A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic Page 4

  She patted his hand. “Thank you, Nathan. Stop by later if you can.”

  I headed toward the Archers for appearance’s sake, careful to stay out of their line of sight, and made a hard left at Bard’s Bakery.

  Nate matched my pace easily, falling into step at my side. “I think Jake saw us.”

  I hitched up my skirts and changed my walk into a jog. “Then we’d better hurry.”

  Twinkle lights and stars led the way with a little help from knights carrying torches outside various shopfronts.

  I peeked at Nate as we closed in on our destination.

  He buzzed at my side. “What’s the plan?”

  “I don’t know.” I stuttered to a stop. “Don’t they say killers hang around their crime scenes? Maybe we should make note of anyone who hasn’t left yet.”

  “We haven’t left yet.”

  I shook my well-chewed fingernail at him. “Excellent point. We should make this quick.”

  Nate held the door for me.

  The yeasty scent of fried everything slapped my face. Surly Wench deep-fried veggies, candy bars, even butter. Normally I craved the junk, but a new thought occurred to me. What if John had eaten here too? Maybe the poison hadn’t been in the cup Jake collected.

  I hustled to the counter and dinged the service bell. “Hello?”

  Pots and pans clattered in the back. “We’re closed.”

  I leaned across the wooden counter. “It’s Mia Connors. Who’s there?”

  Silence.

  I straightened and tiptoed around the counter toward the kitchen. “Hello?”

  Nate followed close on my heels.

  Another earsplitting round of calamity shot from the kitchen with a peppering of curses.

  I pushed the swinging doors wide and poked my head inside. “Everything okay back here?”

  A young woman crouched on the floor, collecting fallen trays and pans. “We’re closed.”

  I joined her. “Let me help.” I heaved fallen items off the floor and loaded them onto the counter. “I’m Mia Connors. I work at Guinevere’s Golden Beauty booth. This is my friend, Nate.”

  Her gaze traveled the length of Nate’s body from feet to face. Her mouth fell open.

  “Hi.” Nate dropped into a squat beside us. He extended a hand.

  She quickly accepted. “Kenna.” A blush rose across her perfect olive skin.

  Jeez. I hoisted the last tin and lid onto her counter. “Were you here when John Francis came in this afternoon?”

  She turned dark brown eyes on me. “He’s the one who...died?”

  Nate tilted his head like a six-foot puppy. “Yes. Do you remember if he was with anyone?”

  She wrung the material of her apron around her fingers. “Melanie. They sat at a corner table, and she was pretty upset. They drew a lot of attention. I already told the police all this.” She worked her bottom lip with her teeth. Her fingers turned white under the pressure of her twisted apron.

  I didn’t like the implication. “I’m sorry to ask you to repeat yourself. I know how frustrating that is. It’s just that John was a friend of mine, and I was with him when he got sick. The police suspect poison, and I can’t understand why someone would do this to him.”

  Her gaze darted to the back door multiple times before stopping on Nate.

  “Kenna?” His voice was so smooth I nearly didn’t recognize it. “What did John Francis order?”

  She wet her lips. “Same thing every time. Kale, berry and hemp smoothie. Greens salad with balsamic.”

  I curled my lip. Yuck. “He ordered that here?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes I think Lisa only keeps that stuff on hand for him. No one comes for smoothies since Fruit Jester joined the Faire.”

  The back door swung open and clattered shut.

  Kenna jumped.

  A willowy woman in her fifties dropped empty trash bins at her feet. “Kenna?”

  “Uh. This is Mina and Nate.” She swallowed. “This is my boss, Lisa.”

  I waved. “I’m Mia.” Not Mina.

  Lisa glared at Kenna. “Employees only in the kitchen, Kenna. Remember?”

  Nate smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Lisa. We were—”

  “Leaving.” She pointed to the door.

  “Leaving,” he repeated. He extended his hand to Kenna again. “If you want to get a cup of coffee sometime, let me know.”

  Her head bobbed.

  I led the way out. Safely back on the footpath, I swatted Nate. “Did you wink at her? And invite her to coffee?”

  “So?”

  “So?” I smiled. “That poor girl.”

  “That poor girl has my card now. I slipped it into her hand when we shook goodbye. Smart, huh?”

  “Oh, yes. Very smooth.”

  “Thanks. I think Kenna has more to say, and Lisa wasn’t going to let her.”

  I bumped into him playfully as we walked. “You think she’s pretty. Be careful, big boy. I bet she’s still in college. Or high school. If you guys go out, you should card her. Just in case.”

  “Please. She’s over eighteen. Obviously. Besides, what do you think I’m going to do with her? I invited her for coffee, not a bank heist.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Lisa seemed angry.”

  I laughed. “You’re like a subject-change Jedi. No transition necessary.”

  “The Force is strong in me.”

  “It is, and I agree about Lisa, but I can’t blame her. Grandma’s angry, too. Surly Wench and Guinevere’s Golden Beauty took major hits today.”

  Nate followed me around a set of wooden stocks and through an employee exit in the fence behind the ticket booth. “I hate to say it, but your grandma’s right to panic. A tragedy this big could ruin a business. My mom still won’t buy aspirin.”

  “I know.”

  We walked in silence across the field, where my car was a tiny pink spec in the distance.

  With media coverage, something like this could snowball in days and ruin the company Grandma spent decades creating.

  Nate opened his passenger door for me. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “We need to find out what really happened to John.”

  * * *

  I parked on the street outside my parents’ three-bedroom ranch in the suburbs. Lights burned in every window. Voices rattled the glass.

  I let myself in on an intake of breath, compiling a mental list of people to talk to at the Faire tomorrow.

  “Finally!” Bree marched into the foyer, where I hung my cloak. “Where have you been? I thought you were following us? Where’s Nate?” She pushed past me to check the driveway.

  “He went home.”

  Her lips twisted in distaste. “He’s the only man on your horizon. You should keep him close.”

  I forced a tight smile and headed for the kitchen. “I’m not doing this with you again tonight.”

  The heavenly aroma of percolating coffee met me in the hallway and invited me back in time. Bright white cabinetry adorned the same country blue walls I’d helped paint in junior high. Matching gingham curtains dressed the windows, and knitted cozies shaped like farm animals covered Mom’s small appliances. My senior picture stuck to the refrigerator in a magnetic frame beside Bree’s wedding photo and a snapshot from Gwen’s first birthday.

  Dad set a bottle of wine on the counter and cracked the top off a beer. “You hungry?”

  Always. “Not really.”

  Mom had unloaded the refrigerator and spread a buffet of leftovers and sandwich components and condiments on the island. “Make a plate.” She motioned to her spread. “Eat.”

  I scooped pasta salad into a bowl. My tummy growled in excitement. “How’s Grandma?”

 
Dad swigged his beer. “Great. She’s in the living room.”

  Her muffled voice ricocheted off the walls.

  “Ah. What’s she doing?”

  “Cursing.”

  I smiled. “At who?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Either at her lawyer or the television. Hard to say. The eight o’clock news just started.”

  I followed Grandma’s voice to the living room.

  She pressed a phone to her ear. “They’re insinuating our product killed that man! What am I keeping you on retainer for?”

  I turned back for a cup of coffee. “Lawyer.”

  Mom made the sign of the cross and poured a glass of wine. “I’m going to check on Gwen. She was fussing when we got home, and Bree put her down in the den.”

  Tom rounded the corner, palms up. “No need. She’s fast asleep. What can I say? I’m Houdini Dad. Some might call me The Baby Whisperer.” He wound long arms around Bree and kissed her head.

  Bree turned to kiss his lips. “Thank you for getting her to sleep. We make perfect babies.”

  Gag.

  Dad nudged me into the dining room, shooing me like an unwanted cat on the front porch.

  I hustled ahead of his flapping hands. “What?”

  “So?” He pulled the etched glass doors closed behind us.

  I used my big eyes again. “What? I don’t know what you mean.”

  His expression turned droll. “What did Dan and Jake have to say? Your mother said you stayed behind to talk to them.”

  “Well, they said they’re looking into it.”

  Dad raised his thick graying eyebrows like antenna.

  The air between us charged with his retired-cop senses.

  The doorbell rang, and I squeaked.

  A stampede of footfalls headed toward the front door. Dad shot me a look. “I’ll talk to you in a minute. I have to make sure that’s not a reporter. Who knows what your grandmother would do to them.”

  I gave Dad a thumbs-up and went back to the kitchen.

  I grabbed a coffee mug and surveyed the empty bottle of wine. Mom’s glass was also empty.

  I pulled a fresh bottle from the rack and jammed the corkscrew in the spongy top. If I didn’t have to drive home, I might have skipped the coffee, too. Regardless, Mom would need another glass tonight.

  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.