Free Murder by Mushroom by Virginia Smith Page B

that a half-dozen pairs of eyes watched covertly from behind cluttered desks around the room. He had to remind himself he was lucky to be working with Conner, who reportedly changed partners more often than a teenage girl changed clothes. He was beginning to see why. Not many would willingly perform all the grunt work while the arrogant detective refused to dirty his hands.
    But Dennis would suffer that and worse to learn from the best investigator in the state. One day he hoped to lay claim to that title himself.
    He picked up the folder containing the notes he’d printed off at home last night. For the most part, his job so far in this case had been great. He’d faithfully recorded notes of every conversation, every interrogation Conner conducted. Their case file was growing. True, they didn’t have much to go on yet, but the detective’s techniques were inspiring. He was certain to weasel out relevant information sooner or later.
    Dennis made his way down the hallway toward the crowded room where Conner’s desk was located. The lab report they’d received yesterday had indicated no evidence of Gyromitra ambigua on any of the utensils they had confiscated from Jackie Hoffner’s kitchen. True, they had been washed, but the wooden surface of her cutting board bore trace amounts of onions, peppers and ordinary mushrooms. Jackie hadn’t chopped Gyromitra ambigua on that surface. While she might not be a great dishwasher, Conner seemed ready to concede she wasn’t a viable murder suspect. Far more likely that the poisonous mushrooms were planted in a leftover portion of her pasta after it arrived at the victim’s home.
    Dennis grinned, remembering her expression on Sunday as she faced down Conner. That was one determined girl. While he was in complete agreement with Conner that she needed to stay out of their investigation, he couldn’t help but admire her spunk. If she carried out her plan to talk to the women in that church, she might just dig out a clue or two.
    Conner was already at his desk, reading through a typed report. He looked up when Dennis approached, his eyes fixing on the folder. “Those yesterday’s interrogation notes?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good. I needed them an hour ago.”
    He snatched the folder. Dennis bit back a sharp retort as Conner pulled out the neatly printed pages and scanned them. Yeah, he was learning a lot working with Conner. How to act like a good investigator. And how not to act like a total jerk.
    Tomorrow he’d be here at seven.
    He stood while Conner scanned the notes. The detective chewed a corner of his mustache while he read. When he finished the last page, he gave a nod. “Looks like it’s all there.”
    That was as close to a compliment as Dennis was likely to get. “Thanks.”
    Conner shuffled the papers and pulled a two-hole punch from a drawer. “I’ve got a team meeting us at the victim’s house at noon. I want to go through there one last time.”
    “But we already—” Dennis cut off his argument midsentence at a glance from Conner.
    “I want the surrounding property combed, too.” The detective punched holes in Dennis’s notes and slid them onto two metal prongs inside the folder he’d been reading when Dennis arrived. “Then we can cut the tape and release the house to the estate.”
    Dennis’s cell phone rang. With an apologetic grimace at Conner, he unclipped it from his belt and glanced at the display. His parents’ number. Before eight o’clock in the morning? Something must be wrong.
    He flipped open the cover. “Hello?”
    “Dennis.” Relief saturated his mother’s voice. “I’m so glad I got you.”
    The speed of his pulse kicked up a notch. “What’s wrong, Mom? Is Dad okay?”
    “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s out in the garage, as usual, fiddling with the lawn mower.”
    Dennis felt the weight of Conner’s stare. He turned his back. “Mom, is this important? I’m working.”
    “Of course it’s important. I wouldn’t be