Page 37 of Finding Silence
She’s referring to the wall unit holding my TV, which also serves as bookshelf and liquor storage.
“Oh, it was a housewarming gift from my manager, and I kept it in the kitchen cupboard over the fridge. That’s where I keep my secret, premium stash.” When Savvy looks confused, I clarify. “The liquor cabinet is for guests; the kitchen cupboard has always been for me to savor. Unless I know someone has a taste for the good stuff, like your dad, then I’m happy to share.”
I notice her dart a look at her father before returning to me.
“And how many people know where you keep the good stuff?”
“Quite a few. People who’ve spent any time in my place in Portland would probably know.”
“So friends, band members, cleaning lady.”
I shrug. “I guess it’s a well-known secret.”
“A little poke,” Dana warns, tapping a vein on the inside of my arm.
While we were talking, she had spread out a sterile pad on the table, and tied a rubber band around my upper arm. The pinch of the needle is minimal as she fills two empty vials of my blood. Then she takes a piece of gauze, pressing it down as she removes the needle.
“Keep pressure on,” she instructs me as she tears off a strip of medical tape to secure the gauze.
When Brant takes my place at the table, I notice Savvy stepped out the back door and is talking on her phone.
“Should I make some fresh coffee?” I ask, wanting something to do with my hands.
“I keep the ground coffee in the freezer,” Brant volunteers.
For the next few minutes, I busy myself cleaning the old coffee out and putting a new pot on. I notice a bagel sitting on a plate on the counter next to the toaster, and realize that gnawing feeling in my gut might just be hunger.
“Want to split a bagel with me?” I ask Brant when he joins me in the kitchen.
“I left that out for you. Mine is still somewhere outside.”
“Sitting out there for how long now?” I shake my head. “We’ll split this one.”
I pop it in the toaster and when I turn around, I see Savvy’s joined us, keenly observing the exchange between her father and me.
“I’m curious,” she starts, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. “You bring what looks to be an expensive bottle of scotch, pour two glasses to enjoy with a fellow aficionado, and then leave the drinks unfinished and the bottle sitting outside? How come?”
There is not a doubt in my mind the woman knows exactly what her father and I were up to, and I have a feeling this inquisition is more about teasing her father than giving me a hard time. When I glance over at Brant, I see she succeeded in making him feel very uncomfortable.
“I guess the events of the day caught up with us,” I disclose by way of explanation, barely able to contain my grin.
“Are you done here?” Brant grumbles, clearly not enjoying this topic of conversation.
“I am,” Dana pipes up, holding up four labeled vials. “Unless you want me to run these to the lab and get them to put a rush on it?”
“I’ll take them,” Savvy indicates. “Better do things by the book. Besides, I have to drop off the goat’s stomach contents anyway.”
When Dana is gone, Savvy collects the whiskey bottle, the plastic baggie Buck left, and the vials of blood, placing them all in paper bags she labels. Then she turns to her father and me.
“After I run these into town, I’m heading back to your place to see if we can get any fingerprints off that kitchen cupboard. I already left a message with the Portland PD earlier, trying to get them to look into the whereabouts of Duncan Brothers, but the break-in and vandalizing of a house in small-town Washington sits low on their list of priorities. However, if we can show someone laced that bottle hoping to poison you, it could become attempted murder, which holds a hell of a lot more clout.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine at the mention of murder. I have a hard time believing Dunk would go there.
I know at the height of the band’s popularity, I received weird fan mail, threats, and even had the occasional stalker, but most of the time I was shielded from that stuff. We were surrounded by security wherever we went, and I rarely ever looked at my own social media or emails. Grace always looked after that stuff, for all I know she still does.
What if this wasn’t Dunk at all, but some disgruntled fan?
“Maybe I should give Grace a call,” I mention. “She’d know if there were any recent threats or crazy fans lurking around.”
