Castanga turned to Laura, who was still leaning against my shoulder. "Take care of her," he said to all of us. "She should be in bed."
Castanga closed his small notebook and shoved it inside his jacket. He rose, wiping his hands on his slacks. "Oh, yeah, not a clue as to who drugged you two. As you probably know, the DEA also slammed the lid down on our investigation. It wasn't going anywhere, anyway."
We had lunch at Grace's Deli on Fifth Avenue. I think Grace was the only person in Edgerton who was actually pleased to see us. She took one look at Laura, started patting her, and led her to a chair.
While she made us sandwiches, she talked nonstop about all the trouble. "Must have been thirty federal officers. They blanketed Edgerton, even tucked in the corners. No one could get in or out. They were everywhere, talking to everyone. You know what?"
She handed Laura her tuna salad sandwich and answered her own question.
"No, of course you don't know anything. You poor people were down in a drug dealer's camp, being tortured."
"How did you know about that?" I asked and, unable to wait, took a big bite of my corned beef sandwich on rye.
"Everybody knows everything. There was a meeting of the BITEASS and we all talked about it. Isn't it something about that drug that Dr. Bartlett invented? And Rob Morrison, murdered because he knew about it and was going to turn those dealers in, whoever they are. Poor boy. Of course, Cotter Tarcher was telling everybody it was all ridiculous, that the drug just gave you great sex, and what was wrong with that?"
"Great sex," I said, shaking my head.
"I wonder," Laura said, "if there has been an increase in rape reports around here lately."
When we pulled into the Tarcher driveway, it was like an alarm went off. Laura straightened up, blinked, and insisted she felt wonderful and renewed after her tuna sandwich and nap.
"A five-minute nap."
"I'm a woman. I can do more on less."
Sherlock and Savich pulled up behind us in the driveway.
My knock brought an immediate response.
"Jesus, not you clowns again. What do you want?"
I smiled at Cotter Tarcher, who was blocking the front door, dressed like a thug in black jeans and a white T-shirt. He was even wearing black boots. He looked as dark as a night in hell, spoiling for a fight.
"Hi, Cotter," I said. "You remember Savich and Sherlock, don't you? And Ms. Scott? Sure you do. Savich and you caused a little ruckus."
He stepped back to slam the front door in my face. "I don't think so," I said. I slammed the door open, sending him onto his back, skidding across the black-and-white Italian marble floor.
"Control yourself, Cotter. We're here to speak to your parents. It's time for you to show some manners." I walked into the house, with Laura, Savich, and Sherlock right behind me. "You've really got to change that bad-boy image."
He started to get to his feet so he could come at me, but a woman's voice stopped him.
"No, Cotter, don't waste your energy on the federal agents. There are four of them and just one of you, although the women probably aren't that tough. I'm sure you could deal with the one wearing the sling. Don't forget too, that they can always arrest you."
She turned to us. "I see you've come into my house without invitation. Since I do have some manners, quite good manners, you may stay for a while. You said that you wanted to speak to me?" At my nod, she waved her hand. "I suppose you will come into the living room. Goodness knows, we've had more federal agents trooping through the house, tearing everything apart, making huge messes and not bothering to clean them up."
Elaine Tarcher looked elegant in a pair of tight white jeans and a loose pale peach cashmere sweater. Her rich brown hair was tousled around her face, and she wore cream-colored ballet slippers on her feet. She led the way, not looking back to see whether or not we followed her.
"Poor Maggie," she said as she gracefully displayed herself on an elegant wing chair that looked at least two hundred years old. "Is she dreadfully distraught over Rob's death?"
"How did you find out so fast?" Sherlock asked, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward.
Elaine shrugged elegantly. "One hears things so quickly in Edgerton. Perhaps it was our postman who told our housekeeper who told me, just minutes ago. I can't be expected to remember everything."
"He didn't just die," I said. "Someone murdered him. Two shots in the back. They threw him in the shed and left him there. We found him by accident."