A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic (2 page)

Dad gave him a long look. “Feeling okay?”

A man in an Action News-logoed polo and khakis leaned against the counter and fingered the lotion samples while frowning at John. “You don’t look so good, buddy. Maybe you’ve got whatever the jousters had.”

I frowned. “The jousters are ill?” The jousters were Ren Faire’s equivalent of high school jocks. They were never sick. Rumor was they’d put their mouths on anything. It served to reason that over the years they’d probably built an immunity to most common viruses. The worst thing I’d ever seen any of them come down with was a hangover.

The Action News guy turned his attention to a bath set. “I think the jousters had too much ale, or maybe jousting is less exciting than it sounds. Who knows?”

“I think it’s fun to watch.”

He frowned. “Do you gift wrap?”

“Aye.” I grabbed a stack of bags and arrayed them on the counter. “I can slip your items into a fine satin cinch sack for a small fee. You choose the color. I’ll do the rest. Do you have any questions about the Bonnie Bath line?”

He snorted. “I think I can figure it out.” He looked to Dad and John for support, as if their shared Y chromosome would somehow make them laugh at his jibe.

Dad sucked his teeth and stared.

Action News sniffed a lavender bath bomb and sneezed. “What’s it gonna cost me for the set? You know you charge twenty bucks to get in here?”

I inhaled and counted to ten before answering. “Vendors don’t set the entrance fee. Besides, didn’t you get in free with the news team?”

“Well, yeah.”

I refocused on his initial question. What would the bath set cost him? I touched each Bonnie item, stating its name, purpose and price. “If you buy the lot you’ll save ten percent and get the satin cinch bag as our gift. Just one hundred dollars.”

His chin dropped. “A hundred bucks? You want a hundred bucks to put salt and oil in my wife’s bath?”

Dad stepped forward, and I turned my head side to side in warning.

“Sir.” I put on my sweetest smile. “I’m happy to bag them for you with a fresh sachet and a personal thank-you note from the company. Guinevere’s Golden Beauty products are all-natural and guaranteed to pamper your wife. I’m sure she’d appreciate something so personal. Though it is early in the season. There’s still plenty of time to visit the local shopping mall before Christmas.”

His eyes bugged, and he reached for his wallet. “Make sure you throw in that sachet.”

I suppressed a full Cheshire grin. He’d sneezed at one whiff of the bath bomb. “There you go, sir. All my best to your lady.” I’d cheerfully filled his sack with all lavender products.

He scowled at the receipt and stuffed it in his pocket, murmuring something sounding suspiciously like, “Ye Ole Madrigal Thieves.”

Dad laughed as the man disappeared into the crowd. “Mia, he was clearly allergic to lavender.”

“Well, his wife will thank me every night after her bath.”

John groaned. “You’re quite the little fox in a fancy costume, aren’t you?” His words slurred slightly, and he swooned. He covered his mouth with a fist and choked on the words. The pallor of his skin darkened and he stepped away, coughing.

“John?” Dad followed him several paces. “Can I get you something?”

I walked the length of the booth, keeping pace with Dad and John. “He asked for water earlier.”

Dad set his palm on John’s shoulder. “Let’s find you a seat and some water.”

John nodded. His wheeze grew louder and devolved into a shudder. His brown eyes glassed over. His knees buckled.

“John!” I ran from the booth, bringing the attention of the crowd with me. “Is he okay?”

Dad caught John from a free fall and settled him against the ground as he convulsed. When he grew still, Dad hovered an ear over his mouth. “I think he’s had a seizure.”

I fell to their side, pressing two fingers to his neck. “I don’t feel a pulse, but I’m shaking.”

“Call an ambulance,” Dad yelled into the crowd.

I patted my sides on instinct. No phone. Grandma had collected our phones upon arrival. No breaks in the Renaissance façade. Ambiance was the bulk of the sell.

Dad pressed a hand over mine. “The pulse might be weak, but it could still be there.” He laid his head on John’s chest. His grim expression sent ice shards through my heart.

I steadied my breath and set up on my knees, ready to perform CPR.

“Stop.” Dad pulled me back. “Not without a barrier device. You don’t know what made him sick. Never put yourself at risk.”

“But he’s dying!” I stood and cried into the gathered mob. “We need CPR supplies. Someone call the medics.”

Mom joined us and squeezed me against her side. “They’re on their way. I saw him go down and called right away.”

Grandma climbed onto her chair and scolded the crowd. “Stay back. There’s nothing to see. You wouldn’t want to be stared at if you were ill. An ambulance is coming and the Faire medics are on their way.”

As if on cue, the faint whir of sirens crept into the air.

A set of men in navy blue EMT shirts shoved free from the crowd. I recognized them from the Faire’s first aid station. They dashed to John’s side and set a plastic device over his lips. CPR began immediately.

I calculated the time elapsed from his collapse. Less than five minutes. If he’d been breathing during part of that time, there was a chance...My eyes stung with emotion, confusion and poignant memories of a dear friend I’d recently lost. The EMTs worked seamlessly to operate his heart until it would beat again on its own.

Mom leaned her head on my shoulder.

I fixed my eyes on the medics. “I’m okay.”

I couldn’t say the same for John.

Chapter Two

“Tragedy at the Ren Faire!” The Action News reporter made a live announcement of John’s collapse and, ten minutes later, his death.

The crowd grew to celebrity-sighting proportions after the Action News’s second announcement. Throngs of holiday shoppers clamored for a look at the gruesome scene.

Mom stepped away. “I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do to help with the crowd.”

“Sure.” I rubbed the chill off my arms and scanned the area for Nate.

Finally, his ginger head bounced into view. Light on his feet, he cut through the masses with the ease and skill of a trained fighter, with a presence that was impossible to ignore.

“Are you okay?” He looked me over with a frown. “I saw the cops and ambulances out front and followed the crowd to the gate. They aren’t letting anyone else in and they wouldn’t tell me what happened. I tried calling.” He rubbed a heavy hand through his hair. “Your grandma has your phone?” He scanned the scene near my booth.

“Yeah.”

I pulled back for a better look at his face. “If they aren’t letting anyone in, how’d you get here?”

“I snuck over the fence. When I saw the crowd gathered at your booth...” He paused. “That was terrifying.”

“You climbed the fence?”

“By the privies. First time I’ve ever seen that place empty.” He laid his cheek against the top of my head and cradled long arms around me. “You’re okay? Your family, too?”

“Yeah.”

His heart pounded against me. “What happened?”

“John Francis collapsed. He stopped breathing. He died.”

Mom led a group of rennies to the front of the crowd. They held hands, forming a human chain around John and the paramedics, protecting them from the morbidly curious.

Nate raised onto his toes and craned his neck. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

“The medics stopped CPR right after they got here. The news crew made an announcement.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry. Did you know him well?”

“Kind of.”

A white van with the medical examiner’s logo parted the crowd, casting workers and spectators onto either side of the dusty path. Two police cruisers and a large black truck followed. A nondescript sedan brought up the rear.

I wrapped my arms around my middle. “Does that seem excessive to you? Four cars plus the ME? Is that normal for a guy with a heart attack or a stroke or whatever happened here?”

Nate rocked back on his heels. “Do you know what happened? Did anyone say it was a medical reason? Natural causes?”

“You think it wasn’t? What are you saying?” A gulp of air lodged in my throat. “Murder?” I croaked.

“Maybe.”

“No one came near him. Just Dad and me. We were talking to him half an hour ago. He was fine and now...”
How could this happen again?

Nate and I had lost our friend Baxter in July. I’d been accused of the murder then stalked by the killer. John probably wasn’t murdered, but still, any day was too soon to lose someone else.

The officers from the cruisers parked and joined local security at the gates, turning newcomers away and interviewing visitors as they left. I shaded my achy eyes and looked skyward, toward Nate’s worried face. “They’re talking to people before they leave. Maybe they think someone saw something.”

Intrigue lit his eyes. “They think this was foul play. You’re good.” He turned in a small circle, inspecting the scene. “If you’re okay here, I can go find out what they’re asking and see if I can overhear something useful.”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Excellent.” He jogged into the crowd.

I shivered from the chill left in his absence. “Good luck,” I mumbled, moving toward the family booth. A hot cup of wassail might help shake off the shock creeping through me.

A shadow fell over me. “Mia?”

I spun toward the familiar voice, heart pounding. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Detective Dan Archer was several feet away and closing the gap at a clip. His open tan trench coat whipped in the breeze. Shiny black shoes carried him to my side. He looked oddly dismayed.

“Did you know John Francis?”

He pointed a pen in the direction Nate had run. “No. So are you and Nate an item now?”

Heat rose along my neck. I lifted my chin. “I never expected to see you again.”

Dan’s older brother, Jake, had rolled into town four months ago, accused me of murder and stole my heart. I hadn’t heard from him since. My traitorous gaze drifted over the crime scene as if he might appear.

I squinted at the badge hanging from a metal chain around Dan’s neck. “Why are you here?”

Dan narrowed his eyes. “I’m a homicide detective, or have you forgotten?”

“So it was murder?” I whipped my head in the direction of poor John. The word soured on my tongue. “I knew there were too many cars. I think you’re wrong about the murder, though. I was talking to him when he got sick. He was fine and then
boom
. Probably an undiagnosed heart condition.”

“We disagree.”

I scowled. “You just got here. I was with him. I saw it happen.”

Dan’s cheek twitched. “I’m not sure about what you saw, but it’s unlikely this wasn’t a murder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Based on what evidence?”

“Based on federal marshal opinion. I’m assisting Deputy US Marshal Archer on this.”

I gaped. A slew of mental curses stampeded through my mind.

“Someone call my name?” Deputy US Marshal Archer sauntered across the grass, glaring at his phone and tapping furiously at the screen.

A strangled sound escaped me.

Dan raised a hand. “Mia, you remember my brother, Jake.”

Jake jerked to a stop.

“Yep.”

“Miss Connors.” Jake gave me a cranky look. “I’d like to say I’m surprised to see you here, but considering this is how we met last time...”

My hackles rose. “Really? You’re surprised to see me at Ye Ole Madrigal Craft Faire? Working at my family booth? Maybe you should rethink your career choice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Care if I ask you a few questions?”

I squared my shoulders. “I don’t know, Captain Insinuation. Planning to investigate me for murder again?”

He shrugged. “Why? Did you do it?”

I scowled. “What are you really doing here, Archer?”

Dan released a long whistle, like the sound of a bomb falling, and left.

Jake rubbed his chin. “I’m assisting Dan with his investigation.”

“He said he’s assisting you with your investigation. Why is there an investigation? Why are there officers stationed at the gates talking to everyone who leaves?”

“I’ll ask the questions.”

I shook my head. “No. You first. Start talking.”

His grouchy expression wavered. “It’s classified. Now, can I please ask my questions?”

I shot him a crazy face. “No.”

“I can’t do this with you right now, Mia. This hasn’t been a good day.” He motioned to the body being zipped into a black coroner bag.

The sound drew ice up my spine.

“Did you know the vic?”

I scrunched my face. “His name’s John Francis, not The Vic. He’s a painter. He does oils, landscapes, people. Some on commission. Some just hang in the gallery. They’re all beautiful. He could’ve been famous.”

Jake marked something in a little notebook.

I bristled. “What’s this about? Why are the marshals involved? How’d you even know this happened? Why did Dan say he was murdered?”

He lifted his eyes to his brother in the distance before returning to my inquisition. “Did you speak to the v—Mr. Francis before he died? Maybe see him interacting with someone? How did he seem to you?”

“He was fine. We talked a few minutes before he got sick.”

Jake’s shoulders drooped. “You were with him when he died?”

“Until the EMTs arrived. Yes.”

“And?”

“He came to visit around four, I think. We talked and I gave him some wassail. He tried our hand cream. It was a typical encounter for us.”

A commotion turned Jake away. The Action News reporter forced her way through the reformed human barricade, calling for her henchmen to follow. She shoved a microphone between Jake and me. “Did you say you gave the dead man something to drink before he died?”

My mouth opened and closed. I looked to Jake.

“That’s it.” He widened his stance and braced long tan fingers over narrow hips. “Get out. This is a police investigation.”

“I’m covering a breaking story. I have a right to be here.”

“Cover your story from over there.” He outstretched an arm in the direction of the front gates. “You’re disturbing the crime scene. Get back. Get lost. Beat it.”

She inched back, leaning her mic and torso in my direction. “Crime scene? Did you say the man also tried your hand cream? What was the cause of death?” Her eyes dropped to Jake’s badge. “US Marshal? What kind of investigation is this?”

Jake shoved her cameraman. “Get back or I’ll charge you with obstruction.”

The man removed the camera from his shoulder and hustled to set up again on the far side of our booth, while the reporter repeated her new information on air. Her attention darted back to us every few moments, making me more uncomfortable by the second.

“You okay?” Jake lifted a hand in my direction but dropped it at his side.

I swung my chin left and right. “Nope.” Not even a little.

“Agent Archer!” A man in gray slacks and a pinstriped button-down jogged to Jake’s side. “Sorry. I guess it’s Marshal Archer now.” They shook hands and exchanged easy smiles.

The badge on the man’s pocket identified him as the medical examiner. He’d shed his jacket and rolled both shirt sleeves to the elbows. A navy jacket hung over one arm. He could’ve come for the jousting and no one would’ve known the difference.

I stilled myself, hoping to hear something that made sense.

He handed Jake a baggie with a cell phone. “We took this from the victim’s pocket. No identification. A handful of cash, small bills. The team’s bagging those. You wanted the phone.”

Jake nodded, wholly focused on the baggie in hand. “Anything else?”

The man turned his back to me and lowered his voice. “Cause of death looks like poison.”

My tummy flattened against my spine. “Accidental poisoning? Like a prescription snafu or allergic reaction?”

Jake and the ME looked my way.

An apologetic smile lifted and dropped from the ME’s lips.

Jake groaned. “Mia. Maybe you can wait inside your booth until I’m ready for the rest of our interview.”

The Action News reporter popped back into place. “Poison?” Her crew adjusted cameras and boom mics from a few feet away.

Jake took a giant step in my direction, blocking me from the camera’s view. “Never mind. Stay here.” He returned his attention to the ME. “Any idea how?”

“Not yet. No signs of needle marks. Maybe something topical or ingested. We’ll know more after a tox screen and autopsy.”

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose and swore before turning anguished eyes on me. “Mia. I’ll need the cup Mr. Francis used and the wassail.”

I guffawed. “You can’t seriously think...”

He lifted a hand overhead. “I need evidence bags over here.”

The medical examiner made a hasty escape.

Shock jolted me into obstinacy. “You can’t be serious. You think I did this? Are you insane?”

The reporter snapped her fingers and fluffed her oversized hair. She used my family’s booth as her new backdrop. “Mindy Kinley reporting from Ye Ole Madrigal Craft Faire with breaking news. The man who died suddenly this past hour is believed to have been poisoned. Officers are talking with a representative of Guinevere’s Golden Beauty products, where the man sampled hand cream and accepted a cup of wassail moments before his death. A little wassail? A sample of hand cream? Which do you think killed him, Ohio? You can head over to my web page and vote until five.”

Jake cleared his throat. “I’m going to need that hand cream, too.”

I slipped into the booth and lifted the Healer’s Hand sampler from the counter. Jake stayed in my way, annoying but protective, limiting the camera’s access.

He stuck a sticky note on the lid. “They’ll bag the product and take it in for a closer look. We need to rule it out.”

I nodded.

Grandma stormed past, cell phone in hand. Her humble servant’s robe and apron flapped in the wind under a fierce enough stare to take out an army.

“Uh-oh.” I gripped the sleeve of Jake’s windbreaker. “This isn’t good.”

Grandma shook her phone at the reporter. “You air that hokum and my lawyers will have you serving salads at Betty’s Burgers by sundown.”

“Here we go.” I needed a paper bag to puff into or an oxygen mask or a getaway car. Something. Anything.

Mom and Dad rushed to Grandma’s side.

“Mia!” Nate jogged into the booth. His enormous hands wrapped my wrists and pulled them to his chest. “Now what happened?” He looked to Jake when I didn’t respond.

My family thundered and shrieked behind us. Grandma protested the implication that her product killed a man, while Dad and Tom tried fruitlessly to settle her.

I pressed my forehead against Nate’s wool coat. “Should I help? Should I let them handle it? I have no idea.” I peeked at the chaos with one eye. “I think they’re making it worse.” I turned for a better view.

Nate chuckled. “No. It looks like Bree’s got this.”

Thank goodness.

Bree was the epitome of calm before the camera. A completely non-Connors-like disposition. If she hadn’t been my identical twin and dressed as a harlot, it would’ve helped.

I pressed icy hands to my face. “Is this happening?”

Nate wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me against the sharp V of his side. “Maybe you need to sit down. I think you’re having a panic attack.”

“Am not.” I gasped through a too-tight throat.

Jake moved into our personal space. “Nate.”

“Jake.”

“Does she have attacks often?”

I gritted my teeth. “I. Am. Fine.” My cheeks and neck burned as oxygen escaped from my lungs.

Nate slid his gaze my way. “She went through a lot over the summer. It took a toll.”

“I’m fine.” My dress was shrinking and the earth was tilted, but what could I do about that?