A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “Hi, Larry.” I leaned against the fence where Larry the privy keeper spent his days.

  “What’s up, Queenie?” Larry had heavy eyelids and spoke like a stoner. His brown shirt and vest hung on his skinny frame; both needed a good washing. His pant legs dragged the ground.

  “I wondered if you’ve seen John Francis back here with anyone lately.”

  A knowing smile crept across Larry’s narrow face. “A jealous queen.”

  “No. I was his friend, and I’m trying to figure out what happened to him.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “Sure. Well, this place ain’t the most romantic, so it’s a hard sell when you’ve got a picky woman, you know? Probably why I never see you back here. Royal tastes and all.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably why. Did he come here with a woman or not?”

  “Mostly the blacksmith’s daughter, but sometimes others, not too often. John was a classy guy.”

  “Apparently.”

  Larry produced a cigarette from his pocket that looked suspiciously like marijuana. “You got a few minutes?” He lifted it toward me.

  “Sorry. I have to get back to work.”

  I shook off the heebie-jeebies and headed back to the wagons.

  Nate locked eyes with me from a few yards away. He stood with Jake, who was yacking on his cell phone. Jake raised his eyes in my direction.

  There was no one I wanted to see less than Jake, and I surely didn’t want him asking why I was talking to Larry. I dashed back to the privy trailers and tried every door. Locked.

  Larry fired up his questionable smoke. “I thought you were headed back to work?”

  Desperate, I climbed onto the set of crates by the back fence and hoisted one leg over. “I was, but now I’m avoiding the Deputy US Marshal headed this way.”

  Larry’s mouth fell open, the little white cigarette stuck to his bottom lip.

  I flung myself over the fence the way Nate had snuck in the day before. A large Dumpster positioned opposite the crate pile made the process ridiculously simple, even for a shorty like me in twenty pounds of crushed velvet.

  I trudged around the periphery of the fence, back to where I started, and prayed the ticket takers didn’t give me a hard time about arriving twice in an hour.

  The merry maidens at the gate gave me a look. The taller one curtsied. “Did ye leave by this pass, milady?”

  “Yes.” I inclined my head and hustled back through the gate, sample basket swinging. I had a long walk ahead of me.

  * * *

  The blacksmith shop was at the top of the hill, opposite the front gates, strategically positioned beside the stables where jousters tended their stallions and local farmers sold everything from chickens to alpaca wool. A sign on the front door said the shop was Closed until noonday on the morrow.

  My thighs burned from the hasty climb. I pressed the back of one hand to my nose as the wind changed and stink from the barn overwhelmed my panting senses. “Marry!”

  A steady clanging of iron called me inside the dark shop and guided me through the narrow halls where foreboding sharpened the air. The continuous pounding of iron on an anvil slowed my pace and increased my heart rate. Dark walls groaned with the weight of horseshoes, weapons and chainmail on display. A shiny sign hung overhead, forged, no doubt, from the same deadly material as the product it protected. Touch ye not, lest ye be bludgeoned.

  My tummy knotted. What if the blacksmith was the killer? Or his daughter?

  What if I was alone in a closed shop with a killer and surrounded by weaponry I wasn’t allowed to touch?

  “Hello?” My voice cracked.

  The clanging stopped.

  Signs be damned. I grabbed the nearest thing I could and clutched it to my chest. “Hello?” I gave my weapon a quick look. The crooked broom was made from a sturdy limb and broomcorn. I angled it out in front of me like a sword.

  “Closed!” a woman snarled.

  The clanging resumed.

  Curiosity forced my feet forward, dragging my scared body along.

  Inside the next doorway, a curvy woman with sweat on her temples and grief on her face stood over an anvil.

  I cleared my throat to announce my presence. “Hi there. I’m Mia Connors, I’m Queen Guinevere from Guinevere’s Golden Beauty.” Did I always have a baby voice or was that new?

  The woman’s sculpted arms made mine thankful for long sleeves. Her green-and-black corset and skirt were simple and marked with soot. The blade on her anvil glowed red with heat. “I’m Adele Nash, daughter of Eli. What do you want, Guinevere, Queen of Camelot?”

  “I’d like to ask you about John Francis. I was with him when he died.”

  She bared her teeth. “You, too? Did the man ever sleep?” Her voice roared through the building. “John was a filthy man-whore, and I hope you get syphilis.”

  “Hey!” I snapped. “I never touched him. My family got to know John over the summer at the Ren Faire. I wasn’t with him when he died. He was speaking to my dad and me at our booth before he collapsed.”

  “Oh.” She gave me a long look. “Sorry. I don’t hope you get syphilis.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled the broom back to my chest. “I want to know what really happened to him. I thought you might want to know, too.”

  She turned glassy blue eyes on me. “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” Finally, she seemed to have come to her senses. For a moment I’d worried what she might do with the blade on her anvil. “Can you think of anyone who wanted to hurt him?”

  “You mean besides me?” She went back to pounding the blade, which was no longer orange. “He got Melanie pregnant. Did you know that? He told me he loved me, but I overheard them at Surly Wench yesterday. He knocked her up.” She whacked the blade hard enough to knock it off the anvil. “He’d promised to break it off with her!”

  The outpouring of curses that followed were enough to raise the rafters.

  Apparently, John had a thing for foul-mouthed women.

  I set the broom aside. “Did he ever mention anything about money problems to you?”

  She deflated, rounding the anvil to retrieve the blade. “Are you kidding? That was his mantra. Too broke for this. Can’t afford that. He never had the money to take me anywhere, or so he said. Probably why he kept a sugar mama.” She clamped the blade with a pair of metal pincers and stuck it into her nearby fire.

  “He had a rich girlfriend? How do you know?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just know. Every time I visited his house, there was another ugly bouquet on his table. Shrubs, carnations, geraniums. I suppose they were meant to be masculine, but they all looked like horse crap to me. Then again, I’m not a dainty-flower type of woman.”

  Agreed. “Do you know who sent the flowers?”

  “No. You think he’d tell me about his other women? Even if I’d caught him red-handed, he’d have said it wasn’t what I thought. The card stem was always in the bouquets but the card was always missing.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. If I didn’t get any new information from her, I’d be at a dead end. “Any guesses?”

  “I don’t like to think about it.” She went back to smashing the blade.

  “Really? You seem like someone who isn’t easily fooled. You must have some idea of who sent the flowers. Do you think it was Melanie?”

  “Pft. Melanie couldn’t afford to pick grass for him. I say it was the apothecary. I saw the way they looked at one another. There was something there. I guarantee it.”

  Just like that, I gained two new suspects. An angry blacksmith’s daughter and a possible flower-sending apothecary.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’d watched enough television to know the guilty party was always quick to throw shade on someone else, so Melanie, Mr.
Flick and Adele the blacksmith’s daughter stayed on my growing suspect list. Playing with peoples’ hearts was mean and dangerous business. How many more women would make the cut, thanks to John’s promiscuity?

  The apothecary shop was a small wooden structure painted pale pink with a teal door and shutters. Colorful flowers spilled from oversized boxes at the windows. Delicate black script on a wide white sign spelled Closed.

  Figured. “Plenty of that going on today.” I pressed my ear to the door and knocked. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  “She’s out for the day.” A man’s voice shocked me upright and away from the window. A pretzel vendor wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Aye? All day? You think she might be back?”

  He rested the butt end of an enormous wooden pole against the grass at his feet. The pole was slashed through with cross bars, much like a wooden television antenna. Hot pretzels hung in swinging rows on every bar. “Nah. She hasn’t been here since last even. Day’s done soon. Wouldn’t make sense to come in now. Try again on the morrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nate and Jake stepped through the soap shop doorway beside the apothecary.

  Nate hustled to my side. “We’re finally done. I think we’ve met everyone on staff, plus vendors and a handful of pedestrians.”

  Jake shook Nate’s hand. “It was insightful. I appreciate your help.” He plucked invisible lint from the material of his costume, clearly uncomfortable.

  I stepped away from the apothecary, unsure I wanted to share my findings. “Any luck?’

  Jake nodded absently. “Some. Nate greased the wheels and folks warmed up. I can’t believe how many women John Francis was involved with. How’d the man have the time to meet them? He’s only been in town a year. He just partnered up with Flick at the start of the summer Ren Faire, but everyone knew him. Everyone loved him.”

  “Literally,” Nate joked.

  “Yuk.” I choked on a laugh. “John was a nice guy, and rennies are open, welcoming people.”

  Jake snorted and slid his eyes my way.

  “Got something to say about my people?” I asked.

  “What did the women see in him? None of them could’ve known him more than a few months. I only knew the man a few weeks, but I’ve got to say, I didn’t see the draw.”

  I lifted and dropped a shoulder. “To each his or her own, I guess.”

  “I wonder why you weren’t you attracted to him.”

  “Am I supposed to answer or was that hypothetical?”

  Nate rubbed my shoulder. “Men always want information on how women think. I know the answer to this one, though. Mia’s on the hunt for brains and brawn. John fell short in both departments in my opinion.”

  I shoved Nate’s arm. “Excuse me. Is it too much to ask for both? You have no idea how difficult it is to find someone who’ll open a door for me because it’s a chivalrous gesture, not because he thinks I’m a delicate flower, or someone who can take me riding and not assume I want to be treated like a cowboy. I enjoy being a lady. I want a man who behaves like a man. None of that gross stuff, though. And he has to have a brain or what would we ever talk about?” I jerked a finger in the air. “I almost forgot. Did you find out if any of the vendors had an ongoing beef with John?”

  “Nope,” Nate answered. “Everyone seemed to like him. He flirted indiscriminately.”

  Jake eyeballed a kid with vinegar fries. “I’m hungry. Can I buy you guys something?”

  Nate answered first, patting his flat stomach. “Yeah, man. I can eat. How about you, Mia?”

  “I promised Bree I’d watch the magic show.”

  Nate checked the time on his phone. “We’ve got almost fifteen minutes. Why don’t you save us seats, and we’ll run for the food. What do you want?”

  I checked Jake’s face to see if it worked for him, but who could know what that blank expression meant? “Okay. Turkey leg and cider. Maybe some popcorn?”

  “On it.” Nate pointed Jake in the direction of the food vendors and they took off at a jog.

  I saved a generous chunk of the front row, spreading my long skirt out on either side. Seating consisted of logs split down the center and sanded smooth on top. Sturdy legs held the logs a foot off the ground. The stage was constructed of wide weathered planks and backed with a tall handmade fence. Red curtains hung from a clothesline and pulley system across the front.

  Ten minutes later, the guys returned with enough food for a small army. I took my turkey leg and got busy.

  Nate sucked on a large mug of ale. “Why are we watching a magic show?”

  Grease slid down my chin. Hazards of the feast. I wiped my mouth. “Who knows? Bree couldn’t stop shaking her business earlier. Maybe she scored a role as the magician’s assistant. She promised not to try to hook me up for a month if I came. Apparently this is a show worth seeing.”

  A familiar commotion rose behind me. I smiled as it drew closer. Mom and Dad popped into view at my side and squeezed onto the bench beside me. I shoved the guys down to make room. Dad grumped softly, ending the argument they’d entertained on the way to their seats.

  Nate passed a hot pretzel across my lap to Dad. “Hey, Mr. C. How’s it going?’

  Dad ripped off a chunk. “This family’s nuts. Get out while you can.”

  “Stop.” Mom shoved Dad forward and looked over his back at me and Nate. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a party pooper.”

  Nate nodded, completely serious. “Every party needs one.”

  Dad sat upright, forcing Mom from our view. “All I said was she should be careful parading around like a teenager.” He bit into the pretzel like he had a grudge against it. “All the PDA is unsettling. I’m sorry, but it’s true and heaven forbid I have an opinion on what any woman does in this family, never mind I raised two of them.”

  “Preach.” Nate raised his beer in toast to the comment.

  “Watch it,” I warned.

  Dad turned to Nate. “Thank you.” He looked at me. “Let’s hope your mother never acts that way. You Potter women are killing me.”

  “What?” I forced a hunk of turkey down my throat. We were collectively in trouble when Dad referred to us as Potter women, Mom’s maiden name. “What’s Bree doing now?”

  Mom tipped back until she caught my eye. “She’s calling the sitter to check on Gwen. She and Tom will be here in a jiff.”

  “So what’s Dad all worked up about?”

  She shrugged.

  Dad growled. “I’m sitting right here.”

  “Well? What’s your deal?”

  “Nothing.” He pretended to zip his lips and lock them with an invisible key. Nate passed him a beer.

  The announcer strode onstage dressed as a court messenger and unfurled a scroll from which he pretended to read. “Good even, gentlefolk. Tonight we have a treat for you. A feast for your eyes. An experience for your soul. A show guaranteed to end your search for magic among us.”

  Tom and Bree scooted onto Jake’s end of our log, pushing everyone down by two people-widths. Mom nearly ended up on the grass. Nate wrapped his arm around me and stretched his legs out in front of us to make room. He wedged a box of popcorn between his thighs to share.

  I leaned across his lap, infringing on Jake’s space. “Hey.” I waved my hand at Bree. “What are you doing?”

  She stopped whispering into Jake’s ear and feigned innocence. “Shh.” She pointed to the stage.

  The announcer boomed, raising both hands overhead. “I bring you Merkin the Magnificent.”

  Jake and Nate choked on laughter with the crowd around us.

  Dad tugged my sleeve. “What’s so funny?”

  I took another bite of turkey. “A merkin is a pubic wig.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, for pe
riod shows when hair down there was still en vogue. They make wigs for that.”

  Dad paled. He rubbed his chest and turned to my mother. “Gwendolyn.”

  Mom swatted at me and missed. “Stop that. Merkin is Marvin’s last name. Don’t upset your father.”

  Twinkle lights blinked on around the fairgrounds.

  The red curtains parted, and a man dressed as a wizard took center stage. He opened his arms and his cape fell from his shoulders, revealing a dainty assistant behind him. She curled the cape over her arm and took a bow. He thanked her with a kiss. A long one.

  Nate gripped my knee. “Do you see that?”

  Dad groaned.

  I smiled.

  Grandma pulled away from the magician’s kiss. Her face was bright enough to light up downtown. Her costume was charming. White billowing sleeves and skirt, black corset and boots. She’d arranged pounds of gray hair into a pile on her head and adorned it with brightly colored plumes.

  “She’s beautiful,” I whispered.

  Merkin the Magnificent threw his cape into the air and a bird flew out.

  The crowd clapped and whistled.

  Grandma put seventy years of attitude to work onstage, selling every trick Merkin performed and hanging on his every word. She laughed at his dumb puns and kissed him twice for luck before the grand finale.

  Nate shoved a fistful of popcorn into his mouth and applauded. He put on a singsong voice. “Your grandma’s got a boyfriend.”

  Bree muttered something likely directed at me, but I let the crowd drown her out.

  I focused on Grandma’s performance and sheer delight at being onstage. I hadn’t seen her so happy in years. Merkin was adorable in a little-old-man way. The crowd loved him, and clearly Grandma was smitten. Seeing them together should have put Dad’s pessimistic mind to rest, but there was a joke about her breasts during a card trick and he nearly stroked out.

  When Merkin slapped her backside and called her cheeky, I feared for his life.

  Mom patted Dad’s back and cooed to him. Grandma was Mom’s mom, after all. If she wasn’t worried, he needn’t be either.