Cold Blooded Lover

by Eliza Lentzski

“Baby, you’re like ice. You’d better let me warm you up.”

  “Cassidy.”

  “Yeah, baby?” I breathed. “What do you need me to do? Just tell me.”

  “Cassidy,” she said more sharply. “We’re about to have an audience.”

  I tugged my hands free from Julia’s shirt just in time to see a figure dressed in bright mustard running towards the picnic shelter. I recognized the ugly shade of yellow—it was the police.

  A police officer in a yellow slicker ran underneath the protective cover of our picnic area. The standard-issue rain jacket covered his uniform and clear plastic protected his patrolman’s cap. That had been me only a few weeks before, walking my beat, even in a storm.

  “You ladies okay?” he asked.

  I didn’t recognize the man, so we hadn’t been in the academy together. He looked young though, clean shaven, and couldn’t have been police for much longer than me.

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “The storm caught us by surprise.”

  “Really? The weather report’s been calling for rain all week.”

  Julia gave me a pointed look, and I coughed.

  “Can I give you a ride somewhere? My car’s just around the corner.”

  Julia and I responded simultaneously:

  “That would be appreciated,” my girlfriend said.

  “Nah, we’re good,” I replied.

  The cop looked between us, waiting for consensus.

  “I don’t want to take you away from your patrol,” I explained.

  “I’d welcome the distraction,” he insisted. “They’ve got me babysitting an island.”

  I continued to cling to my stubbornness. “It’s just a passing shower.”

  “It’s going to rain all day, Cassidy,” Julia stated.

  “But we hardly started our run.”

  “There’s a gym at my condo.”

  I threw up my hands. “Fine!”

  The cop grinned. “Wait here, and I’ll be right back with the car.”

  Officer Dudley Do-Right hopped away to retrieve the police vehicle. The rain still hadn’t let up. If not for his bright yellow jacket, he would have disappeared completely.

  “That guy’s damn timing,” I grumbled.

  “Don’t pout, darling.”

  I kicked at the anchored picnic table for effect.

  “Why didn’t you tell him you’re a police officer as well?” Julia asked.

  “I’m not real police.”

  “Your badge and gun would indicate otherwise.”

  “I don’t feel like real police,” I amended.

  The yellow headlights of a city police car interrupted my pity party. The officer drove on the grass and got as close to the shelter as he could manage. Julia and I raced from beneath the protective cover. It was pointless to worry about getting wet at that point, though; we were both soaked through.

  My wet backside slid across the backseat. The vinyl was made for situations like these or when a drunk you were carting to the drunk tank decided to piss his pants.

  “Ever been in the back of one of these?” the cop chuckled.

  “No. I’m usually in the front.”

  He caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Oh yeah?”

  “Detective Cassidy Miller, Cold Case,” I introduced myself.

  The officer practically spun all the way around to look at me. “No shit? What year did you graduate from the academy?”

  “2013.”

  “Damn, girl. I was two years before, and you already outrank me.”

  “You graduated with Rich Hammon?”

  “You know that asshole?” the officer laughed.

  “We were in the Fourth together before he got that cushy gig in IA.”

  “Gammon’s in IA now? Shit. Remind me not to get in trouble. Are you a cop, too?”

  It took Julia a beat to realize he was talking to her.

  “No. I’m a lawyer.”

  “Oh, the enemy,” he joked. “I should have asked first before agreeing to give you a ride.”

  “I thought people who broke the law were your enemy.”

  “Well, yeah. But you get them out of jail.”

  What had started out as an innocent, teasing topic had quickly turned tense.

  “So, uh, where am I dropping you ladies off?” the officer asked.

  “The closest county jail,” Julia shot off. “I feel like busting some murderers out of prison.”

  I cleared my throat before giving him my address.

  Julia was silent for the rest of the drive, as was the Good Samaritan police officer. The only sound was the intermittent wipers and the in-car police radio. I was positive he was second-guessing offering us a ride.

  He stopped when he reached the intersection closest to my apartment. “Here we are.”

  Julia slid out of the backseat without a word.

  The squeak of windshield wipers in need of replacement punctuated the already awkward moment.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Officer Do-Right didn’t bother looking in my direction. “Yep.”

  Julia waited for me at the front of my apartment building. She didn’t look at me when I approached. I unlocked the front door, and she walked inside ahead of me.

  The elevator ride was as silent as the second half of the car ride. Julia stood in one corner with her arms crossed in front of her chest. I wasn’t going to let this ruin the rest of our weekend. I hit the emergency stop button, and the elevator shuddered to a stop.

  “Mind explaining that little breakdown?”

  She hollowed her cheeks and continued to look down. “I’m getting head hunted.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “My old employer before I moved back to Embarrass—it’s a big criminal defense firm. They want me to come work for them.”

  “Oh. And you’re … considering?” I guessed.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. But when that cop said …” She dropped her head.

  We’d been inside for a while now; the moisture on her cheeks was no longer rainwater.

  “Hey. Hey,” I said gently. I tilted her chin up. “You’re not the bad guy. You’re not the enemy.”

  She inhaled, making a rattling noise. “I might need you to remind me of that from time to time.”

  “Everyday.”

  + + +

  “No Stanley today?” I looked around the office for signs of the miniature man.

  “Nope,” Sarah confirmed from her usual desk. “Babysitting the warehouse.”

  “Again?” I arched an eyebrow. “Is that really the best use of his time?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I think it’s to get him out of Forrester’s hair, honestly.”

  “I don’t think Forrester would notice if we came to work or not,” I remarked.

  “I don’t know about that—he’s probably watching us right now on a hidden camera,” Sarah supposed. “Imagining making us into one of his taxidermy displays.”

  “You’re sick,” I observed, but I couldn’t help dragging my eyes to the ceiling corners of the room, checking for surveillance equipment.

  “Detective Miller?”

  A woman walked through the open office doors. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. I recognized her from my brief visit to her home.

  “Ms. Plantz,” I greeted. “How can I help you?”

  Diana Plantz dropped a plastic milk crate onto the central workstation. Seated at my desk, I couldn’t see what the crate contained, but it sounded heavy.

  “I haven’t been able to sleep since your visit,” she told me. “I think I’ve done something terrible.”

  Sarah and I shared a curious look.

  I left my desk and cautiously approached the table and the milk crate. I peered inside and retrieved a glass mason jar. A thick, golden substance was sealed inside.

  “It’s honey,” Diana explained. “I’ve got a hive at the farm. Whatever the bees don’t need to survive over the winter gets s
old at farmer’s markets.”

  I had no idea what any of this had to do with her unannounced visit, so I asked: “So what’s this terrible thing you’ve done that’s keeping you from sleeping?”

  “After your visit, I did some research on how Tracey died. You said botulinum toxin, right?”

  I nodded. “That’s right.”

  “I read that raw honey can contain botulism spores. What if Tracey ate something at my house that made her sick?”

  My knowledge about this particular kind of poison was extremely limited; I had no idea if Diana Plantz’s honey theory might be correct. I was out of my comfort zone, but I knew exactly who to call. I grabbed the office phone and dialed the number for the cold case warehouse.

  I held a jar of honey up to the overhead light while the phone rang. Was it possible that Tracey Green hadn’t purposefully been targeted? Could she simply have been the victim of bad luck?

  Stanley answered after a few rings. “Hello?”

  “Stanley, it’s Cassidy. Is it possible Tracey Green got sick from bad honey?”

  “Honey? That’s an interesting theory. Botulism does occur naturally in raw honey,” he observed. “How did you come up with that?”

  “I’ve got Diana Plantz in the office,” I explained. “She makes her own honey and is worried it might have gotten Tracey sick.”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but I know someone who can help.”

  “The Internet?” I guessed.

  “Even better.” I could almost hear his smile over the phone. “What do you know about beekeeping?”

  Stanley picked me up from the police station in his miniature car, and we drove the few miles to the University of Minnesota. Green, leafy maple trees cast giant shadows on the sidewalks that connected the academic buildings. I surmised we’d arrived between periods as a steady stream of young men and women hustled around on their way to their next classes.

  We asked directions to the life sciences building, but Stanley led me to the green space behind the structure rather than going inside. I followed my partner through a field of wild flowers. The prairie grasses were so tall, it was easy to forget we were in the middle of an urban campus.

  “Tell me again—who are we here to see?” I asked as we trampled through a thin, man-made path.

  “My friend, Bill. He teaches here. He’s an entomologist.”

  I had no idea what that meant; Stanley correctly interpreted my silence.

  “It’s a fancy name for knowing a lot about bugs.”

  “Oh. Cool.”

  “I figured if anyone could tell us definitively about honey and botulism, it’d be him.”

  We came upon a crowd of students gathered around a grouping of white boxes. From the back of the crowd, I couldn’t see much except for an exceptionally tall man who stood well over a head taller than everybody else. He wore an all-white jumpsuit and long gloves that protected his arms and hands.

  “Hey, Stanley!” The man at the front of the crowd waved his arms above his head. He reminded me of an inflatable one might see at a car dealership off the highway.

  “That’s Bill,” Stanley confirmed my assumption.

  The tall, thin man excused himself from his students and made his way over to where we stood.

  “Hey, guys,” he greeted us. “Glad you found the place.”

  “Detective Cassidy Miller, this is Professor William Hill,” Stanley introduced.

  The tall man thrust his outstretched hand in my direction. “Call me Bill.”

  “Bill Hill,” I echoed as I shook his gloved hand. It felt like shaking hands with a scarecrow.

  “Thanks for meeting us on such short notice,” Stanley noted.

  “No problem. Let me get these students going on an activity, and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

  Bill Hill turned and jogged back to the bee boxes to address his students.

  I lowered my voice while the professor worked at the front of the outdoor classroom. “How do you guys know each other?” I asked. “Did you go to school together or something?”

  “No. We get play cards on Friday nights.” Stanley sighed loudly after a moment. “Fine. It’s not cards; it’s Dungeon and Dragons. I’m the Dungeon Master.”

  I couldn’t help my smirk. “Kinky.”

  Bill returned a few minutes later, holding his beekeeper helmet under one arm. “Okay, now what can I help you two with?”

  “What do you know about botulinum toxin?” Stanley asked. “We’re working on a case where the victim died from poison. This whole time I’ve assumed she was murdered, but Cassidy reminded me that botulism is found in honey.”

  “Botulinum toxin.” Bill scratched at his chin. “You’re right. It appears naturally in honey. But it’s only toxic to infants. After humans age a year, our stomach acids are strong enough to kill the botulism spores.”

  “So there’s no way our victim ate too much honey,” I remarked.

  “Probably not,” Bill shook his head. “Your foul play theory is still the most likely.”

  “Thank you for your help, Professor.”

  “Anytime.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of his students and the bee hives. “You guys want to stick around for a little bit? It’s honey harvesting time.”

  Stanley looked eager to help out, but we were on the clock.

  “Thanks for the offer, but we should probably get back to the office with this new information,” I noted. I’d have to call Diana Plantz when we returned to the office. At least she’d be able to sleep again.

  I hated to admit it, but I was privately pleased that this lead hadn’t planned out. Part of me would have been disappointed if my first case had ended up being bad luck rather than an actual homicide. But at the same token, we were back to square one.

  “Oh, Stanley.” Bill Hill stopped us before we walked away. “Are you lactose intolerant? I found a new chip dip recipe I want to try out for Friday night, but it uses sour cream.”

  “Nope. Just my gluten allergy.”

  The professor turned to me. “Detective Miller, are you into D&D?”

  I was thankful Stanley had filled me in on the nature of their friendship, otherwise I would have thought Professor Bill Hill was asking me an inappropriate question.

  “Sorry. I’m not really into, uh, board games.” I actually had no idea what kind of playing surface one utilized to play Dungeons and Dragons. I hoped my ignorance didn’t offend.

  “Well if you change your mind, there’s always room at our table for one more.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I padded down the long hallway that connected Julia’s bedroom to the dining room and kitchen. I opened my mouth in a long, drawn out yawn. “Is there more coffee?”

  “Mmhm.”

  Julia sat at the dining room table, flipping through the morning newspaper. She was the only person I knew who still subscribed and read a physical paper instead of relying on social media for her current events.

  I was distracted from my quest for caffeine when I noticed a gift box at the place setting where I usually sat. The container was no bigger than a shoebox and was wrapped in white, satin-y paper. An elaborate dark purple bow sat on top of the lid.

  “What’s this?”

  I racked my brain, worried I’d forgotten an anniversary of some kind, but we hadn’t been dating long enough to have milestones—or at least that’s what I thought.

  “A present, dear.”

  “I know that,” I retorted, “but what is it for?”

  Julia took a sip from her coffee mug. She noisily shook out her newspaper while her eyes continued to focus on the day’s headlines. “It’s my birthday today.”

  “What?” I squeaked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t want you making a big deal about it,” she dismissed.

  “But if it’s your birthday, why am I the one getting a present?”

  “I never said what’s inside is for you.”

  It was
too early for riddles and cryptic clues. I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

  “Just open the box, dear,” she urged. “I hear that’s what you’re supposed to do with gifts.”

  The present had a lid rather than being a sealed box. I lifted the loose lid and audibly swallowed when I recognized the objects inside.

  I reached tentatively into the box as if expecting it to bite me. I ran my fingers along the smooth straps of a nylon harness. The light pink silicone toy wasn’t anatomically correct, but the head was moderately thicker than the rest of the shaft.

  I jerked my hand back when Julia’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I want you to use that on me tonight.”

  She had set her paper on the table and stared intently. Her features were serious.

  “I-I’ve never done this before,” I stuttered helplessly. “I don’t know how to—what am I supposed to do?”

  She stood from the table and gave me a quick kiss near my temple. “You’re very bright, Cassidy. I’m sure you’ll be a quick study.”

  I offered her a weak smile.

  Julia disappeared down the hallway in the direction of the bedroom. Her musical voice floated to the dining room: “Don’t panic for too long, darling, or you’ll be late for work.”

  My hands went to my hair. What had I agreed to?

  + + +

  To say that I was having a difficult time paying attention at work that morning would have been an understatement. Luckily I had a scheduled meeting downtown at the federal courthouse with the assistant district attorney to distract me. Men and women hustled around in skirts and suits, swinging their leather briefcases, heels clicking on marble floors. I followed the directional arrows to find my contact in the federal building.

  Assistant District Attorney Jeremy Rudolph’s office was located high in the tall tower of the federal courthouse. Sunshine flooded through floor to ceiling glass, a far cry from the stale basement in the Fourth Precinct. The Assistant D.A. was in charge of the Special Prosecutions Unit under the District of Minnesota’s Criminal Division, which focused on long-term, time-intensive investigations. As a beat cop, I had never had the need to visit the federal courthouse before. As a newly-appointed detective, however, these kinds of meetings would be more frequent, provided I was good at my job.