Studying Scarlett the Grey

by Kelle Z Riley

  “They look and smell good enough for me to eat,” Bree commented, admiring the perfect batch of treats.

  “They look better than they taste,” Horace said from the table. “Not sweet enough for a human, in my book, but these fellas love them.”

  Sure enough a cluster of dogs planted themselves around the butcher block counter, begging for scraps. Wendy took a cookie and split it between the dogs. “No more for now,” she said. “I have four dozen more of these to bake tonight. Our display cases are nearly empty.”

  “I should leave,” Bree said, gathering her things. “I still have to get my costume together and I have no idea what to do.”

  “I thought you were going as a zombie. Wait here.” Wendy hurried into a back room and returned with a shapeless, one-size-fits-all grey dress and some tulle netting. “This was headed to the rag bag, but if you slash it, I think it could work as part of a costume. Tie the tulle on a headband and you could be a zombie bride.”

  “Perfect. I’ve got grey leggings I could use with it. Thank you.” She enveloped Wendy in a hug, waved good-bye to Horace, and headed out, ready for—almost—anything.

  Chapter 27

  Zombies didn’t carry purses. Or briefcases. At least, not in Bree’s opinion. She pulled out a charcoal-colored travel vest over her three-quarter sleeve white tee and loaded the pockets with her wallet, phone, and Maglite. With the vest zipped and covered with the slashed dress Wendy had given her, it was barely visible.

  She headed to the bathroom and studied her reflection in the mirror as she teased her hair into a wild frizz and sprayed it with white-grey colored hairspray. A touch of eye makeup, both on her lids and under them, accentuated the dead and exhausted look. Not that she needed much to bring out the already dark circles under her eyes.

  After adding the tulle topped headband and a pair of old elbow length gloves with the fingertips cut off, she felt ready for the part. Neither fully Bree Mayfield-Watson, nor Cat Holmes, but able to pass for both as she moved from the party at Sci-PHi to the one at Jack’s.

  Lastly, she added the camera necklace, knowing that whether she went by Watson or Holmes, she was still, for now and the foreseeable future, an agent.

  Her mood lightened when she reached the Sci-PHi complex despite the fact it took several loads to remove the treats from her car.

  In the kitchen, she set up the bloody rat bake and pasta filled Jack-O-Lantern peppers in a warming pan, then arranged the rest of the treats on plates, making sure to label the seven-layer bars with a sign proclaiming them to be paleo. She had just poured herself a cup of coffee when she heard a co-worker enter the room.

  “If that’s how you look now, you should have taken a few more sick days.” Troy’s voice drifted over her shoulder, a touch of concern underlying his humor for once.

  “I’m doing better—” She turned and stopped mid sentence. “Batman?”

  Troy shrugged as much as the rubberized muscles on his torso allowed. “You know the old saying. Dress for the job you want. And if you can be Batman, always be Batman.” He grinned and tipped his head to her. “Zombie bride?”

  “Yes. But it’s a costume, not an interview suit.”

  “Yeah. Something I expected from Norah. Have you seen her yet today? I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around what would qualify as a costume for her.”

  “Me too,” Bree admitted. “By the way, you overlooking her outlandish dress was the right move. Focusing on her skills instead showed real leadership. I’m proud of you.”

  “Means a lot coming from you,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t worry, in your mask, no one can see you blush.”

  His lips tightened, and for a moment, Bree wondered if she’d pushed him too far, but he just shook his head. “Give me a break. Go suck someone else’s brains.” He flipped his cape in Batman style and stalked off to the buffet table.

  Shortly after, Kiki joined them and added a platter of chips, dips, and cut veggies to the table. A straw hat topped her spiky purple, orange, and black hair. Overalls and some bits of straw turned her into a punk-rock version of a scarecrow. “Nice costume,” Bree said. “Simple but perfect.”

  “Actually, I waited till the last minute and had to borrow Ed’s overalls. The straw came out of our house decorations.” She shook her head. “I even skimped on making party food and brought the ready-made stuff.”

  “Nah, the veggie platters are always a hit.”

  “Speaking of hits, your meatball rats are amazing. Your costume too. You must have been up all night.”

  Bree shrugged. “Given my costume, I should have made brain balls instead. But yes, I didn’t sleep much. Some days my brain just won’t shut off.”

  “You are overdue for a real vacation. Like a beach getaway with a tote full of novels and a cabana boy bringing you drinks. When’s the last time you really took a break?”

  “Too long ago.” Two jobs. Two identities. Two men vying for her attention. Some days it all added up to too much. “I’ll think about taking time off for the holidays. Maybe visit my mom and dad.”

  Kiki shook her head. “Nope. Beach vacation. On your own or with a special someone. That’s my prescription. Dr. Kiki knows these things.”

  “Okay. You twisted my arm. I’ll think about it.” Bree watched as Kiki’s face went from sympathetic nodding to gape-mouthed shock.

  “Norah,” Kiki said. “You look amazing.”

  Bree turned, not sure what to expect, only to find the young admin in a full skirted, ice-blue confection of a gown, complete with elbow length gloves, blonde wig, and, as she pulled her skirt up to reveal, glass slippers. “Cinderella,” Bree gasped. “Absolutely perfect, Norah.”

  The young woman giggled and did a few pirouettes eliciting gasps of delight from her assembled coworkers. “I always wanted to be a princess,” she announced.

  “Today you succeeded.”

  Batman approached and bowed deeply, making Bree smile. Even Nate got into the spirit of the day. At first, when he walked in wearing his normal lab coat, Bree was disappointed. Until he draped a pair of jumper cables around his neck and pulled a plastic severed head from behind his back.

  “Oh, let me guess. Dr. Frankenstein?”

  “You’re too smart for your britches, zombie girl. Guess that all the brains you’re eatin’ these days. Got any body parts to spare for me?”

  “Not yet but give it a bit. I think an arm will rot off in an hour or so.”

  “How about some ribs, instead?” Milt Shoemaker walked in the door—blatantly ignoring the mandatory costume edict— and placed a large foil pan onto the counter. “Barbeque ribs, that is.” He peeled back the lid and a tangy, smoky smell filled the break room kitchen.

  “Smells like what my daddy made out in the smoker,” Nate said, his eyes lighting up.

  “Smell, nothing. The taste is to die for.” Kiki took a bite and closed her eyes, a blissful expression on her face. “How did you capture that flavor?”

  Milt waggled his eyebrows and tried to hold back a grin. “An old family secret,” he said.

  “My guess is…” Nate licked a bit of sauce off a spoon and rolled it around in his mouth. “…liquid smoke, vinegar, brown sugar, and cinnamon.”

  “Maybe,” replied Milt. “But you’ll never get the recipe out of me.”

  “What do you think, Bree?” Nate passed a plate of ribs to her. “You’re the one who deconstructs recipes for fun. Think you could replicate it?”

  “I could try.” She took a whiff and a small taste, but something went down the wrong way and she ended up coughing. The memory of Scarlett coughing at the smell of Margie’s smoke infused clothing popped into her mind and she took another, more cautious sniff of the sauce, wafting it toward her nose as chemists were trained to do with strong scents. Definitely smokey. Mostly pleasant but teasing her with the memory of a less pleasant scent she’d been exposed to lately.

  “Hey, team, how’s it going?
”

  Bree turned to see Matthew in the door. Worn jeans and plaid shirt half unbuttoned over a white tee shirt were accented by a low-slung tool belt. A day’s worth of stubble complimented the costume. “Bob the Builder?” she asked.

  “Sexy HGTV renovation guy,” he replied.

  “Yes, you are,” said Kiki, crossing the room with a grin. “I have a project for you.”

  While Kiki and Matthew hammed it up, Bree’s thoughts spun out of control. Liquid smoke. Margie. Vaping. And Billy. “I need to look up something,” she said as she pushed past Matthew and sped down the hall. “Something that might be the key to everything.”

  “Run this by me one more time,” Matthew said as he sped toward Jack’s with Bree. “Why are you sure nicotine poisoning was the cause of death?”

  “There was no reason for it to be in his bloodstream. He drank, so we expected alcohol. The spoofed texts to Bill Jr.’s phone account for the carbon monoxide the lab found. But he didn’t smoke. He shouldn’t have had nicotine in his system.”

  “You said the final clue was topical absorption of the poison. Why?”

  “That’s what’s been bothering me. If there was no nicotine in the stomach, that leaves injection or absorption as the routes of entry.”

  “Are you thinking nicotine patch?”

  “Not quite. Transdermal—through the skin—absorption isn’t quick enough, unless the dosage is very high. It would take too many patches.” She shifted in her seat to face Matthew’s profile. “The way to speed that up is to apply it to a mucous membrane.”

  “Nasal spray?”

  “Right. Or in a wound. Billy was always cutting or scratching himself when he worked on the cars. Most of the guys sport a network of battle scars. He used a private stash of what he called antibacterial glop.”

  Matthew grimaced. “I’ve had to make do with whatever was at hand myself before. What’s your point?”

  “He claimed it contained only vegetable fat and honey. But it smelled off. I chalked that up to it being in the garage until this morning. Liquid smoke—the stuff Shoe used to make his ribs—could account for the smell. And vaping companies sell a liquid smoke flavored vape liquid.”

  “So you think someone mixed this vape liquid into his antibacterial concoction?” Matthew pulled into the rear of the emporium and parked. He turned to Bree.

  “I checked the nicotine concentrations of vape liquids. Administered under the skin, it wouldn’t take much. I think the killer doped his antibacterial then just sat back and waited until it took effect.”

  “Which means the poisoning could have been going on for a long time. Premeditated.”

  Bree exited the car and headed to the employee entrance. “Exactly. Billy gave me a sample. I need you to get it to Nate to analyze for nicotine to confirm my hypothesis.”

  “Got it.” Matthew took the snuff tin of antibacterial spread from Bree. “When we left, he was already setting up his equipment. I’m sure we’ll get the results soon. Meanwhile, coms in. I don’t want you going into any situations at Jack’s alone.”

  “Copy that.” Bree slammed the locker and faced him. “While you get that to Nate, I’ll wait for an opportunity and see if I can lay my hands on the rest of the supply. Also, call James and have him get over here. He needs to question Margie.” Her shoulders sagged at the thought of a friend committing murder.

  “Hey.” Matthew touched her cheek. “I know what you’re thinking. But if she’s capable of plotting a murder the way you suspect, she isn’t a friend. Remember that.”

  Bree sighed but gave him a nod. “I know. She let it slip that she tried vaping. That’s probably where she got both the idea and the poison. She didn’t like Billy. But thinking about getting rid of a person and actually doing it…” She shuddered. “Those are very different things. I’ll never get used to this.”

  Matthew’s eyes were serious as he stared into her face. “For your sake, I hope you won’t. The world needs more of the light you have inside of you. Not the darkness.”

  She heard the words he didn’t speak. Not the darkness in me.

  Bree tried to control her unease and enjoy the day but despite costumes and forced good cheer for the sake of the steady stream of customers, the atmosphere at the emporium was draining. Liza’s rag doll and Graham’s mime costumes both managed to channel a tragic, rather than a light, fun, vibe.

  Bree waited on a customer, a tall slender man with dark golden skin dressed in a Sinbad the Sailor costume, complete with gold hoop earring and cutlass. “I’m just here for a few last-minute party supplies,” he said, his voice high and tight, his accent sounding vaguely middle eastern.

  Bree wondered if that was part of the costume or a natural voice. She helped him find the plates and napkins he requested then rang him up.

  Something about him bothered Bree but try as she might, she couldn’t put her finger on the reason for unease. She heaved a sigh of relief when he thanked her and left, claiming the emporium had some fun entertainment he wanted to see.

  Just then, Jack entered the sales area. As he sauntered through the complex in an elaborate pirate costume, Scarlett on his shoulder, tensions momentarily lifted and, even knowing a killer would come to justice today, Bree smiled.

  “Yo, ho, ho,” shouted Scarlett, apparently having learned a new term. Or was she saying Ho, Ho, Ho in preparation for Christmas? Either way, her chatter remained cheerful, and elicited a few smiles.

  A short while after noon, James arrived, Detective Griffin in tow, dashing the momentary high spirits as he asked Margie to join them in the interview room.

  Bree headed to the kitchen, intent on getting lunch and following the interview via her phone, however, Jack and Scarlett occupied the space. “She needs a little break,” Jack explained as he put her on a perch in the corner. “She’s used to everyone who works here, but not the influx of customers we’ve had today.”

  He stroked the bird’s breast and head, receiving a response of love you from her. “Will you mind keeping an eye on her? Just so she doesn’t fly away if the outer door opens? She’s never done it, but it’s too cold for her outside and I don’t want to take a chance.”

  Bree agreed, shifting her attention between the bird and the interrogation, which wasn’t going well. Before she could pair the volume with her earpiece, Gordon walked into the kitchen in a full-fledged Inspector Gadget costume.

  “Gordon, cool costume,” she said. “What’s your favorite gadget?”

  “It’s just a costume, miss. Nothing more. Jack likes us to dress up, so I do what he wants.” Petulance drained the fun from the costume. He shook his head, reminding her of a sad basset hound.

  “Besides, it’s easy. A trench coat, hat, and a few props. Nothing too fancy. Not like the boys in the garage. They’re all outside playing light saber battles for the customers. Halloween is a waste of time, miss. A waste of time, if you ask me. Don’t you think?”

  “I, um, kind of like it.”

  “Well, you enjoy yourself. I’m just going to heat up my lunch.” He popped a frozen meal into the microwave and keyed in three minutes.

  With Gordon occupied and—presumably—the others in the garage outside entertaining the customers, she seized the opportunity to sneak into the garage to look for Billy’s first aid kit. A quick search of the area indicated that the plastic wrap and general first aid supplies were untouched, however, Billy’s tub of antibiotic was gone.

  Someone had taken care to dispose of it. Thank goodness she’d kept the sample he had given her. She checked her watch. Just over a minute and a half had passed since leaving the lunchroom. She still had time to disable the spyware on Gordon’s computer now that the case was over.

  A sense of déjà vu caused a shiver to run up her spine when she entered the glassed-in room. The last time she’d been here, finding materials relevant to the terrorism case had been her primary purpose. Her gaze hit on the bottom drawer of the file cabinet an
d she pictured its contents. A first aid kit.

  Why? When one was available mere steps away?

  Dread iced her nerves as she pulled the drawer open. First aid kit. Tupperware with condiments. She pulled the lid from the container. Condiments and… Liquid smoke vape juice. Dear God, she’d been wrong. Not Margie.

  “I really wish you hadn’t found that, miss.” Gordon’s voice washed over her, increasing the dread. “I really wish you hadn’t.”

  Chapter 28

  Bree scrambled to her feet facing Gordon, assessing her situation. He stood in the door, arms crossed, his trench coat bunched in a strange wad. Blocking her exit. While he didn’t appear strong, he’d been able to heft Billy into the trunk of a car, so her chances of overpowering him were minimal.

  Moreover, his height gave him an advantage. She needed to either stay out of his reach or get in close to prevent him from using his long limbs as weapons against her.

  “I just wanted some hot sauce,” she said, thinking a bluff was a good first defense.

  “We both know that isn’t true, is it, miss?” He took a step forward. “See, I’m not stupid. I saw you in the Frank-N-Stein diner the other day. Looking just a little older and more sure of yourself than you ever appear around here. I notice things, miss, I really do.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted some hot sauce for my lunch.”

  “In my private office? How did you know it was there if you weren’t snooping? No, you’re in league with that cop or something. And now I’m going to have to get rid of you.” The mournful note in his voice didn’t ease her mind.

  She had to get to the door. And had to hope that Tugood was monitoring her com, although his lack of response worried her.

  “First, I’m going to ask you to put your phone on the desk, miss.” Gordon nodded to the empty space to her right.

  “No.”

  A muffled sound came from his coat. “I was hoping not to have to do this, miss. But you’ve forced my hand.”