Spike (6 page)

F
lustered guests had formed a circle on the dance floor.

Someone was lying facedown in the middle of it.

“Well,” Ben began, but didn’t follow up.

Shelton swallowed.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “He didn’t have a lot of alternatives.”

Hi was sprawled out on the hardwood, covered in crumbs and icing. The rolling cart was upended to one side. Plates and forks littered the parquet around him. He’d clearly thrown himself onto the cake, knocking everything over in a desperate attempt to prevent it from being eaten.

“HIRAM!” Kit was still holding his fork, mouth hanging open, his face a rare shade of purple. Whitney stood beside him, dumbstruck, gripping a now-empty plate. Everyone was staring at my friend, clearly unable to comprehend why this insane teenager had thrown himself atop a perfectly good wedding cake.

“This will be difficult to explain,” Ben whispered.

Shelton giggled involuntarily. “That’s an understatement.”

I rushed over to Hi, who’d rolled onto his back and wasn’t moving. “Are you okay?”

“I even got the slice in Whitney’s hand,” he mumbled through a layer of icing coating his face. He rose to an elbow, wiping sugar from his eye sockets. Sighed. I could tell he was trying to come to grips with what he’d just done. He lay back down on his back. “I’m gonna need some help smoothing this one over, Tor. Plus a gurney. I broke my everything.”

“My . . . my . . .
wed
ding cake
!” Whitney stifled a sob, her hands shooting toward the wreckage on the dance floor. “It’s ruined!”

Best Man Eric elbowed a path through the crowd, red-faced and struggling for balance. “You’re dog-meat, pal!” he slurred. “You ruined my sister’s big day!”

He reached for Hi, but I shoved him sideways. “Back off! I’ll explain.”

But how? All I had was the shadow of a note, and a wild hunch.

Plus a red-haired ch
ef imprisoned in the
men’s room.

Lightning raced down my spine.

I felt every eye in the room. Stunned gazes, quickly growing angry.

Then Ben was at my side. Inside my head, steadying me.
Take it slow.
Step by step
.

Shelton snaked around Eric, positioning himself protectively over Hi. My skinny friend watched Whitney’s brother warily. “You need to step back, dude.”

I took a moment to marshal my thoughts.
Start strong.

“This cake was poisoned!” I said loudly, eliciting horrified gasps.

There. Good.

Kit’s mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Whitney glanced at the smeared plate clutched between her fingers, then squealed, dropping it like a snake. Shattering china sparked a fresh round of exclamations.

“Tory!” Kit shook his head roughly, as if chasing away a bad dream. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Captain Corcoran preempted my response.

Which, admittedly, I hadn’t quite formed yet.

“Did the girl say
poison
?” Corcoran began maneuvering his bulk through the circle of onlookers, projecting so everyone could hear. “Tory Brennan, are you accusing someone of . . .
attempt
ed murder
?”

Shelton’s eyes found the ceiling.
Man, I can’t s
tand this guy
.

Feed
him the cake
, Hi suggested, still lying over most of it.

Slo
w
, Ben repeated, catching my eye and holding it.
Step by ste
p
.

I sucked in all Ben’s confidence I could absorb. Gave his hand a quick squeeze. Then, clearing my throat, I addressed the ring of glowering faces. “The icing on this cake was spiked with something dangerous. Hi learned at the last moment, and did what he could to stop you guys from eating it. Everyone should be
than
king
him. You just dodged a bullet.”

A tremor rippled through the crowd. Hissed denials. The band huddled together onstage, shaking their collective heads. They’d probably seen it all, but not this.

My gaze darted from face to face, assessing the impact of my words. Chance and Ella had wormed to the inside of the group and were eyeing me strangely. Beside them, Tempe and Harry wore matching frowns of concern. Madison and Jason together stood with his parents, while Ashley and Courtney were huddled a step behind them, whispering and hiding smiles.
God, I
hate those two
.

But people were listening. I had a shot at this.

Corcoran crossed his arms. Glared down from his high horse. We’d never had a great relationship—or even a good one—but he knew better than to dismiss me outright. “Whaddya mean,
spiked
?”

I pitched my voice to reach everyone. Not that it was difficult—at that moment, despite the dozens of guests, you could’ve heard a mouse sneeze in that ballroom.

“A few minutes ago, an unknown individual was tampering with this cake.” I spoke formally, aiming to be as precise as possible.
“The man was dressed like a chef—with the name Biggs embroidered on his chest—but his uniform didn’t match the ones worn by tonight’s catering staff. My friends and I caught him mixing an unknown liquid into the icing. When we asked him what he was doing, he stormed away, but my friend Shelton caught him cleaning out a metal bowl in the men’s bathroom. Then he threw it away.”

Furious whispers. A tense-faced server sprinted toward the kitchen, likely to retrieve the head caterer.

I caught Kit’s eye. Registered his complete bewilderment.

Whitney’s shoulders were trembling. “Why would anyone
do
such a thing?”

“Just hold on!” Corcoran held up a hand before giving me a hard look. “You saw a cook fixing the wedding cake, and just assumed he was up to no good?” The captain crossed his arms, displaying his skepticism to the rapt audience. “Sounds like your imagination may’ve gotten the best of you. And this poor cake, unfortunately.”

Choking back my irritation, I held up the notepad. “When we found him, the suspect was referring to something written down on this pad. Instructions of some kind. He balled up the page when we confronted him, and later flushed it down the toilet. But we were able to recover the message by shading the sheet directly beneath it. See for yourself.”

The crowd stirred. Ella and Chance exchanged a glance. What were they about?

As I handed the pad to Corcoran, I noticed Tempe nodding, which gave me confidence.

“
Two parts
per thousand into t
he icing
,” the captain read, frowning through his mustache. “And what’s this here about . . . ip-e-cac syrup?” He sounded the word out slowly, then rubbed his chin. “I swear, everything you kids touch never makes any plain sense. And how are we supposed to locate this mystery chef? Biggs, you said? Sounds made-up to me.”

I glanced at Shelton, who gulped, but nodded.

“We know where he is.” Keeping my voice level. “He’s been . . . detained.”

Corcoran’s eyes shot to me. “Detained? By whom?”

Ben stepped between us. “He’s locked in the men’s bathroom. We were just coming to find you.”

Before anyone could react, Eric DuBois stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Are you saying that someone put
ipeca
c syrup
in the wedding cake?”

I nodded. “In the icing. We think.”

Eric grew wide-eyed. “Oh jeez.”

Ben clamped a hand on to Eric’s wrist. Met his eye. Shook his head.

Eric released me with a shrug. “That’s bad news,” he said to Whitney, who was standing stone still and blinking like an owl. “Remember when I ate those urinal cakes as a kid? Mom made me drink that stuff. It makes you puke something fierce.”

My eyes darted to Tempe, who’d paled. I spoke over the murmuring crowd. “He’s right. For years, ipecac syrup was a household medicine.”

“So it’s not poison?” Hi had propped his elbow again, but otherwise made no effort to rise from the dessert-pocalypse he’d created. “We can eat the cake?”

I shook my head. “Ipecac syrup makes people throw up. Immediately. It tastes very sweet, like concentrated sugar, but get some of that junk inside you and it’s coming out. Period. But doctors stopped recommending it because its side effects are worse than the benefits. It can kill you.”

“What?” Eric looked incredulous.

“It’s true.” All heads swung to a grim-faced Tempe. “For decades ipecac syrup was used to induce vomiting. Pediatricians used to advise parents to keep some in their homes in case of accidental poisonings, but current guidelines strongly advise against it. In fact, you’re supposed
to dump any remaining ipecac syrup down the drain. There’s little evidence it actually helps in poisoning cases, and overdoses can be fatal. They don’t even make it anymore.”

Corcoran held up a finger, spoke as slowly as the ponderous wheels of his reasoning. “So . . . whoever wrote that note . . . was trying to . . .
kill
 . . . all these people?”

Shouts erupted, but Tempe jumped in before the panic could spread. “I highly doubt it. Ipecac was a trusted medication for years. I bet whoever did this just wanted to give everyone a really terrible night.”

Whitney stomped a foot. “
My
night!” She was seconds from releasing the waterworks.

“Sabotage,” Kit growled, clenching his fists. “When I find this bastard . . .”

“Find him?” Someone said with a laugh. Chance stepped into the limelight, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Isn’t the culprit currently imprisoned in a toilet?”

Corcoran flinched, then sprang into action. “Johnson! Vorhees! On me!” He tossed the notepad at me, clamping a hand on Shelton as his remaining subordinates hurried to obey. “This young man will tell us where the suspect is.”

“Sure,” Shelton agreed, eyeing Corcoran apprehensively. “No problem. Since I clearly did the right thing by locking him up in the bathroom, right? The legal, not-in-any-way-criminal, correct call. Right?”

Corcoran huffed impatiently. “We’ll see.”

Whispers spread like wildfire as Shelton told the cops where Biggs was. I blocked them all out. Something Corcoran had said was bothering me.

“
Whoever wrote that n
ote
,” I muttered, testing the phrase in my head.

Then it hit me.

Not just the co
ok
.

The boys shot me puzzled looks as Corcoran’s team hurried from the ballroom.

Spiking the cake
, I sent.
It can’t be B
iggs working alone
.

I grew excited and nervous at the same time.

Think
about it! Biggs woul
dn’t write such a si
mple note to himself
.
Someone else did!

I glanced down at the notepad. The cursive script was neat and tidy.

Flowery.

Distinctly female-looking, though I’d been wrong on that count before.

An accomplice?
Hi rose awkwardly, wiping cake debris from his ruined tuxedo. The other guests gave him a wide berth.
Seems overly complic
ated, don’t you thin
k?

Not if you want a
n alibi
. Ben was scowling like old times.
Throw people off y
our scent
.

I stared at the floor as pieces of evidence clicked together in my mind.
The note lists a
n active ingredient,
ipecac syrup, and g
ives specific instru
ctions on how to adm
inister it. It’s ver
y precise. Whoever w
rote this was famili
ar with the substanc
e. Knew the exact pr
oper dosage.

My head rose. I scanned the faces surrounding us, my thoughts streaming freely for the boys to hear.
This m
orning, someone kill
ed flowers using a t
oxic mixture. Later,
the altar nearly co
llapsed just as Whit
ney and Kit stepped
onto it. The precise
ly correct pins had
been pulled.
I spun in a slow circle as I sent, inspecting the crowd.
Then we ca
ught Biggs messing w
ith the cake, carryi
ng specific instruct
ions on how to inser
t a dangerous substa
nce into the frostin
g.

I stopped as a familiar face came into view.

Someone want
ed this wedding to b
e a disaster
, I said.

Someone vindictive
, Hi agreed.

Petty
, Ben added.

And c
arrying a major grud
ge
, Shelton finished.

Anger ignited within me.
Now who’d wan
t to do a thing like
that?

Mike Iglehart was lounging at the back of the circle, a strange smile on his face.

Iglehart.

My blood boiled at the sight of his smug little grin.

He
hates
Kit
, I sent,
Chan
ce told us so
.
And h
e’s got an advanced
degree in chemistry!