“Yikes,” Noah said, cringing back into his chair. “I hope I never meet one. The wildlife around here is scary enough without inhuman intelligence guiding it.”
She made a noncommittal noise and stared into the dim blue screen of his television set. How long was Jack going to take out there? She was a lousy distraction, running out of things to talk about already.
Her eyes roved the walls, looking for anything to strike up a topic of conversation. Maybe she’d known one of his relatives in decades past and could answer any burning questions he had about them. Alas, none of the faces in the frames were familiar. She’d been a recluse by necessity, not inclination, and hadn’t met many people she could become close to for long. In the end, her eyes landed once again on the television. Had Noah already been up watching it, or had someone forgotten to turn it off the night before?
“You watch Tales From the Crypt?” she blurted, as her eyes landed on the boxed set. It was such a surprising development that she didn’t even stop to think about what she was asking.
Noah’s brows knit together into an angry line and his lips pursed around the rim of his coffee cup. “No, I don’t,” was all he’d say on the matter. He took another drink and scowled down at the paper in his lap.
“Oh,” Priscilla floundered, wondering what to say next. She’d found the show vaguely amusing during its runtime, if not totally inaccurate. “I suppose it belongs to someone in the bridal party then. Would you like me to pack it up and take it with us?”
“Yes.” Again, the reply was short, clipped, and delivered with uncharacteristic anger. “And take the others with you as well.”
Priscilla stood and grabbed the boxed set off the top of the television. Stacked in between the television set and the DVD player was a pile of horror movies. Some titles she recognized, while others were literally foreign to her. Many were in languages she didn’t know.
“They are the worst guests I’ve ever had the displeasure of hosting under my roof!” Noah finally burst out. He’d gone red in the face, as if just the sight of the movies was going to send him over the edge. A vein pulsed distractingly in the middle of his forehead. “They were messy and loud and they complained about everything!”
Priscilla was somewhat taken aback. She sat back down, extending her hand carefully toward Noah like she might soothe a spooked horse. “I’m sorry.”
Noah continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “They sat in here, night after night, marathoning those awful movies! Screaming every single night, and they’d never turn down the volume. My kids have had nightmares for days and all because those little bastards wouldn’t turn down the volume or pick something milder to watch!”
She was at a loss for what to say. She’d already known that dealing with Miss Cunningham was no walk in the park. It stood to reason that she’d have had like-minded and equally entitled friends. But to intentionally scare children? That didn’t seem within Matthew’s character, from all that she’d observed. She still didn’t understand why the seemingly sweet young man had wanted to marry Kierra in the first place. If Arthur was right, it was the half-a-million life insurance policy Mr. Cunningham had had in place in case of his daughter’s untimely death.
A shrill scream from the floor above made them both jump. Noah sloshed coffee onto his lap, staining the paper and his jeans alike. He let out a harsh swear word and set the cup down on the stand between them.
“I’ll be right back,” he growled. “That’s Lily. I told you they were having nightmares.”
Noah disappeared up the stairs to soothe his frightened daughter. Priscilla was left floundering, unsure of what else to do. Did she invite Jack back in while Noah was distracted by his troubled toddler?
Ultimately, the decision was made for her. The phone that Jack had given her let out a bell chime from the depths of her bag, startling her once again. She had to dig past the stack of DVDs and a Tupperware container to reach it. She flipped the phone open and stared at the little buttons. There were two phone icons on the little display. Which one was the correct way to answer the call?
Ultimately, she decided that pushing the red button would probably be a bad idea. After all, as many films had taught her, red buttons usually did bad things. She punched the green one instead and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Yes?”
“Priscilla, I need you out here now.”
“Right now? But Noah is—”
“As soon as you can get away, I need you to come around the back. There’s something I think you ought to see.”
Chapter Thirteen
It felt incredibly rude to leave Noah without warning. After all, they’d intruded on his hospitality thus far, and were doing so under false pretenses. In her mind, he deserved at least an explanation for her departure.
Priscilla restrained that particular impulse and left quietly out the back door. Light was beginning to peek over the eastern horizon but was filtered through the thick copse of trees that surrounded the Brown estate. She slipped her sunglasses on and crept soundlessly across the ground.
The backyard was littered with toys. Priscilla had to skirt a wagon, two plastic dump trucks, and an empty sandbox before she found what she was looking for. A dilapidated shack was a pockmark on the otherwise scenic landscape. She wasn’t sure why they’d left it standing, when the rest of their home was kept as presentable as possible. The door was propped open and Jack motioned her forward silently.
“What is so important?” she asked.
“See for yourself,” he said, and stepped back to let her pass.
The interior of the shack was as shabby as she’d expected. Noah, or perhaps a previous tenant, had poured a concrete base to keep the floor from becoming messy when the weather was unfavorable. It had apparently been used to hold rakes and shovels at one point, judging by the empty brackets left on the wall. A workbench was littered with tools of a different sort. There were bowls of every shape and color, mortars, and measuring cups. The whole place was covered in a fine dust—the bench, the floor, even the small camp stove that was tucked away in one corner.
Most damning of all were the crates tucked beneath the bench, piled high with castor beans. There had to be at least 20 bags altogether.
“Dear God,” she whispered. “You could poison the whole town with this.”
Jack’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Exactly what I was thinking. Do you think he’s planning to use it all?”
Priscilla shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. It isn’t ground, for one. Ricin is a byproduct of castor beans. He only seemed angry at Kierra and her entourage.”
“Angry enough to kill them?”
Priscilla bit her lip, a leftover habit from her human years. It could actually be quite painful if she forgot her fangs. “I don’t think so. It’s overkill, don’t you think? They scared his kids and treated his family poorly, but I don’t think any sane person would think that warrants death. And he was cooking for all of them. If he wanted to kill them, it would have been easy to do.”
“But 10 people dropping dead at the same time would have looked suspicious,” Jack pointed out. “Easier to do it one by one. I think we should put the others in protective custody, just in case.”
“Agreed,” Priscilla said, glancing at the interior of the shed. “And I think we ought to go back inside and ask our host a few questions.”
“Questions about what?”
They both jerked, and Jack swung the door closed on reflex. It echoed noisily in the still morning air. Priscilla spun around, feeling irrationally like a child discovered in the midst of wrongdoing.
Noah’s light brown hair was haloed by the diffused sunlight. It hurt to look at him for long. He’d moved soundlessly through the snow, and she’d been so distracted she hadn’t thought to listen for his approach. He’d donned a light jacket and a pair of snow boots. In his arms, he carried a bleary-eyed toddler. She pointed a pudgy finger at Priscilla and declared, “Pretty.”
“Pre
tty nosy,” Noah muttered, setting the girl on the ground. He kept his eyes on her as she toddled toward the swing set. “Is there any reason that you’re poking your noses into places they don’t belong, Miss Pratt?”
“I told you I’d be taking a look around, Noah. You agreed.”
“To an inspection of my house,” Noah said sharply. “This is private. You had no right to investigate the rest of my property.”
“You’re right,” Jack admitted. “This will be inadmissible in court. You might even have time to hide the evidence before a warrant is issued for your arrest. But I’m betting the forensics team in Wakefield will find traces of ricin all over this place.”
“Yeah, they probably will,” Noah said with a shrug. “That happens when you grind up castor beans.”
Priscilla couldn’t believe her ears. He was confessing to murder with his toddler only yards away?
“How could you do it?” she hissed. “Don’t you feel any shame?”
Noah’s shoulders stiffened and he turned to glare at her. His gaze burned into her and his lip curled in undisguised disgust.
“How could I do it? How can you honestly ask me that question? I did it because I had to. I did it for my family.”
Jack’s hands edged toward his handcuffs. “We should take this inside, Brown. You don’t want your little girl to see this. She shouldn’t have to remember you this way.”
Noah jerked his head side to side in vehement denial. “I’ve got nothing to hide. My family knows what I’ve been doing. They support it. I may not have been proud of what I had to do, but at least I was man enough to take care of my family. It’s more than some people can say.”
“Your family supports murder?” Priscilla hated the way her voice trembled. She couldn’t help it. She was so angry. How could he stand there and proclaim that he was proud of extinguishing a life? It was despicable.
Noah blinked. “What?”
“You heard me, Brown,” she spat. “Do your children condone murder?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t kill anyone!”
Priscilla snapped. Before she could quite process what she was doing, she’d grabbed Noah by the scruff of his shirt and thrust him hard against the door of his shed. The hunger pulsed through her in time with the beat of his heart. She bared her fangs at him in a snarl.
“We find ricin in your shed and yet you deny that you killed that girl?”
“I d-didn’t kill anybody!” Noah’s voice came out as a squeak. “I swear it!”
“Then how did it get in there?” she growled.
“I crush the beans to make castor oil!” Noah explained in rush. “It’s the bestselling item in my botanical line!”
Priscilla let go of him abruptly and he slid to the ground in a heap. He didn’t even seen upset that she’d dropped him bottom-first in the snow. He peered up at her through wide eyes.
“I sell essential oils and herbal remedies, and that’s all, I swear to you,” Noah whispered. “I didn’t kill that girl.”
Priscilla exchanged a look with Jack. He too seemed a little shocked at her actions.
“Why do you have so many bags of castor beans?” Jack asked in a gentler tone than before, playing good cop to her bad.
“I got a big order just last week,” Noah said, glancing warily at her as though he expected her to charge again. “Some television executive is rolling into town soon, and he wanted everything I had in stock plus a gallon more. I don’t know why, but with the paycheck he was offering, I wasn’t going to ask.”
“Why do you make this stuff?” Jack asked.
“Extra income. The bed and breakfast can’t pay for itself every month, so I started an online shop. It’s dependable.”
“And this man, do you have his name?” Jack asked, tapping his foot impatiently.
“Y-yeah. It was on the check he gave me. I’ll need to check my bank records, but—”
“You do that,” Jack said, cutting him off. “And while you’re at it, clear out one of your rooms. I can’t get Priscilla back to town before the sun is up. The department will pay for it.”
“It’s on the house,” Noah said shakily, getting his feet under him. “Just as long as she doesn’t attack me like that again.”
Priscilla gave him a sharp-toothed smile and offered him a hand up. “I make no promises.”
Chapter Fourteen
Priscilla sat awkwardly at the dinner table while the Brown family ate meatloaf and mashed potatoes. By the time she’d woken for the evening, the story had been told and retold by the children. The shove she’d given to Noah in a fit of anger had morphed into a flying tackle, and the baring of teeth had been retold as a bite so deep their father had required stitches.
Noah seemed to have recovered from the shock and found the whole thing amusing. “They’re kids, Priscilla. They don’t mean anything by it. You have to have dealt with this sometime in the last 300 years.”
“I was an only child, and I wasn’t married to a human man. I never had children before I was turned.”
Rebecca’s expression contorted into a mask of sympathy. “Oh, you poor dear. It’s a rite of passage every woman should get to experience sometime in her life.”
To avoid commenting, Priscilla politely sipped the glass of wine she’d been offered. While she found children cute, she’d never seen why so many people glorified the physical act of carrying a child. From where she stood, it looked like a lot of mess, discomfort, and pain.
“Were you going to eat Daddy?” Tate asked, readying his spoon to fling potatoes at his younger brother, Damon.
Priscilla carefully extracted the utensil from his grasp. “No, I wasn’t.”
Tate’s lower lip jutted in a pout. “Why not?”
Priscilla placed the spoon in the potatoes once more. “Because I only eat misbehaving children.”
All three little ones looked petrified, and Lily retrieved the forkful of meatloaf she’d been trying to feed to the cat. Rebecca hid a laugh behind her hand.
Priscilla’s phone rang and she excused herself from the table, happy for the excuse to get away from the inquisitive youngsters. To her surprise, it wasn’t Arthur or Jack on the other line.
“Wake up and smell the plasma, Priscilla. I’m coming to get you.”
“Anna?” Priscilla asked. “What are you talking about? How did you get this number?”
“This is Daddy’s phone,” Anna informed her cheerfully. “We’re headed out to grab you. I’m bringing you a change of clothes and I’ll explain my plan to you on the way back to Bellmare.”
Priscilla’s thoughts were slow and sluggish. She wasn’t sure if it was because the sun had yet to set completely, or her sad lack of nutrition. “Plan? What plan?”
“I’ll explain when we get there,” Anna said, and Priscilla just knew she was bouncing in her seat. “We’re a few minutes out. I’ll see you soon.”
Anna hung up the phone without further explanation. Priscilla stared at it in bewilderment for a moment before going upstairs to retrieve her bag. She was relieved that someone was thinking of her personal hygiene, because she hadn’t thought to pack pajamas or a new set of clothes. She’d been wearing the same set for two days now and was feeling grimy as a result.
She borrowed a comb and removed the worst of the tangles from her hair before going downstairs to tell the Browns she’d be leaving.
“Wait just a moment, Priscilla,” Noah said, pushing back from the table. He deposited his empty plate in the sink and began to rummage in one of the drawers nearby. He offered her a small bottle of yellowish liquid.
“It’s castor oil,” Noah explained. “It’s one of my testers, so it may not be perfect. Rebecca says that Arthur has a limp. Castor oil can help with inflammation.”
Priscilla curled her fingers around the offering with a smile. “I’ll be sure to give it to him. Thank you, Mr. Brown.”
Arthur’s squad car pulled up to the house at a little past six, and Priscilla stepped out the
front door to find Arthur and Anna waiting impatiently. She waved goodbye to Noah and then made her way to the car at a leisurely pace, just to spite Arthur. By the time she reached the car a few minutes later, a muscle in his cheek was twitching. She climbed in the back.
“So, what’s this plan of yours?” she asked, feigning ignorance to Arthur’s mounting irritation. He put the car in reverse in absolute silence and Anna turned in her seat to give her a big smile.
“Well, it’s your fault I came up with it, actually. Jack was telling Daddy what you discovered out at the Brown’s house, and it got me thinking. Our culprit isn’t buying the beans; they’re probably growing them. What’s more? They probably need a lot of room to make the poison. Obviously the killer didn’t mix it up in their kitchen.”
Priscilla frowned. “I suppose that’s a reasonable assumption, but I fail to see where a plan comes in.”
Anna beamed. “See, that’s the fun part. Open up the bag. I packed you something.”
Priscilla retrieved a duffel bag from the floor mat and unzipped it. Inside was a clean pair of undergarments and a shapeless orange blob. She rubbed the material between her fingers curiously. It didn’t feel like anything she owned. The fabric rubbed together with an audible sound.
“The plan is to make me look like a traffic cone?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Of course not, silly. The color and the stripes on the pants are for visibility during darkness. You might be able to survive getting run over by a car, but I can’t.”
“What is it?” Priscilla asked.
“It’s a tracksuit,” Anna explained, a gleeful note to her voice. “I’m finally taking you jogging.”
“I feel ridiculous,” Priscilla complained, pulling the hood up to cover her head. Maybe if she were less visible, she’d receive less mockery in the days to come.
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