A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic (16 page)

He freed a cell phone and swung it to his ear. “Yep.” After a long pause, he shook his head and disconnected. He tapped the screen and cocked a hip. Lines raced over his forehead. “What in the world?”

I inched to his side, slow so he didn’t startle, and peeked at the screen.

He turned the phone toward me.

Jake’s younger brother, Eric, and his fiancée, Parker, stood side by side in blue jeans and white button-downs. He had a shotgun in his hand and the barrel crossed her middle. She had the tiniest pair of cowboy boots seated on her palm.

I clamped a hand over my mouth.

“Aww.” Fifi looked over my shoulder. She patted Jake’s back. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. What a fun way to announce a pregnancy!”

Jake’s eyes widened. “They aren’t married.” He turned to face me. “The wedding isn’t until Christmas.”

I pointed to the phone. “Shotgun wedding.”

His expression waffled as he processed my words and the photo.

A grin the size of all outside spread across his usually somber face. “I’m going to be an uncle?”

Fifi clapped.

I nodded, feeling much the way I had when Bree announced her pregnancy with Gwen. “Looks like.”

He shoved the phone in his pocket and smacked his palms together. “Should I get them a gift?”

“Go for it.”

Jake swept through the office door.

Fifi and I ran into the hall behind him. “What are you going to get?”

“Fishin’ pole.” He disappeared through the clubhouse front door with a spring in his step.

Baby’s first fishing pole. Well, at least it wasn’t a shotgun.

Chapter Nineteen

I arrived at the Faire Monday afternoon with my mind in splinters. Hard as I’d tried not to fixate on what really happened to John and whether or not his business partner had gotten away with murder, I couldn’t help it.

I’d made every effort at distraction. My apartment was clean. My bookshelves were alphabetized, and my efforts at recouping lost trust in Guinevere’s Golden Beauty products were paying off. Online sales were buoyed by a fresh promotional campaign I’d launched late Saturday night, when analytics showed our website traditionally had the most traffic.

Nonetheless, I wanted to talk to Flick. Where had he been all weekend, if not fleeing town with a guilty conscience? I’d find out the minute I could get inside and past Bree.

I still had that other thing on my mind, too. It wore a grim expression and a marshal badge.

I tugged my heavy wool cloak across my chest and ducked my head against the wind. Mondays were slow at the Craft Faire, so at least I didn’t have to park in Timbuktu. Still, my boots and hem were heavy with mud by the time I reached the castle gates.

I flashed my most magnanimous smile and curtsied at the familiar guard as I passed.

Thousands of twinkle lights lined vendor signs and wrapped mammoth oak trees. Minstrel music and laughter danced in the cider-scented air. The effect was enchanting.

Bree danced around the wagons with Gwen on one hip. She twirled and cooed, clearly enjoying herself.

One look at my face would ruin that. “Hey.”

Her smile fell. “Hey. How was work?” Apparently, it was a ton of pressure being the proper grown-up twin.

“Good. How’s the cabaret coming?” I shoved my bag under the counter and made silly faces at a smiling Gwen.

Bree knitted her brows together. “The cabaret’s harder than I expected. I’m not sure I’m doing the slow dips right. My feet get tangled, and I look like an oaf.”

I blew a raspberry. “You were a dancer for like twenty years.”

“Cheerleading doesn’t count, so erase about half those years. Actually, I’m not sure any of my dance experience counts. None of it was anything like what we’re doing. I feel like a moron up there.”

I made a show of looking over each shoulder. “Am I being punked?”

“What? No.” She handed Gwen to me and scowled. “I’m asking for your help. Not to be teased.”

“I’m not teasing. Since when are you insecure?”

She rolled her eyes in true drama queen fashion. “Oh, yeah, right. I’m the totally confident perfect one, and you’re the neurotic, uptight freak show. Is this opposite day?”

I settled against a big wooden wheel. What was happening? I’d never seen Bree lose her cool. That was my territory. She waited for a response. What could I say? I was a mess and she knew it.

I needed an escape hatch. I wanted off this ride. “No one says
opposite day.
Not since elementary school.”

She flopped into a popup chair near the wassail and poured a cup. “I’m old and chubby.”

Ah, fishing for compliments I understood. I’d seen this routine before. “Go on. Vent. It’s my turn to listen.”

“This costume is meant for a coed who hasn’t carried, delivered and nursed a tubby little angel baby. The ruffles make my big ass look bigger and the corset barely makes a dent in this waist.” She smacked her tummy. “If that’s what you call the fresh roll around my belly button. I used to look like that.” She motioned to me. “Why is this happening to me?”

I kissed Gwen and set her on her blanket with a line of well-chewed toys. “Bree. You’re beautiful, and you know it. Your body looks different than mine now because it did a powerful, miraculous thing. You pushed an entire princess from your loins.”

She chuckled.

“I’m serious. What have my loins done lately? Nothing. And look how huge your boobs are. The corset might not cinch your waist, but look what it does to your cleavage. I have to put tube socks in my bra to get that effect.”

She ran a finger over the curve of her breast. “Tom seems to like them.”

“They’re nice. Everything about you is nice. You are a total MILF. Not to me because DNA but you know for other people.”

“Thanks.”

I filled a cup with wassail, enjoying the moment of sisterly peace. “Your feet get tangled on the dips because you need to cross your ankles before you turn. Then you can just swivel on your toes. You’re making it harder than it is.” I’d watched enough practice sessions this weekend to see the differences between Bree and the other dancers. That was one of the big ones.

I lifted the cup to my nose and inhaled the steam before taking a deep pull of the rich cinnamon drink. “Whoa!” I hacked. “Who spiked the wassail? I can breathe fire.”

“Dad. Sorry. I forgot you don’t drink.”

Yeesh. It was Monday dinnertime, not Saturday night happy hour. I caught Bree’s self-important stare. “Sometimes I drink.” Wine sometimes. A little. “Not absinthe or whatever’s in this. I like my inhibitions intact.”

She cocked a brow. Swirled her cup and finished her drink. “Your turn. I didn’t mean to tell you all that so now you have to tell me something.”

Tit for tat. We never shared without proper repayment. This way no one had the upper hand. It kept us from tattling when we were younger. Leverage.

I sniffed the drink and set it aside. “Jake came to Pioneer Days Friday night.”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I remember you inviting him. And? How’d it go?”

“It was nice. During the fireworks, he touched my cheek, looked at me like I had a booger in my nose, and snatched his hand away before it incinerated from my disgustingness.”

“Oh.” She nodded.

“Well, don’t nod!”

She shook her head. “Sorry. Of course I shouldn’t. Men are stupid. Not Tom, but the rest for sure. Don’t give it another thought. He probably just remembered at that moment he’d forgotten to put on underwear that morning or something.”

“Seriously. You get paid to study human sexuality and that’s what you’ve got for me? You nag me endlessly to dish about my love life and this is what I get? He forgot his underpants?”

“Mia?” A small voice stopped my rant.

Bree jumped to her feet. “Hello!”

Parker, Jake’s brother’s fiancée, smiled sweetly at Bree. “Wow. That is one...small...costume.” She looked at the older woman beside her. “It’s nice. Isn’t it, Mrs. A?”

Mrs. A? Mrs. Archer? I pulled in a quick breath and grabbed Gwen off her blanket. We’d met briefly at Parker and Eric’s engagement party, but that felt like years ago instead of only a few months. I barely recognized her out of the context of their family farm. “Hi. Hello. Hi there.” I scooted into the space beside Bree. “Hi.” Why did I keep saying that?

Parker parted her lips and looked from Bree to me. “Um.”

I pushed a hand in her direction. “It’s so nice to see you again.” I shook Parker’s hand and then Mrs. Archer’s. “Bree, this is Parker, Jake’s brother’s fiancée, and his mom. This is Bree, my older sister.”

Bree shot me a sour look.

“This is Bree’s little girl, my gorgeous niece, Gwen.”

Gwen opened and shut one dimpled fist in greeting.

Parker’s hand fell to her narrow waist, resting protectively over her abdomen. “Sorry. I only met you once. I guess I’d forgotten what you looked like.”

“It’s fine. We’re twins. Bree’s older.”

Bree made an ugly face. “Stop saying that.” She scooped Gwen from my arms.

Mrs. Archer looked relieved. “It’s so nice to see you again, Mia. The boys didn’t tell us you had a twin.”

“Well, it’s not something I’m terribly proud of.”

Bree bumped me with her hip. “It’s really nice to meet you both. Mia and I were just talking about Jake.”

“No, we weren’t.” I shook my head and tried to be less uncomfortable. “We were talking about cheese.”
Cheese?
“So, what are you guys doing here?’

A smile touched the corners of Jake’s mom’s mouth. “Shopping. I love your lotion. Nothing soothes my tired fingers like Camelot’s Chamomile Cream.” She lifted her hand for my inspection.

“You use our lotion?”

“For years now. I had no idea it was a locally owned company. I received it as a gift about five years ago, and I reorder online as needed. It’s brilliant. I bought a half dozen as gifts for friends.” She swung the bag on her arm. “Imagine my surprise to learn all my kids know Guinevere.”

I patted my huge gown. “It’s our grandmother’s company. We just help out.”

Parker beamed. “I have to admit I’d hoped to run into you while we were here. This is probably weird to ask, but we do this thing every year right before Thanksgiving.”

She handed me a card. “It’s no big deal, just a tradition of ours, and honestly, we could use a few more women in the group. We call it Friendsgiving. We get together at Jake’s and play cards, board games, video games, whatever. It’s a night away from all the hoopla and holiday prep to be silly and relax and reconnect. Jake and Dan started it when they were in college and away with the military. It was as a way to see everyone in one night instead of making a bunch of little stops when they were home on leave or vacation.”

She shrugged, nonchalantly, but the pep in her voice worried me. Instinct said this was a much bigger deal than she wanted to let on. So why invite me? And why hold back on the enthusiasm? Social cues flew around me, missing the mark by miles.

Bree stole the card from my hands. “Cool. Why didn’t we think of this, Mia? We need Friendsgiving.”

I whipped the card from her grip and grabbed my phone. Thankfully, Grandma had yet to see me to confiscate it. “Let me put the address into my phone.” I secretly texted Bree to knock it off. This was hard enough without her meddling. “There.”

“So, you’ll come?”

Was no way
,
José
,
an option?
“Maybe. As long as nothing comes up between now and then, I don’t see why not.”

My phone dinged. Bree responded to my text with a little devil face emoticon.

I shoved the phone into my pocket. “Okeydokey.”

Bree bounced Gwen on her hip, regaining their attention. “Should Mia bring anything? A dish to share? Cookies? Maybe a guest?”

I scowled. Where was laser eye technology? Why weren’t laser eyes a thing yet?

Parker tipped her head. “No. You don’t need to bring anything. Friends are always welcome, though. The more the merrier.”

I loosened my cloak. Surely someone else knew this was awkward. “Sounds fun.” For someone who didn’t mind a party or group settings where they knew no one.

Bree took over the conversation, and I went to my happy place where I pulled it together when things got weird. Why was Parker inviting me to Friendsgiving? Why was Mrs. Archer watching me? Why did my twin have to be dressed as a harlot?

A familiar face came into view through the dim evening light. George Flick sauntered along the path toward the art gallery. His dark attire and the black plume in his hat implied a state of mourning. Was it all for show, or could he have hurt John? His slow crawl toward their booth seemed morose and authentic, but maybe that was a result of regret for his actions.

“Mia?” Parker sounded nervous. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” I examined their faces. What did I miss?

“Do you feel all right?”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry. I need to check on something. Excuse me.” I slid between the women, thankful for an escape and only mildly horrified by my less-than-graceful exit. “Thank you for the invitation,” I called, waving the little envelope overhead as I hastened away.

Leaving Bree alone with two members of Jake’s family was unfortunate but unavoidable. She loved to gab. There was no stopping her. If I’d stayed to moderate the conversation, I might’ve missed the chance to ask my main suspect where he’d been for the past two days.

I followed a trio of women into the small wooden building decked out in John’s artwork.

Every square inch of space was adorned in art of every shape and size. Paintings hung in rows from the ceiling, on hooks and on walls. John must have painted around the clock to accomplish so much.

Near the back of the shop, George waved at an oil portrait on an easel. “This was his final work.” He pressed a hairy knuckle to his eye and shook with emotion.

A group of women swooned and patted his arm. “We’re so sorry.”

Oh, brother.

“Hi.” I scooted into the mix. “I’m Mia Connors. I work the Guinevere’s Golden Beauty booth with my family.”

The man removed his knuckle from his eye and stroked his bushy beard. “I know you.”

“Right. Good.” I rubbed my palms together, wishing the women would go away. “Your partner was a friend of mine. I’ve learned he was poisoned, and I was hoping you might be able to help me find out who would do something like that to him.”

“Are you suggesting I did it?” His booming retort brought the enormity of his size into pinpoint focus. He hadn’t seemed dangerous before, curled in on himself and weeping. However, standing fully erect and looking like an angry Paul Bunyan changed things.

I took an eensy step back. “No. I thought since you worked directly with him, you might know who would want to hurt him. Did he seem troubled during his last few days?”

“I’ve already answered these questions when the actual police asked them. I don’t have to talk to you.” He glared down at me.

“No. You don’t, but you’re certainly worked up for a guy pretending to mourn. I thought you’d want to help him. I thought you might explain why you’re doing well financially and John was broke, or maybe where you were all weekend?”

His face burned pink, then scarlet. He turned slowly toward the women. “Would you kindly excuse me for just a wee moment?”

He hustled me outside, jerking his head to the left. He released me as we moved alongside the gallery’s exterior. I curled my fingers around a fresh can of pepper spray in my pocket.

Shrouded in shadows, the man collapsed against the side of his shop, tears welling in his blue eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” He wrenched himself forward and braced both hands on his knees. “Who would hurt such a talented and tenderhearted man? It’s senseless.”

Not what I’d expected. “Well, that’s what I’m trying to find out.”