Vitamin Sea

by Maia Ross

  At the edge of the crowd, I saw Emily, a champagne glass gripped in one hand. She was inhaling from a strange-looking device that was held in her other. And she was walking toward the main house at a fair clip.

  “What is that?” I nudged Boris.

  He glanced over. “She’s vaping.”

  “Vaping? Vaping what?”

  “Probably nicotine. It’s supposed to be better than cigarettes, but it’s still a terrible habit.”

  My stomach tightened. I tapped on my earpiece. “Camille,” I said slowly. “Are you sure that Emily’s background check came back clean?”

  She frowned at me across the lawn. “Yes, positive.”

  “Emily told me that part of the reason she wanted to work on the fundraiser was because her good friend’s child is battling throat cancer. Would that same person smoke? I can’t see it,” I said.

  “People are nuts, Irma.”

  “Well, I can’t deny that, but there’s the other thing.”

  “What?”

  “Charlotte was poisoned with nicotine.”

  Thirty-Four—Violet

  I tweaked the script and ran it again. I’d cracked the first eleven digits of the password used to encrypt the USB drive. Just one more to go. I knew how badly Irma needed the info on the drive, and I was determined to get it for her. And Julian. As my script executed, I opened the bottle of Chablis that was so helpfully tucked into the mini-fridge that sat beside the easy chair I was sitting in. I’d decided that I wanted my own mini-fridge at my desk at work. I’d make sure to implement that when I got back to my company.

  If there was a company to go back to.

  I shoved the thought away. My fingers were tingling as I tapped them on my keyboard. The script was almost done. Thirty seconds…twenty.

  The last letter in the password spat itself out. Now I had the whole thing. My heartbeat clanged in my chest while I navigated to the USB drive’s file.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” My words echoed in the empty room. I ran my hands through my hair.

  NICE JOB! the command line said. NOW DO THAT A FEW MORE TIMES!

  I cracked my knuckles, tweaked my scripts and kicked them off again. My laptop’s monitor showed me three different windows simultaneously; all were chugging away at the USB drive’s encryption in different ways. I’d already cloned a copy of the USB drive, sent it offsite to a server that my buddy, the Brain, kept in Chechnya, closed out my network connection and deleted the logs so nobody looking at my machine would be able to retrace my steps. Just in case.

  The rest of the decryption was going to take a while, but I could wait. I was so close.

  It was possible Irma was making me a bit paranoid. Of course, there were a number of recently dead men in her tiny town, and Irma herself had been shot. So there was that.

  As the locks on the file clicked open, I nursed the excellent Chablis and smiled to myself. This was going to be fun.

  Thirty-Five—Irma

  Camille blanched. I saw it all the way from across the lawn.

  Perspiration dotted my forehead as I fanned myself. “Emily has a sister,” I said. “Maybe you could contact her, if there’s nothing on the books about Emily.”

  Camille typed into her phone before pressing it to the side of her face. She spoke quickly for a few moments.

  “Is everything all right?” Boris said quietly.

  I gave him a quick rundown about Emily as Camille clicked off her phone and crossed the distance between us. And then she told us she’d spoken to the police chief in Havertown, Pennsylvania, where Emily was from. The woman flitting around Charlotte’s estate wasn’t Emily McDonald at all. It was Edwina McDonald, her sister. And Edwina McDonald had been arrested in Philly in 2018 for trying to poison her employer but had skipped out on her bail.

  She was a bloody international fugitive.

  “Irma,” Camille said quietly, “I need you and Boris to sit on Charlotte. Looks like they’re just about to call everyone in for dinner. When’s the last time any of us had eyes on Emily/Edwina?”

  “I saw her walking toward the house a while back,” I replied, relief surging inside me. Finally, we knew. Finally. And it all made perfect sense: Emily had had spectacular access to Charlotte for the past several weeks. She knew her schedule and location at all times, she was allowed in Charlotte’s private space, and she had a very naughty secret. Camille’s men would have no trouble bringing her down. All of this was almost over. And I’d never underestimate a Prius owner again.

  But a thought still niggled at me: why had she come here, to poison Charlotte specifically? Richard was well known for making other people do his dirty work. Had he hired her, or was she on a mission of her own?

  “I wonder if she’s taken off,” Camille said.

  “She has no reason to think she’s blown,” I countered. “And she pretty much has the run of the house. She could be doing anything right now.”

  “Fair enough,” Camille said. “I’m going to take two men and find Emily—uh, Edwina—and detain her. Sound good?”

  “Yes. But I need you to—ouch.” I put my hand to my head. Something had popped in my earpiece.

  “What is the matter?” Boris said quietly. He moved to shield me from prying eyes.

  I tried to press on the microphone, but the little spring that activated it seemed to be broken. Irritated, I pulled it out of my ear.

  “My earpiece is broken.” The three of us examined it for a moment. It looked perfectly fine, but it was most definitely not working. Worry knifed through me. What if this was sabotage? It was probably just a mechanical failure, but one should never be complacent. Complacent was how an international fugitive had been running around under my nose for the last week. I glanced around; Charlotte was in my eye line and looked as healthy as a little horse. I could see two of Camille’s men on her, and they looked mean, which cheered me up.

  Charlotte called everyone to be seated, and the throng started to move. Something started to move in my innards at the same time. I did not like crowds. And the entrance to the tent was a chokepoint.

  “I have a spare in the car,” Camille said. “I parked in the main driveway in case we need to move quickly. I’ll grab it and bring it to you. Go and get seated and I’ll be right there.”

  Boris and I hung back while the crowd surged forward, and I tried to ignore the pleasant sensation of his hand on my arm. Again. Eventually, I was tucked into my seat, Boris on my right, the stage where the head table was located on my left. I had an excellent view of everyone in the tent, as well as the only entrance, at the other end.

  Charlotte stood and thanked everyone for coming and spoke for a few moments about the fundraising goal to build the new wing at St. Jude’s. Everyone applauded heartily after she finished, if not for her sentiments, then for her brevity.

  The wait staff started to serve the first course. But worry tugged at me; Camille wasn’t back yet. Not to mention the fact that both Richard and Emily/Edwina were conspicuously absent. I looked down at my menu, nudging Boris gently. “Camille is late in returning.”

  He nodded, pointing at a random description on the menu. “I have noticed this.”

  I wrestled my cellular out of my clutch and texted Camille. When she didn’t answer, I called her. “Voicemail,” I said to Boris as I met his eyes. “I should go and find her.” But I couldn’t leave Charlotte. Wasn’t that my mission? Protect Charlotte? My eyes swept around the tent, all the people eating and drinking and laughing. Were some of them about to become collateral damage?

  All of Camille’s men had orders from her: they knew what to do and they were doing it. I couldn’t step in and redirect them until we knew what was going on with Camille.

  I had to leave Charlotte.

  It was not a good moment. I put both hands on the table and tried to breathe. The two men watching Charlotte were hard-looking. And they were excellent at their jobs if Camille had hired them. I should trust them, and let them do their jobs.
<
br />   My stomach hurt.

  I took a deep breath and used hand signals to gesture to one of Camille’s men, asking if he’d heard from her. He shook his head. Then I signed for him to keep eyes on Charlotte and that I’d be back soon. He gave me a military-stiff nod.

  I called over to a waitress at the next table over, whose back was to us. “How long before the next course?”

  The waitress was Theresa from the Club, and she screwed her face up as she looked at her watch. “Hey, Irma. We’re supposed to come out right away, but there’s been a problem with one of the warming trays in the catering kitchen.” She pulled out her walkie talkie and rattled off some kitchen jargon. “Twenty minutes?”

  “Thank you.” When she turned away, I added, “Theresa, dear, when you were at the Club the other night, why did you bring a cup of tea to Charlotte?”

  She looked confused for a moment. “Someone asked me to.”

  “Do you remember who?”

  She screwed her face up for a moment. “Oh, yeah, it was that event planner. Emily something.”

  “Thank you,” I said grimly.

  After Theresa left, Boris put his hand on my arm. I looked at it, then his face. He removed it apologetically and I texted Violet: Lock your door and don’t leave your room.

  Okay. Why?

  I registered the okay part; the rest I’d explain to her later. I knew she’d stay put; it was impossible to get her out of her room, not in it.

  “I am coming with you,” he said firmly.

  I muttered about men for a while. I might have heard him snickering, but I ignored it. I had to know where the poisoner-in-chief had gone. And what had happened to Camille.

  Boris and I walked quickly across the croquet lawn. I cursed under my breath the whole way. I couldn’t see any of Camille’s team anywhere.

  As we walked, I gave Boris a basic understanding of the situation; he’d merely nodded and straightened his shoulders. Then he’d flashed me a grin. “Lead on.”

  I had no idea what I would find as Boris and I made our way inside. A few staff members were fluttering about, but the house felt empty. We walked through and out the front door. Like Camille had said, one of her SUVs was parked at the side of the house. The SUV was snugged up to the curb, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “She wouldn’t have gone off without checking in with her team,” I muttered to myself. Boris, beside me, said nothing. He was probably too amped up on adrenaline to bother with chitchat.

  I led us past the catering kitchen, the great room, the formal parlour, until we were standing in front of the study. Everything was empty except for this room, and its door was closed and locked.

  I turned to Boris. “Are you armed?”

  “I thought I was coming to a nice party!” he protested.

  “Picky, picky.”

  “I’m deciding on the restaurant next time,” he shot back.

  Next time?

  I shoved the thought away as I tried the door to the den. Still locked.

  “Allow me.”

  I palmed Vera, making sure Boris saw I had a weapon, and crept behind him. He looked back and forth in the hallway, checking that no guests or staff were there to see us at our work. Impatience boiled inside me.

  There was a small puff of smoke, and the tumblers in the lock clicked open. Boris shot me a grin that made him look twenty years younger. He really was quite handsome, if you got over the whole slightly morose Eastern European thing.

  “I need one of those,” I hissed at his back.

  He eased the door open, sweeping the room with his gaze. His neck stiffened, and he turned back to me.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Wait—”

  I pushed past him, horror in my veins. There were men’s shoes sticking out from the side of the desk. Little ones. Was it Camille?

  I sprinted toward her, all thoughts about safety gone. Always check your blind spot. Never go around a corner too quickly. Gone, gone, gone.

  “Irma!” Boris called.

  I skidded to a halt beside the shoes, my heart in my throat, my pulse clanging in my ears.

  It was her.

  I knelt and felt for a pulse, and a tsunami of relief flooded through me. Her pulse was steady and strong. She was alive.

  I examined her quickly, looking for bullet wounds. Nothing. She hadn’t been whacked on the head, or shot, or stabbed, or strangled.

  “Is she dead?”

  I shook my head before rolling her on her stomach, looking for a wound. Then I found it; a tiny dart embedded on the left side of her neck. If someone was hiding behind the door, they could have gotten a shot off and taken her down in seconds. I pulled the dart from Camille’s neck and rested it on the desk.

  “What do you think happened?”

  I checked again that she was breathing and gently moved her head from one side to the other. Her earpiece was gone; whoever had knocked her out had access to all of the intelligence her team was sharing with each other. So I couldn’t call them for help. And she’d be out for hours.

  My gaze swept the desk. There was a glass resting on it, now empty. I hovered my nose over it and inhaled its scent, anxiety churning inside me.

  But I knew what to do.

  Thirty-Six—Violet

  The second encryption layer had been a little harder to pry open, but I’d managed it eventually. Now my scripts were running against what should be the final password, or so Jake’s cheeky message from beyond the grave had said. I’d finished my first glass of wine and put the bottle back in the fridge. I was too hungry to drink any more. I knew I was missing dinner, but I didn’t care. I was so close.

  Stay in your room and lock the door, Irma texted.

  Okay. Why?

  I crossed the room and clicked the lock closed. I didn’t like the sound of Irma’s message at all. But she didn’t reply.

  I swallowed my worry and checked my scripts. Not long now. One was just finishing up; five seconds, four, done.

  The file was open.

  I jumped to the contents and examined the structure; directories with images, video files, some notes from Jake. I couldn’t feel my feet. My hands tingled until they burned. I had to find Irma and tell her what was on the drive.

  But someone was knocking on the door.

  Thirty-Seven—Irma

  Boris swore in Bulgarian for what was probably too long, but who was I to judge?

  “We need to get her some help,” I said. “And we need backup. Can you go find someone? Camille’s men are probably all near the tent.”

  “You will stay here?”

  “I’ll stay as long as she needs.”

  A quick nod and he was gone. I waited a moment, then crept to the door and peeked out. He was nowhere to be seen. I threw the lock from the inside and shut the door behind me as I left the den, knowing Boris could easily open it again. I’d been truthful in my comment to him, but Camille didn’t actually need me. She was young and healthy and her pulse was strong. She was going to be fine.

  Glancing both ways, I speed-walked away from the den, down one of the estate’s winding corridors. I had to be quick.

  The entrance to the basement was open, and I paused there. I was barely armed, and the person who’d taken Camille down was very good, very convincing, or both. I considered trying to find one of Camille’s men, or waiting for Boris, but rejected both thoughts. None of them had promised Charlotte that she’d be safe. Only me. And I wanted to take down this miscreant on my own.

  I made my way into the basement slowly and quietly. I was intent on not rushing like I had in Richard’s office.

  Down the hallway to the left. Slow, steady. Gun up. I wasn’t breathing. Terrible habit. I stopped and took a few deep breaths.

  Finally, I reached it.

  The wine cellar.

  Rows and rows of exquisite vintages lay nestled in their little cubbyholes, hundreds of them. In the middle of the cellar was a large trestle table, ten ornate chairs clustered ar
ound it. The room was eerily lit, which didn’t help my mood much.

  And at the head of the table was Richard, duct-taped to his seat. I brightened immediately. Truly, there was nothing duct tape couldn’t do.

  Emily/Edwina sat to his right. Her expression was vacant, her eyes glossy. Her wig was gone, and her purple hair glowed in the low light of the room. Her hands had been duct-taped to the arms on her chair.

  I hesitated. I had to get to the second entrance and lock it or—

  But there she was.

  “I’m so glad to see you, Irma,” April said. Her face looked different somehow, her eyes brighter than usual, her smile not quite right. And her voice was somehow tense and flat at the same time. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she repeated. “Did you know this isn’t Emily McDonald at all? It’s Edwina, her sister. And did you know that Edwina here has just confessed to poisoning Charlotte? Richard hired her, of course.” She lifted his head from the table and dropped it. It made a thunk that I had to admit sounded very satisfying.

  Focus, Irma.

  “I didn’t!” Emily/Edwina shrieked. “Dr. April told me to give Charlotte the tea!”

  “So why did you give it to Theresa?” I asked, lowering my gun so it was down at my side, and somewhat hidden.

  “I...” She looked around wildly. “I wanted to go outside and vape. I’ve been working around the clock getting ready for this event. I just wanted a few minutes to myself! How is that a crime?”

  April looked at her, head tilted, sympathy in her eyes. “The scourge of addiction. It really is quite sad.”

  “Isn’t it?” I remarked, my lips pressed together as I edged closer.

  “Yes. That’s how people like Edwina here end up at rock bottom, willing to do anything for a few dollars.”