Spike (7 page)

Hi nodded like a bobblehead.
He’s a vet
erinary PhD. Does bo
atloads of lab exper
iments. Knows biolog
y, chemistry, and ph
ysics. Even medicine
.

Shelton whistled.
Everything you’d need to
pull off these moves
.

Ben stared daggers at the wormy scientist.
Want
me to grab him?

I pounded my thigh, stymied.
We have no pro
of.

Iglehart abruptly noticed our attention. The self-satisfied smile vanished. With a lurch, he began edging backward, angling toward the exit, no longer looking so entertained.

Kit turned to speak with me and noticed the direction of my glare. His frown deepened as he spotted his coworker sneaking toward the door. “Mike?”

Heads turned in Iglehart’s direction. He straightened quickly. “What?” he demanded loudly, blinking and fidgety under all that scrutiny. “Why are you staring at
me
? I had nothing to do with this!”

“Nothing to do with what?” Hi asked innocently.

“With anything!” Iglehart backed up another step. Those standing near him inched away, leaving the twitchy little man isolated. “Stop twisting my words!”

Kit looked at me. I shrugged, still glaring at Iglehart. “Biggs probably had an accomplice. He wasn’t here this morning when the flowers arrived, and didn’t attend the service. Plus, who wrote that note?”

“You think it was
all
intentional?” Kit hissed, evidently considering the prospect for the first time. I nodded.

“All what?” Whitney demanded. We hadn’t noticed her listening.

Kit blanched, then took his wife’s hand and patted it gently. “The lilies, honey. We talked about how they died so quickly this afternoon, and had to be replaced. Then the altar nearly fell apart during the service. It’s all very . . . suspicious.”

The crowd had been listening, and now held its breath in shocked silence. Whitney looked as if each of Kit’s sentences had been a physical blow. Biting her bottom lip, she pointed dramatically at Iglehart. “And this scoundrel may be involved?”

“No!” Iglehart squawked. “I’m an important scientist!”

“This freaking guy.” Hi snorted. “His mother obviously didn’t hug him enough.”

“
Is
it him?” Ben whispered to me out of the side of his mouth.

I shook my head, unsure. Frustrated. I
knew
Iglehart hated Kit, but that didn’t prove he’d tried to poison everyone. “Biggs may be the only one who can ID his accomplice.”

I watched the kitchen door. What was taking Corcoran so long?

“What about the ipecac syrup?” Hi asked suddenly.

“Nothing left,” Shelton said sourly. “Biggs cleaned out his bowl before he dumped it.”

“No, wait!” I punched Hi’s shoulder in excitement. “You’re a genius!”

“Ow!” Hi rubbed his arm. “Don’t hit the genius.”

“Biggs came through the garden gate empty-handed.” I grabbed Shelton’s scrawny arm. “What did he have with him in the bathroom?”

Shelton eyed me skittishly, hoping to avoid any follow-up blows. “Just the crumpled-up paper and the bowl. Nothing else that I saw.”

Hiram’s eyes bulged. “His uniform didn’t have any pockets!”

Ben nodded, catching on. “So the ipecac was already
inside
the
building when Biggs arrived. He knew where to find it, must’ve located a bottle of the stuff before we followed him into the staging room.”

“The notepad as well,” Hi added. “He picked up both. Quickly, too, since we weren’t far behind him.”

“We know he flushed the note.” Ben frowned. “But not the bottle?”

Shelton shook his head firmly. “And he didn’t trash it, either. Just the bowl.”

“Which means the ipecac bottle is
still
here somewhere.” Blood rushed to my face as I laid out my theory. “Biggs sneaks inside, locates the notepad and a bottle of ipecac syrup—”

“Probably together,” Hi interjected.

I nodded. “Then he fills a bowl and gets to work. But we catch him in the act. So he hides the medicine bottle from us behind his back, then storms out and stashes it before Shelton catches up to him in the men’s room.” I snapped my fingers. “I bet you
anything
he put it right back where he found it. Probably didn’t have time to do anything else.”

Hi tapped his temple. “That means the bottle’s currently hidden where his accomplice left it in the first place.”

“That location might tell us a lot,” I said excitedly. “We just have to find the bottle.”

Hinges creaked. Every head swung toward the kitchen doors.

Captain Corcoran reentered the ballroom, a trio of shadows at his back.

“Okay,” Shelton said cautiously. “So how do we find the bottle?”

I smiled, eyes gleaming. “We use our best nose.”

My eyelids slid shut. I sent the call.

Moments later, a gruff voice answered.

I come
.

“H
e’s not talking,” Corcoran grumbled.

The captain was huddled with Kit and Tempe beside the stage. Biggs stood between the other two officers, at the edge of the dance floor, sneering arrogantly. Guests were giving the big man a wide berth.

The crowd had clumped into chattering groups, observing the bizarre scene with varying degrees of shock and titillation. Ella and Chance were whispering animatedly, their expressions guarded. Ashley and Courtney couldn’t keep their mirth in check. Agnes Taylor loudly instructed her husband to gather their things, proclaiming the wedding to be a scandal unfit for Magnolia League participation. Whitney, being comforted by her bridesmaids, nearly crumpled in mortification.

Kit sighed. “What do we do?”

Corcoran moved closer, dropping his voice. Every Viral still heard, of course.

“We’ve got nothing to hold him on.” His tone was laced with frustration, but also carried an undercurrent of anxiety. “No evidence of anything at all, to be honest. We still don’t know for sure that the cake is bad.
And those foo
l kids locked that m
an in the john!
”

“At the very least he’s trespassing,” Tempe argued. “We’ve proven he’s not on the catering staff.”

“That’s the only thing that might save our butts.” Corcoran frowned. “He claims he’s a wedding crasher looking for a free slice of cake. Can’t toss him in a cell for that. Or cage him in a bathroom, FYI!”

Tempe nodded unhappily. “Then let’s sweat the rat.”

But questioning Mike Iglehart proved no more fruitful. Called forward by Corcoran, the little scientist wasn’t happy about it, standing before the captain with his head sunk between his shoulders like a man facing the guillotine.

“You know this man?” Corcoran demanded, motioning to Biggs. The false chef stood with his arms crossed, a statue of brash poise, unmoved by the glares raining down on him.

“Of course not!” Iglehart glowered at Corcoran, but his nervous gaze kept darting to the mass of onlookers. He shrank visibly from the collective scrutiny, much of which came from his LIRI coworkers. The man couldn’t have looked guiltier. “I’ve never been more insulted in my life!” he huffed.

“You know about this ip-e-cac stuff?” Corcoran clearly didn’t understand the particulars, or seem in a hurry to learn them.

“I mean, um . . . throughout my career, I’ve . . .” Iglehart glanced at Kit, who was eyeing him sternly, then slapped his side in frustration. “Yes, of
course
I know what it is!” he spat. “It was a very common medicine. Every LIRI employee here knows about ipecac syrup!”

Corcoran swung to Kit. “You keep some of this stuff on your crazy monkey island?”

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.

Foolis
h 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
f
irst
, 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.

No
t him?

No scent
. The wolfdog began snuffling the carpet.
Som
ething here. This wa
y.

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
weddi
ng
!” she hissed. “In one of Charleston’s finest buildings!
Y
ou’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 h
ere. 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 ge
t it.

The cloakroom
is right beside the
men’s room
, Ben sent, eyeing me significantly.
It has a seco
nd door to the hallw
ay.
Biggs had time t
o stash something in
there before Shelto
n 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.”
Absolu
tely 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.

Lyin
g.
Shelton and Hi. Jinx.

Definitely lyin
g
. 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
anybo
dy
.”

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.