Four by Five (R&P Labs Mysteries Short Stories): R&P Labs Mysteries

By Cynthia E. Hurst

   The five staff members of R&P Laboratories have an unfortunate habit of getting involved in criminal investigations when they should be pursuing scientific activities. In these four stories, Rob, Phil, Ellis, Virginia and Mitch tackle four mysteries involving a possibly poisoned pie, an unusual Christmas present, a harmonica-playing uncle and a stolen Volkswagen Beetle.
   These four stories -- 'Halfbaked', 'Potluck', 'Livewire' and 'Scoreboard' --  were previously published under their individual titles.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plane View Books
• Release date: Oct 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502250940

Cynthia E. Hurst

Cynthia E. Hurst is the author of two mystery series set in present-day Seattle, the R&P Labs Mysteries and the Zukie Merlino Mysteries, and the Silver and Simm and Milestone agency series, which both take place in Victorian England. Like her characters, Cynthia grew up in Seattle, then earned a degree in journalism and worked on several newspapers and magazines in the US and UK. The R&P books are based on her time spent in the small research lab where her parents both worked, and many of the R&P staff's projects are ones actually undertaken by the lab. The Zukie books were inspired by her Italian relatives. She now lives in Oxfordshire, the setting for the two Victorian series. She is also the author of the Time Traveller trilogy, which visits various bits of English history, and which stemmed from an unfortunate incident.

Book preview

FOUR BY FIVE

CYNTHIA E. HURST

R&P Labs Short Stories

Halfbaked – Copyright © 2014  Cynthia E. Hurst

Potluck – Copyright © 2013  Cynthia E. Hurst

Livewire – Copyright © 2014  Cynthia E. Hurst

Scoreboard – Copyright © 2014  Cynthia E. Hurst

All Rights Reserved

Plane View Books

The characters, events and situations in these works – aside from the 2014 Super Bowl – are wholly fictional and do not portray any actual persons, businesses or organizations.

These stories were previously published under their separate titles.

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Note:

Halfbaked takes place in August 2011 and falls between Childproof and Dreamwheel in the R&P Labs Mysteries series.

Potluck takes place in December 2011, and falls between Dreamwheel and Icefox.

Livewire takes place in  May 2013 and falls between Pushover and Bedrock.

Scoreboard takes place in February 2014, for obvious reasons.

Halfbaked introduces Zukie Merlino, whose further adventures can be found in the Zukie Merlino Mysteries series.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

HALFBAKED

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

POTLUCK

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

LIVEWIRE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SCOREBOARD

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

HALFBAKED

ONE

A warm Monday morning in early August, and three members of the R&P Research Laboratories staff were gathered around the lab coffeemaker, clutching their ceramic mugs as if  they contained the elixir of life, rather than strong coffee.

Red-haired Rob Mangan, the senior partner, and his slightly younger, slightly blonder brother Phil were propping up opposite ends of the kitchen counter, both yawning widely. In Phil’s case, this was due to his two-month-old daughter’s nightly serenades, but Rob had no such excuse.

You look like you had a wild weekend, Phil observed, re-filling his cup. I thought you and Holly were going to the coast for a relaxing break. A kind of belated honeymoon.

We did, Rob said.

So why are you so wiped out?

I’m afraid we over-indulged a little. Too much food, too much wine, too much ...

... information, Phil said, holding up a hand. Stop right there. It’s way too early for second-hand smut.

And we didn’t get back until late last night.

But it looks like you enjoyed yourselves.

Oh, yes.

It never hurts to have a break, said Virginia McClain. I’m sure the coast was very pleasant this time of year. She had thirty years or more seniority over her colleagues, and during the work week, she supplied them with wisdom and homemade cookies in addition to carrying out her scientific duties. What Virginia did on her weekends remained a closely guarded and much speculated about secret.

That reminds me, Virginia, you have quite a bit of vacation time coming, Rob said. If you want to take some time off, just let me know.

Thank you, I will. I’m hoping the weather will cool off a little. This heat makes it difficult to enjoy anything.

Unless you’re at the coast in an air-conditioned motel room, Phil leered. You know, the kind with the king-sized, heart-shaped bed?

Shut up, Rob said. Besides, it was rectangular. You know, every summer I think we should get air con installed here in the lab, and every year I come up with a good excuse why we can’t afford it or don’t need it.

The other two nodded. Summer in Seattle was rarely very hot, but the lab was housed in a small, ugly brick building, constructed in the days after the second world war when people were expected to work without whining about how hot or cold they were. The bricks tended to heat up very quickly in warm weather, turning the interior of the lab into a small oven, and the mandatory white coats the staff wore didn’t help. So when the rare hot summer days arrived, the windows were opened every morning and the fans turned on, and the staff sent up a collective prayer for rain. In the winter, of course, the process was reversed.

The front door opened, sending a welcome gust of cooler air through the building, and the fourth of the five staff members came in, pushing his floppy blond hair back from his forehead.

This is ridiculous, he said. Eight-thirty in the morning and I’m already sweating.

It’s going to be a scorcher, Rob agreed. If you leave the back door of the bio lab open we might get a little breeze through. Coffee, Ellis?

Thanks. Ellis filled his cup and reached for a chocolate chip cookie.

Rob finished his own drink and rinsed the cup.

I wonder where Mitch is, he said. He didn’t tell you he was going to be late, did he, Virginia?

No, but I’m sure there’s a good reason.

Rob smiled to himself. The lab’s two bacteriologists were complete opposites; silver-haired Virginia in her mid-sixties, eminently sensible and reliable, and Mitch Okada nearly forty years younger, streetwise and unpredictable. They were bound together by friendship and a mutual admiration for the music and fashions of the 1960s, and Virginia tended to make allowances for Mitch that Ellis, at least, found unacceptable.

Maybe that heap of rust he calls a car finally died, Ellis said. Or he’s overslept even more than usual.

He’s usually punctual, Virginia said. He might be ill.

Mitch doesn’t get sick, Phil said. The only time he’s been off in four years was when he had sporotrichosis, and that wasn’t exactly your run-of-the-mill cold or flu.

I’m sure he’ll be here, Rob said. In the meantime, Virginia, you can get started testing the jam samples, and Phil, you have your horse polish.

Phil, who had been working on a preparation to make racehorses’ coats glossier, imitated a rearing horse and pawed the air enthusiastically.

Ellis, are you going to be working on your repellent?

Unless something more urgent comes along. Ellis had been spending the last few months, on and off, developing a mosquito repellent based on cinnamon oil, and the rest of the staff had become used to having the lab smell like a large cinnamon roll and being asked to volunteer their arms for the mosquitoes to nibble.

Right, let’s get going. I’m sure Mitch will be here shortly.

Rob retreated into his own small office, where he dealt with the lab’s communications, finances and other  paperwork. He frequently thought that he might have saved the effort and expense of getting a doctorate in chemistry and just taken some IT and secretarial courses, which would clearly have been more useful. He ran a hand through his hair, the color of a dark copper penny, and fanned himself with a handy bac lab results sheet. Someday, he thought, someday we’ll make that big breakthrough and then we can afford things like new equipment. An admin assistant. Air conditioning.

Through the office’s open window he heard the familiar squeal of tires and brakes which meant Mitch had coaxed his ancient Volkswagen Beetle into making the trip from his house on Beacon Hill to the lab’s parking lot. However, the squeal was muted, as if neither Mitch nor the car were quite up to their normal level of exuberant energy.

The car door slammed, and a minute later the lab’s front door opened. Rob looked out of his own door to see Mitch crossing the lobby, dressed in cut-off jeans and a multi-colored tie-dyed T-shirt. High-topped red sneakers completed the outfit.

Morning, Mitch, he called.

Hiya. Mitch came and leaned against the frame of Rob’s door.

You OK?

More or less.

Rob surveyed his junior bacteriologist. Because Mitch was half Japanese, his skin tone was normally darker than the rest of the staff’s, but today he looked pasty. His eyes were puffy, his shoulders sagged and he was dragging his feet as he walked.

You look awful, Rob said bluntly. What’s the matter?

Believe it or not, Mitch said, this is an improvement. I could hardly move yesterday. Well, I moved all right, but just between the bed and the toilet.

That sounds awful. What was it?

I’d hate to leap to conclusions, but being a bacteriologist and all, I’d say I had a pretty bad case of food poisoning.

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ROB RAISED his eyebrows in surprise. He supposed that summer was the most likely time of year for food poisoning, with food that should have been refrigerated left out in warm rooms and on decks and patios, but he would have expected Mitch, with his knowledge of bacterial growth, to be more careful.

I know what you’re thinking, Mitch said. But I don’t think I ate anything that might have been over the top, so to speak. I’m not that stupid.

I know that.

He eased himself into the chair beside Rob’s desk.

Is Catherine all right? Rob asked.

Yeah. I reckon she didn’t get it because she’s being pretty careful what she eats about now. She’s not a human vacuum cleaner like me.

Rob grinned. Mitch’s girlfriend was two months pregnant, but she also had the advantage of not having grown up in poverty and tended to be a little more discerning. Food poisoning or not, Mitch’s diet was more eclectic, usually centering around whatever was cheapest.

So where do you think you might have picked this food poisoning up?

At the street party, I reckon. Saturday afternoon and evening. Some people where we live decided to organize a big get-together, with food and music and booze and everything. They got permission to block the street off and set a bunch of tables up and I guess there must have been about a hundred people there. Maybe more. We were rockin’ till nearly midnight.

Sounds like fun.

Yeah, it was awesome. We got all flavors on our street, so the food was fantastic. Everything from Italian meatballs to Ukrainian piroshki to Vietnamese hot and sour soup. Catherine made maki sushi from her mom’s recipe and I did my world-famous chicken stir fry with rice. And some Samoan guys even roasted a whole pig in one of the driveways. That’s not something you’d see in Ellis’s upmarket white bread neighborhood.

No, Rob agreed, picturing – with difficulty – a pig turning on a spit in the driveway behind Ellis’s sleek black BMW. He imagined residents of Mitch’s neighborhood, which had been home to immigrants since the early 1900s, were somewhat more tolerant.

But there’s no telling how long some of that stuff had been sitting around, and you know it was damned hot on Saturday, even in the evening. My own fault for being greedy, I suppose.

At least you’re better today.

A little, yeah. It’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Well, take it easy today and if you need to stop or go home, just do it. We haven’t got all that much on in bacteriology. It’s mostly the jam and a few restaurant samples, and Virginia can handle that on her own.

Thanks.

Mitch heaved himself out of the chair and headed for the bac lab. Rob heard him talking to Virginia, who was making sympathetic sounds in response. The smell of strawberries and raspberries began to drift from their lab, as they mashed fruit samples from a jam-making company to screen them for foreign bodies. This mingled nicely with Ellis’s cinnamon, but clashed a little with Phil’s more pungent horse grooming mixture.

Rob returned to his own work, checking e-mails and responding to anyone who might be a potential client. At the moment they were firing on all cylinders as far as work went, but he knew all too well that the loss of a client or two could have a disastrous effect on their cash flow, which was never very reliable.

They stopped mid-morning, as usual, for a few minutes of coffee and conversation. Mitch was still looking paler than normal, and the red berry stains on his hands and forearms made a startling contrast.

Aren’t you wearing latex gloves for that? Ellis asked him.

Yeah, but bits keep getting inside. Berries are squashy, you know.

You look like you’ve been slaughtering chickens or something.

Do you mind? Mitch turned an even lighter color.

Why?

"Because I’m at the tail end of some kind of food poisoning. E coli, campylobacteriosis, staph, salmonella, take your pick. I felt like shit yesterday and it was fifty-fifty whether I’d make it in today. So if you don’t want me puking on you, keep it buttoned."

Ellis’s eyebrows went up. You’re a bacteriologist. You should know better.

Yeah, but when you have tables full of food from a dozen ethnic backgrounds and you don’t know anything about the kitchens they came from, it’s kind of hard to play environmental health inspector and start grilling people about their hygiene. You just dig in and hope for the best.

And it looks like you paid the price. Where was this multi-ethnic orgy?

Street party in my neighborhood. A get to know the neighbors kind of thing. Kind of difficult since some of them don’t speak English, but we had lots of good food, good music ...

And bad hygiene.

Maybe. Mitch brightened a little. But we met a lot of awesome people, so I guess it was worth it in the end. I sure didn’t think so yesterday, I gotta say.

You’ll probably feel better by tomorrow, Virginia said. These things don’t last too long, as a rule.

Hope so. As it is, I don’t even want one of your fantastic oatmeal raisin cookies.

"That is serious, Phil said. But don’t worry; I’ll have your share. Waste not, want not."

Mitch watched wistfully as Phil took a cookie from the plastic carton that Virginia always kept stocked and bit into it.

That’s cruel.

I know.

Mitch sipped his coffee cautiously. I might just risk ... he started to say, when his cell phone rang. He put it to his ear, saying, Hiya, Cat.

None of them had any qualms about listening to at least one side of Mitch’s call, so they continued with their cookies and coffee until it occurred to Rob that it was a very one-sided conversation. Mitch, usually talkative, had only contributed a few words, and they had been along the lines of Why? and When? and Who?. Finally Mitch said a flowery goodbye, put the phone back in his pocket and turned to his colleagues.

Well, I guess that street party was a little more exciting than we thought. That was Catherine.

So we gathered from the endearments, Ellis said. At least I hope you wouldn’t be telling anyone else you loved them to pieces.

Oh, shut up, Mitch said. This is serious.

What is it? Virginia asked.

Cat had today off, and she was out in our front yard this morning when one of the neighbors came by. She – the neighbor – said a bunch of people got sick after the street party and at least one of them is in the hospital, and they think it’s food poisoning. So it wasn’t just me being a pig.

Interesting, Rob said. I wonder if all of you who were sick ate the same thing.

Probably. Trouble is, there was so much stuff there it would be hard to pinpoint what it was.

You know the usual suspects, Ellis said. If anyone is seriously ill, it might become an issue.

Yeah, but some of those dishes, I didn’t have the faintest idea what was in them. And it’s tough when it’s private people cooking the food, and not a restaurant or airline or something like that. Suing somebody isn’t really on the cards.

No, it’s not, Rob said. Well, I hope everyone recovers and I’m sure if there are any more startling developments, Catherine will let you know.

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THE REST of the day passed quietly, although the heat meant no one was very comfortable. By lunchtime the lab was so hot that Rob even opened the front door all the way, propping it with a couple of chemistry textbooks he had contributed to their small reference library.

They were about ready to stop for afternoon coffee when Mitch tapped on Rob’s door.

Rob, can I have a word?

Of course. The formality of the request surprised him, because the lab was always a casual place and casual was only the starting point for Mitch’s normal behavior.

Mitch came in and sat down in the only other chair, fanning himself with a file folder.

Catherine just phoned me. You know I said one of the neighbors was in the hospital with food poisoning?

Yes.

He died about an hour ago.

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ROB regarded Mitch thoughtfully.

I’m very sorry to hear that, but I’m sure that’s not why you’re here.

No.

Then what?

Well, you know Catherine’s a lawyer.

Of course.

The R&P staff  all knew that, because it was unlikely that Mitch would ever have met Catherine Quinn had she not been the lawyer handling the estate of his paternal grandfather. Mitch had inherited a small house at the beginning of the year and within weeks had somehow charmed Catherine into sharing it with him. The fact that she was still there and the two of them were now expectant parents was a constant source of amazement for Mitch’s colleagues, and possibly for Mitch himself.

The place she works is a storefront law office doing nuts and bolts law – wills, divorces, helping people who’ve been ripped off, that sort of thing.

Yes, I know.

Not criminal law.

Rob blinked. Criminal?

Yeah. The wife of the guy who died knows Cat’s a lawyer and that’s why she called her up. She’s insisting that her husband was murdered.

TWO

That’s probably just a knee jerk emotional response, Rob said, after a moment’s thought. She’s distraught and lashing out. After all, from what you said, there was a lot of food sitting out on a hot day, and several people were affected. Even you were sick, and you know what to avoid. So it isn’t very likely that this one person was targeted, is it? 

You wouldn’t think so, no.

Did Catherine tell her that?

Yeah, as tactfully as possible.

So, is there more?

Maybe. After Cat called me, I called her back. The widow, that is.

Oh, no. Mitch, this is not your problem. And it has nothing to do with us here at the lab.

Of course not.

But you’re going to stick your nose in, anyway; is that what you’re trying to tell me?

Mitch grinned. Been kind of boring around here since the last drama, hasn’t it?

Rob’s eyes went automatically beyond Mitch’s shoulder to the ceiling of the lobby where the faint outline of a patch could be seen, filling a hole where a bullet had ripped through it. Four staff members had been standing underneath at the time, held at gunpoint by a double murderer. That had only been a few weeks previously, and Rob had no wish to repeat the experience.

Frankly, I’m happy to be bored for a change. I hope you didn’t promise her or anyone else that we’d get involved.

Not exactly.

So what ‘exactly’ did you say to her?

I said I’d ask you about maybe testing some of the food he ate.

Two days later? You know that won’t prove anything, even if it’s still available.

Yeah, I know. It’s tricky, isn’t it?

Rob thought for a while.

I don’t really see what we can do, but if you want to get some more information on what happened to him, the diagnosis and so on, I suppose we could make an educated guess, based on what he ate, when he got sick and his symptoms. There’s not much point in trying to track down the food itself after this long, and our opinion wouldn’t be admissible in court or anything like that. She’s got to understand that.

No, of course it wouldn’t. To be honest, I told her I’d ask about it just to keep her quiet. I tell you, Rob, she was bouncing off the ceiling.

I imagine she was. If you want to go through the motions, fine, but don’t drag the lab into it any further than necessary. And I suppose if you must get involved, a good place to start would be finding out exactly what makes this lady think her husband was murdered, instead of just being extremely unlucky.

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ROB WENT home late that afternoon, wishing that he had a swimming pool to leap into to cool off. His house was pleasant enough, but it was unoccupied during