A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic (4 page)

A confusing sound traveled down the hall and settled in my gut as I worked the corkscrew. It was the same deep drawl that had haunted my sleep since July. My fingers froze mid-twist.

“Mia.” Mom beamed. “Look who came to see you.”

Deputy US Marshal Jake Archer frowned at me from across my parents’ kitchen, complete with cowboy hat and shiny gold star. “Hello, Mia.”

Chapter Four

My mind raced with possible reasons for Jake Archer to appear in my parents’ kitchen. Most were troublesome. None were good. I lifted my hand waist high and wiggled my fingers. “Hi.”

He nodded once, shifting his gaze across the room and down the length of me.

Bree hummed a long obnoxious note.

A rush of self-awareness stole my breath and burned my cheeks. Everyone else had changed. I was late after staying to visit Surly Wench. I lifted one hand to my head. Yep. Uncombed. Still pinned in extravagant chestnut ringlets, fuzzy and tangled from wind and wear. I squeezed a handful of heavy emerald velvet skirting between the fingers of my opposite hand. The mud coating on my gown’s hem grew heavier with every breath. The plunging neckline was too revealing. The belted waist was too tight.

Jake removed his hat and rubbed a forearm across his forehead. “I’m sorry for showing up like this.”

Bree and Mom ushered him forward, rambling over one another in bumbling succession. “No. Not at all. Glad you’re here.”

Dad made a trip to the fridge. “You on duty?”

“Not technically. No.”

Mom filled a plate with everything and jammed a fork on top. “Eat.”

Dad set a beer on the island before him. “She loves us with food.”

“It’s appreciated. Thank you.”

Mom blushed.

Dad sidled up beside Jake and raised his bottle. “So, you get a bead on the killer? Someone in custody? Suspects?”

Grandma crept into the kitchen, eyeballing the badge on Jake’s belt. “You’re not here to arrest someone, are you?” She flicked her attention to me.

His cheek twitched. “No, ma’am. I came by to see how you’re all doing. I should’ve been more sympathetic at the Faire. Sometimes I get focused and forget my manners.”

Bree slithered to my side. “So, manners brought you here? Nothing else?”

Jake looked from my face to Bree’s and back again.

I squirmed. “We accept your apology.”

Grandma deflated. “I’m just glad you aren’t here to arrest anyone.” She grabbed a beer from the fridge and knocked the cap off on the edge of Mom’s counter.

Mom groaned.

Grandma shoved a pretzel in her mouth and gave Jake another once-over. “So, you came to see Mia?”

“Grandma.” I gave her a warning look. “He said he came to...” What had he come to do? To say he should’ve been nicer earlier? At a murder scene?

Jake cleared his throat. He worked the brim of his hat between steady fingers. A network of tiny lines gathered at the corners of his eyes. “I did.”

Did what? Came to see me?

He turned somber eyes on me. “Is there someplace we can talk privately?”

“Fine—” Grandma tapped the counter “—but eat first. Gwendolyn will lose her mind if someone doesn’t eat soon.”

Jake forked a wad of cheese and pasta into his mouth.

I lifted my nearly forgotten bowl and joined him. He’d come to see me. He hadn’t contacted me in three months and, frankly, could’ve been a little nicer at the Faire. Did he think I knew more about John’s death than I’d already told him? Had he seen me visit Surly Wench with Nate?

The silence was palpable. Everyone stared. At me. At him. I shoved spiral pasta around my bowl, both thankful and horrified to have my family present for our bizarre reunion.

Tom poured a glass of wine and took the empty place beside Jake, opposite his wife. “How do you like the Marshal Service so far?”

Thank heavens for Tom’s obsession with small talk. My shoulders dropped a bit from their positions beside my ears. I rubbed the knotted muscles in my neck, waiting for his answer.

Jake chewed thoughtfully, a little longer than necessary, it seemed, before answering. “Good.”

I rolled my eyes. A real wordsmith. An open book, this guy.

Tom gobbled up the one-word answer and went hunting for more. “Yeah? I bet it’s interesting work.”

“It’s definitely that.” Jake pushed a pile of cheese cubes with his fork. “How about you? Have you and Bree finished your study?”

Tom perked up. A broad smile split his face. “Not yet, no. We’re just getting started, really. There’s so much ground to cover. Attraction. Flirtation. Foreplay. Coitus.” He stretched a pale finger in the air for each item on his list. “We’d hoped Mia would go on some blind dates for us, provide a little recon, but, of course, she declined.” He smiled sadly in my direction. “I can’t say I blame her. At our age, it’s hard to find many decent single people.”

I shaded my face with one hand and spoke privately with my maker.
Kill me now and throw me in the river.
Why was this my life? Who were these people? How could Bree and I share DNA? DNA was a farce. That should be their next study.

“Mia?” Bree hip-checked me. “Jake asked you something.”

“What?” My gaze jumped to his. “What?”

He snorted quietly, amused at something I didn’t see or understand. “I said I understood your reluctance to date and asked when you moved.”

“How do you know I moved?” I set my fork aside before I dropped it.

“I stopped at your apartment before coming here. A man in a unitard answered your door. At first I thought he was a friend of yours, a new roommate, significant other, but he told me he moved in August.”

“My significant other? In a unitard? That’s the kind of man you assume would steal my heart?”

“I didn’t know, and I don’t judge.”

I glanced at the fork beside my bowl, and Jake pulled both hands into his lap.

Bree coughed into her fist and shook her head in a movement so tiny I nearly missed it.

I counted to ten silently. “No roommate. No lover in a unitard. I moved.”

“Where?”

“To Horseshoe Falls. I told you I would when you came to see me in the hospital.” I mentally added this to the abundant list of reasons I didn’t date. Men were impossible, and they didn’t listen.

His blank expression begged me to smack it. “I didn’t forget.”

“Then why did you go to my old apartment?”

He didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry. Why are you here?”

A gasp rolled through the kitchen. My family scattered like mice at a cat show.

Jake wiped his fingers on a napkin and dropped it on the island. “Horseshoe Falls? Did you buy a house?”

“Condo.”

“Do you like it there?”

“I’m never late for work.”

He pushed away from the island and stuffed both hands into front pockets. “I just wanted to tell you I don’t think your family did this thing today. I know they didn’t kill John Francis.”

I gnawed a stumpy fingernail. “Good.”

“I don’t know for sure your product wasn’t used as the murder weapon, though.”

“What?” I scooted around the island and dropped my voice to a whisper. “What is that supposed to mean? We make our products. You know that.”

Jake’s pained expression worried me. “I should go. Will you walk me out?”

“You can bet your britches.” I grabbed my cloak off the rack and strode outside ahead of him. Puffs of my frozen breath lifted into the air. Steam probably rolled off my head, too. I kicked a lump of mud with the point of my boot.

Jake jogged down the drive a moment later. “Sorry. I had to say goodbye to everyone.”

I bit my tongue and waited.

He opened the passenger door to his truck and motioned me inside. “Come on. I’ll warm it up. You must be freezing.”

“I’m fine. Talk.”

He scrubbed heavy hands over his weary face and stuffed the cowboy hat back onto his head. He leaned in. “John Francis was a federal witness in US Marshal custody.
My
custody.” He slammed the door and swore under his breath.

I relaxed against the closed door as I processed the news. “He was a painter.”

“Yes. A painter who forged priceless works and sold them to criminals who swapped the fakes for the originals and kept or sold the real ones.”

I tugged the material of my cloak tight across my shoulders. “That’s a thing?”

“Yes, and this particular man was instrumental in fingering a major New Jersey crime boss. John Francis worked in the family’s trust for years. He had inside information we needed.” Jake shifted uncomfortably. “He was my first solo assignment and a hell of a nice guy. And he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

He lifted stormy eyes to mine. “Anyway, I know your family didn’t do this, not intentionally, anyway. I suspect this was a hired hit. John was slated to testify next week in Jersey.”

“Do you really think it’s possible someone used our products for murder?”

“The ME’s a friend of mine. I’ll know as soon as he does.”

I turned for the passenger door handle and climbed inside Jake’s truck. Maybe I did want to sit awhile.

He joined me, rounding the hood and sliding behind the wheel. He started the engine and cranked the heater. Warm scents of cinnamon and spice filled the air. An open pack of chewing gum topped a pile of change in the cup holder between us. The soft twang of country music drifted through tiny speakers in the door and dashboard.

The street outside was dark, cold and desolate. Still, the sensation of being watched sent prickles along my skin.

I turned on the seat to face Jake. “Who was John testifying against?”

“Bennie the Bean.”

I snorted. “Seriously?”

Jake scowled. “Bennie the Bean is a vicious mobster. He’s evaded officials for decades and John was the department’s first real break. He agreed to testify to everything he’d seen and heard while in Bennie’s employ. He’d been in federal protection for a year. I got the case last month and now he’s dead. I was supposed to protect him.”

“Wow. John had a complete double life.” His thick Jersey accent had always seemed so endearing when it slipped through the standard Elizabethan of the Faire.

I forced my scrambled thoughts into order. “What about Melanie? Maybe this wasn’t some grand mob hit. What if it was something else? Maybe she announced her pregnancy and he dumped her, so she killed him. You saw her. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly today.”

He raised curious eyes to mine. “I thought you didn’t believe in coincidence.”

“I don’t. I also don’t jump to conclusions. Have you spoken with the staff at Surly Wench? Did anyone at the Faire see anything suspicious? What did the cops learn during their interviews?”

“Melanie’s on the short list, but she thinks it was his business partner, George Flick.”

I tugged my bottom lip. “Figures. Everything comes down to money. Did you talk to Mr. Flick yet? I should give him my condolences tomorrow and see how he responds.”

Jake’s expression turned cold. “No. I came here to tell you I knew you didn’t do this, not to push your Go button. This is a federal investigation. It has nothing to do with you. You need to stay out of it.”

I straightened my spine. “Excuse me? My friend died today. You say it was murder. The Action News says my family’s product killed him. This has everything to do with me. In fact, I can’t think of a way that his death
doesn’t
have something to do with me. You know what else I think? I think you came here to tick me off.”

Jake guffawed. “That’s insane.”

“Did you call me insane?” I opened the door and slid to my feet. “I guess I should be glad I’m not a suspect. Again. Good luck with your investigation, Deputy US Marshal Jacob Archer.” My hands shook with frustration. Something about him made me want to kick stones and him.

“Hey! You left my door open.”

“Accurate.”

I stormed across the lawn to my parents’ home and slammed the front door behind me.

Chapter Five

Thirty minutes later, I slid my Mini Cooper against the curb and stared up at my old apartment building, consumed by a clear combination of distraction and old habits. Regardless, if I was in the neighborhood I might as well see what Nate made of the things Jake had told me.

I hurried through the entryway as another tenant exited and darted onto the elevator before the door shut.

The elevator ride was excruciating and smelled like carpet cleaner. My mind flicked through today’s events at warp speed and suppressed memories of being held hostage in this building by a killer. I could’ve climbed Everest faster than the elevator carried me up four floors. I jammed my thumb against the button a dozen times. Numbers lit and dimmed in comically slow motion. Tension bunched the muscles along my neck and shoulders. I nearly stopped on the third floor to see the new tenant in my old apartment. Why did the man wear a unitard? Fashion statement? Was he a dancer? Dramatic artist? Professional wrestler?

I pulled my hand away from the button. I couldn’t exit on the third floor. Not even for a man in a unitard. Entering the building was one thing, approaching my old apartment was something else entirely. Friends, family and professionals had to move me into my condo at Horseshoe Falls after what happened last summer. If it had been my choice, I’d have collected my costume trunk and computer gear and left the rest behind.

A sharp
ding
nearly toppled me into parting silver doors. I hiked my skirt with both hands and hustled to Nate’s place, keeping an eye out for the small crowd of hipsters living next door. I liberated my cell phone from the satchel on my wrist and texted Nate before knocking.

You up?

Somewhere beyond the door, his phone chimed.

His response arrived seconds later.
Yeah.
You
ok?

I hovered my thumbs over the tiny screen. Was I okay?
Not
remotely.

Nate’s door sucked open and I yelped.

“Hey.” He took my arm and pulled me inside. “Come here. What on earth?” He looked me over as if the answer was hidden on my cloak or in my hair.

I huffed. “How’d you know I was there?”

“I heard your phone crow.”

Nate led me to the couch. His cutoff shorts had seen better days, and his Fighting Irish shirt clung to angles and planes of his well-defined chest like a sticker. “Did you run into Carl and his crew in the hall?” His teasing tone lifted a smile on my face.

“No. Why? Because they love it when I walk around dressed as a medieval queen?” I patted my skirt. Why on earth was I still in this outfit? I puffed air into overgrown bangs and accidentally steamed my glasses. “I don’t understand hipsters and their dull, underenthused lifestyle. Excuse me for having fun.”

I dropped into my spot on Nate’s sectional and tipped over, face-planting into the neighboring cushion.

“Are you having fun now?” His footsteps retreated, thudding softly against kitchen tiles. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Wine?”

I waved a hand overhead. “No, thank you.” The muffled words heated my face. I forced myself upright, adjusting my glasses. “I don’t know why I stopped here. I guess it was the unitard.”

He chuckled. “Who doesn’t like a unitard?” Nate returned to my side with a cup of coffee. “Your life’s blood, milady.”

“I don’t suppose you have an outfit I can borrow?”

“Yep.”

“Really?” I sipped the coffee, enjoying the bitter steam swirling around my nose.

“Give me a minute.” Nate disappeared into his room, sliding drawers open and shut. “Ah-ha.” He rounded the corner, back to my side, with a broad smile and pair of capri pants dangling from his fingertips. “You left these after the ice cream-eating contest of 2012. Do you remember? You wore a pair of my basketball shorts back to your apartment.” He dropped the pants onto my lap.

A laugh bubbled through me. “I couldn’t button them. I totally forgot they existed.” I hugged them to my chest. “What about a shirt?”

He flipped a knot of cotton at my face. “I want that one back.”

I shook the knot into shape. “You kept your middle school boxing shirt?”

He shrugged. “We were champions that year. Anyway, how’d you know about the unitard guy? Also, it’s called a singlet. He’s a professional wrestler.”

Knew it.

I took another gulp of coffee and settled my nerves. “Jake told me.” I carried the outfit to Nate’s bathroom and shut the door slightly. “Any other reason you asked if I saw your neighbors? Did they say something about me?”

“There’s a Furry Convention tonight. I saw them hauling in costumes yesterday, and I know how you like it when the Furries come out.”

“Jeez.” I’d had a childhood run-in with a Furry at a Renaissance Faire in Maine. The experience turned me off to costumed characters for life. I was eight and some stoner in a fox costume had assaulted me with nuts from a tree. When I ran, he skipped along behind me, drawing attention from Faire visitors. Everyone thought we were adorable. Me running for my life and him bounding along beside me in the giant smiling head. After the lunatic grabbed my arm and forced me to dance with him, a group of merry minstrels surrounded us. Apparently, they thought the fox was entertaining with his animated moves. I thought I’d die in a shallow grave wearing his fox head. Bree barreled in, as usual, with Big Sister Mode initiated. She kicked his shins soundly and knocked his head off. I burst into tears and the minstrels got a clue. Adults had dragged the fox-man away and Bree had comforted a hyperventilating me.

The pungent scent of pot on his fur came thick with the recollection. I shook off the memory and shimmied free of my heavy velvet dress and lung-crushing corset beneath. Delicious oxygen rushed in. “Ahh.”

“Feeling better?” Nate’s voice carried around the unlatched door.

“Yes.” I pulled on my twenty-first century gear and frowned at the ratty condition of my hair. “Can I use your brush?”

“Um. I have a comb, but yeah.”

I opened tidy drawers until I found a perfect comb. No hair stuck in the teeth. No giant hair creatures rolling alongside it. The comb would be lost in my nest of fuzzy curls. I put it back and sighed.

Nate’s bathroom was immaculate, like the rest of his place, minimally furnished and only in the best pieces. My apartment, on the other hand, was jam-packed with memories of everything from Girl Scout Camp to old retainers. I liked vintage stuff, flea markets and sentimentality. Granted, I kept most of the clutter crammed into pretty boxes and bins, but no one would ever accuse my place of immaculacy or minimalism.

I emerged carrying the old ensemble.

Nate leaned against the couch. Arms crossed. “How did Jake know about the wrestler?”

“He didn’t. He called it a unitard.”

“But he knew about him. Was he here?”

I bit my lip, sorting the important from the not. “Yep.”

“Looking for you?”

“He showed up tonight at my folks’ place to apologize for not being more congenial at the Craft Faire today. He said he stopped here first. I guess he wanted me to know he didn’t suspect my family of killing John, but they haven’t ruled out the possibility our products were used to that end.”

Nate slouched. “Well, that’s horrible. Your grandma must be sick.”

“There’s more.”

He patted the seat beside his.

I perched gingerly on the edge. “John was in federal protection under Jake’s care. He was due to testify next week against a mobster in Jersey. I’m probably not supposed to repeat this, but if I don’t, my brain will explode.”

Nate’s green eyes twinkled. “I knew it.”

We’d looked up the marshals’ function after Jake left the FBI. Witness protection and fugitive apprehension were part of their gigs.

Nate seemed proud of himself for guessing correctly. “I figured John as a fugitive, but I expected he was some old tree hugger hiding out after releasing test monkeys from a lab twenty years ago or something.”

“That’s very specific.”

“It was a long drive home.” He set his big hand on mine. “Don’t get involved in this, Mia.”

I hated disappointing Nate, but I wouldn’t lie to him. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do. We always have a choice.”

“Then I choose saving Grandma’s company. We’re in negotiations with Earth Hugger, and the local news is undoing all my hard work with every salacious update.”

He curled long fingers around my palm. “Then focus on the PR not the crime. How about that? Can we compromise? Let the Archers do their thing and I’ll help you with PR. I’m great with people. You know that. Let me help.”

“Fine. You can help.”

“And you’ll focus on the company? Not the investigation?”

I pulled my hand free and shifted on the couch.

“Mia.”

“PR is first.”

“Mia.”

I cracked under the interrogation. “I’ve already researched poisons at my folks’ place.”

He flopped against the backrest. “Why?” He lifted both hands overhead before clamping them on like a hat. “I’d planned to ask you to stay out of this when I thought John was a lame former activist. Now that we know he was involved with the mob, you can’t seriously pursue this.” He plunged forward, landing elbows on knees. “You’ll be the next target for the Jersey mob.”

“I don’t think it’s a statewide thing.”

His eyelids drooped. “‘You’re killing me, Smalls.’”

I smiled at his quote from
The Sandbox
. He posed a good argument for keeping my distance, but the bottom line was he’d never fight with me and we both knew it, so I was going to do what I wanted.

“I’m going to help the company first, but I plan to do a little more research on John. You’re welcome to help with both.”

“Fine.”

Knew it.

I pushed my phone between us and brought up my most recent search. “According to this site, poison’s a good choice for covert killing. If you think about it, poison’s been taking lives, by accident and otherwise, since the beginning of time.”

He scoffed at the little screen. “Poisons for Beginners.”

“Yes.” I rotated on the cushion, cocking a knee between us. “There are a ton of ways to deliver the dose. Some toxins work really fast, others take days. In spy movies, villains use a syringe, but victims can also ingest the poison, breathe it or have it rubbed on their skin. Look at this.” I scrolled the screen with the flick of my finger. “Arsenic. Hemlock. Cobra bites. Mushrooms. Methanol. I could read all night and only learn a portion of what there is to know.”

“Uh-huh.” He pressed the heels of both hands to his eyes. “I think if he was bitten by a cobra, he might’ve noticed.”

“Exactly, but what if someone put something into the Healer’s Hand Cream tester or our wassail? I don’t think that’s possible, but I’m eliminating worst-case scenarios first. I wonder if he stopped to talk with anyone after he left Surly Wench, but before he spoke with me.”

Nate uncovered his eyes and stared, helpless. “Last time nearly got me killed.” His voice was low and weak, a last-ditch effort to bring me to his side of the debate.

Gooseflesh rose on my arms. “Last time, I caught a killer who was in the process of ruining dozens of lives.” My counselor said so.

“Yes, and for that, you’re a hero. A hero with nightmares, a new apartment and no tech support. You still haven’t replaced Warren and I know why. You’re not over the last murder investigation you got involved in.”

I ground my teeth. If he kept going, he’d just piss me off, and he knew it. “I’m fine. In fact,” I improvised to prove my point, “I’m calling a temporary agency tomorrow and hiring a woman to fill Warren’s position.” A very tiny, feeble old lady, preferably.

My phone buzzed and my heart stopped. I’d chosen “Flight of the Bumblebee” for Bree’s ringtone for good reason. Scary how one sound could encapsulate a person’s personality so perfectly. “Hello?”

Bree’s voice blasted through the phone. “When are you sending the email? Grandma’s on her fourth beer and threatening to call the news station again. You need to do something.”

“Calm down. I needed to see Nate. I’m heading home now.”

“You need to smooth things over with the public. Squelch these ridiculous accusations against the company ASAP. We need to get out in front of this train before it runs us over.”

Technically, getting out in front of a train was the perfect way to be run over, but Bree hated logic.

“Are you there?” She tapped the phone against something hard. “Mia. You’re the face of this company. I suggest you get busy before we’re all ruined.”

I opened my mouth to silent scream. “I told you. I’m on it. The letter will go out in the morning. I don’t need to be reminded to do my job.”

Bree covered the phone and repeated my promise to Grandma in muffled words. “Hey?” She switched from her shrill boss-of-me tone seamlessly to something more like we’re-still-besties, right?

“Hmm.” I buttoned my cloak over the T-shirt and capris.

“Did you tell Nate about Jake stopping by?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he think?”

I shrugged, only half caring she couldn’t see me. “I’ll talk to you after I finish the letter. Tell Grandma to hang tight and try to get some rest. I’ve got the letter half-drafted in my head. This is my thing, and I’m on it.” I disconnected.

Nate was on his feet pacing. “Who was John testifying against?”

“Bennie the Bean.”

He typed on his phone. “New Jersey crime boss. Holy mobsters, Batman. There are a thousand entries on that guy.”

“Too bad we can’t use facial recognition software with a security feed to match someone at the Faire with one of Bennie’s known associates.”

“I think you should drop this.”

“Duly noted.”

Nate opened the door for me. “The county fairgrounds doesn’t have security cameras with face recognition software. They don’t even have Wi-Fi.”

“It’s too bad. With the right technology, every case would be closed by dinner.”

“Don’t get me started. This conversation will go all
Minority Report
, and I’ll need a beer. I’m watching my carbs.”

“Whatever.” I stepped across the threshold. “I bet this wasn’t a mob hit. These things are never what they seem. I bet the killer didn’t even know John had mob ties. He couldn’t have been here longer than he’s been in custody, which was only a year according to Jake. How could anyone really know him? Wow. Wait. Was John Francis even his real name?”