Formula for Murder
Formula for Murder
Judith Mehl
A Handwriting Analysis Mystery
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Formula for Murder
Copyright © 2012 by Judith Mehl
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations. For information/permission contact the publisher, Pennystone Books, at www.pennystonebooks.com.
Printed in the
United States of America
.
To my Mom
Who encouraged me always
Clues provided at the beginning of each chapter compress information taken from the titles given and are not exact quotes.
Acknowledgements
I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to
Dr. Ellen Bowers, AAHA certified analyst, for her expertise in guiding me through the handwriting analysis clues of this book.
Chapter 1
Stabbed ovals form one clue of four; if three others follow, deep secrecy or dishonesty prevails.
“Handwriting Analysis: Putting it to Work for You” by Andrea McNichol
Truth fueled Kat Everitt’s mission. Sometimes she felt like a match near a gas can. The irony struck her as the autumn evening’s chill swirled past her when she entered
Mountain View
University
’s
Wolcott
Science
Center
. The distant sound of receding footsteps and closing doors echoed through hallways of concrete and tile. Excited student chatter drifted away.
She hated being the harbinger of bad news. Coming late at night to protect her friend, Gerald, from eavesdroppers was the best she could offer; she couldn’t shield him from the truth she carried.
Her Michael Kors sandals snapped out in precision, and ricocheted off the hard surface. She picked up the tempo climbing the stairs toward biology labs and offices. The dropping thermometer reminded Kat she should pack away her sandals and line up her fall shoes and boots. Maybe tomorrow she’d wear her new Italian black kidskin pumps, but she needed protection tonight for the emotional armor her Kors provided.
It was well after nine o’clock and dark shadows persisted. These noises barely penetrated inside one of the labs. Kat glimpsed a lone professor scan his neatly stacked notes and twist the cap off a foul-smelling chemical. Sound was never the prevailing sense on the second floor of the old science building. Here it was the scents, the reek of pyridine, sulfur compounds, and halogenated solvents that permeated the labs. This late at night dark corners of the room corralled the odors silently.
Kat heard him mumbling, recognized the voice of Charlie Abbott, and kept going. She’d examined Charlie’s handwriting once. It shouted secretive, but then ma
ny scientists were. Antisocial,
too. A few paces further she heard giggling in a lab as she headed to the atrium at the end of the hall.
Charlie was in a foul mood.
His hands twitched in frustration. Anger raced through his mind making it difficult to concentrate. His research was big, really big, and here he was wasting his time with freshman chemistry prep. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, exhaled harshly in a long sigh, then grunted. Small campus, small town. Infantile students who didn’t know one end of a periodic table from another. He craved time; time to validate, to verify, to check the data once more. Time was no longer his.
At first the figure in the entrance didn’t invade his concentration. Charlie’s thin lips spewed curses as he mixed compounds for the lab quiz in the morning. Boy, was he going to rake Kauffman over the coals. This was supposed to be his job—prepping for the freshman chemistry lab. He smiled derisively while devising an appropriate punishment. Yet he bent forward over the vials in an almost reverent posture.
Shadows and Charlie’s concentration cloaked the intruder, whose still posture belied the boiling rage that built so quickly. He wasn’t aware how much the hate had festered until he saw Charlie, doing what he loved best, amidst the shimmery world of chemical prisms.
The setting triggered sinister thoughts of an appropriate ending. All that glass, sparkling in the fluorescent lights, the tubes, the bottles, the flasks. A glass rod reminded him of a giant twizzle stick. He dropped his duffel bag and grasped the rod. He broke the tip by rapping it on the counter, creating a much more lethal weapon than an alcoholic stupor. At the sound of shattering glass the professor’s head snapped up and around toward the doorway.
Neither man was aware of the students in the lab next door.
R
obin, a chemistry major,
and Kelly his girlfriend, dueled there in another chemical arena. “Come on, Kelly. Nobody even knows we’re here in the lab. What’s wrong with a little fun,” Robin whispered in the petite blonde’s ear as he held her around the waist and cuddled a little closer.
“Robbieee, making love amid test tubes in a chem lab is not my idea of fun,” Kelly shrieked as she pulled away. “This whole building is too eerie at night.”
Robin’s disappointment was tempered with the promise of more lingering fun and he pondered an appropriate bribe to get rid of his roommate when the sound of shattering glass from the next lab broke the magic of the moment.
“What’s that?” Kelly asked in a fearful whisper.
“Someone in the next lab probably dropped something,” Robin bravely answered, but discretion stampeded through his mind. “Maybe we should, like, go and find someplace a bit more private?”
She quickly nodded and reached for her sweater, all the while biting her lower lip in anxiety.
“What are you doing here, and what’s that for?” Charlie’s shout rang out as they gathered their book bags and coats to leave. The students hesitated a minute when they heard more harsh words. Robin bumped into a file cabinet by the door to the lab as he stuffed notebooks under his arm while she opened the door a crack and peeked through. Kelly grabbed his sleeve and pulled. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
In the larger lab
, the enraged man risked a quick glance toward the sound over by the file cabinets, then approached Charlie with the sharp-edged rod. Charlie retreated slowly, shaking his head in disbelief. As if finally registering the man’s intent, Charlie swung around and looked for escape.
The aggressor slashed downward and the stroke opened the professor’s thigh. Charlie Abbott turned back to face him and pretended to grab his wounded leg. Instead, he lunged at the intruder, who braced for attack by bringing the rod firmly in front of him. Charlie’s unbalanced momentum pushed him onto the jagged burette. The assailant pushed and Charlie fell on his back, taking the rod with him. His hand swept the lab bench and the breaking flasks tinkled down after him, a crystal requiem.
The students slipped by, their passing disguised by the sound. They saw Kat walking in the atrium and slunk past. Deaf to the argument back in the lab, and the silent students walking by, Kat lingered to admire a ten-foot Araucarias and several five-foot Dieffenbachias glowing in the moonlight. The taller Norfolk Pine drooped its lacy leaves gracefully, but the thick Dieffenbachias’ waxy leaves were splashed with variegation. The atrium transformed this end of the hall into a patch of eternal green by day and mysterious specters at night. When a cloud passed in front of the moon and demolished the effect, she approached the last flight of stairs.
Inside the lab the heavy breathing of the attacker broke the silence as he stared down at Charlie. Brushing at the quickly absorbed blob of fetid smelling chemical on his sleeve, he grabbed his duffel from the counter by the door, jerked it over one arm, checked for anyone in the hall, and fled.