A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic Read online

  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?