A Geek Girl's Guide to Justice (The Geek Girl Mysteries)

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  I waved to Bernie on my way out and mentally arranged a few errands in the most logical sequence to avoid zigzagging all over town and wasting time. I didn’t want to be late for dinner, but I needed to stop at the bank and post office. I was low on cash and for some reason, the bill collectors wanted to be paid every month. I registered for automatic withdrawals anytime it was an option, but a few companies insisted on upholding traditions. Envelopes. Stamps. Mail carriers in navy walking shorts and knee socks. I’d tried to explain my impossible schedule to the landlord at my old building once, as the reason I was late with my payment. He was indifferent to my plight, and adamant on the late fee.

  The bank and post office shared a strip mall not far from my place. I left Stella in a central spot outside the squat brick stretch of building, used the money machine, then dumped my bills into the big blue box at the curb. Goose bumps lifted the fine hairs on my skin as I rounded the hood to my driver’s side door. I checked over both shoulders for a look at who was watching me.

  No one. Paranoia. Just one symptom of too many run-ins with deranged individuals.

  I shook it off and dropped behind the steering wheel. Next stop: Bree’s favorite bakery. I waited in line twenty minutes to place a five-hundred-dollar order for a three-tier white-on-white almond-flavored cake with pairs of white fondant animals climbing from the bottom to the top in a left-to-right spiral pattern. White tigers. White penguins. White giraffes. The baker struggled to accept it as a serious order. Most shower cakes were a simple half-sheet rectangle or something shaped like a big belly. I gave him a look at Bree’s demand list, and he threw in a box of cream puffs and chocolate éclairs to get me through the next thirteen days. The joke was on him, the éclairs would be lucky to see sundown.

  I jumped back into the sunshine with a sugar contact high and hustled across the short gravel lot. Instinct warned me to be careful. Pay attention. I slowed. Yes, I had a touch of PTSD, but I’d also ignored my gut on more than once occasion and ended up in a bad situation, thus my PTSD. I tuned into the strange pressure in the air and proceeded slowly to my car. A dead mouse lay several inches away from the driver’s door, stiff and damp. Was it a coincidence I’d seen one outside my car at the Faire? I hadn’t believed in coincidences until Jake was assigned to a second murder case involving me last fall. I started giving the Universe a little more credit after that.

  I twisted for a look in every direction. The usual sights and sounds of a busy Sunday afternoon buzzed by. I beeped the door unlocked and climbed inside with a hop that cleared the mouse but made me shiver. Could I have missed seeing it when I arrived? Had a cat dropped it there and left? I reversed away from the thing and refocused on dinner. My brain rejected the mouse, and my stomach was attempting to reject the Pop-Tarts.

  Dan had taken Plotz into custody for Dante’s murder, but I’d looked into Plotz thoroughly before bed and found nothing. No indication he was anything other than a nice man who liked antiques. And cats. He posted images of both regularly on his Instagram. He wasn’t burdened with any significant debts. No vices, ranting blog posts or peculiar fetishes.

  Was his arrest a little too easy, almost orchestrated, or was I jaded? Maybe some things were simple and I was overthinking. Projecting. Nothing in my life seemed to fit the Simple category, but maybe other people had different experiences. Ohio Wiring had no problems with the Wi-Fi project. Maybe this murder case was the same way. Maybe it was only me who existed in a perpetual state of Murphy’s Law.

  My parents’ home came into view like a mirage appearing from my mental fog. Somehow, the twenty-minute drive had vaporized as I relived yesterday’s events.

  The thirty-year-old ranch home never changed. The little postage-stamp yard was as well manicured as ever and lined in Mom’s favorite flowers. The drive was predictably packed with family cars.

  My phone rang and Nate’s face appeared. “Hello?”

  “Hey, are you at Sunday dinner?” he asked.

  “Where else would I be?” I teased. Nate had attended more than his share of our weekly rituals. He knew the kinds of lunacy that happened in there.

  “Great. Check your email. I sent you butterfly pictures.” He spoke quickly and with a clear note of distress. “I’ve been on the phone with insect distributers all morning. There are three companies who can get you one hundred and twenty butterflies in time for the shower, but each company is having a special on a different kind of butterfly. I don’t know anything about butterflies. How am I supposed to choose? What if I’m wrong and Bree blames me for ruining her big event?”

  “Calm down. What are my choices?”

  “Monarchs, the brown and orange ones. Painted ladies, I think those were blue, and some little white and yellow deals. I can’t remember what they’re called, but they’re little.”

  “Cute.”

  “Have you ever seen a butterfly drink? It’s disgusting.”

  I cut the engine and parked on the street for an easy getaway. A massive truck pulled up behind me until all I saw in my rearview was a big silver grille and headlights. “Jake’s here. I’ll text you back on the bugs.”

  I disconnected and grabbed the bakery box and file folder riding shotgun. I tucked the file into my oversized hobo bag. I’d spent the better part of my evening digging for skeletons on Marvin, and I’d come up empty. Marvin was a good guy. If Grandma didn’t mind him being a lawyer, I certainly didn’t. He’d helped me out of jail last summer, even before we were officially introduced. He was a lot like Dante on paper, but maybe that was what had scared her into asking for a background check. She’d thought she’d known Dante, too.

  Jake’s face appeared outside my window. He tapped his knuckle on the glass and mimed for me to power it down.

  I obliged. “Hey.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I opened the door too quickly and sent him back a big step. “Sorry.” I pulled my bag onto one shoulder, gripped my keys in one hand and hoisted the bakery box over my steering wheel toward Jake. “Nate’s stressed out about butterflies.”

  The box disappeared into Jake’s grip. A strong hand cupped my elbow and tugged me to my feet. “Should I ask?”

  “Thanks.” I shut the door with one hip and rolled my shoulders back, hoping for a look of self-confidence. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  We made it halfway to the house before Grandma burst through the door like the Flintstones’ dog and hooked her arm under Jake’s. “There you are! We’re so glad you’re here. We thought you weren’t coming.”

  I checked my watch. “I’m only ten minutes late.”

  She leaned back to talk around Jake as we moved. “He’s usually on time.”

  He shot me a wink. “I didn’t want to arrive before the woman who invited me.”

  “Nonsense,” Grandma chided. “You’re always welcome. We could’ve chatted, gotten all caught up on your undercover operation until Mia got here.”

  Well, my bets were on Jake never arriving on time again.

  Mom met us on the porch and relieved Jake of the box. She held the door with one hand and beckoned us with the other. “Thank you, Jake. You didn’t have to bring anything.”

  “It wasn’t any trouble,” he told her, casting me a mischievous grin.

  “Come on.” She shooed us deeper inside. “The table’s set. Drinks are served. I’m starved.”

  “Me, too.” I dropped my bag under a line of coat hooks and kicked off my heels. “Oh my goodness, what did you make? It smells like I want to eat your house.”

  “Oh.” She blushed and gave me a squeeze. “A ham and potatoes. I used your grandma’s recipe. There are plenty of rolls and sides. Eat until you’re stuffed and then take the rest home. Coming!” She flitted away at the sound of Dad’s voice.

  Jake le
ft his boots with my heels. He toed them off with a comfort I couldn’t comprehend. He seemed at ease everywhere he went. An odd feeling curled in my chest at the sight of our shoes together on the welcome rug.

  I turned stiffly for the dining room. Clearly, I was losing my mind. “Ready?”

  He followed silently into the room our family had outgrown several members back.

  We took the last two seats at the table. Side by side, across from Bree, Tom and Gwen. Grandma and Marvin sat beside us. Grandma next to me and Marvin next to her. Mom and Dad anchored the feast at either end. Jake and the family exchanged welcomes as the bowls and dishes made their way, hand to hand in a slow, delicious circle.

  Bree rubbed her belly. “I have my shower guest list.”

  “Really?” I’d expected more tug-of-war on that one. “You cut it down?”

  “No. We need to get the invitations in the mail tomorrow. That will give guests almost two weeks’ notice before the event.”

  “Okay.” I pushed a fresh strawberry into my mouth. “I’ll print them out and address them tonight. I ordered your cake on my way here. The baker said it was too much for sixty people. You knew you weren’t cutting your list, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” She seemed to melt into her chair. “Thanks for doing that.”

  I texted Nate that we needed two hundred butterflies, then opened my email and passed Bree the phone. “You need to pick your bugs.”

  She straightened in a snap and grabbed eagerly at the phone, but her belly stopped her. Jake intervened with his too-long arms and passed it into her hands.

  “Thanks.” She blushed, one arm on her bump and one hand flipping through pics on my phone. “I like the little ones. Can we get them paired by color?”

  “Sure.” What’s one more step into crazy land? I caught Grandma’s eye beside me. “I’ve got the paperwork together we talked about. It’s in my bag. Don’t forget to grab it before you leave.”

  She lifted her brows. “How did everything look?”

  “Perfect.” I made a little okay sign with my fingers.

  She smiled brightly and turned to Marvin.

  I was making everyone’s day. What Universe had I bumbled into? And could I stay?

  Jake returned my phone to the table between us. I texted Nate the bug order.

  “I have some news.” Mom’s voice rose above the rest. She pressed her palms to the table on either side of her plate, heaped with untouched food. “You’re all probably wondering why I invited you here tonight.”

  Half the table mumbled in confusion. “No. Not really. We come here every Sunday. What’s going on? Are you ill?”

  “I’m writing a book,” Mom exclaimed. She stood abruptly, a human exclamation point.

  We stared.

  Grandma squirmed beside me. “That’s wonderful.” She tapped a finger on her napkin. “What’s your book about?” The million-dollar question.

  Please say fiction. Any fiction. Fiction. Fiction. Fiction.

  “It’s a memoir.”

  Uh-oh.

  Bree gasped. “What? Mom, why?”

  Mom took inventory of our faces. She lowered onto her seat, deflated. “Honestly, I’d expected you all to be a little more supportive. Excited even. The book is about us. All of us and our journey together from Mom and Dad’s small beginnings when I was a child to the empire she’s created from that dream.”

  “So, this is about the company?” Bree asked in her no-nonsense researcher voice.

  Mom blinked glossy eyes. “I meant this empire.” She motioned around the table.

  My heart thumped harder. “Mom.”

  Jake slid his hand over mine and squeezed.

  My eyes misted. “That sounds nice.”

  She nodded. “I think what we have here is amazing and one of a kind. The company is a big part of it, yes, because it’s just one more common ground we share. Sure, the business gives us another reason to stay close, keep talking and support one another, but it’s not what makes us worth knowing. This is.”

  Jake released my hand. “I think it sounds great, Mrs. Connors. Good for you.”

  Bree made a sour face. “I agree. Can I ask another question? If the story’s about us, how much do you plan to tell about us?” She clearly meant to say about me.

  “Think of it as my gift to you. I’m recording our lives for posterity. With a little luck, they’ll let me choose the photos.”

  “Photos!” Bree’s mouth opened and didn’t shut.

  Tom rubbed her back. “Don’t worry. It’s not easy getting a manuscript published. We’ve tried a number of times with our papers and it’s rough. There’s a process. I’m sure you can give a little feedback along the way.”

  Bree closed her mouth. “Maybe you can self-publish and print one copy for each of us. A gift. Mia can help with formatting and technical stuff.”

  Mom gave Bree a face that said things she never would. Mostly swears.

  “Mom?” I asked.

  Dad looked like he was waiting for a dam to burst.

  “Honey?” Grandma asked. “Are you okay?”

  Mom took several long breaths. Her cheeks darkened to match the scarlet of her blouse. “I’ve always wanted to write a book. You know that.”

  The family exchanged looks. Nope. No one knew that.

  “Come on!” She looked at each of us, taking her time to drink in our expressions. “I’ve always dreamed of becoming an author, but I’ve been too busy. I was an English teacher for thirty years. I raised these two.” She motioned between Bree and me as if that was a more monumental accomplishment. “I help with the company. I volunteer in the community. I do everything for everyone else. I want to do this for me, and I’m going to. I don’t need your blessings to do it, but you’re all going to give them anyway and support me because that’s what this family does.”

  Silence.

  She turned to Tom. “I’ve already got a literary agent and a national publisher’s attention, thank you. I met an editor while I was waiting for Mom to finish a marketing appointment around Christmastime. He was there looking at layouts for a summer cookbook and we started talking. I told him a few stories about us and he said they’d make a good book. I sent him some things by email and he loved them. His press has offered me a substantial advance to tell our story. The Story of Us.”

  “I think that’s a Bruce Willis movie,” Dad said.

  I snickered.

  “It’s a Taylor Swift song,” Bree corrected.

  Mom smiled, a tiny, you-people-make-me-crazy smile, and tension rolled away from the table. “I’ll work on the title, and the agent is working on the deal. She says his offer was just a taste of what’s to come.”

  Jake leaned against my shoulder and lowered his voice. “That’s going to be the first book I’ve bought in a long time. I’ll pay double for the pictures.”

  “Stop smiling. You wouldn’t be so happy if your mother had made the same announcement.”

  He pushed a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and turned his gaze to Mom. “Yeah, but look at her.”

  Mom laughed at something I’d missed. She looked excited. Hopeful. Happy.

  Grandma lifted her glass. “This night deserves a toast. I can’t wait to read my daughter’s book, and I’m honored to share a table with the man who got justice for my dear friend, Dante Weiss, rest his soul.”

  “Here. Here.” Everyone raised their glass. Except Jake.

  He sipped silently. When all glasses were back on the table, he cleared his throat. “As it turned out, Mr. Plotz had a solid alibi and Dan released him shortly after they arrived at the station.”

  Grandma looked like she’d gotten sucker-punched. “What?”

  I buttered a roll and shimmied my shoulders. “Knew it.”

 
; “How?” Jake turned narrow eyes on me. “How did you know it? You’re terrible at reading people, and the weapon belonged to Plotz. His prints were all over it.”

  I took a bite of my roll and waited to answer. “I knew because creampuffs don’t kill. Unless you eat enough of them, then maybe they kill through a secondary channel like a contribution to clogged arteries or high cholesterol.”

  “What?” He wagged his chin. “Clogged arteries?”

  “Plotz is harmless. That’s all I’m saying. He probably escorts spiders outside on a tissue. He’s not a murderer.”

  “Are you saying you can tell by looking at someone if they’ve killed before?”

  I backpedaled. “No. Of course not. Are you certain the weapon from the lake was the one missing from Plotz’s collection?”

  “Yes.” Jake dragged the word into multiple syllables, as if the answer was obvious. “Plotz says he gave the dagger to Dante a few days prior.”

  “Why?”

  “As a thank-you for helping him open the store. He said he couldn’t have done it without Dante’s help. The dagger’s worth a small fortune, so Plotz deemed it the perfect way to thank him.”

  I crushed an ice cube between my teeth. “The dagger is valuable? Then why did the killer toss it into the lake? That seems stupid. It could’ve been sold for cash or at least wiped clean.”

  “Maybe this isn’t about money,” Jake said.

  My mind roamed to Horseshoe Falls. I hated the idea that a killer could live among us. “Maybe the killer didn’t know the dagger was valuable.”

  “Maybe. Why? What are you thinking?” He scrutinized me with serious eyes.

  I hated to bring her up again. He’d already griped about my visit with her once, but it seemed relevant. “His ex-wife had an insurance policy on him.”

  Jake pressed his lips tight. He glanced around the table before lowering his voice. “Angelina is the beneficiary of a policy purchased by Dante during their marriage, but she didn’t initiate it, and there’s nothing unusual about it.”