Poison and Prejudice (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 4)

by Chelsea Field

  I wished again that I knew what Alyssa had said to him on the red carpet.

  Figuring we had about as much information from Zac’s stalker as we were going to get, I released her from the pull bar and tucked the handcuffs into my bag. Then I searched for something to say, feeling kind of sorry for her. She’d gone to an awful lot of trouble for her delusion. “Good luck with your new life.”

  She rubbed her wrist and sneered at me. “Go suck an egg.”

  Lovely.

  19

  “You did what?” Connor asked, his voice low and dangerous.

  For once, he wasn’t talking to me. Harper and I had left Jennifer and gone straight to Zac’s to see if we could find out who the black guy was in the photo. We’d identified him as the translator and safari guide Zac had pointed out to me while we’d been looking through his honeymoon photos. Connor’s meetings had finished, so he’d joined us there, which was when Harper had announced she had a surprise for us.

  “I made an appointment for you and Izzy to see Dr. Fertility to investigate your pregnancy options,” she said. “What’s the big deal?”

  Connor leveled his best you’ll-regret-this look—perfected by siblings around the world—at her and didn’t deign to answer.

  I wasn’t wild about the idea myself. I wasn’t ready to have kids. Not even pretend ones.

  Harper was unaffected. “You’ll be fine. I figured you’d prefer to fake wanting to get pregnant with Izzy rather than with me.” She smiled innocently. “And you’re not cruel enough to send Izzy in alone, are you?”

  An hour later, I was done up in expensive clothes, walking arm in arm with Connor toward the clinic.

  “If this gets back to either of our mothers,” I said through clenched teeth, “I might poison Harper.”

  “Agreed.”

  The waiting room was more like a first-class airline lounge than my own experience of health care. Instead of school-style chairs crammed together to place you as close as possible to the other sick people, it had comfortable armchairs arranged in clusters, an indoor water feature, an array of refreshments, and two girls offering complimentary foot massages. I guess pregnancy is hell on one’s feet on top of everything else.

  Well, this was better than I’d expected so far. Except for the form I had to fill out going over every detail of my sexual health, including sexual activity, menstrual cycle, Pap smear results, and other fun things.

  “Ah, Mr. Stiles and Ms. Avery. Please come in and have a seat.” Dr. Dan’s manner was as slick as my newly oiled and massaged feet. But I wasn’t buying it. He seemed kind of artificial to me. And what was with using his first name? Did he fancy himself to be the next Dr. Phil?

  If Zac genuinely didn’t know about the arrangements Taryn and the other pregnant couple had with Alyssa, the doctor could very well be her partner in crime. Or perhaps Alyssa had been considering a baby to garner more attention, Dr. Dan was the man to see, and none of this had anything to do with those poor missing girls. Ugh.

  We settled ourselves into the luxury armchairs provided, and Dr. Dan took a seat facing us, not looking nearly as suave as Levi in the white lab coat.

  “I’m Dr. Dan and will be talking you through your fertility options today. With this being a last-minute appointment, I understand we don’t have your medical histories yet, so I’ll get you to fill me in on any tests you’ve had done, and then there are a number of tests we can perform straight away, starting with a physical examination and transvaginal ultrasound…”

  Holy cow. The rest of his sentence faded out as my brain got stuck on that ultrasound. I was not okay with having his creepy fingers anywhere near my lady bits. The room felt hot and stuffy, and I began marking out the exits.

  “There’s no need to examine her,” Connor said. “The problem is with me.”

  My head snapped around in shock before I realized I should act like this was old news. He was taking a bullet for me. A bullet directly to his manhood.

  Dr. Dan was a whole lot less surprised. “All right then. Has the underlying issue been identified? Is it low sperm production, physical blockage in the tubes—”

  “Yes,” Connor volunteered again. There was no embarrassment in his tone or body language. He could’ve been discussing the merits of guns versus Tasers. “I’ve worked in security for years and suffered several violent assaults to the groin.” He shrugged. “We’re just here to be walked through all our options. We heard you’re the best.”

  Well. It was nice to know Connor was confident in his manhood even when it came to declaring himself infertile. He was playing it so cool I started wondering if there was any truth to his story. Nevertheless, I kept my face bland and watched the doctor like he was my shining hope for growing a human being in my belly.

  It raised the question of whether I did want kids someday. I didn’t know. Did Connor? I didn’t know that either. All I knew was that Google, Facebook, and YouTube had conspired against me and decided I was at the age where I should want kids because they served me ads for pregnancy tests and baby products like they were going out of fashion. Somehow I doubted Connor would be seeing the same ads.

  Dr. Dan was oblivious to my internal rally against targeted, but not-targeted-enough, advertising and was explaining how they were a high-end holistic center that offered “every treatment option available to modern medicine including IVF, IUI, ICSI, as well as drug and surgical avenues.”

  Fabulous. I’d only heard of one of those.

  “Once you’ve achieved a successful fertilization, we’re able to offer customized, holistic care for you throughout the duration of the pregnancy and of course the delivery too.”

  I thought about Harper’s list of pregnancy symptoms and then her gory comment and blanched.

  The doctor caught my reaction. “Or if you have other priorities and can’t afford to take nine months off, surrogacy is another option you can consider. With technology today, it’s the best of both worlds. Your genes, your child, but without the inconveniences of pregnancy. We have very healthy surrogate mothers who know all the ins and outs of what’s best for your baby while they’re in the womb and are also experts at natural birth, so it’s a great option for the baby too.”

  Also the most expensive option, I suspected. Dr. Dan was a salesman at his core.

  My salesman impression was confirmed a few minutes later. The receptionist knocked and opened the door. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I have an urgent call for you on line three that you’ll want to take in your office.” Dr. Dan apologized and left the room, so Connor and I went to the door and listened to see if we could catch their exchange. They spoke in hushed tones but failed to account for such nosy patients.

  “Yasmin Holt took one of those home pregnancy tests and is convinced the IVF didn’t work again,” the receptionist was saying. “She’s very distraught and demanding to talk to you immediately.”

  “Lucky she has plenty of money then,” Dr. Dan mumbled before moving away toward his office.

  Real empathetic. The jerk. I might not be sure about kids myself, but I could only imagine how painful it would be to want them enough to struggle through IVF and find out it failed again and again.

  The jerk doctor returned shortly to blab further about how wonderful his clinic was and ask us more intrusive questions. “How long have you been trying to conceive?”

  Connor and I looked at each other, attempting to determine who should tackle this one. “Ages,” I said at the same moment he answered, “Not long.”

  Dr. Dan didn’t raise so much as a single eyebrow hair at the discrepancy, just moved on to the next question.

  An eternity later, Connor agreed to bring back a semen sample soon, and then we fled. Thankfully with zero phone calls from our mothers.

  Connor took over surveilling Taryn Powers from his security employee, while I went to my self-defense lesson. Nick praised me for improving the force of my attacks today. I didn’t tell him it was because I was still unsettled by the
idea of Dr. Dan sticking foreign objects up my lady bits or forcing me to describe the minutia of my menstrual cycles in vivid detail while Connor listened on with polite interest.

  Mostly because Nick would tease me mercilessly about it.

  And also because he might get the wrong idea about my and Connor’s future plans.

  After a quick shower and change of clothes, I called Hunt with the information we’d gleaned from Jennifer—he was just as unimpressed as I’d expected—and then I was ready to return to surveillance duties. For once, I was looking forward to it. Harper had left for her date with unsuitable-man-and-sexy-car-number-twenty-seven, so Connor and I would be watching the fitness queen together. With no one else around.

  It had been days since we’d had nothing more to do than enjoy each other’s company. Okay, not that there was nothing else to do now, but chances were good it would be an uneventful night. How much could an eight-and-a-half-month pregnant woman get up to?

  We sat in Connor’s SUV with a clear view into the huge house. Conveniently, no one had bothered to shut the curtains. Taryn was on the sofa again while her overworked PA had disappeared into the kitchen with the dinner dishes.

  I leaned my head on Connor’s shoulder. The handbrake in my ribcage wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I didn’t care. I just inhaled the scent of him, drinking in his steady, calm presence, and reveling in this time together.

  He was stroking my back, his hand drawing lazy, pleasant circles. “I still owe you a date,” he said.

  “But you took me on a date. It was wonderful. So maybe you should tell me those three topics already.”

  “A date where you don’t end up requiring medical attention,” he growled.

  I shifted to move the handbrake down a rib. “Ah, well, that could be difficult with my track record.”

  “I know.” He stroked my back some more, occasionally drifting high or low enough to trail over the exposed skin at my neck and waistband, which made me wish for a more private location. “How do you feel about bouncy castles?”

  My head jerked up. “What?” I couldn’t imagine Connor suffering the indignity of a bouncy castle. Nobody looks cool in a bouncy castle.

  There was a hint of a smile on his lips. “Only soft, air-filled edges in a bouncy castle,” he explained.

  “Ha ha.” Though seeing him in one would be totally worth it. “I feel good about that. As long as you bounce too.”

  “Maybe I’ll keep thinking then.”

  We paused our conversation as the PA re-entered the living room, talked with Taryn for a bit, and left the house. I hoped the poor girl was going home to bed. We watched her car disappear down the road. Taryn stayed on the couch.

  “I wanted to thank you for today,” I said. “For claiming infertility and saving me from that physical exam.”

  “Of course.” He spoke as if it was so inconsequential that it wasn’t worth mentioning.

  “Steve wouldn’t have suffered a slight to his manhood to save me from anything.” The sentence slipped out without my meaning it to. I didn’t make a habit of bringing up my ex-husband in conversation to anyone, let alone around Connor. I preferred to leave him eight thousand miles away both geographically and mentally.

  “What was it like?” Connor asked.

  “I thought you knew everything about me.” I was referencing a time he’d used my hated middle name to prove he knew plenty about me already—all as an excuse to avoid conversation. “You’ve read my file.” I was still a little sore about that. He’d read my Taste Society file, a file I didn’t even have access to, and I had no hope of ever even glimpsing his.

  “Some things aren’t captured on paper.”

  I blew out a sigh. “People say love is blind, but in my case love was more like a three-legged, blind and deaf old cat with delusions of grandiosity. I never saw the ugly parts or realized what was missing until it was over. The good side of that is I was happy until it fell apart. The bad side is it hurt more, and it did a number on my self-esteem and confidence.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was better I found out early before I threw away half my life with him.” New topic time. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go on,” I said, employing one of the phrases he liked to use on me.

  “This girl in primary school. Her name was Pippa, and I asked her to marry me.”

  “Very funny. Any more recent loves?”

  “Do we really have to talk about this?”

  “Yes. I showed you my three-legged blind and deaf old cat. Now it’s your turn.”

  Connor was silent for so long I thought he was refusing to answer.

  “Yes,” he said at last.

  Something in his tone warned me not to tease him. “What happened?”

  “She died.” His words were clipped. Painful.

  “Oh, Connor. I’m so sorry. We don’t have to talk about it.”

  I was appalled to have forced my way into such a distressing subject and wondered why Harper or Mae had never mentioned it to me. But they wouldn’t. For all their joking around and teasing, they’d do anything to keep each other from getting hurt. Even keeping silent in this case.

  “It’s one of the three topics,” Connor admitted.

  The breath whooshed out of me. Knowing what a private person he was, that he would trust me with this… It was a really big deal.

  Although he’d recently agreed to try to “talk and shit” for the sake of our relationship, I was never sure how serious he was about it. About me. I mean, he hadn’t even told me when his mom was rushed to hospital with chest pain. But this, this demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt that he was wholeheartedly in it with me.

  All the same, I hoped the other two topics he had in mind were more lighthearted. Not because I didn’t want to know the truth of his past but because I didn’t want there to be that much painful history lurking beneath Connor’s impervious facade.

  “I know it’s not a… romantic thing to talk about, but I thought you’d like to hear about it regardless.”

  I tightened my arm around his waist. “You thought right. And I’m honored, thank—”

  “We have company,” he warned a second before his door was yanked open.

  Before my brain had finished processing that it was Harper and not some irate pregnant woman, police officer, axe murderer, or stalker, she was already talking. Or fuming to be precise.

  “Etta was following me and my date around tonight with a camera! She wasn’t even subtle about it! Mom is taking this protective thing to a whole new low, and it’s not cool. Ethan accused me of being undercover for the IRS, would you believe? He dumped me on the spot.” She shook her head. “I’m going to miss that Ferrari 488 Spider.”

  Connor gestured to the backseat. “Speaking of subtle surveillance, maybe you can finish your tirade inside the car.”

  Harper glared but slammed his door and climbed in the back. “Seriously, I can’t believe Mom would get Etta involved in the first place, let alone not even bother to teach her to do it covertly. This has got to stop, and you need to help me do it.”

  I was momentarily distracted by the hypocrisy of her indignation after we’d spent the whole day surveilling the fitness queen, but I wasn’t about to mention it. Especially because I had the worrisome idea that Etta might have been following them around with a camera because of me.

  But surely not. Etta was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them, and it made no sense to harass Harper in light of setting her up with Oliver. Yes, you could drive her date away, but it would only make her hostile to any matchmaking attempts.

  “Are you sure you want to tackle Mom about this?” Connor asked. “Perhaps we should wait to make plans when you’re less riled up.”

  Harper opened her mouth to protest but shut it again and slumped into the seat. “You’re right. But something’s gotta give.”

  “Izzy is good friends with Etta,” my hel
pful boyfriend volunteered. “Maybe you can get her to approach the problem from that angle.”

  I stared at him in shock. “Didn’t you call me a pushover in relation to Etta a few nights ago?”

  His lips twitched. “Possibly. But I’m sure you can be persuasive when properly motivated. Like helping my dear sister here from a lifetime of torment.”

  Harper was watching me with a hopeful expression. “Please?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, praying this wouldn’t end with having to confess it was all my fault.

  It was then that our surveillance target did something interesting. She rose from the couch, walked to her personal gym, and closed the blinds. Since she’d done one of her exercise sessions shortly before dinner, it seemed an odd time to do another one. Besides, why close the curtains now when she hadn’t bothered earlier?

  Harper was watching this with suspicion. “I’m going to go and see if I can figure out what she’s up to. There might be a gap in those curtains. You coming, Izzy?”

  I looked at Connor and then back at Harper. I didn’t want to sneak into the yard where we would be crossing the line into illegal territory, but I got the feeling she needed to be doing something to work off some steam. And she wanted company. “Sure.”

  It was dark. No one would notice us. Unless they were watching the house too.

  “Guess I’ll stay here as lookout then,” Connor said.

  “Yeah, look out for crazy old ladies with cameras,” Harper grumbled.

  “Or Taryn’s PA returning,” I added.

  I followed Harper over the garden gate—we’d observed people passing through it enough times to know that it squeaked—and through the dark yard to the gym windows.

  “Do you believe me when I say Mom’s not as easygoing as she likes to make out now?” she asked, keeping her voice low as we searched for a vantage point past the blinds.