Eat, Pray, Die Mystery Box Set

by Chelsea Field

  Connor shrugged and started for the stairs. “Suit yourself then.”

  “Wait.” Connor didn’t pause. “You can’t do this to me. I haven’t even killed anyone.” Connor was halfway down the stairs and showed no signs of slowing. “I swear, last week I was a telemarketer. I thought anything would be better than that, but I’ll go back to it. Please! Let me live.” Connor disappeared.

  I have no love for murderers, or telemarketers, but this was taking things too far. I finally picked my jaw up off the floor so I could make my mouth work. “Connor, stop.” I ran after him and grabbed his arm. “He’ll die!”

  Connor shook me off and kept going. “I know.”

  I stared after him for a split second then ran back up the stairs and slapped the dying hitman on the face. “Talk, you idiot. Whatever you’re protecting is no good to you dead.”

  The man stared at me with wide eyes. Connor was gone. I felt his pulse. It was too fast.

  “Just tell me who hired you, and I’ll get Connor.” I found myself pleading. “I’ll make sure he gives you the antidote when he’s done.”

  The hitman’s eyes darted around the room before returning to me. His face was pasty white and sweat dripped down his upper lip. A clock on the wall counted out seconds with jarring precision. We both turned to look at it. “Okay,” he said, after the longest twenty-six seconds of my life. “It was the chef guy, Albert Alstrom.”

  I raced down the stairs to find Connor. He was exchanging appreciative looks with one of the girdle girls. I leaped in between them. “He’s ready to talk.”

  Connor gave the girl an apologetic smile and allowed me to drag him to the foot of the stairs. He proceeded to stroll up them as if he had all the time in the world. I followed behind him biting back a scream and considered giving him a shove. I decided against it. I didn’t want a needle stabbed in my neck, and I still needed him to pass me on the assessment.

  Hitman looked even worse. His sparse hair hung in damp tangles, and the sweat patches under his arms had grown to the size of dinner plates.

  His frenzied bloodshot eyes fixed on Connor.

  “So you want to talk now, do you? What other jobs have you done for Alstrom?”

  “None. I swear.”

  Connor headed for the stairs again.

  “I mean, I haven’t completed any! He hired me to kill Josh Summers, but my attempt failed.”

  Connor paused. “Tell me about your attempt.”

  “It was at Morning Glory. Yesterday. I put cyanide in his coffee, but he didn’t drink it.”

  “And before that?”

  Hitman’s face went blank. “What?”

  “Your attempt before the coffee shop. Tell me about it.”

  “There was no other attempt. I only got hired a few days ago, so I’ve been following him around, trying to find a good opportunity.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Hitman’s face went a shade whiter, and tears joined the sweat beading on his face. “I swear, it’s the truth.” A snot bubble emerged from his left nostril. “Please, you have to give me the antidote. My heart is going crazy.”

  Connor shrugged and rocked back on his heels, his face an expression of icy calm. “Then I guess you know how your victims feel.”

  Hitman shook his head. “No! Please. This is my first week on the job. I haven’t ever killed anyone.”

  Connor leaned in close. “I have. So you better tell the damn truth.”

  Hitman started sobbing. “I am. Please.”

  “Why the hell would Alstrom hire you if this is your first week on the job?”

  “I told you.” He gasped. “I was a telemarketer. I know how to talk shit to make a sale.”

  “I think you’re talking shit now.”

  “No!”

  “Then who got past high security and poisoned Josh in his own home? Who used multiple poisons to make sure the job got done right?”

  “I swear I don’t know anything about it. That’s out of my league.”

  “Whose league is it in?”

  Hitman froze mid-sob. “Stalenburg,” he whispered.

  Connor seemed to recognize the name. “What do you know about Stalenburg?”

  “Nothing! Stalenburg is smoke. No one’s ever seen him. You only see his work. And only when it’s too late.”

  Connor’s phone rang. The conversation was short and terse and his face grew even colder. He turned back to the hitman. “If you live, I suggest you get a new profession.” He depressed the second needle into his neck and started for the stairs. “Maybe this time you should choose one people won’t want to kill you for.”

  The hitman slumped in his chair, sobbing quietly to himself. There was nothing I could do for him except maybe call an ambulance. Best to do that once we were well and truly gone. I ran after Connor.

  18

  I managed to bite my tongue down two flights of stairs, past the pretty girls begirded by girdles, and all the way to my car. A public scene was a bad idea.

  “Give me your keys,” Connor said.

  I handed them over numbly.

  As soon as we were both in our seats with the doors shut, I turned on him. “How could you?”

  Connor started the Corvette and regarded me tiredly. “How could I what?”

  “Poison that man. You’re as bad as he is.”

  “Oh? I gave him a choice whether to live or die. It’s more than he’d give any of his victims.”

  “But the Taste Society exists to stop poisonings, not increase them!”

  “You could argue that taking out a paid assassin would do just that,” he said, driving out of the parking lot without sparing me another glance.

  I huffed and puffed, unable to find words.

  “Relax, Avery. I dosed him with pure caffeine. It mimics the first symptoms of Sverinx, and fear does the rest.”

  The world, which had turned on its head when Connor had plunged in the syringe, gradually righted itself as his words sunk in. “Oh.” Then, two beats later. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me? Do you know how freaked out I was?”

  Connor reached over and placed his hand on my thigh, sending alarming tingles upward. I flinched.

  “Your acting needs work,” he said. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, but you shy away every time I touch you. You think you could’ve played your good girl role as well if you’d known the truth? It was your panic that broke him.”

  As soon as he said it, I knew he was right, but it didn’t make me feel any better about the whole ordeal.

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “Yes. But a jerk who’s good at his job.”

  I stared out the window and told myself over and over that it was all okay, it was just caffeine, we hadn’t killed anyone. The knots in my stomach started to ease.

  “I need a coffee.”

  Connor turned in to a Starbucks. Maybe he felt a little bad for what he’d put me through. Or maybe he just wanted to shut me up. It was a long way from a good coffee, but it was also a long way from a drip coffee. I took a grateful sip and thought about what we’d learned. “So, Albert is trying to kill Josh, but is only behind the second attempt—not the first?”

  “Looks that way. If Albert had access to a pro who could pull off the job at Josh’s house, he wouldn’t hire an amateur to pick up where the expert left off.”

  “Right. So there’s another poisoner out there.” Even worse, if Albert wasn’t the key to saving Dana, I’d set a madman on my trail for nothing. And he was still free to pursue me. “Can we at least turn Albert over to the police on attempted murder?”

  “No. None of the evidence we have is admissible. The best we can do is tip them off about his habit of drugging and raping his female fans and hope they send someone in undercover.”

  I suppressed a shudder. “Can we do that, then?”

  “I already have. I did it the same day he did it to you. But the LAPD has limited resources. It’ll take them a while.”

  I forced myself
to nod. “Okay.”

  “In the meantime, stay as far from him as possible. Text him expressing your disappointment it won’t work out because your jealous boyfriend is still around. Make it sound like you’ve given up, but keep him thinking you’re on his side so his focus stays on me.”

  “I can’t do that. What if he sends a pro to eliminate you next time?”

  “You can, and you will.”

  I chewed my lip. I hated the idea of Albert coming after me again, but he wasn’t trying to kill me. It seemed wrong to send him Connor’s way to save my own ass.

  “I’m far better equipped to deal with anything he’s got up his sleeve than you are,” Connor pointed out.

  “Except for poison. You know—his weapon of choice for ridding himself of competitors?”

  Connor was unmoved. “I’m not backing down on this. You can do it, or you can fail.”

  “You love to throw that threat around don’t you?”

  “It’s not a threat, it’s a warning. Shades need to follow orders.”

  I couldn’t afford to fail. I shot a glare at Connor and picked up the phone. Before sending the message, I promised myself I’d taste all his food—even his coffees—without complaint, until Albert was in prison. I thought about sampling all of Meow’s food too, but drew the line there. Oliver might get suspicious.

  I hit the send button and turned back to Connor. “What do you know about this Stalenburg?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not her work.”

  “Her?”

  “Since I started this job fourteen years ago, there have been three lethal poisonings of targets protected by Shades in LA. They were all whispered to be Stalenburg’s work. The investigations turned up nothing actionable, but there were a few details that led me to believe the legendary Stalenburg is a woman. The only thing I know for sure is that whoever it is, they don’t make mistakes. Dana would be dead, and Josh too, if Stalenburg were behind it.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes.” I just make more than most.

  “Not Stalenburg.”

  I patted my pocket for the reassuring bulk of the pepper spray. “What do we do now?”

  “We go over everything we have again. I’ll drop you home to look through the hate mail while I go and see if I can get anything useful out of our researchers.”

  “But I’ve already gone through the hate mail.”

  “And I’ve already gone through the details of this case. But we’re at a dead end, and Dana is almost out of time. Her doctor called when we were finishing up with our inept telemarketer. Whatever the mystery substance is, her body can’t eliminate it, and soon, treating her symptoms won’t be enough. Best case scenario, she’s got a few days left.”

  My world turned upside down for the second time that day. “But we just ruled out our best lead”—my voice cracked—“and now we’ve got nothing.”

  “Not nothing.” His eyes flicked my way, maybe to check I wasn’t about to take off my seat belt and jump out the window. “Sometimes when you’ve been on a case a while, and accumulated more knowledge about the victim, suspects, and circumstances, something you’ve already seen or read will have new meaning.”

  It sounded like looking for unicorns in Africa to me, but I nodded anyway. “Okay.” I didn’t have any better ideas. Maybe unicorns were real—it was possible right? Scientists still discovered new species sometimes. In the blackest depths of the deepest ocean.

  My mood was heading there now.

  I racked my brain for something positive. “Can we pick up Meow on the way?” Having her home safe and sound might give me the wherewithal to tackle the mountain of hate again.

  Back to square one. I thunked my head on the desk before picking up the first stack of hate mail I’d already gone through.

  Maybe I’d missed something. Or maybe Connor was giving me busy work so he could do the real investigating without me underfoot. At least he’d left my Corvette here. I wondered how he’d get his car from the Grizzle and Girdles parking lot.

  Not the problem I was supposed to be thinking about.

  But anything was better than thinking about Dana.

  I cuddled Meow—who’d decided she wouldn’t hold a grudge, at least while I was her only source of petting and leftover roast—and started rereading the letters.

  This time I was going to cast a wider net. I put aside any that mentioned or hinted at a Wholesome Foods link and even those that suggested the writer was well-off, like the three written on expensive card stock. I was struck again by how many people actually put their names at the bottom of their hateful, threatening letters. Some even used their personal letterhead.

  No wonder Connor was so dismissive of hate mail generating credible leads.

  As my eyes were glazing over and my thoughts were turning to brownies, the signature on the letter in front of me caught my eye: Kate Williamson.

  It took me a moment to place it—the girlfriend from the newspaper clipping. Could it be the same one? It wasn’t an uncommon name, but it seemed like a big coincidence. Had I just found a unicorn?

  The letter was similar to the one written by the San Diego mother I’d sent Connor to interview, accusing Josh of stealing her daughter away. It was recent, with the postmark a mere three weeks ago. I read it again and noticed she’d written our daughter.

  According to Josh’s file, he didn’t have a daughter.

  Could he have one he didn’t know about? Or was this Kate woman as kooky as her letter sounded? She had referenced turkeys on three separate occasions, including my favorite:

  Turkey shit is too kind a term for you.

  Still, considering Josh’s reaction to our blackmail questions, and the newspaper clipping with the girlfriend of the same name, it seemed worth checking out. I called Connor.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked automatically.

  “Why do you always assume something’s wrong?”

  Connor let meaningful silence trickle down the line.

  I huffed. “I just found out Josh might have a daughter he doesn’t know about, with Kate Williamson from that newspaper article. Maybe we should take a trip to Porterville.”

  I was stepping out of the apartment, when I spotted Mr. Black’s bulk coming up the stairs. He spotted me too. All the terror of that morning on the streets flooded back to me and froze like a cold cement block around my ankles.

  He gave me a little wave.

  It was enough to resuscitate my motor skills. I hauled my ass inside and locked the door behind me. My hands shook like a wet dog. Dialing Connor, I grabbed my Taser and rushed over to the nearest window.

  Mr. Black was still coming. I watched his muscle-bound mass draw closer, my lungs growing smaller with each step.

  I tried to see him like Etta did, hoping it would dull my panic. Once you got past the giant factor, he was pleasing to look at—oval face, well-proportioned features with a generous mouth and brown eyes that might be considered warm if he wasn’t trying to kill you. The close-shaved head wasn’t to my taste, but he had the skull shape and small, neatly tucked ears to pull it off. The jagged scar on his cheek gave him a dangerous edge, but one you might find attractive if hunting gators was your thing.

  He was wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt today. Probably tailor-made to fit over his biceps. I felt a flash of pity for his wife, who’d have to wash all of my bloodstains out. My heart went fluttery again.

  He knocked on the door, his face bland, pleasant. A neighbor dropping by to borrow a cup of rat bait. “Ms. Avery. We need to talk.”

  Did he expect me to open it? I judged my window to be far enough from the door that I’d have time to slam it closed if he stepped toward me. I knew its security was purely psychological anyway. Mr. Black could shatter it with his pinky.

  I slid the glass open a crack, clutching the Taser in my other hand. Would it work on him? Did they make Tasers in dinosaur size? “Mr. Black,” I said, “I’m sorry I had to run out on your last visit.”

  Mr. Black
gave me a small, tolerant smile that liquefied my insides.

  I gulped and tightened my grip on the Taser until it started to hurt. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Now, this isn’t polite, ma’am.” He ran a giant paw over the stubble on his shorn scalp. “I’d prefer to talk face-to-face.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Black. But my mother told me not to open the door for strangers.”

  He gave that terrifying smile again. Was he amused? Or was he trying to make me poop my pants?

  “I can always break it down,” he said. A simple fact. His tone was apologetic.

  “If you did that, I’m afraid I’d have to taser you in self-defense, sir.”

  He looked over at the window. I held up the Taser. He rubbed his chin, and I noticed he was wearing a pink Disney Princess watch.

  “I don’t like being tasered very much.”

  “I wouldn’t like to taser you very much either,” I said sincerely. “Listen. Surely we can work something out. I need all my bones unbroken today, and it sure would be a shame to ruin that lovely watch by falling on it when you lose control of your muscles after I zap you.”

  He contemplated the watch. “My daughter would be upset if I broke the watch. I’m only borrowing it on account of my other one broke.”

  I nodded. “Yes, we don’t wanna upset your daughter. Can’t we strike some kind of deal?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well.” I thought fast. “I know you’re just doing your job. What were your exact instructions?”

  He searched his memory, then recited the words one at a time. “Find that stupid bitch and make her pay.”

  My heart sped up. “Right. And did they give you a timeline?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I can make up all the missed payments in just eight and a half days. You see, I’ve got a new job, and that’s when I get my first paycheck and finish my probation period. Then they’ll loan me the money for the rest.” I had no idea how long my practical assessment took, or if the Taste Society would lend me the money after they’d already turned me down once, but I figured eight and a half extra days wouldn’t hurt. “The truth is, even if you break all the bones in my body, I won’t be able to pay any faster. So, for the sake of your daughter and her watch, how about you tell your boss you’ve terrified me into getting the money, but it’s gonna take me nine days to come up with it.”