Read Online A Geek Girl's Guide to Arsenic by Julie Anne Lindsey - Free Book Online

routine, I double-checked that the gate shut behind me and waited for security lighting to register my arrival before exiting the car. Thanks to Horseshoe Falls’ obsession with green living, motion-sensor lighting was everywhere. The idea being why light the place if no one’s there? Reduce costs. Save energy. Save the planet. Unfortunately, there was a two-to-four-second delay on occasion that made me edgy. I could fix the problem, but the lighting company had refused my offer. Rudely. As a result of their “policy” allowing only members of their team to make changes to the system, any cash the community saved through our new lighting system was subsequently spent on maintenance calls.
    The light snapped on, and I hastened to the elevator. I poked my key into the penthouse hole on the interior panel and the car bounded upward, delivering me seconds later on silent authority. No obnoxious ding . No creak, rattle and roll like the jalopy at my old building. Just the little whoosh of air as my entranceway came into view. A giant blue letter C, hand-painted and hung by Bree, swung and jostled at eye level as I unlocked the knob and zipped inside. Good grief. Everything was silent in this building except me. I was a marching band of heeled boots on marble and enormous crafts on doors.
    I dead-bolted the door and dropped my keys into the glass dish Bree gave me as a housewarming gift. It was meant for candy, but when you lived alone, there was no one to share with. Four bags of caramels and a dress size later, the dish had been repurposed from trough to key holder.
    I hung my cloak on a hook and stared at the expansive space before me. Even I didn’t have enough stuff to fill the place. My book collection barely filled one side of the floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves. My furniture was too small. The space was too big. Bree had suggested I adopt a pet, but she was the maternal one. Grandma understood. She bought me a thumb-sized cactus at the drugstore. Thelma had a tiny terracotta pot and little pink bow. So far so good with Thelma.
    The lights flicked on as I moved through the rooms. I grabbed the remote that controlled everything else, including hidden speakers, and powered on my favorite station before turning it down to a whisper. My boots landed in a pile near the door, and my pants hit the hamper on my way through the bedroom. I wanted to soak in the tub until today ended, but I had work to do.
    I stepped into the shower and let the water knock the tension off me. My tiled bathroom floor busily heated outside my marble oasis. I curled my toes in anticipation of their next treat and pressed both palms against the wall, greedily soaking in the hot water until my skin was red and my toes were white and pruny. My mind whirled, despite every effort to unwind. An endless loop of Jake’s face and John’s death kept peace at bay. Sheer speculation and an elevator load of Furries made relaxation an impossibility. Worst. Day. Ever.
    Twenty minutes later, I padded to my computer wrapped in fleece jammies and fuzzy socks. The letter, reassuring consumers about our company, was solidly formed in my head. I opened a blank document and ran a quick search for press releases from other companies who’d faced similar allegations. They read like political statements and campaign promises. Guinevere’s Golden Beauty wasn’t like that. We were real. Our consumers were family.
    I made a pot of coffee and got to work.
    Three cups later, caffeine percolated in my veins. I curled shaky fingers into a fist and stretched them wide. Time to switch to decaf or ice cream. I went with ice cream. Honestly, in a situation where ice cream is an option, there really isn’t a choice.
    At five minutes before three, I jumped to my feet and punched the air a few times. Done. I knocked it out of the universe. The letter was gracious and reassuring. Honest and forthright. I pledged the company’s continued dedication to pure, natural ingredients,