Free A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic by Julie Anne Lindsey Page A

chuckled. “No, and you shouldn’t have told me. It’s premeditated now.”
    “What if you forget I asked?”
    “Not going to happen.”
    Mindy overacted her way through the report. “Is it a coincidence a local man died of poisoning after sampling Guinevere’s Healing Hand Cream? Could someone blame these products for his death?” She turned a wrinkled nose back to the camera. “Maybe it’s time they change the name of that hand cream.”
    “It’s Healer’s Hand Cream.” I stalked through frosty grass toward Mindy, intent on removing her forcibly. My arm snapped back, snared at the wrist by steel fingers before I could get my hands on the microphone-wielding opportunist. I shook hard against Dan’s grip.
    He raised an eyebrow.
    “Fine.” I jerked free. “But I hate that woman.”
    A dark form in the distance seemed to move with human qualities. I squinted, trying to force the shape into something ethereal, a shadow or trick of the moonlight. It blended into the dark trunk of a tree and didn’t budge. Clearly, I needed rest.
    “Who doesn’t? She’s a regular at every car accident and town hall meeting.”
    Figured. “Anywhere she might have an opportunity to say ‘You heard it here first.’”
    He nodded. “How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”
    “Sure.” I had a long day ahead of me. “Make it two.”
    * * *
    Bernie stepped outside the guard gate at Horseshoe Falls, wearing a fringed coat over her usual park ranger-esque uniform. A replica—I hoped—coonskin cap covered her cropped black locks. She waved.
    I stopped to swipe my card. “Hi, Bernie.”
    Bernie was at least twice my age, with a round face and kind eyes. Her parents had named her Bernice, after a Hawaiian princess, and she kept a blog, Aloha from Ohio , about growing up on the Big Island. The blog served as an unofficial Horseshoe Falls who’s who and gossip guide.
    She sashayed to my window. “Nearly seven. You’re just getting home? Oh, Lord.” Her face dove toward mine.
    I leaned away. “It was a long night.”
    “Heaven have mercy. Doing what? Grave-digging? You’re filthy.” Panic seized her features. “Are you hurt?”
    “I’m fine. It’s ash from the wind. I’m going to clean up, read your morning post and get to work. What’s today’s topic?”
    The look she gave bordered on lunacy. “Pioneer Days.”
    I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel and contemplated an impromptu trip to Peoria. I lifted my face. “Right. Have a nice day.”
    The road to my apartment was closed, forcing me to travel the entire perimeter of Horseshoe Falls to get back to where I started. My building sat beside the guard gate, unfortunately. The community blocked the area during Pioneer Days. Making room for festivities jammed up modern methods of transportation in favor of horses and carriages.
    Despite the early hour, people filled the roads and sidewalks dressed like everything from Pocahontas to Civil War soldiers. The Native American costumes were borderline offensive, and the trio of retired judges in saloon girl garb was enough to send me under the blankets until Wednesday. Clearly, I wasn’t myself.
    My soot-covered hands and cheeks earned unending stares as I walked from my car to the building. I scared an older couple exiting the elevator. “Sorry.”
    I rode to my apartment on tiptoes, hoping not to spoil more of the pristine floor than necessary with my mud-soaked sneakers.
    Thirty minutes later, I stuffed freshly shampooed but still-damp waist-length hair under a blue bonnet and covered thoroughly exhausted legs with the white ruffled knickers and a matching blue hoop skirt of my Southern Belle ensemble. Costumes were an upside of Pioneer Days. I tucked in the blouse and rolled my eyes at the purple crescents and puffy lids of sleep deprivation. Time for work.
    On the street, I inhaled history. Fresh bread baked in stone ovens near the waterfall. Eggs scrambled over open fires beside newly erected pup tents.