Previously “¦
Holmes turned to me, his baritone voice echoing into my brain. I glanced at him with a frown. If the knife hadn”t killed LeRad, then “¦ poison? No, that would be too easy to find. Unless it was a poison of a different kind.
“Earth to P.J.,” Holmes said, waving a hand in front of my face.
I blinked and bolted out of the classroom. If my theory was right, I knew exactly what to look for.
Continued “¦
I ran up to the body, pushing through the gathering crowd. I felt someone close behind, but assumed it to be Holmes.
I crouched down, searching for the familiar signs. Swollen throat, hives and as I opened the mouth, the large grotesquely swollen tongue exploded outward.
There was a disgusted noise behind me.
To my surprise, it wasn”t Holmes who had been following me so closely – it was Hawky “¦ er, Mrs. Poe. She turned away, hand over her mouth. Behind her, Holmes weaved toward me.
“It”s anaphylactic shock,” I hissed, eyes trained on Mrs. Poe. Her face was impassable, but her eyes looked wet. Had she been crying?
“He died from an allergic reaction?” Holmes asked, face skeptical.
I just looked at him. If he was the principal, he had to have some medical records in the office. Who would have keys to the office besides the principal and the secretary though?
Dahli, the medical examiner, did a brief survey of the body and found that I wasn”t just a loon. LeRad had indeed died from an allergic reaction, albeit a very deadly one. In my mind, I ran through all the possible allergies that could be deadly. Shellfish, peanut, bees. Which would be easily accessible in a high school?
“The kitchen,” I said moving to stand. “We need to see about the hor d”oeuvres.”
Holmes and Dahli passed a “we-have-a-crazy-person-on-our-hands” look to each other before Holmes dutifully followed me to the kitchen.
I flipped through the counter supplies. For a Jersey high school, there was a surprisingly large number of vegetables. I remember being in this high school years ago and never even seeing anything green besides Jell-O.
Holmes called me over to the large fridge with extra bites for the haunted house.
“Shellfish or peanuts?” I asked ducking my head under his arm to peak into the white washed abyss.
Sure enough there were little crab cakes all sitting in a row. Three rows back, a few were missing. It looked like someone had a pre-haunting snack. Why they would choose crab cakes and not the open bottle of 2010 Chateau Montelena Chardonnay made no sense to me. I turned away trying to process all the facts.
Holmes frowned into the white light. He must have seen something I hadn”t. Crab cakes and wine, so what?
“Someone was having dinner,” Holmes and I said looking at each other.
We heard heels click in behind us.
“It was an accident,” the woman said, voice breaking.
“Aunt P.J.!” Ashton called, voice-pitch raised in fear.
I turned slowly, hand reaching behind my back feeling for my glock.
“It was an accident,” Mrs. Poe repeated, tears streaming down her face.
She held a knife to my nephew”s throat.
Claire Whitley can be reached at [email protected]