Poison and Prejudice (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 4)

by Chelsea Field

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I know love can be painful too.”

  My words brought him back to the present. “I loved her so much it was almost an addiction. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. She was vivacious, spirited, full of life. Maybe I’ve starred in one too many romance films, but it was like the colors were brighter and everything was sweeter when I was with her. She was incredible in the bedroom as well, she’d do this— Sorry. You don’t need to hear about that. Anyway, I fell for her completely, and she loved the attention. Thrived on it. Our relationship was… intense. I guess I should’ve known it was too extraordinary to last.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say except for another apology, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “Alyssa was driven. Always looking for the next big thing. She loved the spotlight, and dammit if she didn’t belong in it. After a while, I guess the attention I offered her wasn’t enough anymore. She started looking for it elsewhere.” His face was pained. “There’s no need to go into that either. But it hurt like hell, and while she apologized, she didn’t stop. I don’t think she wanted our relationship to end, she just wanted other stuff on top of it. But it was unhealthy. And so even though a part of me will always love her, always crave her, I made the right choice.” He took another sip of his drink, more of a swig this time. “Except now she’s gone forever. I’ll never see her, never hear, smell, or touch her again.”

  There was so much I wanted to ask him. Like whether he’d decided if he couldn’t have her, no one could. Or what she’d said to him on the red carpet that night. Or whether this whole story was part of some nefarious plan to win me over so I’d tell police he couldn’t have done it.

  Or what it was she’d done in the bedroom that was so damn good, in case I’d like to try it with Connor.

  But instead, I said yet again, “I’m sorry. Grief is a bitch, and there’s no way around it.” I considered the loss of my client, Earnest. My chest got tight whenever I thought of him, but I’d started trying to remember the good times we’d shared rather than reliving the painful memories of finding his cold body and watching his coffin slip below the earth. It reminded me I should drop in on his mom again soon. She liked to have someone to reminisce with. Even if it made her cry without fail. “I don’t know if it gets better with time like everyone says. But it does get easier to focus on the good memories instead of the bad ones.”

  Zac bowed his head. “That makes more sense than anything anyone else has said to me today. Thank you.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt helping the man who’d buried his wife feel better about it.

  Before I could ponder that further, I received a text from Connor.

  Just got word that Hunt is heading up the murder investigation and is on his way to ask Zac routine questions. You might want to get out of there if you can.

  He was referring to Police Commander Hunt of the 27th Street Community Police Station. Hunt and I had a history together. And it wasn’t a good history. He happened to be the top-secret liaison for the Taste Society in my precinct, one of a select few law enforcement personnel who even knew the Taste Society existed, and so took on any cases that my employer was involved in. But he didn’t like me or the Taste Society, and he particularly didn’t like civilians poking their noses into his cases. Even if they helped solve them.

  My preferred method of dealing with him was avoidance. But that strategy was complicated by my reoccurring misfortune of getting mixed up in murder investigations and, more recently, by the fact that he was dating Etta.

  Lucky there was no reason for me to stick around now.

  “If you’re just going to hang here for a while, do you mind if I go home and check on my cat?”

  “Of course not.” Zac was staring out the window and might not have registered my words.

  I took the opportunity to switch his empty tumbler for my full one and snuck it out with me as I left. Since I’d sipped out of only one side of it, I’d finally acquired my uncontaminated saliva sample.

  12

  My friendly neighborhood Homeland agents were waiting by my Corvette, driving a beat-up, silver Honda this time. I slipped into the backseat and rummaged through my bag for my hard-won selection of DNA.

  “What’s all this?”

  “You weren’t very specific about what kind of DNA you wanted, so that’s some hair from the shower, that’s Zac’s toothbrush, and that’s a tumbler he drank out of. I sipped it on one side, but there should be enough rim that you can get a clean sample. And I didn’t have any ziplock bags, so I had to make do…”

  Joe looked at Jeff.

  “No way. I’m not taking that stuff. Get her to put it on the seat.”

  I was a bit peeved they were acting like this, seeing as they’d expected me to acquire it and carry it around all day, and I’d gone through an awful lot to get it. But I played peacemaker and told them the seat was an excellent place for it before Joe could make Jeff hate him even more. “Here’s the list of people Zac spoke to privately today.”

  “There are over a dozen names on here.”

  “Well, after Alyssa’s death was announced, everyone wanted to give him their personal condolences.”

  “I notice most of these names are women.”

  “Yes. Women were more likely to want to offer him personal condolences.”

  Jeff snorted. Joe sighed. “Okay, thanks for all your hard work.”

  “What? You are going to use it, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. I’m sure the forensic team will be… delighted to have so many DNA samples to work from, and the list, well, it’ll be a useful cross reference, I guess. It’s just too many names to look into in any depth. Which means it will be extra important to note who Zac talks to over the next few days.”

  “He’s a celebrity. Lots of people are going to talk to him. And if it’s dodgy business, then he’s going to wait to meet them when I’m not around. Especially now that the film he’s shooting will probably be canceled without Alyssa.”

  “Yes. It’s a difficult case.”

  That did not sound promising. “But we need to rescue those girls. Isn’t there something else I can do? Something more useful?”

  “We’re doing everything we can,” he assured me.

  It didn’t reassure me at all, but I was too tired to push further. They gave me my new audio transmitter with a reminder not to wash it, and I drove home and napped for a blissful hour with Meow hogging my pillow and purring in my ear.

  The blissful feeling didn’t last long since I woke up to the unpleasant realization that it was time for my first self-defense lesson. If today had taught me anything, it was how critical learning self-defense was for me. But it didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.

  I didn’t actually stomp down the stairs to my Corvette, but I enjoyed imagining it. How had my life wound up here? My favorite pastime involved soft places, furred friends, and good books. Okay and the occasional non-furred friend as well. Yet I’d spent all day collecting barely wanted DNA samples, been abducted by a madwoman, and was now leaving the comfort of my bed and Meow’s company to learn how to protect myself against physical assaults.

  The one upside was I would at last get to learn more about Connor’s security company. I’d wheedled out of him that it was imaginatively named Stiles Security and Investigation but didn’t know much more than that. Now I was heading to his headquarters in Downtown and would meet at least one of his employees. Okay, so I’d probably be humiliating myself in front of this employee, but still.

  The building was a three-story, flat-roofed affair not all that dissimilar to my apartment building in basic shape. Yet with its arched windows and some mild decorative embellishments on the facade, it had a stately character that was sorely lacking in the concrete box I called home. The structure had been painted a dignified matte black except for the natural-finished timber siding on the ground floor that provided privacy and a warm, modern touch. The overall effect was that of tra
nquil strength and unpretentious confidence.

  A good-looking male in his midtwenties was waiting for me inside. He nodded a greeting when I entered, causing his dark hair to flop into his eyes, which failed to obscure the humor in them. “You must be the charming and enigmatic Isobel Avery. The wonderful woman who’s stolen the boss’s heart and made him a little less grumpy.”

  I decided he reminded me of a professional, driven version of Oliver. “Um, I guess so. It’s a pleasure to meet you…?”

  “Nick,” he said, holding out a hand and giving mine a firm shake. “And I believe you’re already acquainted with my delightful assistant.” He gestured to Mr. Black, the man whom I’d first met when he was threatening to break my bones on behalf of my lending company and had later jumped in front of a bullet meant for me and saved my life. Abraham, I reminded myself to call him now. Or Abe.

  I walked over and shook his hand as well. “How are you feeling?”

  “Very good, thank you, Ms. Avery.” At least he was no better than me at using first names. “I love my new job.” A job he credited me for getting him.

  “That’s wonderful to hear. How are Hallie and Joy?” It was his wife and daughter I was asking about. Both sweet souls who had inspired me to investigate the murder Mr. Black—Abe—was being accused of last year.

  “They’re good too. Joy’s back at the Frederick Academy, and the new principal is nice. They’ll be excited to hear I saw you today.”

  “They’ll be even more excited to hear how I taught her to beat you up,” Nick said.

  That was probably true, for Joy especially. She was more fiery than her gentle mother. I wondered if Nick had met the family and was speaking out of experience or simply poking fun.

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the training room,” he said.

  Guess that meant I wouldn’t get the full tour today.

  We entered a midsized room that was empty except for a rack of training weapons, padded armor, and a large swathe of padded floor mats. I looked at all that padding with apprehension. It didn’t bode well for a gentle, pain-free learning method.

  Nick pushed the hair out of his eyes again. “I’m the team member who teaches self-defense to any clients that want to learn, thanks to my diminutive stature and sparkling personality.”

  I estimated he was about 5’10” and 160 pounds. “You’re hardly diminutive,” I said.

  “It’s all relative. I’m the smallest of the men by several inches and at least a hundred pounds. And it helps our clients to see a smaller person get away from someone much larger. That’s why Teeny’s here. But we’ll have to go easy on him while he’s still healing.”

  I cringed at the reminder, then eyed the man I’d originally named the Hulk. He did manage to make Nick look little. “Interesting nickname. What’s yours?”

  “Peacock.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “Probably not. Now shall we comply with Mr. Stiles's wishes and teach you to kick some ass? Or preferably more sensitive, fleshy targets?”

  Eww. “Does Connor really make you call him Mr. Stiles?” I asked, mostly to postpone learning about those fleshy targets, but also because it seemed a team that came up with the nicknames Peacock and Teeny weren’t above nicknaming their boss.

  Nick grinned, white teeth flashing. “No. I call him that because it annoys him.”

  I smiled back. “Funny how he surrounds himself with people who irritate him, isn’t it? For the record, I’m including myself in that statement.”

  “True. And I don’t even look good in lingerie.”

  Mr. Black rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. If you got rid of some body hair, you might look okay.”

  Covered in sweat and more than a few bruises, I winced my way up the stairs to my apartment. The point of the lesson had been to protect me, but between Jennifer’s tender care and Nick’s relentless repetition, I’d be so stiff tomorrow that it would be a miracle if I could fall back on my old self-defense method of running away. Let alone pull off one of the new moves.

  Etta’s apartment door sprung open, and I stepped backward, almost falling down the stairs.

  “Etta, I thought you weren’t home until tomorrow. How was your trip?”

  It was dark on the landing, and she was backlit in the doorway, her white hair shining and her bony frame silhouetted like a dramatic Broadway actress.

  “Lovely,” she said.

  Maybe it was just my Broadway notion, but she seemed to say the word with more intensity than it deserved.

  “What did you get up to?”

  “Tried Mae’s homemade gin and helped with the gardening, like I told you I would. But I decided to come home as soon as I heard about Alyssa Hill’s murder.” She stepped forward, and I could now see her blue eyes were alight with eagerness. “I thought you might need help on the investigation.”

  I resisted taking another step back. “What? What investigation? I mean, why would I be investigating that?”

  Okay, so not my finest performance, but I was exhausted mentally and physically and was not expecting to have to deal with her until tomorrow. This wasn’t good.

  I was, however, delighted to see her greyhound Dudley who picked that moment to rouse himself—most likely from his favorite spot on the couch—and come and say hello. So delighted that I paid the painful price of bending my sore body into a squat so I could shower him with cuddles.

  Judging by the lick he delivered to my chin and the wiggly happy dance he was doing, he was glad to see me too.

  “Well,” Etta said, “I figured since you’re working for Zachariah, and we’ve proven our abilities in tracking down criminals—heck, why be modest? Serial killers—then we should help the poor man. He’s just lost the love of his life twice over, and the murderer is still out there!”

  “The Black case was different. You were asked by the family to look into it. Zac, I mean, Mr. Hill hasn’t asked me to do anything.”

  Probably because he’s the murderer.

  “You think only those that ask deserve our help, is that it?”

  “No, but this is a high-profile case. I’m sure the police will put a strong task force behind it. In fact, I heard Police Commander Hunt is taking the lead.”

  “Oh.”

  Having never managed to get Etta on the back foot before, I pushed my advantage. “How’s that going, by the way?”

  “What, dear?”

  “Your relationship with Hunt.”

  “Fine,” she said, unusually close-lipped about it.

  “Just fine? I haven’t noticed the usual parade of men in and out your apartment. I thought things might be getting serious.”

  “In my many years on this planet, I’ve learned it’s best not to make assumptions.”

  “Well, that’s why I was asking you.”

  “That’s good then. Now I’m sorry to brush you off, but I need to go get ready for a date.”

  “With Hunt?”

  “Would you look at the time? I really must dash.”

  I studied the door she’d shut in my face and muttered, “I think I preferred your oversharing.” Then I remembered her telling me about the time she had sex on top of a camel while crossing the Sahara Desert. “Or maybe not.”

  But still, as I stood in the shower soaking my poor body under a stream of hot water, I wondered why she was being so secretive about it. Normally, she was the first to blurt out details I didn’t want to know about her latest boy toy. Was it because she was embarrassed that he was almost her own age? Or because it was serious for once?

  Whatever the reason, it gave me a magic button to push whenever she got too nosy.

  On the flip side, if Hunt wasn’t just a one-night stand, I was going to have to make nice and try to win him over, or Etta would realize something fishy was afoot. He didn’t hide his distaste of me, and it spoke of our history, which in turn related to the Taste Society. Hunt was oath bound to keep that secret like I was, but if he ever let slip
that I’d been interfering with other investigations, Etta would flay me alive for leaving her out of them.

  There was no help for it. I would have to try to win Hunt over. For Etta’s sake. And my own if events kept conspiring to push him into my life.

  But how? With my charm?

  Oh boy.

  13

  Even my soft fluffy towel felt abrasive against my skin. I dried myself slowly and then dug out some leftover beef and broccoli stir-fry from the fridge. Meow wound around my ankles, reminding me of my long absences, and so I ended up picking out all the pieces of beef and feeding them to her by way of apology. She graciously accepted them.

  I sat with her on my lap in the quiet apartment, not looking at my phone, not watching TV, not even allowing myself to think. Just taking comfort in the normalcy of that simple act.

  Then I admitted that I couldn’t put it off anymore. I was going to have to meet with Connor and tell him all about my impossibly long day. Including the abduction.

  Harper too probably. Except for the poison part. Come to think of it, I decided to play it extra safe and leave Homeland’s bug in my apartment.

  An hour later, I was sitting on one of Connor’s many couches where I’d just recounted all the details of my day. Now I was waiting for Harper to poke fun at me and Connor to explode.

  But maybe Connor recognized that my abduction had nothing to do with taking on Homeland’s dangerous assignment, or he was getting used to my disaster magnet ways, because although the vein in his neck had reappeared, he merely said, “How did your first self-defense lesson go?”

  “Good, I guess.”

  “Nick told me your aim is decent, but you’ll need to work on speed and strength. Speed will come with repetition, but strength is a mental block. You need to be prepared to hurt your opponent.”

  “Did he tell you that Mr. Black said he’d look good in lingerie too?”

  Connor’s face was impassive. “No.”