“What?” Eric looked incredulous.
“It’s true.” All heads swung to a grim-faced Tempe. “For decades ipecac syrup was used to induce vomiting. Pediatricians used to advise parents to keep some in their homes in case of accidental poisonings, but current guidelines strongly advise against it. In fact, you’re supposed to dump any remaining ipecac syrup down the drain. There’s little evidence it actually helps in poisoning cases, and overdoses can be fatal. They don’t even make it anymore.”
Corcoran held up a finger, spoke as slowly as the ponderous wheels of his reasoning. “So . . . whoever wrote that note . . . was trying to . . . kill . . . all these people?”
Shouts erupted, but Tempe jumped in before the panic could spread. “I highly doubt it. Ipecac was a trusted medication for years. I bet whoever did this just wanted to give everyone a really terrible night.”
Whitney stomped a foot. “My night!” She was seconds from releasing the waterworks.
“Sabotage,” Kit growled, clenching his fists. “When I find this bastard . . .”
“Find him?” Someone said with a laugh. Chance stepped into the limelight, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Isn’t the culprit currently imprisoned in a toilet?”
Corcoran flinched, then sprang into action. “Johnson! Vorhees! On me!” He tossed the notepad at me, clamping a hand on Shelton as his remaining subordinates hurried to obey. “This young man will tell us where the suspect is.”
“Sure,” Shelton agreed, eyeing Corcoran apprehensively. “No problem. Since I clearly did the right thing by locking him up in the bathroom, right? The legal, not-in-any-way-criminal, correct call. Right?”
Corcoran huffed impatiently. “We’ll see.”
Whispers spread like wildfire as Shelton told the cops where Biggs was. I blocked them all out. Something Corcoran had said was bothering me.
“Whoever wrote that note,” I muttered, testing the phrase in my head.
Then it hit me.
Not just the cook.
The boys shot me puzzled looks as Corcoran’s team hurried from the ballroom.
Spiking the cake, I sent. It can’t be Biggs working alone.
I grew excited and nervous at the same time.
Think about it! Biggs wouldn’t write such a simple note to himself. Someone else did!
I glanced down at the notepad. The cursive script was neat and tidy.
Flowery.
Distinctly female-looking, though I’d been wrong on that count before.
An accomplice? Hi rose awkwardly, wiping cake debris from his ruined tuxedo. The other guests gave him a wide berth. Seems overly complicated, don’t you think?
Not if you want an alibi. Ben was scowling like old times. Throw people off your scent.
I stared at the floor as pieces of evidence clicked together in my mind. The note lists an active ingredient, ipecac syrup, and gives specific instructions on how to administer it. It’s very precise. Whoever wrote this was familiar with the substance. Knew the exact proper dosage.
My head rose. I scanned the faces surrounding us, my thoughts streaming freely for the boys to hear. This morning, someone killed flowers using a toxic mixture. Later, the altar nearly collapsed just as Whitney and Kit stepped onto it. The precisely correct pins had been pulled. I spun in a slow circle as I sent, inspecting the crowd. Then we caught Biggs messing with the cake, carrying specific instructions on how to insert a dangerous substance into the frosting.
I stopped as a familiar face came into view.
Someone wanted this wedding to be a disaster, I said.
Someone vindictive, Hi agreed.
Petty, Ben added.
And carrying a major grudge, Shelton finished.
Anger ignited within me. Now who’d want to do a thing like that?
Mike Iglehart was lounging at the back of the circle, a strange smile on his face.
Iglehart.
My blood boiled at the sight of his smug little grin.
He hates Kit, I sent, Chance told us so. And he’s got an advanced degree in chemistry!
Hi nodded like a bobblehead. He’s a veterinary PhD. Does boatloads of lab experiments. Knows biology, chemistry, and physics. Even medicine.
Shelton whistled. Everything you’d need to pull off these moves.
Ben stared daggers at the wormy scientist. Want me to grab him?
I pounded my thigh, stymied. We have no proof.
Iglehart abruptly noticed our attention. The self-satisfied smile vanished. With a lurch, he began edging backward, angling toward the exit, no longer looking so entertained.
Kit turned to speak with me and noticed the direction of my glare. His frown deepened as he spotted his coworker sneaking toward the door. “Mike?”
Heads turned in Iglehart’s direction. He straightened quickly. “What?” he demanded loudly, blinking and fidgety under all that scrutiny. “Why are you staring at me? I had nothing to do with this!”
“Nothing to do with what?” Hi asked innocently.
“With anything!” Iglehart backed up another step. Those standing near him inched away, leaving the twitchy little man isolated. “Stop twisting my words!”
Kit looked at me. I shrugged, still glaring at Iglehart. “Biggs probably had an accomplice. He wasn’t here this morning when the flowers arrived, and didn’t attend the service. Plus, who wrote that note?”
“You think it was all intentional?” Kit hissed, evidently considering the prospect for the first time. I nodded.
“All what?” Whitney demanded. We hadn’t noticed her listening.
Kit blanched, then took his wife’s hand and patted it gently. “The lilies, honey. We talked about how they died so quickly this afternoon, and had to be replaced. Then the altar nearly fell apart during the service. It’s all very . . . suspicious.”
The crowd had been listening, and now held its breath in shocked silence. Whitney looked as if each of Kit’s sentences had been a physical blow. Biting her bottom lip, she pointed dramatically at Iglehart. “And this scoundrel may be involved?”
“No!” Iglehart squawked. “I’m an important scientist!”
“This freaking guy.” Hi snorted. “His mother obviously didn’t hug him enough.”
“Is it him?” Ben whispered to me out of the side of his mouth.
I shook my head, unsure. Frustrated. I knew Iglehart hated Kit, but that didn’t prove he’d tried to poison everyone. “Biggs may be the only one who can ID his accomplice.”
I watched the kitchen door. What was taking Corcoran so long?
“What about the ipecac syrup?” Hi asked suddenly.
“Nothing left,” Shelton said sourly. “Biggs cleaned out his bowl before he dumped it.”
“No, wait!” I punched Hi’s shoulder in excitement. “You’re a genius!”
“Ow!” Hi rubbed his arm. “Don’t hit the genius.”
“Biggs came through the garden gate empty-handed.” I grabbed Shelton’s scrawny arm. “What did he have with him in the bathroom?”
Shelton eyed me skittishly, hoping to avoid any follow-up blows. “Just the crumpled-up paper and the bowl. Nothing else that I saw.”
Hiram’s eyes bulged. “His uniform didn’t have any pockets!”
Ben nodded, catching on. “So the ipecac was already inside the building when Biggs arrived. He knew where to find it, must’ve located a bottle of the stuff before we followed him into the staging room.”
“The notepad as well,” Hi added. “He picked up both. Quickly, too, since we weren’t far behind him.”
“We know he flushed the note.” Ben frowned. “But not the bottle?”
Shelton shook his head firmly. “And he didn’t trash it, either. Just the bowl.”
“Which means the ipecac bottle is still here somewhere.” Blood rushed to m
y face as I laid out my theory. “Biggs sneaks inside, locates the notepad and a bottle of ipecac syrup—”
“Probably together,” Hi interjected.
I nodded. “Then he fills a bowl and gets to work. But we catch him in the act. So he hides the medicine bottle from us behind his back, then storms out and stashes it before Shelton catches up to him in the men’s room.” I snapped my fingers. “I bet you anything he put it right back where he found it. Probably didn’t have time to do anything else.”
Hi tapped his temple. “That means the bottle’s currently hidden where his accomplice left it in the first place.”
“That location might tell us a lot,” I said excitedly. “We just have to find the bottle.”
Hinges creaked. Every head swung toward the kitchen doors.
Captain Corcoran reentered the ballroom, a trio of shadows at his back.
“Okay,” Shelton said cautiously. “So how do we find the bottle?”
I smiled, eyes gleaming. “We use our best nose.”
My eyelids slid shut. I sent the call.
Moments later, a gruff voice answered.
I come.
“He’s not talking,” Corcoran grumbled.
The captain was huddled with Kit and Tempe beside the stage. Biggs stood between the other two officers, at the edge of the dance floor, sneering arrogantly. Guests were giving the big man a wide berth.
The crowd had clumped into chattering groups, observing the bizarre scene with varying degrees of shock and titillation. Ella and Chance were whispering animatedly, their expressions guarded. Ashley and Courtney couldn’t keep their mirth in check. Agnes Taylor loudly instructed her husband to gather their things, proclaiming the wedding to be a scandal unfit for Magnolia League participation. Whitney, being comforted by her bridesmaids, nearly crumpled in mortification.
Kit sighed. “What do we do?”
Corcoran moved closer, dropping his voice. Every Viral still heard, of course.
“We’ve got nothing to hold him on.” His tone was laced with frustration, but also carried an undercurrent of anxiety. “No evidence of anything at all, to be honest. We still don’t know for sure that the cake is bad. And those fool kids locked that man in the john!”
“At the very least he’s trespassing,” Tempe argued. “We’ve proven he’s not on the catering staff.”
“That’s the only thing that might save our butts.” Corcoran frowned. “He claims he’s a wedding crasher looking for a free slice of cake. Can’t toss him in a cell for that. Or cage him in a bathroom, FYI!”
Tempe nodded unhappily. “Then let’s sweat the rat.”
But questioning Mike Iglehart proved no more fruitful. Called forward by Corcoran, the little scientist wasn’t happy about it, standing before the captain with his head sunk between his shoulders like a man facing the guillotine.
“You know this man?” Corcoran demanded, motioning to Biggs. The false chef stood with his arms crossed, a statue of brash poise, unmoved by the glares raining down on him.
“Of course not!” Iglehart glowered at Corcoran, but his nervous gaze kept darting to the mass of onlookers. He shrank visibly from the collective scrutiny, much of which came from his LIRI coworkers. The man couldn’t have looked guiltier. “I’ve never been more insulted in my life!” he huffed.
“You know about this ip-e-cac stuff?” Corcoran clearly didn’t understand the particulars, or seem in a hurry to learn them.
“I mean, um . . . throughout my career, I’ve . . .” Iglehart glanced at Kit, who was eyeing him sternly, then slapped his side in frustration. “Yes, of course I know what it is!” he spat. “It was a very common medicine. Every LIRI employee here knows about ipecac syrup!”
Corcoran swung to Kit. “You keep some of this stuff on your crazy monkey island?”
Kit nodded. “A little. In reserve, in case we need it for something in the future. As Tempe said, pharmaceutical companies stopped making ipecac syrup in 2010, so I thought it’d be wise to stockpile a few bottles.” He looked coldly at Iglehart. “Only senior employees like Mike have access to those stores.”
Everyone watched the weasel squirm. Chance and Ella were now whispering with Jason and Madison, while Courtney and Ashley looked as happy as toddlers at the circus. Some people just love drama.
I caught Chance’s eye, and he shrugged apologetically.
I nodded. I’d never suspected him. Chance was a lot of things, but spiking a cake to make people vomit wasn’t in his playbook. I briefly considered Courtney and Ashley, snickering behind him, but this didn’t feel like their style either. They’d have come at me directly somehow, and would want me to know who’d done it. Anonymously ruining my dad’s wedding just didn’t track.
Tempe had moved to Whitney and was trying to calm her down. My stepmother was close to hyperventilating. After a few moments Tempe glanced back at Corcoran, who continued to hammer at Iglehart. She wore a small frown. I shared her disapproval. The captain was getting ahead of himself in an attempt to grab the spotlight.
As much as I despised Iglehart, we didn’t have proof he’d done anything.
Yet.
Which is why I’d called in reinforcements.
Here.
The swinging doors nudged open.
A hundred-plus-pound gray-wolf hybrid slipped into the ballroom.
At first no one noticed. Then heads turned. Shouts erupted. A distant cousin of Kit’s leapt onto a table, screaming silently as she gaped at my furry friend.
My wolfdog glanced up and bared his teeth, but I could sense his amusement.
Coop, heel. And stop showing off.
Foolish human.
Dismissing the skittish woman, Coop trotted through a rapidly expanding gap in the circle of onlookers. “Everyone relax!” I shouted, patting his head as he reached my side. “Cooper is very well trained.”
“KIT HOWARD!” Whitney recovered enough to jab a finger at Cooper, her face aghast. “The dog is inside our wedding reception!”
Kit shot me an exasperated look. “Tory! What are you thinking? Coop can’t—”
“He can help,” I said quickly. “Just give me a second.”
The doors swung open a second time. Shelton hustled in, carrying the infamous metal bowl he’d been sent to retrieve. “It was still in the trash,” he said breathlessly, “but I watched Biggs wash this out pretty good. Won’t the ipecac odor be gone?”
“Let’s hope not, or it’s my funeral.”
Kneeling, I placed the bowl under Coop’s nose. The crowd watched with sick fascination as he snuffled the shiny object. All in all, it had been a pretty eventful cake-cutting ceremony.
Got it, boy? Stroking Coop’s head.
Faint. Sweet. He rose.
“Track!” I said aloud, worried people might wonder if I didn’t issue a verbal command. “Find the scent!”
Check him first, I added silently, nodding at Iglehart.
Coop yapped once, then stalked slowly toward our target, testing the air with his nose.
“Get that monster away from me!” Iglehart yelled, but he didn’t dare move.
“Why?” Corcoran asked menacingly. “You got something to hide, fella?” The fat captain was definitely enjoying himself.
“Of course not!” Iglehart shot back peevishly, swallowing hard as he tracked Cooper’s approach. “But if this mongrel bites me . . .”
Coop reached the man. Halted. Thrust his snout to within an inch of the cringing scientist. The hairs on my neck stood as my friend took a sharp sniff. The room held its breath.
Coop blinked twice. Snorted. Moved past Iglehart toward the buffet tables.
My face soured. Coop?
His head swung my way.
Not him?
No scent. The wolfdog began snuffling the carpet. Something here. This way.
r /> Movement in the corner of my eye. Whitney approached in a rush, eyes tight with anger. “Tory!” she seethed, trying—and failing—to keep her voice down. Which was pointless anyway, since everyone with a pulse was watching Cooper search the room.
Whitney was too horrified to notice. “This is a wedding!” she hissed. “In one of Charleston’s finest buildings! You’re not allowed to have a dog in here!” Then she spun to glare at Kit. “I should never have allowed Coop here in the first place!”
Kit’s shoulders rose and fell helplessly. “No one’s gonna be home all day, and everyone else who lives on Morris is here, too. Who was supposed to feed—?”
“Where’s that animal going?” Corcoran barked. Coop had moved beyond the tables and was pawing at a door in the corner.
“That’s the cloakroom,” Tempe answered.
I looked to Ben, who nodded. He’d been in there earlier, retrieving Whitney’s clutch. Before anyone else reacted, Ben jogged over and opened the door for Cooper. Boyfriend and wolfdog disappeared inside.
“This is getting absurd!” Mrs. Taylor radiated disapproval as she strode over to stand before her son. “Honestly!” she sniffed, smoothing Jason’s tuxedo jacket with her hands, which he endured uncomfortably. “I’ve never witnessed such a thing in all my years in the League.”
Whitney blanched. Began to tremble.
“A travesty!” shouted Iglehart.
“A lawsuit!” growled Biggs.
Corcoran shuffled his feet uneasily, seemed about to issue an order when we heard a series of machine-gun barks from inside the cloakroom. Ben reemerged carrying a pink leather handbag. Coop was snarling at it as they strode back across the ballroom.
Scent here. Strong.
As Ben eased through the mob, all eyes were on the bag in his hands.
“What in heavens?” Agnes Taylor flushed scarlet. “That boy has my purse!”
But something in her tone rang false.
Oh my God. Hi stared at Jason’s mother, wide-eyed. He’d noticed, too.
Shelton shifted, removing his glasses and squinting in disbelief. I don’t get it.
The cloakroom is right beside the men’s room, Ben sent, eyeing me significantly. It has a second door to the hallway. Biggs had time to stash something in there before Shelton caught up to him.