Free Spike by Kathy Reichs, Brendan Reichs

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 my 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
.

“H e’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 foo
l kids locked that m
an 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