A Geek Girl's Guide to Justice (The Geek Girl Mysteries)

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “Great. Hey, can you come over tomorrow to help Mom and Grandma make a mold of my stomach?”

  “Uh, that’s a big no.”

  “Why not?” Her voice hitched. “This will probably be my last pregnancy. Is it wrong that I want to commemorate this? You know I’d do it for you.”

  “I’m supposed to work at the Faire tomorrow, and also yuck.”

  “My stomach isn’t gross, Mia.”

  “Of course not.” I puffed my cheeks out. I hadn’t actually seen her stomach since she was in labor with Gwen a couple years ago, but I remembered it clearly. Pale with blue veins and a dark line dividing the hemispheres. I pressed a palm to my abdomen in memory. Her stomach was mine, genetically speaking, and the whole thing was unnerving. I didn’t want to touch it.

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Text me Tennille’s number.”

  “Yep.” I disconnected and rolled my head over both shoulders. “She wants me to make a mold of her stomach.”

  Jake had walked several feet away while I spoke with Bree. He squinted at the water. “Eric and Parker did that before Eli was born.”

  “Did you help?”

  He turned those blue eyes on me. “Did I touch my brother’s wife’s bare belly?”

  I smiled. I hadn’t thought that through. “Right. Gross.”

  “I don’t think it’s gross.” He made his way back to me at a slow saunter. “What she’s doing, what Parker did, I think it’s a miracle.”

  I turned back toward the road and sidestepped the minefield of goose poop. “I think you’ve never seen a woman give birth. Speaking of—” I segued poorly “—how would you like to come to Sunday night dinner again? This week we’re meeting at Bree’s house and Tom is throwing a gender reveal party, so it should be...” I struggled to finish the impossible sentence. Bizarre came to mind, but felt wrong. “Interesting?”

  Jake thumbed his cell phone screen. “Well.” He spun the phone to face me. “I just got a text from Dan, who is apparently with the mystery girl again tonight and making plans for tomorrow.”

  “Why’s he telling you?”

  Jake turned the screen back to him. “He wants to know if you and I will meet them for dinner tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Was I supposed to answer now? He hadn’t answered me about Sunday night yet, and I asked first.

  We stood in the dark, facing off as if we might bow, step into warrior poses and begin kung fu fighting.

  Jake curled long fingers around the phone. “I’ll go to the baby thing if you come with me tomorrow.”

  “Deal, but we can’t miss the fundraiser thing. That’s tomorrow, too.”

  He stuffed his phone into his pocket and took my hand in his, instantly warming me and scattering my thoughts. “You’re wrong about what you said earlier. I’ve seen a woman give birth.”

  I gaped. “When?”

  “During my first tour in Kuwait. A roadside bomb sent her into early labor.” There was wonder and regret in his voice. “It was terrifying as hell, but she was strong, and they both made it, no thanks to me or my team of bumbling grunts. None of us had more medical experience than some basic triage we were taught on base. She did it all. It was enough to make me consider medical school. I never wanted to feel that helpless again.”

  I squeezed his hand in mine. “Medical school, huh?” I imagined his bedside manner would be something like “Suck it up” or “Rub some dirt on it.” I loved hearing about the things I’d missed in his life, and discovering who he was when he wasn’t saving the day. “I know you want a big family, but how big? In a perfect scenario?”

  “In a perfect scenario? Where money’s no object and I have time to be the dad they deserve?”

  “Yeah. Then?”

  He took his time before answering. Another thing I loved about him. He didn’t talk to talk. He meant everything he said. “I don’t know. I think that’s something you just know instinctively once you get started. The same way we know the person we’re in love with is the only one we ever want to be with.”

  I gave him a side glance. “I think you’re right.”

  We made our way in companionable silence toward Mr. Peters’s home. I mulled over all he’d said about his future family. He seemed so sure. Why did everything he say seem so possible and reasonable and lovely?

  “I can’t believe Dan’s seeing this woman two nights in a row,” he said. “This must be getting serious.”

  “It’s only two dates. Do you realize we also have plans for tomorrow and dinner on Sunday?”

  He smiled. “I’d see you more if you weren’t so busy.”

  “I’m a woman in demand, sir.”

  By the time we reached Mr. Peters’s door, my heart was tap dancing and my mind was in full overdrive with questions about what the future held for Jake and me. The rational part of me insisted this wasn’t the right time to think about that. We had a murder to solve. I needed to focus. Concentrate. Act my age. But what should I wear on a double date with the Archers?

  We stopped at a mailbox shaped like a mallard. Acrid scents of a smoldering campfire peppered the air.

  Peters’s house was a lot like the other homes in Horseshoe Falls, expansive, expensive and custom. This one definitely suited its owner. I’d called it “The Treehouse” for years, never knowing who owned it, assuming, correctly it seemed, that it belonged to one of the more serious nature enthusiasts in residence. The enormous two-story home was covered in cedar shake and giant windows. The Treehouse was nestled among a cluster of evergreens planted at the time of the build and a well-manicured garden established shortly afterward. Bird and squirrel feeders hung abundantly from strong sap-covered limbs. Solar lights and a flagstone path led to the front porch stairs before forking east and west around the sides of the home. A series of small koi ponds scrolled down the gentle slope near his porch, each rock-lined structure spilling into the next, where frogs and various fishes cohabited with duckweed and lily pads.

  Jake marched up the front steps and rapped on the door with authority.

  The massive door was outlined with stained-glass sidelights and a matching transom. Colorful pictures of hummingbirds and wildflowers struck a delightful contrast with the home’s earthy shake and natural stone. The door swung open with a whoosh.

  Mr. Peters stepped into view and adjusted his glasses. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Peters?” Jake asked.

  “Yes.” He glanced at me, confused. “I’m Mr. Peters.”

  “I’m Deputy US Marshall Jake Archer. I believe you may have some evidence in my murder investigation? I’d like to come inside.”

  “Uh...certainly.” He hopped aside and shoved the door away so we could pass.

  I followed Jake into the foyer. “He’s with me.”

  Mr. Peters rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “It’s cost me some sleep, but I’ve reviewed all the tapes, and I have one you should see. Come this way.” He headed through the foyer and down an arching hallway with shiny wooden floors and a series of small chandeliers overhead. “The motion sensor on my camera is easily engaged, and most of my footage is useless, even to me. I’ve accumulated hours of nothing but wind in the trees, but this is something.” He frowned over his shoulder.

  The hall spilled us into an atrium filled with plants and domed in glass. The wooden floor gave way to intricately patterned stones nestled in grout and glazed to a perfect shine. A set of French doors opened to a cozy study with more floor-to-ceiling windows and massive built-in shelves behind a cluttered desk. The shelves overflowed with figurines and books on nature. Statues and small paintings of indigenous Ohio animals sat atop little pedestals and rested on miniscule easels. A big globe in a wooden apparatus sat beside a telescope near the windows.

  I walked my fingers over the globe, turning it until Ohio faced up. The te
lescope pointed at nothing but trees. Surely he didn’t stand at the window watching squirrels.

  “Birding,” Peters said.

  I spun in his direction.

  He stood behind his desk with Jake, watching me. I recognized the curiosity in Jake’s eyes. Peters’s expression held something I couldn’t name.

  “The telescope,” he explained. “I use it for birding.”

  Jake helped himself to the leather desk chair and grabbed the computer mouse. He brought the machine to life with the flick of his wrist. “What sort of birds?”

  Peters turned his wary expression on Jake. “All of them. Finches, blue jays and cardinals, orioles, hummingbirds. They’re quite fascinating.”

  “Here.” Jake jerked his head up and motioned me over to him. “Got him.”

  I hustled to his side and leaned forward, determined not to miss a thing. “Go.”

  Jake clicked the computer mouse. A grainy black-and-white image snapped to life. The lake view was partially obstructed by the veiny limbs of a willow dangling and blowing across the lens.

  Peters leaned over one of Jake’s shoulders. “This is where they come in.”

  Two shadows crossed the top of the screen, one bleeding into the next under the light from a full moon. The shadows changed direction suddenly and two figures emerged, running straight for the lake. They gained momentum on the downhill slope toward the water, their inky counterparts thinning in the field behind them.

  “The camera’s too far away,” I complained. “Can you zoom in?”

  Mr. Peters gave me a disbelieving look. “I bought the camera from Amazon, not MI6.”

  “Shh,” Jake warned. “Look.”

  The first figure stopped abruptly near the water’s edge. It raised its hands.

  “Is there any sound?” I asked. “Is that the dagger in his hand?”

  Jake tapped the screen. “Look at the way the second one is hunched slightly. I think that’s Dante. He’s hurt, but chasing his attacker.”

  His armed attacker. I peered closer, willing the grainy forms to clear. “No way.” Who does that? “I don’t think...”

  The hunched figure dove at the other one, tackling it onto the grass and stopping me mid-sentence. They rolled toward the water like one massive log. Something flung free and bounced on the ground.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Shh,” the men warned.

  I gave them the stink eye but they didn’t pull their gazes from the silent flat-screen monitor. “It’s not like there’s anything to hear,” I mumbled.

  The human log barreled headlong toward the water, barely missing at first, then splashing into the smooth surface’s edge. They peeled themselves apart, scrambling away on their hands and backsides like crabs. They pushed to their feet and stood motionless. What were they saying? Was Dante pleading for his life? Threatening to put the attacker in jail? Reasoning with him? They circled methodically like wrestlers. I presumed the slower one to be Dante, injured, bleeding and out of breath from a run and a tumble. He lunged forward on wobbly legs, then stumbled sideways and backward, unable to stay upright any longer. He splashed into the lake, sending ripples in every direction.

  The first figure ran to the water’s edge and froze.

  Adrenaline pumped in my veins, desperate to help the hurting man on-screen and capture the monster who hurt him. “What’s happening?” Frustration shook my voice. The irrational part of me wanted to tear through Peters’s home and out the front door. I longed to run into the lake and try again to save Dante, but he wasn’t there. The figures were memories, images from another time and long gone. I’d had my chance to save Dante and failed. All I had now was an opportunity to find the killer.

  The remaining figure dropped to the ground, crawling, moving up the hill in a zigzag until he raised something into the air and chucked it into the water. The dagger.

  Dante splashed wildly, raising his hands overhead.

  The second figure lifted a fallen branch and extended it to him. When he drew near, the figure pressed it to his shoulders and pushed him under. Dante’s flailing hands couldn’t capture the stick, they bounced off and slid along the bark until they stopped reaching.

  “Here come the joggers.” Jake tracked them across the screen with his finger. “And there he goes.”

  The figure tossed the stick into the lake and ran along the shadowed tree line as the pack of runners passed by. He tagged on to the back of the group and kept pace.

  Jake clicked through screens. “Do you have any other cameras hidden around Horseshoe Falls? Any chance you caught more of the crime, maybe their run from the car to the lake or the killer’s escape route?”

  “No,” Peters promised with gusto. “I’ve only hidden one camera, and I’ve felt awful about it since the day I set it up.” He looked at me with pleading eyes. “I knew it was wrong. I needed consent or community approval. I should’ve posted a sign, but then someone would’ve taken the camera. I just wanted to watch the squirrels.”

  I stared, unsure what to say.

  “Retirement is hard,” he continued. “The squirrel research was my greatest on-the-job success. I didn’t want it to end.”

  From where I was sitting, roughly forty years away from anything remotely like a vacation, retirement didn’t seem so bad. More like a unicorn. I bit my tongue and weighed conflicting emotions. Boredom seemed a flimsy and selfish excuse for taping an entire community without consent, but if he had evidence of Dante’s killer, I wanted it.

  Jake turned to face Mr. Peters. “I’m going to need this footage and anything you have in the days immediately before and after.”

  “Of course.” Peters opened a drawer and produced an external hard drive. “I copied the entire week before this footage and everything I’ve recorded since onto this. You’re welcome to copy more if you’d like, as much as you want, but please don’t take it from me. I review the tapes from time to time, looking for patterns in squirrel behavior.”

  Jake didn’t take the hard drive. “We need access to all the footage.”

  Peters nodded. “I’ll make a complete backup.”

  Jake replayed the footage. “We’re going to need an official backup. I’d like to contact our tech team.”

  Mr. Peters flushed. “Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”

  I stared at the grainy screen. Dante’s killer might’ve escaped the crime scene, but he wouldn’t get away with murder on my watch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jake parked his beast of a truck outside Buffalo Bill’s, a popular local steakhouse. The blue behemoth was the largest in our row, but there were several identical models elsewhere in the lot. Women in sundresses and cowgirl boots chatted up men in dark jeans and big belt buckles. I’d stopped in once for lunch. The food was good but the atmosphere was weird. I couldn’t understand an adult’s motivation to throw peanut shells on the floor, so I hadn’t been back.

  I released my seat belt and sighed. “We’re late and overdressed. On a scale of one to ten how mad will Dan be?”

  Jake shut down the engine and pocketed the key. “He won’t care. He knows we’re coming.”

  Well, that was different. “Maybe he could talk to Bree. She has no tolerance for tardiness. She actually said that once.” I stared at the building, hoping for the best. “What do we know about Dan’s date?”

  “She’s out with Dan again, so she must be crazy.”

  “Excellent. She’ll fit right in.” I gathered my clutch and reached for the door handle.

  “Wait.” He raked his gaze over my black beaded dress again.

  I’d chosen an off-the-shoulder number with a heart-shaped neckline and waist-trimming liner. The hem was three inches above my knee and I felt closer to sexy than I had in my life, especially when he looked at me like t
hat. I reached for the pins in my chignon and let my hair fall in thick loose waves for coverage.

  He released a low wolf whistle. “Scandalous.”

  “You’re making me nervous,” I confessed.

  He tipped his mouth into a smirk, leaned across the small distance and kissed me. His lips lingered over mine when he pulled away, as if he might be torn over going in for seconds. “I’m going to stop.”

  “Kissing me or making me nervous?” I whispered against his waiting mouth.

  His lips curved as they returned to mine, catching only my bottom lip, and leaving me half loopy. “Okay, I lied. I have big plans for both.”

  Oh boy!

  He straightened and checked his phone. “We’ve got one hour here. Are you ready?”

  “Ready.” One hour to double date, then we had to fly across town and meet Fifi and Nate at her dad’s friend’s faux fundraiser, where I’d hopefully have the opportunity to question the senator.

  Dan appeared outside Jake’s window and rapped on the glass. He looked a little miffed.

  Jake opened the door. “What’s up?”

  “You’re late.”

  “Couldn’t be helped.” Jake climbed down beside his brother and looked at me.

  Dan followed his gaze. His jaw dropped. “I see.”

  I lifted my palm. “Hi.”

  Jake rounded the truck to open my door and help me down. The women in sundresses gave him an appreciative look as we passed. Country music wafted through hidden speakers in the restaurant’s roofline. Dan and Jake tugged the large wooden double doors apart and the yeasty scent of fresh-baked rolls and salty butter rushed against my face.

  Patrons in boots and flip-flops packed the waiting area. I bumped a vintage Chanel pump into Jake’s Italian leather dress shoe. Everyone stared.

  Dan slid past the hostess stand. “We’re in a booth in the back.”

  I edged through the crowd with Jake’s hand against the small of my back. Tension rolled off him in waves, etching into my fading calm.