Flower Power Trip Page 8

  “Yes, twenty-six years ago later this summer. I won't ever forget it,” Ursula said with an almost unwatchable sense of pain cascading across her face like a powerful ocean wave. “It's possible that he is Hans, of course, depending on the extent of the injuries. He'd just turned twenty-one, but I was still a minor and couldn't change my name for a few more years.”

  “Walk me through it one more time. Maybe something new will come to mind,” I said, sipping my water while picturing Ursula's parents, Mila and Josef Mück. From what I could recall, they were both famous botanists who'd emigrated from Germany to Chicago in the late 1960s before having two children, Hans and Sofia. Given how focused they were on their research to cure unknown and rapidly developing diseases, they weren't attentive parents. They'd spent every waking moment studying the effects of various plants species on the human immune system.

  While the waitress dropped off two Greek salads, Ursula explained her past to me once again. “Hans and I raised ourselves. We were inseparable even though he was five years older than me. Once we were mature enough, our parents forced us to work in the lab with them after school, sometimes until extremely late in the night. It made us both astonishingly dedicated and focused, but that much pressure can also have its negative impacts.”

  “You once mentioned Hans developed a god-like complex, almost as if he felt compelled to discover the cure by himself,” I said, contemplating the line between working too much and working just enough. Parents should never push their children too far beyond their limits, or it can hurt them eventually. I tried to find the right balance with Emma, but I always worried if I'd done the right thing.

  “A few weeks before the explosion happened, Hans challenged my parents more frequently. He would alter their test plans, hide results from them, and mislead them with metrics and details. He didn't know I was paying close attention. He was an obsessive megalomaniac on a power trip trying to ensure it appeared like he was leading the search for a cure. Then he discovered that I had possibly stumbled upon the right formulas to help my parents achieve their goals,” Ursula continued as she pulled a photograph from her purse. “This was a picture of him and me in the lab shortly before everything went up in flames.”

  I studied the photograph, comparing it to what I could remember of George Braun from my limited discussion with the man. While there were some similarities, it was hard to say with any certainty if they were the same person. “We need to find out why he stayed hidden for all those years and suddenly tried to contact you. Could he be after the formulas that were destroyed? Do you even remember them?” I explained what Millard had told me about George's wavering reactions to Braxton, suggesting he could've recognized his own sister.

  “No. After the accident, I was traumatized. I've intentionally distanced myself from anything with science or botany since those days. When Hans last saw me, I was only sixteen. I've changed a lot, but you can still see a resemblance,” Ursula said grazing the picture with her thumb. “If he saw my photo in the college newspaper or some online article, he might've come here to verify for himself. The timing lines up with when I started receiving the notes mentioning my past.”

  Ursula recounted the remainder of her story. One evening after her parents had retired to their offices to prepare an application for a grant for new funding, Ursula overheard her brother talking with one of the lab assistants about a big breakthrough in the earlier test results. Hans had indicated he was planning to alter the research so it looked like his parents' tests had failed, but he would keep the actual results and build a case to present them himself to the institution's executive board members. “I still don't understand what happened. After the lab assistant left, Hans confronted me to steal the formulas. I begged him to talk with our parents together, but he said he was tired of them neglecting us and forcing us to work all the time with absolutely no credit or future of our own.”

  “You mentioned he attacked you that day, right?” I recalled Anita Singh having concerns about working with Hans. Was something going on between the two of them? Could she have once been his assistant? Anita was at least ten years older than him, so she might've been working for the Mücks. Surely, Ursula would've recognized the woman from the past. Had they ever met?

  Ursula nodded. “I'd been in there all afternoon tabulating results on one of their experiments. Everyone else had gone home. Our parents were in the office on the other side of the floor. I thought if I could get them to listen to us, it would all be okay in the end. Before I could get away, Hans pinned me against the metal table where he was preparing a mixture for an experiment.

  “It's understandable you needed to distract him. He sounds like a monster.”

  “I reached backward as he held my body against the cold surface demanding I share the formulas with him. I noticed a few powders he'd planned to use sitting in a nearby glass bowl. I tried to grab the bowl to hit his head but knocked it over and out of my reach. Hans had taken out an excessive amount of potassium nitrate which can be dangerous.” Ursula paused and trembled over what looked like a series of erratic post-traumatic stress syndrome reactions.

  I felt awful watching my friend relive a painful memory. “What's potassium nitrate?”

  “A fertilizer. My parents had been using it to expedite growth in the flowers as part of their research. When you combine it with something else like sugar or honey over an open flame, it creates a small explosion or boom. Enough to startle someone, so they'd stop what they were doing at the time.”

  Ursula explained there were several Bunsen burners connected to a large supply of natural gas. She turned on the gas and twisted the top of the burner, so the flame reached out to ignite the potassium nitrate and sugar mixture, instantaneously causing a reaction similar to firecrackers launching and popping. Hans had been caught off-guard, which enabled Ursula to kick him in the shins and run out of the lab to find her parents.

  Unfortunately, while Ursula's plan created a distraction in the lab, it unexpectedly caused a second, more explosive reaction. She'd been unaware that in one of the supply closets, Hans had foolishly kept an excessive amount of glycerine, a liquid fertilizer, for a future experiment. As she ran out of the room and across the hall, a full-scale fire broke out from the Bunsen burner continually shooting flames over the potassium nitrate mixture and across all the lab equipment. She tried to get back into the lab, but the fire spread too quickly. Ursula raced toward the other office to alert her parents but passed out from inhaling too much smoke. The building's smoke alarms signaled the fire department who arrived to find Ursula unconscious on the curb across the street from the flame-covered building. When the flames in the lab had reached the large tank of glycerine, the building detonated in a huge explosion despite the firefighters' attempts to contain it. With all the chemicals in the lab, it was an uncontrollable combustion that left only one known survivor—Sofia.

  “Given the extent of the damage, we assumed whoever dragged me out must have gone back inside to save the rest of my family. We thought it was my brother and that he'd been knocked unconscious while trying to find our parents. Everything had been incinerated after the explosion. While they found some human remains, DNA testing was only in its infancy,” Ursula explained. She was eventually forced to confess to the investigators that she'd inadvertently caused the explosion, and it was ruled an accident by the forensics unit covering the fire. Her parents and brother had been listed as the only three victims from the incident, which also destroyed any research or test results they'd documented on their experiments.

  The lab assistant eventually revealed to the investigators that the Mücks had discovered a cure for a rapidly developing disease. She leaked the information to the press, which led to a public humiliation and attack on Sofia as the only survivor who'd set the entire situation in motion. With no relatives or anyone to take care of her, Sofia stole whatever money her parents had left, sold some of their belongings, and ran away. She lived on the streets for three months, then t
ook up residence at a boarding house, and eventually obtained her GED. Once she turned eighteen, Sofia had changed her name to eliminate anyone connecting her with the explosion and began a new life as Ursula Power. Power had been chosen so she'd never forget what had happened and would remember not to get caught up in her own power trip in the future. Ursula had been chosen because she felt as ugly on the inside as the sea witch from 'The Little Mermaid.'

  “It sounds like your brother may have been the one to save you that day. He must have gotten caught in the explosion but somehow survived, escaped, and needed reconstructive surgery,” I added. If George was the supposedly deceased Hans Mück, had someone else helped him leave the building and recover? “Do you remember anything about the assistant? Is it possible that one of Braxton's professors, Anita Singh, worked with your family years ago?” I pulled up the college website and showed Ursula a photo of the woman.

  “I haven't been at Braxton long enough to meet the entire staff,” Ursula replied studying the photo. “Anita Singh doesn't look too familiar.”

  “It's been over twenty-five years. People can change their appearance.”

  “I didn't know the assistant all that well. I think Hans called her Lambertson. It was probably her last name, but I only saw her one time after the explosion when she told me I was to blame for taking her precious Hans away from her. I hadn't even known they were dating,” Ursula explained as the waitress took away our salad bowls and dropped off our entrees.

  “We could probably research who worked at the lab with the last name Lambertson. Do you have any other contacts who might remember?” I asked, then made a mental note of how I could track down the former assistant's identity. Could it be the same person Millard mentioned was now working for George Braun? Maybe they'd gotten in contact again to retaliate together against Ursula. I needed to find the cabin George had bought and take a gander at his belongings. Assuming he was Ursula's brother, it would probably be legal. If he wasn't, I'd have to deal with the aftermath later.

  “No, I left that life behind,” Ursula said, stabbing at her pasta Bolognese with disinterest. “I'm not sure I can eat anymore right now. I feel sick. We have to confirm George Braun was my brother, Hans. If he is, I'm worried I could be the next victim. Someone might be after us.”

  “If you haven't gotten any new notes, the likelihood of your stalker being someone other than him is pretty slim. If he had a partner, I can see why you'd worry for your own safety, but you need to focus on something else far worse,” I added, remembering the red stain on her Frida Kahlo shawl.

  Ursula looked like a frightened doe. “What could that possibly be?”

  “If it's your brother who was murdered, the police might think you killed him. You told me yourself, you snuck off for a few minutes when you got that note at the costume extravaganza. Did anyone notice you in the thirty minutes before I found the body, or were you hiding the whole time?

  A look of desperate fear shot across Ursula's face. “I was alone after the note showed up and before I found you. I don't think anyone saw me in that time frame. I was purposely staying hidden.”

  “I couldn't help but notice the red stain on your costume, right near your—”

  “It wasn't blood. Somebody dropped sauce on it while I was walking through the crowd,” Ursula said before I could finish speaking. Her eyes were glued to the table. “It was my mother's shawl, one of the only things I managed to keep from my old life. You believe me, right?”

  We finished our meal in silence. I promised to dig into George's stay at the Roarke & Daughters Inn. I needed to talk to Helena about George's fight with Cheney in the courtyard, but maybe something in his room would identify the next best step. It might also reveal which cabin he'd purchased, so I could search for his new assistant. If it was the same one from the past, and I got a picture of her, Ursula might recognize the woman. Anita Singh's arguments with George were equally as important to investigate, and I'd have to talk to Dean Mulligan. Although my theories made sense, was I missing something from this puzzle? It couldn't be as simple as Hans and his assistant, Lambertson, had a fight that led to her killing him in some weird power struggle or as revenge for something he'd done.

  Ursula picked up the tab, which included a generous twenty percent discount from my sister. I accompanied my boss to the parking lot and waited until she drove off. She shouldn't be alone until we confirmed who was stalking her. After she pulled away, I started my walk to the diner. I heard footsteps behind me and worried about who'd been following us so closely. Was it Ursula's stalker? The person who killed George Braun? Or would I turn around and come face-to-face with another vision of Francesca?

  Chapter 7

  I stopped short and broke into defense mode. With my legs firmly planted on the ground, I swung my body around and unexpectedly collided into Sam Taft. He was startled when he saw me and tensed up. “Kellan, I'm sorry. Didn't notice you there.”

  Sam wasn't aware I'd witnessed him and my brother kissing weeks ago, but Gabriel knew I'd seen them together at the graduation. Had Gabriel told Sam he'd noticed me? I wasn't in the mood to play any games, so I blurted out what was on my mind. “Where is he, Sam? I know my brother is back in town. Why hasn't he told his family?”

  Sam took a step backward. “Who? I think you've got me confused with someone else. I don't know your brother.”

  “Don't lie to me. I'm sure Gabriel asked you to cover for him and not to tell me anything. I know I was the reason someone in your family was put in jail for killing your grandmother, but I was on your side during the whole situation.” I hadn't spent any time with Sam since I'd discovered who had been playing games behind the scenes, but I didn't think he would hold a grudge against me.

  Sam appeared conflicted. “You did, and as much as it hurt to learn the truth, I don't blame you.”

  “But you still won't help me with my brother, will you?” I grabbed his shoulder as he stepped toward the diner's entrance. “Please, Sam. He's been gone for eight years. I want to talk with him. To tell him I love him and that…” I worried that Gabriel was in hiding because he didn't want to reveal his life choices to his family. “I want to tell him that there's nothing he can say that'll make me upset with him. I want him to come home. I'll be on his side no matter what.”

  Sam relaxed but still pulled away from me. “It sounds like you care about your brother. Did something happen between you two? Not that I know him or can help you. Just curious.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked away as if it were a casual conversation about someone he didn't know.

  I could tell Sam was lying, but I also realized he didn't want to be doing it. “I do care about him. I've been gone for a long time, but I'm back. If he were home right now, I'd make him understand. No matter what's changed or what he's doing with his life.” I needed to convey that I supported Gabriel, but I didn't want to scare Sam. If Sam was still hiding the truth about his sexuality, revealing what I'd seen might cause him to refuse to help me on any level.

  “If I could help, I would. I see what it's like to have a brother. Brad and I have been talking recently, and we have a lot in common,” Sam noted before turning away to leave. “Good luck with finding Gabriel.”

  I had the distinct impression Sam winked at me when he walked into the diner. Maybe he would tell Gabriel what I'd said. If I didn't hear from my brother in the next three days, I'd try again. But for now, I had more urgent business. Before heading back into the diner to collect Emma, I texted Helena.

  Me: It's Kellan. I need to see you about something important. Can we meet?

  Helena: I'm busy with Cheney. It might be my last day of freedom if the cops arrest me for a murder I didn't commit. A girl needs to have some fun before she goes up the river.

  Me: I believe you. I want to help. But I also need something from you. A favor. Just between us.

  Helena: Sounds kinda fun. Are you hitting on me? Come by the inn tomorrow. I'm on the breakfast shift.

  I knew she'd bit
e if I told her I needed her help. While I wasn't above flirting to get answers, maybe if we worked together, I could prove her innocence and figure out who was stalking Ursula. Then life could return to normal again allowing me to focus on finding Francesca. Wait, what had my days come to when it was normal to have a wife who'd been resurrected from the dead?

  * * *

  After dropping Emma at her elementary school the following morning, I hopped on the highway heading north toward the base of the Wharton Mountains to reach the Roarke & Daughters Inn. There were two hours before my first class began, and I'd already prepared my lecture the prior night upon returning home from the diner. Nana D had left early to meet with her campaign manager about last-minute events at the upcoming town council meeting. Voting day was one week away and depending on which side of the county you spoke with, either Marcus Stanton or Nana D could be in the lead.

  When I entered Maggie's family's bed and breakfast, I waved to her mother who was busily checking out a guest currently throwing a tantrum about the bill. Maggie's father was in the kitchen preparing breakfast dishes. They usually served a scrumptious spread of pastries, cereals, yogurts, fruits, and a full oatmeal bar. I nabbed a to-go cup of coffee and a vanilla scone as Helena bounded around the corner and ascended the ornate multi-level staircase.

  With my mouth full of succulent, moist crumbs, I managed to mumble, “Wait up, you promised me you'd talk.” Except it came out muffled like a dog who'd drunk too much beer, not that I advocated giving alcohol to a dog.

  “I thought English was supposed to be your primary language. How can you eat all that sugary stuff and still look like you belong on the cover of Men's Fitness?” Helena teased in her usual histrionic tone. She stopped at the base of the staircase, curled one of her fingers, and motioned for me to follow her. “I need you in the bedroom right now.”