by Kathy Reichs
Kit nodded. “A little. In reserve, in case we need it for something in the future. As Tempe said, pharmaceutical companies stopped making ipecac syrup in 2010, so I thought it’d be wise to stockpile a few bottles.” He looked coldly at Iglehart. “Only senior employees like Mike have access to those stores.”
Everyone watched the weasel squirm. Chance and Ella were now whispering with Jason and Madison, while Courtney and Ashley looked as happy as toddlers at the circus. Some people just love drama.
I caught Chance’s eye, and he shrugged apologetically.
I nodded. I’d never suspected him. Chance was a lot of things, but spiking a cake to make people vomit wasn’t in his playbook. I briefly considered Courtney and Ashley, snickering behind him, but this didn’t feel like their style either. They’d have come at me directly somehow, and would want me to know who’d done it. Anonymously ruining my dad’s wedding just didn’t track.
Tempe had moved to Whitney and was trying to calm her down. My stepmother was close to hyperventilating. After a few moments Tempe glanced back at Corcoran, who continued to hammer at Iglehart. She wore a small frown. I shared her disapproval. The captain was getting ahead of himself in an attempt to grab the spotlight.
As much as I despised Iglehart, we didn’t have proof he’d done anything.
Yet.
Which is why I’d called in reinforcements.
Here.
The swinging doors nudged open.
A hundred-plus-pound gray-wolf hybrid slipped into the ballroom.
At first no one noticed. Then heads turned. Shouts erupted. A distant cousin of Kit’s leapt onto a table, screaming silently as she gaped at my furry friend.
My wolfdog glanced up and bared his teeth, but I could sense his amusement.
Coop, heel. And stop showing off.
Foolish human.
Dismissing the skittish woman, Coop trotted through a rapidly expanding gap in the circle of onlookers. “Everyone relax!” I shouted, patting his head as he reached my side. “Cooper is very well trained.”
“KIT HOWARD!” Whitney recovered enough to jab a finger at Cooper, her face aghast. “The dog is inside our wedding reception!”
Kit shot me an exasperated look. “Tory! What are you thinking? Coop can’t—”
“He can help,” I said quickly. “Just give me a second.”
The doors swung open a second time. Shelton hustled in, carrying the infamous metal bowl he’d been sent to retrieve. “It was still in the trash,” he said breathlessly, “but I watched Biggs wash this out pretty good. Won’t the ipecac odor be gone?”
“Let’s hope not, or it’s my funeral.”
Kneeling, I placed the bowl under Coop’s nose. The crowd watched with sick fascination as he snuffled the shiny object. All in all, it had been a pretty eventful cake-cutting ceremony.
Got it, boy? Stroking Coop’s head.
Faint. Sweet. He rose.
“Track!” I said aloud, worried people might wonder if I didn’t issue a verbal command. “Find the scent!”
Check him first, I added silently, nodding at Iglehart.
Coop yapped once, then stalked slowly toward our target, testing the air with his nose.
“Get that monster away from me!” Iglehart yelled, but he didn’t dare move.
“Why?” Corcoran asked menacingly. “You got something to hide, fella?” The fat captain was definitely enjoying himself.
“Of course not!” Iglehart shot back peevishly, swallowing hard as he tracked Cooper’s approach. “But if this mongrel bites me . . .”
Coop reached the man. Halted. Thrust his snout to within an inch of the cringing scientist. The hairs on my neck stood as my friend took a sharp sniff. The room held its breath.
Coop blinked twice. Snorted. Moved past Iglehart toward the buffet tables.
My face soured. Coop?
His head swung my way.
Not him?
No scent. The wolfdog began snuffling the carpet. Something here. This way.
Movement in the corner of my eye. Whitney approached in a rush, eyes tight with anger. “Tory!” she seethed, trying—and failing—to keep her voice down. Which was pointless anyway, since everyone with a pulse was watching Cooper search the room.
Whitney was too horrified to notice. “This is a wedding!” she hissed. “In one of Charleston’s finest buildings! You’re not allowed to have a dog in here!” Then she spun to glare at Kit. “I should never have allowed Coop here in the first place!”
Kit’s shoulders rose and fell helplessly. “No one’s gonna be home all day, and everyone else who lives on Morris is here, too. Who was supposed to feed—?”
“Where’s that animal going?” Corcoran barked. Coop had moved beyond the tables and was pawing at a door in the corner.
“That’s the cloakroom,” Tempe answered.
I looked to Ben, who nodded. He’d been in there earlier, retrieving Whitney’s clutch. Before anyone else reacted, Ben jogged over and opened the door for Cooper. Boyfriend and wolfdog disappeared inside.
“This is getting absurd!” Mrs. Taylor radiated disapproval as she strode over to stand before her son. “Honestly!” she sniffed, smoothing Jason’s tuxedo jacket with her hands, which he endured uncomfortably. “I’ve never witnessed such a thing in all my years in the League.”
Whitney blanched. Began to tremble.
“A travesty!” shouted Iglehart.
“A lawsuit!” growled Biggs.
Corcoran shuffled his feet uneasily, seemed about to issue an order when we heard a series of machine-gun barks from inside the cloakroom. Ben reemerged carrying a pink leather handbag. Coop was snarling at it as they strode back across the ballroom.
Scent here. Strong.
As Ben eased through the mob, all eyes were on the bag in his hands.
“What in heavens?” Agnes Taylor flushed scarlet. “That boy has my purse!”
But something in her tone rang false.
Oh my God. Hi stared at Jason’s mother, wide-eyed. He’d noticed, too.
Shelton shifted, removing his glasses and squinting in disbelief. I don’t get it.
The cloakroom is right beside the men’s room, Ben sent, eyeing me significantly. It has a second door to the hallway. Biggs had time to stash something in there before Shelton caught up to him.
A chill ran down my spine. I glanced left. Caught Mrs. Taylor staring at me.
I took a step back, startled.
For the briefest moment, I’d spotted a flash of . . . hatred.
Which made zero sense. Why would Jason’s mom hate me? We barely knew each other, had only met on the few occasions I’d been to Jason’s house, or when she would substitute teach at Bolton Prep.
I steeled my nerve. Looked again.
Nothing. Agnes Taylor was now glaring at Ben, her face a picture of affronted dignity.
But I knew what I saw. What I felt.
“We need to see inside the bag,” I said forcefully.
“Tory!” Jason dropped Madison’s hand, wrapped an arm around his mother’s shoulders as he gaped at me across the dance floor. “Surely you’re not suggesting—”
“No, no! Of course not.” Absolutely I am. “It’s simply the quickest way to dismiss an obvious mistake and move on.”
Then I mind-shouted, Open the purse, Ben!
With pleasure. He unsnapped the clasp with his thumb.
Jason lurched forward, but not before Ben reached inside and removed a brown medicinal bottle. “Ipecac syrup,” he read aloud, turning it over in his fingers. “It’s also labeled ‘Bolton Prep Nurses Office.’” Ben smiled coldly at Mrs. Taylor. “This expired in 2009, FYI.”
Dead silence.
Jason had frozen mid-stride, paralyzed by the sight of the bottle.
All eyes
swung to Agnes Taylor.
“What?” she blurted testily, fussing with her dress. Her eyes darted to Biggs for a millisecond, then jerked away as if burned. “I found that in the school pharmacy, and was going to dispose of it. I must’ve forgotten.”
Jason was staring at the bottle in Ben’s hand. Then, slowly, he turned to face his mother. “But school’s out for the summer, Mom. You haven’t been to Bolton in months.”
Mrs. Taylor shot Jason a warning look before composing her features once more. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Jason. I was mistaken.” She lifted her chin. “That bottle clearly isn’t mine. Someone must’ve put it in my bag without my knowledge.”
False, Coop rumbled.
Lying. Shelton and Hi. Jinx.
Definitely lying. Ben tossed the bottle lightly to the floor. It bounced end over end, rolling to a stop between Mrs. Taylor’s feet.
She glanced down. A bead of sweat slipped from her forehead.
I glanced at Biggs. He was breathing hard, staring at the floor and muttering, his former cool long gone. An officer behind him brandished his handcuffs.
Kit looked flabbergasted. Whitney’s cheeks began twitching, like she’d been tased. Neither had any idea how to react, or what to do next.
Aunt Tempe leaned forward and caught my eye. She sensed it, too.
Mrs. Taylor was totally full of crap.
Hi spoke suddenly, strong enough for everyone to hear. “Funny story. You’ve always been my favorite substitute teacher, Mrs. T. Doesn’t matter what subject. Chemistry. Biology. Physics. Health. I’ve learned more about science from you than anybody.”
Shuffled feet. Embarrassed coughs. No one would meet Agnes Taylor’s eye.
Except her son.
Jason was staring at his mother with an expression I can’t describe. Then his head swung over to Biggs. “You. What’s your real name?”
Biggs flinched, but didn’t answer.
“You’ve got a tattoo on your left arm, don’t you?” Jason asked. “A red anchor?”
Biggs blanched. His whole body tensed.
“Don’t make me ask twice!” Corcoran warned, ignoring that Jason had actually posed the question. The captain had been watching the confrontation with his mouth hanging open, just like the rest of us.
Biggs seemed about to resist, but the officer behind him rattled his cuffs. The big man’s shoulders drooped. With a sigh, he rolled up a sleeve. The nautical tattoo was plain for all to see.
Madison looked at Jason, covering her mouth with both hands. “How . . . how?”
“Okay, what’s going on?” Corcoran abandoned a suddenly relieved-looking Iglehart and stomped over to confront the Taylors. “How’d you know about that body ink, boy?”
Jason pressed both palms to his temples, was staring at his mother with a nauseated look. “That guy over there is my idiot second cousin, Jimmy. I’ve heard my mom complain about him plenty, but we’ve never actually met.” His tone grew angry. “No ex-cons under your roof, eh, Mom?”
Agnes Taylor bowed her head. Then her eyes snapped open, raking the assemblage with undisguised contempt. “Fine! I did it.” Snorting harshly, she thrust her wrists at Corcoran. “Arrest me, Captain! Throw me in the slammer for a silly little prank!”
Detective Taylor leapt forward, shamefaced as he edged around his wife. “Now let’s hold on a minute! No one’s talking about jail, Agnes.” He regarded Corcoran anxiously. “Carmine is a reasonable man, and no crime has been committed here.”
Corcoran regarded Jason’s father frankly. “All due respect, sir, but I think one has been. Messing with food is, like . . . serious business. A misdemeanor, at least. I’m fairly sure.”
Tempe cleared her throat. “I’m not a police officer, but remember—this wasn’t a harmless prank. An overdose of ipecac syrup can kill. These two nearly poisoned everyone in the room.”
Mrs. Taylor rolled her eyes disdainfully. “Don’t be so dramatic. The stuff just makes you toss your cookies. I gave it to my son once; I know.”
If her words were meant to reassure everyone, they failed miserably. Noses crinkled. Protests erupted. Turns out, people don’t like it when you tamper with their diet.
Tempe gave Agnes a withering look. “Putting aside how childish this stunt is—how pathetic it makes a woman of your age look—what you did was dangerous. Ignorance isn’t an excuse, and that goes double for a science teacher.”
“Don’t forget my centerpieces!” Whitney blurted, wide-eyed and trembling. “And my altar, which nearly collapsed with the wedding party on top!”
Mrs. Taylor allowed herself a satisfied smirk. “The Mag League has strict standards for its publications. It’s not my fault no one double-checked this event for quality.”
“But why, Mom?” Jason demanded. “What on earth were you thinking?”
“You really have to ask?” Agnes barked an ugly laugh, thrusting her chin higher into the air. “Whitney DuBois has been stalking me for years. A silly, naïve girl from the wrong branch of the DuBois tree, and now she thinks she can run the League? I think not!” She thrust an accusatory finger at my stepmother. “I know you’re trying to steal my position! Teaching you a lesson was my pleasure.”
Silence filled the room like a living thing. Whitney’s head dropped. Kit stared at Agnes, slowly shaking his head. “So you decided to spoil her wedding day?” he said softly. “One of the most important days of her life?”
“Don’t act blameless here!” Agnes cried. “She’s been hounding me for years, trying to poach what I built. You encouraged her. You two thought I’d just lie down and accept it? Ha!”
Corcoran blinked. “What in the world are y’all talking about?”
“An election.” Kit shook his head in disgust. “Whitney’s considering a run for Mag League president next month, and Agnes must’ve gotten wind of it.” My father wheeled on Mrs. Taylor. “Which shouldn’t matter in the slightest, since Agnes can’t run again, according to the bylaws. Someone has to take her place. Whitney has every right to put herself forward.”
“Don’t talk to me about things I know better!” Mrs. Taylor scolded. “Rules change. You two have attempted to undermine me for months, not that I’d let that happen. Your entire family is a nest of vipers. Everything about this wedding is offensive. Mucking it up was a public service.”
Jason’s eyes glinted with frustration. “Just stop talking! I’ve never been more embarrassed! We’re guests here, Mother. At one of my best friend’s invitation.”
“More’s the pity for us!” To my complete shock, Mrs. Taylor turned and scowled at me. “That little harlot is no friend of yours. After what she did to you?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
Jason was no less baffled. “What? Tory?”
“Excuse me, did you just call my daughter a harlot?” Kit’s voice was dangerously flat. My father rarely loses his temper, but I could feel the tethers slipping.
Mrs. Taylor shot forward and tried to take Jason’s arm. He shrugged her off, staring at his mother as if he’d never seen her before. “Explain yourself. Now. All of it.”
“Tory led you on like a puppy dog, sweetie.” Agnes was concentrating on her son to the exclusion of all else. “For almost two years, she had you eating out of her hand, and then what? She starts dating a dock boy.”
“A what?” I gave Mrs. Taylor a level stare.
“Oh lord.” Detective Taylor covered his eyes.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Tom Blue coughing into a fist. It took me a moment to realize he was laughing.
“Mom!” Jason yelped in a strangled voice. “What is wrong with you!? You will apologize this second!” He spun to face Ben, his expression scandalized. “Ben, man. I’m so—”
Ben waved off the apology. “No need. Forget it.” Was he smiling, too?
But Mrs. Taylor had more to sa
y. “She should’ve been grateful for your attention, Jaybird.” Tilting her head, trying to catch her son’s eye. “You’re a smart, handsome, successful boy. From one of the best families in Charleston! But no. And now look what’s happened. Heartbroken, you’ve fallen into the clutches of this . . . this . . .” She waved a dismissive hand at Madison.
Madison paled. Her legs began to shake as the focus shifted to her.
For a few beats, Jason merely gawked at his mother, reeling from one blow too many. “MOTHER!” he finally spat. “Don’t you dare talk about my girlfriend like that! Maddy is the kindest, sweetest—”
“Please!” Mrs. Taylor spat, well past caring about appearances. “Madison Dunkle has been a nasty, selfish bully her whole pampered life. I should know, I taught her more times than I can count. People like that don’t change. And now she’s inside my kitchen, eating from my own table!”
Madison stumbled back a step, sniffing loudly, seconds from fleeing in tears.
My temper boiled over.
“That’s enough!” I strode briskly to Madison’s side and took her hand. She was trembling like a leaf. Ella was a step behind me, snatching up Madison’s other hand and fixing Mrs. Taylor with a death stare.
“Mrs. Taylor,” I said, clear and cold, “Madison is a dear friend, and here at my invitation. In addition to trying to poison everyone, you’re being rude.” A glance at Kit, who nodded vigorously. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”
Eyes tight with fury, Mrs. Taylor opened her mouth, but Jason’s father jumped in before she could do any more damage. “Yes, yes! Very fair. I think that’s best for all involved.” He turned to Kit, his embarrassment plain. “I’ll pay for the damaged cake, of course. But for now, my wife and I will get out of—”
“I’m not sure I can allow that, Detective.” Corcoran frowned, mustache drooping. “A crime has likely taken place. And I definitely want to talk more with Cousin Jimmy over there. All due respect, but . . . I mean, this is . . . serious consequences . . .”
He trailed off, scratching his head.
Detective Taylor gave his colleague a blistering glare. Though technically lower on the official totem pole, Mr. Taylor ran the city’s entire violent crimes division. I wasn’t sure who could pull rank. Evidently, they weren’t either.
