Plenty weird.

I tucked the foxglove in my purse. “So where would a person get foxglove?” I asked Rainbow.

She shrugged, a motion that caused her breasts to settle on the counter like tie-dye-draped pillows. “Lots of places. Plenty of people grow it and don’t have a clue how dangerous it is.”

I glanced at the shelves behind her. “And you sell it, here, too. Right?”

It was just a guess, but I knew I was spot-on when Rainbow backed away from me, her hands out like she was a cop stopping traffic. “I’d never sell it to anybody if I thought-”

“That’s not what we’re saying. Honest.” I did my best to relieve her fears. “We’re just trying to get a handle on things.”

She looked at my purse as if she could see beyond the faux leather to the little glass vial inside. “It could be mine,” she said.

“And the woman who bought it?”

Just as Eve asked the question, the little wind chime at the front door jingled.

“Blessed be!” Rainbow called out, and she headed back out into the shop.

Eve went out after her, and I brought up the rear. But not before I stopped to blow out the candle. I may have been a new woman with a new outlook on life, but there was no use taking foolish chances.

I brushed aside the beaded curtain, stepped into the shop, and stopped dead in my tracks.

The customer who’d just walked in was Beyla.

She looked at Eve. She looked at me. And she took off out the front door like a bat out of hell.

Twelve

HAVE I MENTIONED THAT I’M NOT EXACTLY ATHLETIC?

Eve is, of course. Or at least with her slim body and long legs, she could be, if she made the effort. And if she thought that physical fitness was about more than Botox injections and electrolysis. Of course, all things considered, no matter how heart-healthy she was, it probably wouldn’t have done a whole lot to overcome the issues that are bound to arise from trying to run in three-inch heels.

I scrambled around a display of angel greeting cards, trying to reach the front door before it slammed behind Beyla. Eve high-stepped after me. I ducked under a mobile, but she smacked right into it and sent the shimmering heavenly messengers that hung from it dancing. I darted out the front door, leaving her behind me grumbling words that never should have been used in a store full of angels. By the time we were both outside, we were breathing hard.

And Beyla was nowhere in sight.

“Now what do we do?” Eve asked. But I’d already formulated a plan.

I pointed to the right. “You head that way,” I told her. “I’ll go the other way. At least maybe if we can find her, we can talk to her. Ask her what she’s doing here and why she ran when she saw us.”

“Got it,” Eve said. I would like to say that she took off running but… well, remember those three-inch heels. Eve took off striding gracefully in one direction. In my sensible sneakers, I hurried off in the other.

Of course,hurried is a relative word.

The sidewalks were packed, and I sidestepped a lady with a stroller, a man walking a sickly looking poodle, and a Japanese family taking pictures outside the pub and brew house next door to the Angel Emporium. Even before I got swallowed up by the crowd patiently waiting for the light to change at the next cross street, I knew I was getting nowhere fast.

I stood on tiptoe and craned my neck, attempting to see over the heads of the people all around me. Across the street and three stores up, I thought I saw a flash of black. I didn’t know if it was Beyla’s clothing, Beyla’s hair, or if it was Beyla at all, but I knew that I had to find out. I excused my way through the crowd, looked both ways at the corner, and took off running across the street just steps ahead of a Dash About bus.

I had no sooner leapt onto the opposite sidewalk than a man stepped out of an alley right in front of me. We were outside a little sidewalk café, and with tables on one side of me, the building on the other, and the man blocking my path, I was trapped like the proverbial dirty rat.

And Beyla-if it really was Beyla-was putting more distance between us with every second that passed.

“Excuse me!” The man blocking my way was tall, thin, and bald. His back was to me, and he seemed to be busy looking at something down the street. I raised my voice so he could hear me above the sounds of traffic. “Excuse me,” I said again when he didn’t respond. “I need to get by.”

Still nothing. I tapped him on the back.

He turned, startled, and I let out a little gasp. I was face-to-face with Yuri Grul, Drago’s former partner.

If Yuri was surprised to see me, he didn’t stay that way for long. He took one look over his shoulder, another at me, and one more at the crowd that was coming our way like a wave, now that the light had changed.

Without a word, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the alley he’d just stepped out of.

We were sandwiched between the café and the boutique next door. It was shady and damp, and after the press of the crowd and the summer heat that rippled off the sidewalk, I felt suddenly chilled. I hugged my arms around my chest and wondered if I should listen to the cautious voice inside my head-the one that reminded me that I shouldn’t be alone with a man I barely knew, out of sight of the crowd. The one that whispered the wordmurder and told me not to forget that whether or not I was playing detective, I might be playing with fire.

But Yuri was blocking the mouth of the alley. And one step in the other direction put me even farther into the shadows.

I had only one option: I stood my ground and raised my chin. “What are you doing here?” I asked him in my most challenging tone.

Yuri stared at me, his expression unreadable. He’d been puffing on a long, thin cigarette, and after he took the last drag, he tossed the butt on the ground and crunched it under the sole of his expensive sneaker. When he blew out a long stream of smoke, I leaned downwind.

“You are Miss Capshaw. From the gallery. You are following her?”

It took me a couple seconds to figure out what-and who-he was talking about.

Yuri could obviously read the surprise on my face. A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You are police?” he asked.

I knew I had to regain my composure, and fast. I shook my head. “No. Not police. I’m…” What was I? And how could I even begin to explain it to Yuri?

I decided on the truth. Or at least part of the truth.

“I’m a bank teller at Pioneer Savings and Loan. But I go to school with Beyla. We take a cooking class together at Très Bonne Cuisine. I was in a store over there…” I poked my thumb over my shoulder roughly in the direction of the Angel Emporium. “And I thought I saw her walk by. I wanted to catch up with her. To say hello.”

“You do not try to arrest her?”

OK, so maybe I’m a little slow. Chalk it up to the heat or to the fact that I was a novice when it came to this whole detective game. It took me a while to process what Yuri was saying. When I finally did, it hit me like the smell of the men’s locker room at the gym where Peter and I used to take couples aerobics.

I staggered back against the brick wall behind me. “You sound like you expect the police to be following her. That means you think she’s guilty. Are you saying…” Eve and I discussing our theory of the crime was one thing. But hearing our theory echoed by an almost stranger… well, I suddenly knew how Chris Columbus must have felt the first time someone slapped him on the back and told him that he’d been right about that whole the-world-is-round thing all along.

I sucked in a breath to steady my voice. “Are you telling me you think she’s guilty? You are, aren’t you? You think Beyla killed Drago. Or do you know it for a fact?”