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South Fork, Colorado

Kara ordered room service for her, Sloane, and Riley. The less Riley was seen in public, the better.

Riley didn’t talk much. It was like the stories she shared yesterday about the weeks surrounding her grandmother’s death had drained her. She’d slept well, though, which Kara took as a sign of trust.

When Riley was in the shower, Kara poured her third cup of coffee and picked at the food remaining on her plate. She wondered what Dean Montero was going to contribute here. He’d sent her a long email outlining how he wanted to approach the interview with Riley when he arrived, that he planned to steer the conversation based on his experience, but for her to “jump in” at any point she felt was beneficial.

Kara rarely second-guessed herself, but Dean was a high-ranking fed and she was a cop—did he really want her to speak her mind? Or was she there simply to give Riley comfort because she’d developed a rapport with the young woman? Getting more information wasn’t going to be easy, not because Riley didn’t want to help—though Kara sensed her pulling back several times yesterday—but because there might be some things she really didn’t know, or events that were twisted in her head. Kara might not be an expert on cults and brainwashing, but she understood childhood trauma.

Based on how Riley told her story, Kara suspected that she may have been drugged. Riley didn’t come out and say it, but it was implied. Did Riley know or suspect that she had been drugged? Maybe not hard illegals, but something mild to induce a state of euphoria? It was just a thought she’d had that Kara wanted to explore.

Sloane brought over her own cup of coffee to the small table in the suite of rooms. “Did you read Matt’s memo?”

“Yep.” Matt had put together everyone’s reports so they all had the same information. Ryder usually did it, but he must be swamped.

A text message came in from Michael.

On my way to interview Andrew Gardner. Let me know if you learn anything from Riley that I can use to convince him to talk.

She responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

Kara sipped her coffee and said to Sloane, “Maybe I don’t understand cult mentality, but I still don’t understand why none of the people who left went to the authorities. Not one. I understand domestic violence—and from what Riley described, she suffered some sort of abuse—and I understand how some people won’t go to the authorities for any reason, but not one of the eleven Riley rescued? Not one person said, ‘Hey, someone needs to stop this cult.’”

Sloane was nodding as Kara spoke, made a few notes on her phone. “Maybe AD Montero has some insight.”

“Maybe,” Kara said.

“Wasn’t he helpful yesterday? Didn’t you talk to him before interviewing Riley?”

Kara shrugged. “We didn’t have a lot of time, but he had some interesting observations. I don’t know why he’s coming out and what he brings to the investigation, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Sloane smiled, but didn’t look at her.

“Okay, maybe I won’t. I don’t like people coming in and messing with our team rhythm.”

“I’m new, and you didn’t seem to hold that against me.”

“Because I’d already worked with you, I knew you were a good cop.”

“I think he’ll be helpful,” Sloane said. “Your points are valid. It’s surprising that no one has heard of this group all these years.”

Riley stepped out of the bathroom. “We sold handmade goods at craft fairs, every spring and summer. Four or five fairs a year, all over the west. But after my grandmother died, only my mother’s inner circle was allowed to leave. We had a small counsel, a group of people who made decisions, who appointed the Fair Committee. I didn’t know why then, but now I do—the year my grandmother died, two people slipped away at one of the fairs. Just disappeared. My mother was livid. According to her, she had given them everything and they betrayed her.”

“Do you know who they are?”

Riley shrugged. “Meg and Paul. They’d been there since I was little, but like I said yesterday, we didn’t use last names. There was no need.”

“Did your booth or products have a label? A name? Something that, maybe, we can trace?”

“Originally, it was simply Havenwood. But after my grandmother died, it became Calliope’s Creations,” Riley said.

“Why didn’t Zack find it under Havenwood?” Kara said to Sloane.

“Every state has to be checked individually,” Sloane said. “We can’t get tax records without a warrant, so Zack has been contacting state offices for incorporation and nonprofit records. Older records are harder to find, especially if they haven’t been digitized. But having the new name might give us another angle.” Sloane got on her phone.

“How does that help?” Riley asked.

“If your mother is selling goods or services, she needs to pay taxes. Have annual filings, that sort of thing. If she hasn’t, then she’s in violation of major tax laws.”

“Hmm.” Riley looked like she was thinking about something else.

“Do you know something more?”

“We didn’t make most of our money at the fairs.”

“Oh?”

“Long before I was born, we had a barn dedicated to growing marijuana. That made a lot more money for Havenwood than our quilts and jams.”

Michael had spoken to Andrew Gardner’s doctor first thing in the morning and Andrew was stable enough to be interviewed. As he drove to the hospital, Matt called.

“Dean Montero and I just landed. I texted Kara that we’ll be at the hotel in about twenty minutes. We all agree that keeping the witness in one place is safer if she is, in fact, a target. Have you talked to Gardner yet?”

“On my way,” Michael said.

“His doctor cleared it?”

“Conditionally,” Michael replied.

“If she or anyone else at the hospital throws up roadblocks, pull in Catherine. She speaks their language. Gardner is a material witness to homicide.”

That was a stretch, but Andrew Gardner could have information that would help them. “Will do.”

“Thanks for picking up the slack while I’ve been traveling. Ryder is already working the drug angle, and Zack has a new theory about the craft fairs. He’s pulled in another analyst to help him track fairs in the country now that we have a couple names to work with. There are no LLCs with ‘Havenwood’ or ‘Calliope’ in the name, but they could be under a different umbrella.”

“And,” Michael interjected, “the craft fairs may have contracted with the umbrella corporation.”

“Exactly. It’s a long shot, but right now, other than the two witnesses who are marginally reliable, it’s our best shot,” Matt said. “Call me when you’re done with Gardner.”

The closest hospital was off a country road in nearby Del Norte, about fifteen minutes east of South Fork. It looked more like a modern office park than a hospital.

Michael pulled into a visitor space in the parking lot, then entered the main building.

He showed his badge and told the information desk that Dr. Heather Granderson was expecting him. She came out only a minute later. “Agent Harris?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and showed his identification.

“I’m so sorry, but Mr. Gardner has taken a turn for the worse. Thirty minutes ago, a nurse found him unresponsive and we’ve airlifted him to a larger medical center in Colorado Springs. He was stable but unconscious when he left.”

“I need to talk to the deputy who was sitting outside his room and the nurse who found him.”

“The deputy left after Mr. Gardner was safely transported to the helipad, and I can answer any of your medical questions, though at this point we don’t know what happened. He was monitored 24/7 under suicide watch. We have a camera in his room, and a nurse dedicated to that wing.”

“Dr. Granderson, I need to speak to the nurse and view all security footage from that wing.”

She looked put out, so Michael attempted charm, though he was more than irritated that the deputy hadn’t contacted him immediately.

“Follow me,” she said.

She used her card key to get into a secure part of the building, then turned left and led him down a long, wide brightly lit hall. Though the hospital had the slight antiseptic smell pervasive in all hospitals, it wasn’t overwhelming, and the walls were decorated with framed pictures of the surrounding area.

She used her key to get into another wing, and stopped at the nurses’ station. “I need Jenny Dunn.”

“I’ll page her,” the nurse said.

“Have her meet us in Gardner’s room,” Michael said.

The doctor didn’t like taking orders, but Michael didn’t believe in coincidences. Gardner was stable last night, and Michael had talked to Granderson not more than an hour ago. Gardner had been awake and while still showing signs of depression and grief, his vitals were strong.

Something had happened to Gardner in the thirty minutes from alert to unconscious.

Granderson led Michael down the hall to where there was a round work station and three windowed rooms. The rooms were all empty, but one had clearly been in use.

Before they even walked in, Michael saw the flowers.

A bouquet of spring flowers interspersed with dozens of red poppies.

“Who brought in those flowers?” Michael demanded.

The doctor was taken aback by his harsh tone. “Agent Harris, there is—”

“I need to know right now. And no one goes into that room until a forensics team goes through it. Understood?”

She bristled, then said, “I need to contact head of security.” She stepped away.

Michael pulled out his phone and called Matt, told him what little he knew, and said, “Can I pull Jim in to review Gardner’s medical records and gather evidence in the room? This is fishy to me.”

“I’ll send Jim over as soon as he can get free, and contact the sheriff and ask what’s going on with his deputy.”

“Have the deputy talk to me directly,” Michael said. “I have questions.”

“I’ll make it happen.”

When Michael ended the call, Dr. Granderson approached with a young nurse and a tall, skinny man in a suit. “Agent Harris, this is Ms. Dunn, and Tom Royce, our head of security.”

Royce said, “My people are downloading you a copy of all security footage from this wing.”

“Thank you,” Michael said. He might need footage of other parts of the hospital, but he’d wait to see what he learned from the nurse.

He turned to Dunn. “Ms. Dunn, were these blinds open so you could see into Mr. Gardner’s room?”

“Yes, sir. There was a nurse at this station every minute. They can’t leave unless the replacement has arrived. And the deputy was right there.” She gestured to a chair that had line of sight to the main hallway and the room.

“Did the deputy step away for anything?”

“No.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Michael said. “I’ve worked stakeouts—there are always breaks, for the restroom, to get coffee, to stretch legs.”

“When he had to step out he said no one was allowed into the room unless it was an emergency. And he was never gone for more than ten minutes.”

“You found Mr. Gardner unresponsive at what time?”

She glanced at the doctor. “I didn’t leave the station.”

“I’m not saying you did,” Michael replied. “You were here watching him. What made you go in to check on him? Was it routine or did something alert you that he was in trouble?”

“Earlier this morning, he complained of nausea, so we added an antiemetic to his IV. He was alert, spoke of his partner—which the psychologist on staff indicated was a good sign. Then he had his breakfast, but didn’t eat much, still complained of nausea. He slept and then as I was working at the desk here—” she motioned “—I noticed his blood pressure was dropping. I went in to check on him, found him unresponsive, and contacted Dr. Granderson.”

“We stabilized him,” Granderson said, “but he didn’t regain consciousness and his blood pressure remained dangerously low. I talked to our sister hospital in Colorado Springs and they have a full trauma team, so we sent him there.”

“When did the flowers arrive?”

“Last night,” Dunn said. “At the beginning of my shift. They were delivered from a local florist, Colorado Flowers and Gifts. I took them in to him when he was sleeping, put them on his bedside table.”

“Was there a card?”

“Yes. I didn’t read it.”

Michael went into the room and looked at the flowers. It was a colorful spring mix interspersed with several red poppies. A card and envelope lay next to the flowers. Gardner had definitely opened it.

Michael pulled on gloves and picked up the card.

In memory of Donovan.

Breathe.

“Out,” he told everyone as they crowded the doorway. He put the card down, took a quick picture of it, and left the room behind them. “No one goes in there, touches the flowers or anything else, until my forensics expert arrives.” To the security chief, “I need security footage of whoever delivered the flowers ASAP.”

“Agent Harris,” Granderson began, but he cut her off.

“I believe that your patient was poisoned. That something in the flowers or the envelope was contaminated.”

“I know who delivered the flowers,” Dunn said. “He delivers all the time. This is usually his last stop because he lives a mile down the road.”

“Name? Address?”

“Trevor Knight. I know he lives close, but I don’t know exactly where.”

“I’ll contact his employer,” Michael said.

When the security chief left to gather the information Michael wanted, he called Matt again. “I believe Gardner was poisoned. It might be airborne.” He paused. “I think he knew. Gardner knew the flowers were poisoned and didn’t tell anyone, maybe because he’s still suicidal, I don’t know. Now he’s in a coma and unless we can figure out what poison was used so the doctors can reverse it, I don’t know that he’ll make it.”

“Wait there for Jim,” Matt said, “then find the delivery guy and get answers.”