather said. “The one who keeled over during my orientation speech.”
Chief Heedles bagged the wrappings as evidence. And then she thanked Grandfather and headed over to Fred’s tent where, shortly afterward, a flurry of excitement announced the discovery of the mysterious decanter. I managed to be nearby when she showed it to Grandfather for identification.
“That’s it,” he said. “A singularly unprepossessing object.”
I had to agree. I’d never have guessed it was a decanter—it looked more like a ceramic statue. It was about a foot high, painted with great detail, and featured a wild-eyed stag being attacked by two wolves, one on either side. At least the artist had depicted the three animals a few moments before the wolves drew blood. I thought it was ghastly, but I suspected that if it had come filled with better Scotch, Grandfather would have found it charming.
“I’ll be keeping this for the time being,” Chief Heedles said.
The chief and her officers departed, leaving behind them an unsettled camp. To my surprise, no one left, although I did overhear a couple of people discussing the advisability of driving to the next town to buy their own supply of coffee, in case the poisoner tried to strike again.
Grandfather strode around looking as if he’d cheated death through strength, courage, and intellect, instead of by having persnickety taste in Scotch. Caroline quickly organized round-the-clock teams of volunteers to keep an eye on him, in case the poisoner made another, more direct attempt on his life, and quite a few volunteers independently decided he needed watching over and joined in the vigil, so that he couldn’t go anywhere without a flock of five or six anxious people hovering over him and starting at their own shadows.
I hunted down Caroline, who was evidently conferring with Sherry on additional security measures.
“We’ll make sure he’s never left unguarded,” Sherry was saying. “We could even assign a couple of men to sleep outside his door.”
“That would drive him crazy,” Caroline said. “Let’s think about it. Come up with something a little more subtle.”
“Has this happened before on any of Grandfather’s missions?” I asked. “People getting attacked?”