A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

The path between booths was crowded with holiday shoppers taking full advantage of the final tolerable days before ice and snow encapsulated Ohio for the winter.

“Excuse me.” I skirted through clusters of women with bags and festive parkas until I reached the florist.

The door was locked.

“Bollocks.” I kicked the door gently and scanned the crowd.

Two doors down, Melanie rubbed her abdomen and smiled at a lady twice my age.

“Melanie!” I waved a hand overhead and hustled in her direction. “Have you seen Duff the florist today? Did he just leave or has he been gone all day?” Did he close up shop after poisoning my sister and Tom last night?

“Mia?” She tipped her head in confusion at the giant red plume in my obnoxious headpiece.

I rolled my wrist in the universal sign for get-on-with-it.

“He was here earlier. He’s probably at the privy or getting a bite to eat.”

My tummy churned at the mention of food. I took another look at the teeming paths of shoppers. “Okay. All right. I’ll try back, then. Wait. Do you know anything about papyrus? Have you ever seen him with it? Does he usually carry it in his shop?”

“Papayas?”

“No. Papyrus. They made scrolls from them in ancient Egypt.”

She scrunched her face. “But this is the Renaissance.”

Right.
“Okay. Thank you.” I broke into a jog and made my way up the hill to the blacksmith’s shop before the show started. I asked the blacksmith’s daughter about papyrus and the florist. She wasn’t any help either.

With ten minutes to go, I dashed back to the Tilted Tulip. Bingo!

The lights were on when I tugged the door. “Hello?” My muscles were warm from the run and my heart raced with nerves and hope. If Duff was the killer, he couldn’t attack me in a crowded place like this, and I’d have beaten Jake to solving the puzzle. I’d text Jake to arrest him. My sister, John and Martha would be vindicated, and everyone could relax again.

Duff was crouched behind the counter, restocking bags. “Good even. Oh, it’s you.”

“I’m in an enormous hurry, so can you tell me where you’re from originally? I heard your brogue slip a few days ago. You were with a woman near the privy.”

His shoulders slumped and he puckered his lips slightly, apparently deciding what to do with me. “I’m from Jersey. What’s it to ya?” There it was. The ugliest accent on earth. One that gave him common ground with the mobster who’d wanted my friend dead.

“Do you know Bennie the Bean?”

“What?”

“Do you know the name? Does it mean anything to you?”

“Yeah.”

I stumbled backward. “Did you kill John Francis to collect on some bounty from Bennie or any of his known affiliates?”

“What? Hey, lady. Are you drunk or something?” He looked over both shoulders. “Is this a hidden camera show? Am I on television?”

“No.” My fingers curled into tight fists.

“Oh, I see. Then you’re flat-out crazy?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoided my question. I’m a student of human behavior. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I didn’t kill nobody. I moved here from Jersey years ago. I got a work transfer. I finished college in Cleveland.”

“How do you know about Bennie?”

“All my family’s in Jersey. I still visit every summer. Hit the shore. Get a tan. Come on.” He plucked the collar of his shirt.

“Where were you ten minutes ago?”

“Bathroom.”

“What about last night? Did you poison my family? Write a creepy note on papyrus?”

His eyes widened. “That’s why you came in here asking about papyrus? Someone hurt your family?” Fear changed his expression. “You think Bennie’s after you?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.” My voice hitched with each word. “I’ve got to go.”

I ran all the way to the stage and apologized profusely to Adam before jumping behind the curtain as it rose.

Spotlights illuminated the dancers. Tinny music blared through hidden speakers, and I swallowed my pride for Bree.

I refused to look into the audience. Jake and Dan were out there somewhere, and there was no doubt Jake had filled his brother in on my impersonation by now.

This wasn’t a fair trade for her mild poisoning. This was the definition of awful.

I plastered on a fake smile and struck a ridiculous pose. All there was left to do was smile and plot my revenge on Bree.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The red light cue flashed across my legs, and I froze. A cold breeze flapped my skirt ruffles against my thighs. My cleavage skin pulled tight in gooseflesh, and I was certain everyone saw. My traitorous eyes scanned the restless crowd. Bodies filled every seat and formed a semicircle around the back row. Burlesque might not have been a traditional Renaissance performance, but it was certainly a crowd creator. With any luck, the local news wouldn’t show up like they did to cover the jousting. The last thing I needed was video footage of the travesty about to take place.

A tremor played over my fingers, and my tongue dried out. The flames of tiny candles trapped in mason jars flickered along the stage lip, casting strange shadows on the polished boards, taunting me. Dan and Jake sat in the front row, captivated by my inability to move. Tears blurred my vision. This was not me. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t a performer.

“Bree,” Adam hissed from the space offstage. “Bree! It’s your cue. They’re waiting.”

The music stopped and silence boomed louder than my pounding heart.

A tiny white flag caught my attention down front. Jake whipped it overhead until I turned his way. He stilled the unfolded napkin and held it open with both hands. COSPLAY.

Cosplay.

Fear roiled in my core, morphing slowly into something wonderful and familiar.
Cosplay
. I loved cosplay. I turned to face the stage crew, hidden among shadows, and I squinted against the blinding spotlight. “One more time.”

The music began anew and a smile crept over my lips. I gave a stiff nod to Jake for saving my life. As far as anyone besides him and possibly Dan knew, I was Bree.

My hip bounced with the steady beat of a low bass drum. The high hat joined its brother, and I began a slow catlike walk to the mason jars, fanning my arms wide. As the instruments joined in, I added the choreographed arm motions to my swaying rump. One hand on the back of my head. The other playfully covering my cleavage. I synched the memorized moves to the music with ease. I was dancing! On a stage! I dropped into the quick squat Bree normally fumbled, whipping my knees open and closed before going bottoms up. I dragged gloved hands, fingers wide, up the length of my legs.

The crowd went wild, and I let loose. I rolled my head in large circles, arms wide. I spun in quick turns across the stage, stopping between each to make an exaggerated Betty Boop face and pop my bottom or arch my back. The rhythmic pounding of heels behind me increased my bravado. I wasn’t alone. I was part of a show. Energy pulsed through me, filling every cell and fiber. We marched in a broad circle, one hand on the girl ahead of us, before breaking into a knees-high, Rockettes-worthy kick line.

I belonged onstage.

People clapped and whistled. Shoppers poured into the audience, unable to walk past when they saw the show. My crazy heart tap danced a rhythm against my ribs. A bass voice down front barked in approval, feeding the fire in my limbs.

I closed my eyes, embracing the moment, strutting toward stage left for my next pose and shimmy combo.

Three fast cracks erupted, shocking me from my high. Pain ricocheted through me. I grabbed my chest to stop the searing ache. Cabaret music nearly swallowed the sounds, but I’d heard them. I’d felt them, collapsing my lungs. A spotlight found me. Girls squealed and fled the stage. I peeled tight fingers from my damp corset and found them coated in thick red liquid.

I screamed long and loud enough to earn a job in Hollywood. My life flashed before my eyes, beginning with my family and how this was Bree’s fault. Her guilt trip had literally killed me.

I did not belong onstage.

The crowd burst to life like kindling caught fire.

Dan’s voice boomed over the chaos, barking orders into the void.

My knees buckled. I landed on my backside with a graceless thud.

Jake sped onto the stage and dove over me, shielding me with his body and rubbing my chest and ribs with both hands. It shouldn’t have felt so good to a dying woman. I squeezed off a prayer for forgiveness and made pleas for survival on conditions of immediate confession and unlimited Hail Marys.

“Sit up.” Jake hefted me into a seated position and pulled me to my feet. “Come on.”

I scurried behind him, dragged by the tight grip of his hand over mine. Every breath pierced my chest. “Hey!” The word burned a trail up my throat.
Never move an injured person
. Girl Scouts had taught me very little, but that was a rule. “Jake! Stop!” I grabbed my throat and sipped oxygen into straining lungs.

He pushed me into the shadow of the rear stage wall and unholstered his gun. “Paintballs.”

“What?” I dragged my hands over the red stains and turned my palms in the dim light. “Paintballs?” I croaked.

I dropped to the floor and put my head between my knees. I was alive! Why couldn’t I breathe?

“Someone’s toying with you,” Jake growled. “You’re like a mouse in a giant, demented cat’s paws.”

The image was horrifying. But I was alive. “What do we do now?”

“Did you get a look at who shot you?”

“No. It was too dark. They were in the shadows behind the curtain at stage left.”

His jaw pulsed in fury. “I’m going to kill him. If you see it happen, keep your mouth shut.”

“Okay.”

Jake paced the space before me, coordinating via cell phone with other members of his team and local law enforcement.

Two shiny black shoes came into view. I tipped my head slightly for a look at the newcomer. Dan. He squatted before me. “You okay?”

I gave him a thumbs-up.

Dan slid the tan duster off his shoulders and handed it to me. “What on earth were you doing onstage? I thought Bree was nuts for going on tonight. Taking her place was incredibly stupid. What’s wrong with Connors women?”

I rubbed hot tears off my cheek. “I can’t breathe.”

Jake turned for a long look at us. “Stand up,” he told Dan. “Turn around.”

Dan obeyed and Jake moved behind me. He loosened my corset until I nearly lost it, and he handed me his cell phone in flashlight mode. “Take a look at the damage. Just paintballs. If the shooter was within a hundred feet, you’ll be sore for days. If he was closer, who knows? He could have bruised your ribs. It’s unlikely your ribs are broken.”

Dark blue and purple circles marred the pale skin beneath my corset. My windpipe opened a bit.

Jake wrapped the duster around me and rubbed his palms up and down my arms. “You’ll be fine. You’ve probably had a lot worse damage from your horse.”

He remembered my horse? I’d shown him a picture of me on horseback once, but I’d assumed any memories of our summer together were lost to him. Another closed case. “I have.” I’d fallen from Lancelot my sophomore year of college and broken my collarbone. That was true misery.

“Can you breathe or do you need to sit back down?”

Dan gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “Panic attack?”

“Yeah.” Jake answered for me. He gripped my forearms and watched me intently with fierce eyes. His Adam’s apple moved slowly up and down before he spoke. “When I came home from the service, I had panic attacks. I know what you’re feeling. It’s going to be okay.”

Tears spilled over my lids. How stupid was I? This man had been to war. He had reasons to panic. I’d survived an hour with an assailant last summer and a couple paintballs. My mind reeled with the idiocy of it all. “I’m sorry.”

A troop of Faire security guards arrived with giant flashlights and anxious faces. Jake led me toward them. “These guys are going to escort you to my truck. Your dad will bring your car to you later.”

“What about you?”

“I’m coming along. You aren’t leaving my side again. Got it?”

“‘Kay.” My shallow breaths slowly deepened. Jake had a plan. I was okay. My family was safe. This was a vicious joke, nothing more. No one was hurt. I turned the thought around in my mind. “Do you think the shooter knew it was me up there and not Bree? Does he know I’m a twin? Was the poisoning also meant for me, or do you think they poisoned Bree so I’d take her place?”
So they could shoot me.

Jake nudged me forward. “I don’t pretend to know what these sickos are thinking. There’s a whole division for that. I’m here to capture criminals and bring them to justice. Profilers wrestle with the why. Personally, I don’t care why as long as they get what’s coming.”

His philosophy seemed harsh but, at the moment, I couldn’t argue.

We entered the parking lot as a unit. Jake took point. Staff security stood on every side, nestling me in the center. Shoppers were corralled at the gates for questioning.

“Jake? I need to get my laptop from Stella. I locked it in the trunk.”

He waved a hand overhead and the security on his flanks headed into the field ahead of us.

Headlights bounced through the grass in our direction, coughing a bark of a siren as if an afterthought. The car rolled to a stop in our path, and a uniformed officer spilled out. “Where do you need me, Marshal?”

Jake inclined his head in greeting. “They could use help taking statements at the gates.”

The cop waved two fingers near the brim of his hat and left us.

I hurried to catch up with Jake. Stella came into view several rows away from Jake’s truck. A colony of bats swooped through the inky sky, bathed in moonlight before disappearing into the shadows. Something dark flipped in the breeze over my hood. “Wait,” I whispered. “There’s a flag tied to my antenna.”

“Officer,” Jake called.

The new arrival changed direction, heading back our way at a jog. “Sir?”

“Get an evidence bag.” Jake crossed the last few feet to my car. The grim expression on his face stole the oxygen from my lungs. “We’ve got another one.”

Another note.

I forced the obvious question through trembling lips. “What does it say?”

He turned the makeshift flag my way, shining his phone screen over the thick red image. A large 2 filled the space.

“What does that mean?” I croaked. “Two what?” Two attempts to hurt me or Bree? “Is it a code? Is that papyrus?”

“Toss me your keys.”

I did as he asked while working an endless stream of possible meanings for a number two in my head.

The officer snapped on a pair of gloves and dropped the note in a baggie.

Jake opened the trunk, tossed my bag over his shoulder and motioned the security guards to fan out. “My truck. Now.” He pressed his cell phone to his temple and relayed information about the note to someone, while heading toward his truck at a clip. It was papyrus.

The same man who’d sent the kid to deliver the first note had tied a number to my car. He knew my car. Did he know where I lived?

I jog-walked to keep up. Stress chattered my teeth and iced my veins. Two threats in an hour was my all-time record. I didn’t want to know what came next.

Jake stuffed his phone into his pocket and slowed to stare at me. “Where did you go before the show? I told you to stay put, but you disappeared. Where’d you go?”

“I went to see the florist. I remembered he had a Jersey accent. Plus, a florist is the obvious person to order papyrus and he’d know about plants like belladonna. I had to ask him if he killed John.”

Jake swore.

“He said he didn’t do it.”

Jake raised both hands skyward and let them fall hard against his sides. He made another call. “Bring in the florist.”

I forced a supportive smile. “Thanks. I believed him, but...”

“But?”

“He was gone when I first tried his shop, then he turned up a few minutes later. He probably had enough time to leave the note if his plan was already in motion.”

Jake ground his teeth. The phone rang and he slid back to marshal mode. “Get in my truck. I need to get you away from here.”

“‘Kay.”

Even if he was mad at me for interfering, I’d trade a dozen officers for one Jake. There was no doubt he would protect me or that he was capable. I moved my feet toward his truck, one after the other, entranced by the hypnotic cadence of his tone. The moment of safety evaporated without warning. Curses dripped suddenly from his lips. He slammed a palm into the hood of his truck and wrenched a square of papyrus from his windshield.

This one said 1.

“Oh no.” A countdown.