A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

The inside of Nathan’s Navigator was roomy and warm. I pointed a vent at my cheeks and relaxed into the soft leather seat. Nathan’s ride always smelled like aftershave and shampoo. Stella smelled like coffee and crullers, which made me hungry for more of those, thus creating a vicious cycle and legit explanation for my growing waistline. Soft music droned through hidden speakers as we crawled down John’s street.

I chewed the tender skin around my thumbnail, fixating on one stubborn question. Why was John broke if his business was doing so well? Even if his partnership with Flick was new, shouldn’t he have made some money by now?

Nate paused at a stop sign before rolling through another desolate intersection. “Do you see it? I can’t read these house numbers. Doesn’t anyone use a porch light anymore?” He craned his neck and leaned over me for a look at the dark houses on my side.

“I think that one was an 800. We must be close.”

Nate slowed under the next streetlight. “I can’t see anything. Why didn’t we use GPS?”

I shook my hand and stuffed it under one thigh before I drew blood. “I know the street. I didn’t think finding the house would be a problem.”

“How do you know the street?”

“My Girl Scout troop had meetings at the church on the corner.”

“Of course.”

The neighborhood was old but quaint, exactly as I remembered it, minus the daylight. Tiny Tudor homes sat beside brightly colored cottages and mini craftsman designs. Narrow walkways led to porches with flowers and swings. The variety had impressed me in grade school. Our neighborhood was composed of nearly identical split levels in varied shades of tan.

Nate stopped at the next sign. “Plug the address into your phone.”

“Fine.” I tapped my phone screen and shook my head. “Two hundred feet ahead on the right.”

“Figures.” He crossed the intersection and slid into an open space at the curb. “Here we are. Now what?”

I peered at the unsuspecting yellow cottage with its little blue shutters snuggling every window and a red rocker on the porch. The house number was painted in calligraphy on a matching mailbox at the curb. Charming. It was the kind of house bluebirds roosted on and squirrels frolicked over. Not the sort where criminals hid from other criminals. Emotion pitted my stomach. He hadn’t hidden well enough.

Nate opened my door. “We’re here, so we might as well have a look around, milady.”

“Shut up.” I’d been in too big of a hurry to stop at home and change. If John had nosy neighbors, they’d find Queen Guinevere of Camelot skulking through his yard with a really tall ginger.

I hefted my skirt and hustled onto the porch for a peek in the window. “I can’t see inside. The curtains are closed.”

Nate dragged his fingers over the doorframe and checked under the rug. “No spare key. I could check the rocks for a fake.”

“I’ll go around back.”

He twisted the doorknob and grabbed me as I passed him. “Unlocked.”

“What?” I scurried through the door behind him and closed it tight. “Why hasn’t anyone locked the door?” John lived alone, but he had been in federal protection. “Surely, someone would have checked on his house and locked the door after his death.”

Nate accessed the flashlight app on his phone and pointed the beam around the room. “What are we looking for?”

I scanned the sparse décor. Wide planked floors and simple white walls. A Jersey Devils hat hung on the coatrack beside me. Nothing screamed money. Everything screamed temporary. As if he’d never really moved in. “There’s nothing personal here. Jake said he’d been in custody a year. Do you think he still expected to move without notice?”

“Maybe he just wasn’t into decorating.”

“It doesn’t make sense that his business partner was financially secure and the business was stable but John was broke. Right?”

“Depends.”

“He had to earn some money with those paintings. They sell like crazy at the Faires. I see tons of people carrying them out. Do you think he had money but stopped using a bank because someone hacked his account? That stuff happens.”

Nate tipped his head left and right. “I don’t know. Maybe he had a gambling problem or some kind of addiction like drugs, prostitutes or those gentlemen clubs.”

“Ew. Why’d he have to be gross with his money?”

“Okay. Maybe he gave compulsively to a charity.”

“Thank you.”

“Like a cult.”

I examined all the wall art and framed photographs. The home was staged. It looked like the apartments people got to see before they signed the lease and ended up with the one downstairs that had mold and shag carpet. “Maybe he was blackmailed.”

Nate swung his light through the room. “Why? He was already scheduled to testify against Bennie. Besides, if someone wanted him to back out, they would have paid him, not the other way around.”

I motioned Nate to get moving and inched through the rest of John’s first floor. It was a simple square. Four rooms, all connected to the next. Foyer and living room up front. Kitchen and dining room in the rear.

A pungent stench whacked me in the face as I entered the kitchen. “Ugh.” I covered my nose with one sleeve. “Do you smell that?”

Nate toed the trash can and stepped on the pedal, popping the lid. He waved the air. “Just some flowers.” He shone his light on a stack of dead bouquets in the kitchen trash. “The top ones don’t look half bad.”

“They smell like roadkill.” I pulled a plastic stick from the top of the pile. The card it had once held was missing, like the blacksmith’s daughter said it would be. I poked through the flowers with the stick. “The ones on top are still fresh. They get grosser the farther down I dig.”

“Compost?”

“Not in the kitchen trashcan. Maybe he really didn’t like flowers or he had a fight with whoever sent them.” I shoved the stick back where it came from. “They’re ugly, too. Do you like them?”

“Decomposing flowers? Not really.”

I scoffed. “I mean do you like these types of flowers? The blacksmith’s daughter thought another girlfriend sent them. She thought they were supposed to be masculine. Do you think these are masculine? Like bouquets for boys?”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

I rolled my eyes and turned in a circle. “This place is as neat as a pin.”

Nate opened the cupboards and picked through the canned goods. “None of these cans sound hollow. No secret diamond stash under the guise of a baked beans can.”

“Gross. He has baked beans?”

“Tasty O’s, too, and sauerkraut.”

I contorted my face. “Who was he?”

“A man with stinky breath, if I had to guess.”

I shoved Nate and smiled. A little red dot appeared on my wrist. I pulled my hand away, but the dot stayed on Nate’s chest.

He swiped at his shirt. “What is that?”

“Hold it right there.” A man with a gun trained on Nate motioned toward the wall. “Move it. Hands where I can see them.”

“Uh.” My tongue swelled to fill my mouth. My feet were cement blocks. Panic worked through my limbs. “Uhhhh.”

A familiar tenor echoed down the hallway. “All clear.”

Nate cursed.

Jake walked into the kitchen beside the man with the gun. He cursed, too.

* * *

Jail was scarier than it seemed on television, especially after an angry marshal made me ride in the back of the gun-cop’s car wearing handcuffs. The station bustled with activity and smelled like my old dorm room—stale beer and popcorn. Gun-cop walked us inside and stood us at a large desk, where Desk-cop collected our personal things and Other-cop handcuffed us to a bench.

Across the room, Jake muttered to Gun-cop until his face was the color of an eggplant.

Nate whistled. “He looks pissed.”

“Stop talking.” I elbowed him. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“We’re handcuffed to a bench. What else can they do? Do you think we’re being arrested?”

“No one read us our rights. This is a flimsy ploy to scare us.”

Nate tented his eyebrows. “We trespassed in a murder victim’s home. The same guy the local news implied you killed. We interfered with a homicide investigation the US Deputy Marshal told you to stay away from. All I’m saying is be prepared for the worst.”

Heat blasted up my neck and into my face. I tried to stand but ended up back on my can. “Excuse me,” I called. “This is a mistake. I get a phone call.”

Nate tugged my arm. “Now you’re going to get us in trouble.”

The heavy fabric of my dress flattened my lungs. “I’m having an attack. I think I’m...” I gulped air and gripped my chest with the uncuffed hand.

Nate rubbed my back and shoved me gently forward. “Head down. Breathe.”

I shook my head but couldn’t get enough oxygen to argue.

“Those flowers were really ugly,” Nate mused.

I fought the constricting pain in my chest. What would the media report if I died cuffed to a police bench? Grandma’s business would never recover.

“Really ugly.” Nate prattled on, as if I wasn’t two puffs away from a blackout. “I would’ve thrown them away, too. One of them had a black ribbon.” He smoothed figure eights over my spine. “You asked if the bouquets were masculine, but the black ribbon might have signified a threat. Did you see any cards in the trash?”

The panic retreated like a wave pulled back out to sea. I lifted my face, mental wheels spinning full speed ahead. Images of the black ribbon and ugly flowers barged into my thoughts.
A
threat.
“Do you think he could’ve known he was in danger? Maybe that’s why he broke up with Melanie.” I straightened and let my head fall back against the wall. “He wasn’t a jerk who left her to raise his kid. He was trying to protect them, not abandon them.”

“You took that a few steps further than where I was going, but okay. Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” I nodded too long, and spots floated through my vision. A tremor played over my fingers.

A putzy cop wearing fifty extra pounds and pants above the ankles rolled into view. He tucked chubby sausage thumbs beneath his belt and chomped his gum. “Green. Connors. You’re up.”

“Thank goodness.” I tried to stand but was yanked back to my seat. I fought budding panic.

“Can she get some water?” Nate asked. “She’s not well.”

The cop uncuffed us. “Right this way.” He left me in a small room with a mirror on one wall and a camera on the ceiling. “Take a seat. We’ll be right with you.”

He led Nate away.

I glared at the mirror and rubbed my sore wrist. “I know my rights. I get a phone call.”

The door swung open and Gun-cop moseyed inside as if he had all night and no one else to deal with. “You’re not under arrest.”

“You took my things.”

He set a bottle of water on the table and made wide innocent eyes. “That must have been a mistake. I’ll get those back for you. How about a little water?”

I gulped thirstily, then pressed the half-empty bottle to my forehead.

“Do you know why you weren’t arrested for breaking and entering?”

I set the bottle aside, inspired and motivated by his sneering tone. “Was it because the door was unlocked and I had a standing invitation to stop by anytime?” I slid the lie through my best look of indifference, making mental notes to go to church on Sunday for repentance.

He raised a brow. “Really? You were close with the homeowner, then?”

“Yep.” I twined two fingers. “Like this.”

He tapped a rhythm with his fingers on the tabletop. “I think you’re lying and I don’t like it when people lie.” He leaned on his elbows and leered across the table.

I leaned away.

“The man who lived in that house was a federal witness. We watched him and the house. You’ve never stopped by before. I know you’re lying.”

“You couldn’t him watch every second. You’ve never listened to us talk. You can’t know every person he invited to stop by.”

“We think we do.”

“You’re wrong. Obviously. I’d like to go now.” I stood and he mirrored my movement.

“Sit down.”

“No. Arrest me or release me.” I made it to the doorway before Jake appeared.

He made eye contact from several feet away, apparently leaving another interrogation room, probably Nate’s. “Where are you going?”

“Home. I’m taking Nate with me. Where is he?”

Jake brushed past me in the doorway and pointed to my chair. “We need to talk.” He addressed the cop. “Can we have a minute alone, please?”

Gun-cop left in slow motion, eyes hard, jaw clenching. “Watch it, fruitcake. That guy’s the only thing keeping me from arresting you.” He turned his heated glare to Jake. “And I have every right.”

“Sit down, Mia,” Jake ordered.

I accepted his offer. “Sorry.”

He pulled the door shut. “For?”

“For going inside John’s house, but the door was unlocked and we didn’t touch anything, not even a light switch. Just the doorknob.” I kneaded my hands. “Nate might have looked in the cupboards, too, and we peeked in the trash, but that was all. I swear.”

A little vein pulsed in Jake’s neck. “Why were you there? I told you I wanted you as far away from this thing as possible. I confided in you so you’d comprehend the complexity and danger level involved. What did you do with that confidential information?”

My shoulder hunched under his stare. “I considered it at length and formulated a series of rational questions which I followed up on?”

“No.” His voice boomed through the room and my head. “No. What you did was ignore my warning, misappropriate the information I entrusted to you and enter the home of a murder victim. What were you thinking? Have you learned nothing since we met? I thought you moved to Horseshoe Falls to be safe? I thought you finally had some sliver of understanding that this world is a bad place, and pixie-sized women shouldn’t go dive rolling into murder investigations.”

My blood boiled. “Excuse me. I am not a pixie, nor am I helpless. I’m allowed to ask as many questions as I want about anything I want. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone inside John’s tonight, but that’s not a crime.” I waved my hands in the air like a maniac. “The door was unlocked! I touched
nothing
. Excuse me if someone forgot to lock his door. Who might that have been, anyway?” I made a winner face. Answer
that
.