by Tim Maleeny
Sam led her out of the apartment and across the hall. He knocked lightly and tried the doorknob at the same time. It was unlocked.
Everyone was there.
Larry stood by the sliding glass doors talking to Gus, who was spreading his arms as if telling a story about the one that got away. Jerome sat on the loveseat next to Tamara, hanging on her every word. Shayla stood behind them rolling her eyes, then waved when she saw Jill.
Gail sat by herself in a big chair across from a matching chair that was empty. In between was her coffee table and an array of cookies that would make Martha Stewart envious. Sam whispered to Jill and she crossed the room toward Shayla.
Sam took the chair opposite Gail.
“Hello, young man.” Gail gestured toward the table. “Want a cookie?”
Sam eyed the spread. “Any recommendations?”
Gail leaned forward and plucked a single cookie from a tray. It was a soft yellow and had wavy lines along the top.
“Can’t go wrong with a Madeleine.”
Sam took the cookie with his right thumb and index finger, held it at arms length for a minute, then popped it in his mouth. As he chewed he said, “I’d hate to get it wrong, Gail.”
Gail lifted a cup and saucer off the table and took a sip of coffee, eying Sam over the rim.
“So you figured it out.”
“I had a little help.”
“Your wife always said you were a smart cookie.”
“I’m still fuzzy about a few parts…” Sam let his voice trail off.
“Such as?” Gail set the cup down carefully.
“Ed didn’t jump.”
“No?”
Sam shook his head. “He was poisoned. Seems he ingested cyanide.”
Gail reclaimed her coffee and held the cup high, her eyes steady on Sam as she drank.
Sam continued. “Apparently wild almonds contain—” He paused to take a sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket. “Glycoside amygdalin. Did I say that right?”
Gail nodded. “It turns into hydrogen cyanide, also known as—”
Sam cut her off as he glanced at his cheat sheet. “Prussic acid.”
“I used to be a botanist,” Gail said. “Did you know that?”
“Learn something new every day.” Sam pointed to a row of round cookies with tiny almond flakes on them. “Prunus dulcis.”
“Yes,” said Gail. “Almonds.
“You did say those cookies were to die for.”
Gail smiled but said nothing.
“That’s a helluva way to confess,” said Sam.
“You can regulate the quantity,” said Gail. “Depending on the result you want.”
“You saying you weren’t trying to kill me?”
Gail’s nostrils flared. “What an insolent thing to say. Of course not. I was testing you.”
“Testing.”
“Seeing how smart you were—I take it you didn’t try one?”
Sam shook his head.
“It would have only given you a stomach ache, I assure you.” Gail pursed her lips. “Something to think about.”
Sam gestured at the square cookies with the bright red centers. “Cherry.”
Gail nodded.
“I read something about cherry laurel?”
“The Internet is certainly amazing,” said Gail. “Prunus caroliniana. Another excellent source of, well…”
“Poison,” said Sam.
“Indeed.”
Sam leaned forward and poured himself a cup of coffee. Around the room his neighbors were talking, laughing. Everyone out of hearing range.
“So I have a few theories,” said Sam.
“A few?”
Sam pointed at the cookies. “One involves progressive poisoning. Slow increases in the amount Ed ingested, say over a period of weeks, until it reached a saturation point, and when the cyanide really kicks in—”
Gail spread her fingers as if counting off the days of the week. “It can trigger asphyxiation, seizures, cardiac arrest…”
“But that’s too risky,” Sam said. “You might get a dose wrong, or symptoms might come on too fast, then he ends up in the hospital and not dead.”
Gail set her cup down. “You have quite an imagination.”
“The other option is to try for the maximum dosage all at once.”
“Less risk.”
“Perhaps,” said Sam. “But it poses a problem—several, actually.”
Gail said nothing.
“You couldn’t pull it off by yourself,” said Sam. He paused to look around the room, then settled his eyes back on Gail.
“You could call everyone together right now,” said Gail. “Like Hercule Poirot in one of those Agatha Christie stories.”
“I prefer Miss Marple,” replied Sam. “And I’d rather keep this between us for now.”
“As you wish. You were saying something about an accomplice.”
“Well, for starters, Ed needed a boost over the fire escape. Unless he started seizing from the poison, couldn’t take the pain and hurled himself twenty stories to put an end to his agony.”
“Is that one or two theories?”
“It’s an observation,” said Sam. “And if I had to cast for the part, I think your boyfriend Gus is just the man for the job.”
“He’s very protective.”
“I noticed.”
“Go on.”
“You mentioned the Internet,” said Sam. “Have you visited Shayla and Tamara’s site lately?”
Gail blushed slightly. “Scandalous.”
“It’s impressive, and not only because of their natural… um…abilities. The daily updates, the archives. There’s a lot to explore.”
“And what did you find?”
“There’s a video in the archives,” said Sam. “From a week ago, before Ed died. Nothing out of the ordinary. Two beautiful girls half-naked, painting their nails.”
“So?”
“So Shalya’s hair was blue.”
Gail looked over her shoulder. Shalya’s twin orbs of hair bobbed to and for as she talked to Jill. “But her hair is blue.”
“Is,” said Sam. “But it wasn’t when I met her. And she told me she’d never been blue before. That means they swapped that day’s video with one they made later. Now why would they do that?”
“I’m sure you have an answer.”
“I think your relationship with Ed wasn’t even cordial anymore,” said Sam. “After all the shit he pulled to evict you, I doubt you could lure him upstairs, even for all the cookies in the world. But Shayla and Tamara, they’re sirens—even Ulysses couldn’t have resisted those two.”
“They had their own run-ins with Ed,” said Gail.
“Yeah, you made it a point to tell me about that. Guess that was part of the confession.”
Gail didn’t respond.
“I’ve spent some time with those two.” said Sam. “They could talk a snake out of its skin, then sell it back to him at twice the price. Getting a dumb bastard like Ed upstairs wouldn’t even be a challenge. So they coaxed Ed upstairs and fed him the cookies you baked, then Gus gave him a helping hand into space.”
Gail raised her eyebrows. “There’s only one problem with your theory.”
“I know.” Sam leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. “I know.”
Gail let her eyes drift around the room. “She’s such a nice woman.”
Sam followed her gaze until it landed on Jill. She was laughing at something Shayla had said, her head back, worry lines radiating out from her eyes making her look even more beautiful.
“Shayla and Tamara don’t build their own website,” Sam said. “They need Jill to make any changes.”
“She’s very talented,” said Gail. “It is an impressive site.”
Sam took a deep breath.
“Does she know that you know?” asked Gail.
“I wrote a letter. In case anything…”
“Got messy?”
; Sam frowned. “Messy.”
He scanned the room again, pausing on every face, each person he had met less than a week before.
“You know what’s funny?” he asked.
Gail shook her head.
Sam gestured across the room with his chin. “Larry and Jerome.”
“What about them?”
“They’re the only innocent ones in the bunch.”
“It’s dangerous to jump to conclusions. As a policeman, you must know that.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Gail.”
“What?”
“I’m not a policeman,” said Sam. “Not anymore.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Or a judge,” he added. “Or a jury.”
“So who are you, young man?”
“Just a neighbor. A guy who lives down the hall.”
Gail looked at him, her pale blue eyes so clear you could see right through them.
Sam held her gaze. Neither spoke for a long time. Around them, neighbors were talking and laughing, enjoying the little community created by the random chance of where they had found an apartment.
Gail spoke first.
“Ed was a bad man,” she said simply. There was anger and something else in her eyes, something that made them shimmer with barely suppressed pain.
Sam didn’t blink. “I know.”
A litany of Ed’s crimes ran through his mind. Blackmail. Assault. Attempted rape. Harassment. Extortion. Conspiracy. Then Sam thought of Marie and those horrible weeks at the end, the stupid fight over the doors. He decided to add being an unrepentant asshole to the list of transgressions.
Sam stood and stepped around the table to put a hand on Gail’s shoulder.
“Thanks for the cookies, Gail.”
Sam turned toward Jill. Gus noticed that Sam had vacated the chair and headed toward Gail. Everyone else kept talking. By the time Sam had made it halfway across the room, Jill spotted him and smiled. When he reached her, he pulled her aside and moved to the sliding glass doors. Pulling one open, he led her onto the balcony, then closed the door behind them.
Jill looked up at him, her eyes filled with anticipation and maybe a little apprehension.
“Do you want to have that talk?”
Sam pulled her close. “No.”
“Later?”
Sam shook his head. “Never.”
Jill pulled back, still in his embrace but at arm’s length. She looked him up and down.
“Are you OK?”
“Don’t I look OK?”
“I mean, are you going to be OK with this?” Jill swept her arm toward the people inside.
“This isn’t about them.”
Jill’s eyes flooded, but her lashes stopped the tears from escaping.
“But can you live with this—with me?”
“That’s not really the question, either,” said Sam. “Is it?”
“Can you live with yourself?”
Sam pulled her close and kissed her.
“We’ll see.”
Acknowledgments
The story of Jump that was in my head became the book that is in your hands thanks to the passion of Barbara Peters and Rob Rosenwald combined with the hard work of everyone at Poisoned Pen Press.
Gracias to my agent, early readers and fellow authors for keeping the faith and embracing the madness.
Big thanks to my family and unending gratitude to my remarkable wife, Kathryn, and our daughters Clare and Helen for constant support and ongoing inspiration.
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