Eat, Pray, Die Mystery Box Set

by Chelsea Field

  What was around Josh’s place aside from mansions? I racked my brain until it came to me: the canyon. I hadn’t done any exercise lately, except for running away from Mr. Black, so it was a believable tale.

  Etta didn’t know yet how lazy I was.

  Besides, strolling through beautiful scenery was the one type of exercise I could actually enjoy. To support my story, I changed into workout gear. Having a non-slob excuse to wear sweats and comfy shoes was the best part of being active anyway. I pinched Oliver’s headlamp off his dresser too. It would be dark in an hour.

  As a final touch, I transferred the pepper spray and Taser to my new outfit. Who knew if Albert was still stalking me? The thought made me shudder, but I was pretty confident I could take the weasel if it came to it.

  I paused in front of the mirror before leaving. I looked like myself, which meant a long way from how Josh had seen me before, primped up to Connor’s standards. I didn’t think Josh would care once I told him the good news.

  I squeezed my way past Etta’s outdoor sofa and knocked on her door. She answered it with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and another shift dress hanging from her frame, black this time. The murmur of the television spilled out behind her. From what I could see of the apartment, it was a mirror image of ours, only fifty years into the future. Her TV was a flat-screen, her carpet a plush light gray, and her kitchen a pale oak finished with white glossy counters and a kettle, knife block, and tea towel in turquoise.

  “Did you bring cookies?”

  I whipped them out from behind my back. “Is the ground dirt?”

  She smiled and gestured beyond the stair railing to the sidewalk below. “Looks like concrete actually, but you know how to win a woman over. Even if you can’t shoot a gun.” She stubbed out her cigarette and took the plate.

  “I have a favor to ask,” I admitted. “I loaned my car to a friend and was hoping you could give me a lift.”

  “Well, I can’t blame you for loaning your car to that particular friend. I’d give him any ride he wanted.”

  I hid a wince while she grabbed her keys from a hook by the door and a cookie from the plate.

  “Where are we going?”

  Three minutes later, we were in Etta’s 1970s, buttercup-yellow Dodge Charger. The black leather seats were worn in a comfortable way. The rest of the interior was immaculate.

  “Nice,” I said.

  Etta turned over the engine and let it warm up for a bit. “I know. I bought it secondhand from the original owner twenty years ago and haven’t looked back.” She pulled out onto the road without signaling. Or looking back. “What do you think of my new outdoor sofa?”

  I couldn’t complain when she was doing me a favor. “It looks comfier than the dining chair I drag in and out.”

  “It is. You and Oliver can use it too, if you like.”

  “Thank you. Maybe I will.”

  She used her blinker at the first turn, but not the next. That didn’t make her a bad driver by LA standards. It was as if everyone was too busy rehearsing for their upcoming audition to focus on less important things like traffic laws.

  “So what gave you the sudden urge to walk Sullivan Canyon Park anyway?” Etta asked.

  “Too many cookies. That and Meow has decided my stomach is as comfy as my pillow when she deigns to sleep in my room.”

  She smirked. “I don’t have that problem. Maybe you need to have sex more often.”

  She was probably right, but it was pretty far down on my priority list.

  Etta merged onto the Santa Monica Freeway, fifteen miles under the speed limit, and the person she cut off leaned on the horn. She rolled down her window and stuck her rude finger out of it. “Damn drivers these days, always in a hurry, even though most of ’em don’t want to get where they’re going.” She proceeded to weave through traffic like a champion pole bender. “They hate their jobs, are irked by their families, and don’t like their friends. Beats me why they’re rushing anywhere.”

  Another point to Etta.

  “Now this Connor man of yours. When do I get to meet him?”

  “Um—”

  “And is he as good in the sack as he looks? Those tightly controlled ones are masters in the bedroom. All that self-discipline pays off, you know, and when they let themselves go, it’s like shooting at a pile of dynamite.”

  My face turned beetroot red, remembering the kiss.

  Etta flicked me a look and swerved in front of another car.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! You don’t know, do you?”

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  She shook her head in utter bewilderment, like the time she’d learned I’d never held a gun. “You young people need to learn how to live. Nobody knows how long you’ve got left, so you better make the most of it.”

  It wasn’t a cheerful thought, but it was one that rang truer after the events of this week. “Connor took me to a shooting range the other day,” I offered.

  “Fun isn’t it?”

  “It was, but I wouldn’t like to shoot at anything alive.”

  “You might feel differently if you’d seen a gator take off someone’s arm right in front of you.”

  “Geez. That happened to you?” I felt bad for presuming she hunted for the joy of it.

  “No. But it’s happened to some people.”

  Oh.

  She dropped me off at the barricade on Queensferry Road that led into the canyon. It was as close as I could get with my exercise cover story.

  “Will you need a lift home?” she asked.

  “No, Connor’s picking me up.” That’s what I hoped anyway. I promised her another batch of cookies soon and said goodbye.

  It was just over a mile to Josh’s mansion. I started walking.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t considered the steep uphill factor. About halfway there, I began to think giving away my car was one of the less clever decisions of my life. Hard to know whether all the exercise I’d have to do would be more or less painful than what Mr. Black might do to me.

  I reached Josh’s front door as the sun was setting. As I raised my hand to knock, I belatedly wondered whether he’d be happy to see me. Who was I to him? Connor’s silent shadow girl? I wasn’t sure being told good news in person rather than over the phone meant as much coming from a near stranger, especially when you value privacy as much as he did.

  The nine-mile journey home in the dark compelled me to knock anyway.

  Josh answered, as usual. “Ms. Avery,” he said, surprised.

  I was surprised too, that he remembered my name. “I don’t want to intrude Mr. Summers, but I have some good news and wanted to tell you in person. Is now an okay time?”

  He hesitated, disconcerted by my radical change in attire perhaps, then shrugged. “Sure, come in. Can I get you something to drink?”

  I knew I should say no, but I was thirsty. And hungry. “Yes, please. A glass of water would be great.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for being grown-up and dignified enough not to ask for an espresso. I could prioritize. In matters of life and death. Sometimes.

  He left me in the same sitting room as all the other times and returned a few minutes later with water and a plate of cookies. “I’m afraid I didn’t make these myself. I haven’t been in the mood to cook much since I found out… well about Dana. But we always had a tin of these growing up, so I have a fondness for them.”

  I smiled. “I won’t tell anyone.” There was only one glass. “Aren’t you having anything?”

  He shrugged. “Not allowed to. I sent Caleb home for the evening.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I was especially grateful I hadn’t asked for an espresso now. I’d have offered to test it for him, but I couldn’t disclose I was a Shade. Not even to a client who already knew I worked for the Taste Society in some capacity.

  Josh shook his head. “It’s fine. I just had dinner anyway. You said you have good news?”

  Right, Izzy, get to the point.
r />   “It’s Dana. She’s going to be okay. The hellbane antidote is working, and the doctor says she’s out of danger.”

  Josh’s smile lit up his whole face. “Wow. That’s great! When can I see her?”

  I should have realized that would be his first question. “Sorry, she’s still unconscious, and I’m not sure what the protocol will be when she wakes up. You’ll have to ask Connor.”

  The smile dimmed. But at least it was still there.

  “Sorry,” I said for the third time. “I’m new to the company. I was just so excited to hear the good news that I had to share it with you.” I grabbed a cookie and shoved it in my mouth to stop my rambling.

  Mid-mouthful, I recognized the taste. “Are these Royal Dansk cookies?”

  “They are.”

  I smiled through the crumbs. “Like father, like daughter. Did you know Dana likes the same brand? She even kept the picture of you in one of their tins.”

  “Really?”

  Josh seemed less amused by this revelation than I was, and I experienced a sudden prickle of doubt. What if Josh had been in Dana’s kitchen and grabbed the cookie tin for the same reason I had, only to find the picture linked to his darkest secret inside? Was he paranoid enough to think she was onto him? And would he kill to protect his secret?

  The cookie had turned to sawdust in my mouth, but I forced myself to swallow and tried to keep my expression neutral. Josh had the perfect opportunity to spike Dana’s food with the Ambience and then give her the hellbane while she slept. That would explain why she hadn’t tasted it.

  But surely not. Josh was still devastated by Henry’s death twenty-six years later—and that was an accident. He wouldn’t kill someone in cold blood. Connor’s suspiciousness of everyone and everything was rubbing off on me, and I was looking for boogeymen in every shadow. Josh was the victim here. He’d been so distraught and now so relieved. He’d probably never even been to Dana’s apartment.

  But maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that the bottle of hellbane that allowed us to save Dana showed up the day after he learned of his relation to her. If he had found the picture in her cookie tin, knowing she was his daughter would’ve put her possession of it in a very different light.

  Josh was staring at me, and I realized I still hadn’t answered him.

  “Really!” I said, trying to mimic my former enthusiasm. “I was the one who found it, because I’m a cookie addict too, you see.” I took another cookie to demonstrate and tried to surreptitiously taste for lethal ingredients through the sawdust. Clear. I swallowed it, gulped down some more water to relieve the drought my mouth was experiencing, and leaned back.

  I had to know whether my idea was as ludicrous as it seemed.

  “Have you ever been to Dana’s apartment?” I asked, trying to act like the kind of girl who made casual, meaningless chitchat with celebrities all the time. I hoped I was wrong. I hoped he’d say no.

  “Just once. She had a wardrobe malfunction and had to get changed.”

  “She kept it pretty sparse, but I liked her yellow door.” That would totally throw him off track.

  He watched me politely.

  “She was kind to me when I met her months ago,” I continued. “I’m so glad she’s going to be okay.”

  “Me too.”

  He started rising, my cue to leave. I jumped in as if I hadn’t noticed. “Gosh, it’s lucky that kid found the bottle isn’t it? Which house is his? I feel like I should bake him some cookies or something.”

  “Very lucky. Ms. Avery, will you excuse me a moment?”

  I nodded and sat on the couch wondering what else I could ask without making him suspicious. My phone buzzed. The display said it was Connor, but I’d ring him back in a minute. I had to figure this out.

  My thoughts came to a screaming halt when a gun pressed against the base of my skull.

  24

  “Sorry about this, Ms. Avery,” Josh said, “but I can’t let you ruin everything.”

  My brain scrambled like a dropped egg, trying to adjust to the sudden turn of events. “Is this a joke? What are you talking about?”

  “Get up.” The barrel dug in to emphasize his point.

  I got up.

  “We’re going for a drive.” He steered me through the house at gunpoint and into his garage via an internal door. It was cool and dark and smelled of car wax. He flicked on the fluorescent lights and prodded me around to the back of his Porsche Boxster.

  It was gleaming black. Like Death’s chariot waiting to carry me to the afterlife.

  I shivered.

  He handed me a canister of cooking spray.

  Cold-pressed virgin olive oil. I stared at it, dumbfounded. Maybe the gun—a revolver, now I could see it—aimed at my head had turned my brain to mush, but I had no clue what the oil was for.

  I scoped out the size of the Porsche’s trunk. It looked like a tight fit, but not enough to need oil to squeeze me into it. And if I was going to die, I wasn’t about to take part in some kinky chef sex game.

  “Spray it on the license plate,” he said.

  I shouldn’t have felt relieved with the revolver still trained on my head, but I did anyway. I uncapped the canister and sprayed the plate. I thought about spraying Josh too, but the gun dissuaded me.

  “Good. Now sprinkle this over top.” He handed me one of those stainless steel shakers used to dust cappuccinos with chocolate powder or desserts with powdered sugar. This one was filled with powdered sugar, and as I shook it over the oiled license plate, the blue letters and numbers turned white.

  Clever.

  It was hard to read, like it was caked in road dust, but not so illegible we’d be pulled over by the cops.

  We repeated the procedure on the front license plate. It was like a fun art project aside from the gun thing.

  When I was done, he told me to put the oil and shaker down and handed me a set of keys. “You’re driving.”

  “I can’t,” I lied. “I’ve never driven a manual.”

  The gun nudged my ribs this time. “You sure about that? Because I’d feel bad about having to tie you up and put you in the trunk.”

  I got in the driver’s seat. “I’ll pick it up as I go along.”

  He climbed in the passenger side, keeping his revolver trained on me the whole time. After buckling his seat belt (I suspected he always put his seat belt on), he positioned his hand to send a bullet through my gut if he pulled the trigger. “The garage door opener is on the key ring. Open it, then follow my directions. Don’t draw attention to us. I’ve heard a bullet in the stomach is one of the most painful ways to die.”

  It crossed my mind that it was possibly better than what Platypus Lending had in store for me, but I put the car into gear anyway. The engine thrummed under me, and I bunny-hopped forward out of the garage, underestimating its power.

  “Don’t shoot. I’ll get the hang of it.” The next gear change was smoother.

  I knew many would consider driving a Porsche Boxster a joyride, but somehow I couldn’t summon much joy. I bet Josh wouldn’t let me fold the convertible roof down either. He directed me right, then left, then right again.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m truly sorry about this, Ms. Avery. I hope you can understand. It’s just, I don’t deserve to go to jail. It was a horrible accident. Henry was my best friend since we were assigned seats next to each other in elementary school because of our last names, Smythe and Summers, you see. Living without him is punishment enough.”

  “Is that why you tried to kill Dana?” I asked. “To protect your secret?”

  He went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s a question of the greater good. I’ve worked so hard and climbed so high in order to make a difference. So Henry didn’t die for nothing. The scandal would ruin me. I’m helping hundreds of kids get out of gangs and poverty and into employment with decent prospects. What are you doing in comparison? What’s your life compared to all the ones I’m saving?”

 
He had a point. I suppose if you have to be murdered by someone, it might as well be a polite, apologetic, famous someone who’s going to do more good in the world than you anyway. He could cook a lot better than me too.

  “When I saw that newspaper clipping in Dana’s apartment, I thought she was planning to expose me. I couldn’t allow that to happen. But then I found out she’s my daughter. My daughter!” He paused to blink away the moisture in his eyes. “I knew then she only had the clipping because she wanted to find me.”

  “But I’m the one who figured out she’s your daughter. Don’t you owe me something for that?”

  “I’m sorry, but knowing I have family has just given me more to lose.”

  “Um, what if I’m another long-lost daughter of yours?” Not my finest moment.

  Unsurprisingly, my words fell on deaf ears. “I hope you understand. That you can forgive me. But you gave me no choice.”

  I saw a new opening and pounced on it. “You do have a choice! I promise I won’t tell anyone. We can all live and be happy and you can keep doing good for Henry.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Avery, but I don’t believe you.”

  Guess I shouldn’t have lied about my ability to drive a stick.

  We drove for a few minutes in silence. My phone started buzzing again, but Josh ordered me to let it ring. I couldn’t see who’d called. Not that it mattered. Even Albert or Ms. Nielson from Platypus Lending would’ve been a welcome intrusion right now.

  I realized we were headed south. Straight toward the neighborhoods Google had told me when I was house hunting offered very low rent and very high mortality rates. I considered crashing the car. Only there was a good chance the impact would jolt Josh’s finger hovering over the trigger in the exact way I was trying to avoid.

  “What are you going to do to me?” My voice came out small, but I hadn’t forgotten the Taser and pepper spray in my pockets. The more I knew about what he was planning, the more hope I had of using one of them without getting a fatal bullet for my troubles.