by Libby Klein
I did as she said, and the thudding of my heart quieted down.
Kat picked up a laser pointer and started to go over the deceased body of Temarius Jackson.
I tried to blink back a couple of tears, but they escaped. I expected him to look like a dangerous street thug, maybe a gangbanger from the news, but he was so young. Just a child. Why are human beings so cruel to each other that his life was valued less than another’s? I wished I could turn back the calendar and warn Emilio that Temarius was in trouble.
Amber shook something at me. She was eating a bag of Funyuns. “Hey, focus.”
“Two gunshot wounds midchest. Based on apparent diameter, the wounds were made from a large-caliber handgun. The soot and stippling around the wound show that the gun was fired at very close range. The wound track traveling downward to the rear of the aorta.”
I felt like a fifth-grade math student who got lost on the way to long division and ended up in advanced calculus.
Amber must have seen my dazed expression. “It confirms that the shooter shot him from above while he was sitting on the couch.”
I nodded to Kat to continue.
“Exactly. I was able to remove two projectiles and the lab has them now. They are not consistent with a nine-millimeter from your semiautomatic, police-issue firearm.”
Amber ate another Funyun. “What are all these marks?”
Kat turned her laser pointer to a reptilian-like pattern on the body. “Now, that is fascinating. It’s postmortem bruising from the body being packed in ice cubes.”
I raised my hand. “Why would somebody do that?”
Kat turned off her laser and put the device on the counter. “To mask the time of death. Somebody wanted to slow down decomposition, so it would appear like the victim was killed much later than he was.”
“How much later?”
Kat replied, “Hours. I’ve rolled the time of death back to sometime early morning.”
I thought back to the crime scene. “That’s why the couch was all wet.”
Amber paused with her Funyun halfway to her mouth. “You could have mentioned that sooner, McAllister.”
“You got a text message from him at eight p.m., an hour before you found him. How did he pull that off?”
Amber shrugged. “I’m not tech savvy; I have no idea.”
I looked back at Kat. “Can I ask another question?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you test his blood to see if he was on anything?”
Kat nodded. “The routine toxicology screen came back negative.”
“So he was clean. No drugs.”
“That’s right.”
Amber balled up the empty bag and tossed it in a trash bin marked recyclable. “Thanks, Kat. I appreciate this.”
“There is one more thing you need to see.” Kat walked over toward the door and hit the light switch. We were immersed in darkness. Kat lifted the edge of the sheet, and we could see that all of Temarius’s fingers were glowing a dull blue.
Amber leaned in closer. “What is that?”
Kat bent down with Amber. “Chemical luminescence. I’m still waiting on results from the lab as to what kind.”
I recognized that color. “I saw this blue-glowing dye at his house the other day. Like something had leaked out of a box on the floor. Could it be from glow sticks?”
Both women looked at me like I’d just solved my first word problem.
“It’s just that someone stole several cases of glow sticks from Congress Hall a few days ago and they were never caught.”
Amber cocked an eyebrow. “You also didn’t tell me you found evidence at the crime scene.”
“You were kind of busy getting arrested.”
Kat examined Temarius’s left hand. “It could be chemiluminescence from cyalume in glow sticks, but he would have to have been exposed to a very high concentration to still glow days later.”
“Did you find out what the glowing blue goo was in that mask that killed Dr. Lance Rubin?”
Kat pointed at me. “That’s where I know you from.”
Amber dropped her head back and groaned. “What did you get into now?”
“I’m sorry, which one of us is the murder suspect this time?”
Amber made a face at me and I matched it back to her, but it lost its significance behind the surgical mask.
Kat turned the lights back on. “Test results from the UV light mask should be here Monday morning. In the meantime I’ll run another chem panel on your gunshot victim to see if there’s a toxic level of phenyl oxalate ester in his blood to confirm the glow sticks theory. I have to warn you, though, even if we can prove there was a chemical agent in play, the cause of death was still catastrophic injury to the heart and blood vessels from the shooting.”
I took one last look at the boy in front of me and made him a silent vow. I can do very little to affect change in a broken system, but I will do all I can to bring justice for you.
CHAPTER 33
“Who would kill a seventeen-year-old kid over a case of ninety-nine-cent party supplies?” I breathed deep in the fresh air. Anything to clear my senses from the smell of death and ammonia.
Amber slammed her door and one of the ceiling thumbtacks fell to my seat. “I don’t suppose there’s anything else you forgot to tell me about the crime scene?”
I stuck the tack back in while my mind went to the cell phone I found in Temarius’s couch. If the time of death was early morning, whoever texted Temarius that they were on the way was probably the last person to see him alive. How much could I trust Amber that she wasn’t using me to gather evidence for her to destroy? Maybe she brought me here to see if the shock would cause me to spill something. “Ah, no. Nope. Nothing else to report.”
Amber frowned and turned the key in the ignition. The Pinto coughed and sputtered like someone had bent the tube on its life support.
I yanked my seat belt on and felt like a traitor. I couldn’t even look at her. What if I held the one piece of evidence that would exonerate her?
“I had no idea you would be such a baby in there.”
“It was horrible. How can you stand it?”
Her voice was quiet and soft. “It’s easier when you don’t know the victim.”
I could feel her sadness. Amber and I had a terrible history together, full of backstabbing and mistrust. I wanted to send an olive branch, but I didn’t want it flung back in my face. Instead, I tried small talk. “How did you not notice the couch was all wet?”
Amber threw the car in Neutral and pumped the gas pedal while we rolled backward. It was like a time bomb that eventually groaned its way to a mediocre explosion. “I was too busy checking for a pulse. Then Simmons and Crabtree showed up with their guns blazing. I couldn’t very well go around contaminating the crime scene while we waited for the coroner to arrive. My name’s not Poppy.”
That’s the third person this week to call me Poppy and make it sound strange. I’m having a weird week. I pulled out my cell phone and texted Kim.
Can I program a text message to be delivered at a later date?
Yeah. Depending on your phone. You may need an app. Let’s try it.
The Pinto sputtered and stalled. “You need a new car.”
Amber gave me some side-eye. “Yeah, I’ll move that up to the top of my priorities, right after ‘get a good defense lawyer.’ ”
“Who did Temarius live with? There was a second bedroom.”
“It’s his grandmother’s apartment. He’d been living with her since his mother died of a drug overdose when he was seven.”
“Where’s the grandmother now?”
“She’s been visiting her sister in Tallahassee. I think the sister has cancer.”
“So, she doesn’t know about Temarius yet?”
Amber sipped her Big Gulp. “I don’t know if the station has tracked her down. They’ll coordinate with the Tallahassee Police to inform her of his death in person.”
We got on
the road and were lulled by the rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump of Route 47.
My phone broke the silence between us with Bruno Mars singing “Count on Me.” I dug it out of my pocket and answered. “I’m sorry, I’m running late. Why don’t I meet you there in about thirty minutes? Ooh yes. Get me a fancy water.”
I clicked off, and after a minute Amber asked, “Was that Sawyer?”
“Hm? Yeah.”
“You two have plans?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Yep. We do.”
A few more awkward seconds passed. “Where you going?”
“Twilight Egg Hunt.”
Amber tapped a beat on her steering wheel, then took a drink of her flat Big Gulp. “Have a good time.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
She dropped me off at home and said she’d be in touch. The Pinto stalled again. She cranked the motor, then it belched a cloud of exhaust before driving off.
Dale and Patsy were sitting in rockers on the front porch drinking champagne. “Poppy, did you hear the news? Our little Portia took first place in the Pretty Kitty Cat Show.”
“Congratulations. Portia is a beautiful girl.”
Dale beamed. “Her fur was exceptionally soft this weekend.”
Patsy leaned back in the rocker. “I think the salt air agrees with her.”
That or the bacon. I picked the empty bird feeder up and rehung it on the pole. “That’s fabulous. Are you going to the Twilight Egg Hunt at Congress Hall? I was just on my way over there.”
Patsy picked up the champagne and refilled their glasses. “We saw that advertised at the Cat Show. It sounds like fun.”
Dale waved me on. “I think we’ll pass. We’re exhausted from the day. We’ve already tucked Portia in for the night.”
I could clearly see Portia behind them in the bay window, swatting at Figaro’s tail, but I was already late enough, so I smiled and waved and told them to have a good night.
The streetlights twinkled against the purple and orange sky. Congress Hall was a short walk away. I faintly heard the band playing “All About That Bass” from down the street. There would be nowhere to park within blocks, so I set out on foot.
Congress Hall was a historic, seaside boardinghouse built in the late eighteen hundreds. Three stories high, with a mansard roof and covered colonnade, the beautiful yellow hotel was built like a giant L opening to a giant, grassy lawn with a swimming pool and a garden facing the ocean. The lawn was covered in neon Easter decorations and hiding one hundred luminescent dyed eggs. The bright lights were keeping the eggs hidden, but once they went out and the black lights were turned on, everything would glow.
I handed in my ticket and found Sawyer at the popcorn vendor, just like she said she’d be.
She had to shout to be heard over the band. “What took you so long?”
“Our appointment was all the way up in Woodbine. Did I miss anything?”
“Only the rules. They’re going to start any minute. Follow me. I think I spot a yellow one in the knot of that tree.”
We meandered over to our starting point and waited for the signal. I drank my flavored water and filled Sawyer in on the visit with the coroner. She made appropriate faces of disgust as I described the nuances of a room designated for removing and weighing organs.
Most people came to the Egg Hunt in the spirit of the event, wearing glow-in-the-dark bracelets and necklaces, glow sticks wound in their hair like curlers and around their waist like belts. Many of them had created designs on their faces that were coming alive the moment the black lights came on. I asked one girl, “How did you do that?” and circled my face.
“It’s rave makeup; you can buy it on eBay.”
The music stopped, and someone in charge blew an air horn, and chaos erupted.
I gave Sawyer a leg up to get whatever was in the knot in the tree. A painted duck. It was a clever ploy. There were decoys everywhere. I grabbed a neon-green tennis ball, then tossed it back under the azaleas where it came from.
Sawyer grabbed my arm. “There!” A glowing pink orb barely sticking out of some boxwood hedges. We took off running, but some men tracked us and followed our path. I broke off to create a diversion and dove on a tuft of plastic tulips. Two of the men followed me and left one to chase down Sawyer.
I got to my feet and brushed off my jeans. “Sorry. I guess it was just the moon.” When they had left on the scent of another prize, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. It was a tiny wooden egg glowing a soft orange, hidden in the cup of one of the tulips. I plucked it from the flower and held it tight. It had number 27 on the bottom in gold paint.
“You found one!”
I looked up and into the face of a woman who had gone full-on, glow-in-the-dark blue.
“Nice rave makeup.”
She touched her face. “Makeup?”
I noticed her fingertips were slightly blue as well. I circled my face. “Your rave makeup. A lot of the girls are wearing it.”
“I’m not wearing anything.”
She looked confused so I took out my phone, turned off the flash, and took her picture to show her.
She gulped and started patting her face. “The only thing I’m wearing is the Shayla Rose antiaging concentrate I got at the Beauty Expo.”
“Immortality? The little black pot with the pink writing? I thought they were all stolen.”
She nodded. “I got a sample when we were setting up on Wednesday. I run the Kefir Everything booth.”
Sawyer showed up next to me, panting and bending to work out a side stitch. The front of her body was covered in mud and she had a scratch on her cheek, but she victoriously held up a glowing, blue-painted egg. “That jack-weed tried to take it from me. He’ll be limping when he gets up.”
I took the egg from Sawyer and held it up to the woman’s face. They were both glowing blue. I handed it back to Sawyer.
“What’s wrong?”
The lady was trying to wipe the blue off her face with the corner of her shirt. “What if it’s toxic? If I get skin cancer from this, I’ll sue that Shayla Rose for every penny she’s got. You don’t think she put glow-stick chemicals in the concentrate, do you? I look like an idiot.”
I remembered Shayla’s words. The cream wasn’t on the market. I kind of recalled her saying she wasn’t allowed to sell it yet. Maybe something about it was toxic. I hadn’t thought much about it then, but now I had to wonder.
Sawyer cocked her head from side to side, examining the woman’s skin. “It’s not coming off. Maybe it will be gone by morning.”
The woman kept frantically scrubbing at her forehead. “She’s lucky they were stolen. Can you imagine if she’d given out all of them?”
An announcement came over the speaker to report in when you were finished so they could see how many of the eggs had been found and how many were still out there.
Sawyer and I made eye contact and passed the message that we wanted to go register our eggs.
Sawyer reached out her hand toward the woman, who now looked like a character from Avatar. “I’m so sorry. I hope you are safe, and it all works out.”
I added, “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on you.”
She nodded, and we left to find out what our eggs won. Apparently, I won a five-dollar gift card for Douglass Fudge—just what I needed. And Sawyer won a twenty-five-dollar gift card to Slap Yo Mamma! the Caribbean fusion restaurant on the mall.
Behind us, we heard a series of whoop-whoops as a group who had pooled their resources had found six eggs and won the grand prize: a five-hundred-dollar gift card for the Radiance Day Spa at the Chambers Mansion. They started swaying and singing “We Are the Champions.”
Even though the group was covered in rave makeup and matching UV-painted T-shirts declaring them the Four Queens, I still recognized them. One of the queens tapped her cane on the ground and gave me a chin up, while the little redheaded one winked a glowing pink eyelid at me and grinned.
I shook my head and tried to
take in just how lucky they were, but before I could congratulate them, my phone chimed that I’d missed a call and received a voice mail.
“Who is it?” Sawyer asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the number, but it’s local.” We walked a few steps away from the judges’ table, where it was a little quieter, and I played the message on Speaker.
“ ‘Hello? Hello? Are you there? Is this recording? You kids never answer your phones anymore. Always running the streets when you should be at home. This is Idel Rotnitzky. I told you I’d call. Your blonde is back. She just walked past my apartment. I think she’s breaking in across the hall again. I’ll call you back when she’s leaving, but if you want to catch her, you’d better hurry.”
CHAPTER 34
“I gotta go.”
Sawyer mirrored the concern on my face. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to run out to the Villas. Oh, I wish I’d brought my car.”
“I’ll drive you. I’m right across the street.”
We started heading for the exit. “Are you sure you’re free?”
Sawyer shoved her gift card in her front pocket. “Yeah. I don’t have anything until midnight.”
“Midnight? What do you have going on at midnight?”
Sawyer’s eyes rolled up to the side. It was one of her tells. So was the fact that her cover stories were always poorly thought-out. “Bed. I have plans to go to bed. At midnight.”
“Okay, don’t tell me.”
We crossed the street and climbed into Sawyer’s car. She pulled away from the meter, and a stack of papers fell from her visor.
“These are parking tickets. Good Lord, Sawyer. Where have you been parking? You walk to work!”
She snatched them up and stuffed them in a tote bag between the seats. Then she tossed the tote bag to the back. “Don’t worry about that. That’s nothing.”
“Nothing? That must be a fortune in fines.”
She shrugged it off. “We’re going back to where I picked you up the other night, right?”
I settled back in my seat, concerned that she was having money problems. “The same.”
“What are we doing there?”
