Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) Read Free Page A

toward home.
    During the drive, Christopher relaxed even more, rocked by the gentle motion. Whatever he’d taken, I hoped he’d learned his lesson.
    We pulled into the wide driveway, next to my car, then Logan came around to get Christopher. He picked him up easily and cradled him in his arms—which was what we should have done at the restaurant. Seeing this really drove home how big and strong Logan was, especially compared to my former partner.
    Logan crunched through the snow, carrying Christopher diagonally across the lawn, past my side of the duplex and on toward his own door.
    I asked where he was going, and Logan explained, “I’ve got a spare bedroom, and you don’t. Your friend can sleep it off on my side.”
    “He’ll probably irritate you as soon as he wakes up.”
    “I’ll consider myself forewarned. Forewarned is forearmed.” He hoisted Christopher to get a better grip. “Would you open the door for me? My keys are in my front pocket.”
    “Sure thing, boss.” I reached into the pocket of Logan’s trousers. The funny thing was, I’d not had a second thought about rooting around in Christopher’s jeans, but touching Logan’s hip-front pocket area gave me the giggles.
    It was all I could do to keep a straight face while we got inside. We held Christopher between us as though he were a limp marionette so we could walk him down the hall and into the spare room’s pull-out bed.
    Logan went looking for a thermometer while I coaxed Christopher to sip a glass of water. His temperature was normal, so after a quick consult with Doctor Internet, we decided to let him sleep off his bad trip under Logan’s supervision.
    “He’s going to be obnoxious when he wakes up,” I said.
    “Forewarned,” Logan replied.
    “He’ll probably demand room service and a monogrammed bath robe.”
    “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
    I thanked him for everything, then left and ran along the shoveled walkway to my side, where I flung open the door. I was already laughing in anticipation of telling Jessica about my crazy night.
    “Jessica?”
    The lights were all on, but nobody answered.
    I found my gray cat on my bed, but my redheaded roommate and best friend wasn’t in her usual nest of blankets on the couch, nor was she in her bedroom, the bathroom, or even in the basement laundry room. I sat on her bed and called her phone with mine. I followed the ringtone to the empty kitchen. Jessica’s phone, which rarely left her side, sat on the kitchen countertop.
    The phone did its vibration dance next to the blender and two empty glasses, dirty with the residue of a thick drink.
    Two glasses. A smoothie.
    My energy surged as I connected the dots.
    I ran to my bedroom, changed out of my dress and into jeans and a sweater, pulled on some sturdy boots and a heavy jacket, then ran out the front door, calling Jessica’s name.
    She didn’t answer. At least her car was still parked there. If she was on foot, that was a good thing. I knew where to find her.
    I didn’t even stop to tell Logan where I was going. I just headed straight for the ravine that lay past the park.
    I clenched my fists, punching the air as I alternated between walking and running. Why hadn’t I thought about Jessica earlier and called to check on her?
    Christopher must have gotten the name of the restaurant from someone. He’d mentioned a smoothie, and now it was clear she could have been drugged in the same way.
    I should have asked him more about the smoothie, and who else he’d given one to. Being thorough is the domain of the private investigator. But anyone can do research. It takes a good detective to look at a situation, then use logic and reasoning to work forward, backward, onward, and inward.
    If my father, who’d been mentoring me on my way to get my private investigator’s license, could see me jogging toward the ravine right now, panting desperately, he’d have advice.
    He’d say something like, Stormy, let’s take the