Poisoned: An Ava O'Neill Mystery

By Kristi Torkildson

Ava O'Neill is a commercial real estate broker in Dallas, Texas. She is not a detective, no matter what she says. Has she been helpful to the police before? Yes. Do they appreciate her assistance? Mostly, no. But does she care? Definitely not. Poisoned starts out with Ava attending an industry dinner with three business associates, one of whom dies at the table. She immediately jumps at the opportunity to help solve the case, despite several warnings to stay out of it. With the help of her aunt, a former FBI forensic scientist, and an unwilling James Abbott, her coworker and close friend, Ava runs all over town searching for answers. Right when she thinks she has it solved, another death and a kidnapping distract her from the truth.
Intertwined in the mystery is a subtle love story between Ava and her long-time friend, Jake.

Poisoned is the second novel in the Ava O'Neill Mystery Series. Finding Sally (book 3), and The Organ Thief (book 4), are nearly complete.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098343019

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

1.

Ava

This is one of the worst nights of sleep I’ve ever had.

Is it considered sleep if you don’t actually fall asleep? I wonder to myself. Probably not, I decide. I sigh loudly and squeeze my eyes tight. Yesterday was surreal—I helped catch a triple-killer. My body is still full of adrenaline, which is probably the reason I’m still awake. I work in commercial real estate as a leasing agent for office space. I’m not a detective.

I guess I thought helping James catch his wife’s killer would make me feel elated, good, or at least relieved, but I feel none of those things. According to the detective on the case, Susie Grimm, our murderer is experiencing no remorse. Instead, he feels an unwarranted redemption for killing the doctors and staff who were unable to cure his dying father. But the thing is, there was no way his father was going to beat the cancer—the best doctors in the world couldn’t have saved him.

I think what I’m struggling with the most is the way he was taunting us, teasing us for taking so many days to catch him. And the way each murder was carried out: a stabbing, a drowning and a shooting, the creativity and complexity of it all. But the worst part of the entire thing was his smile when he talked about drowning James’s wife, Lacey. The way he talked about touching her, caressing her skin; the satisfaction he felt getting revenge for his father. A shiver runs through my body as I picture his face, with that stupid smirk, mocking us. I roll over to look at the clock; only five minutes have passed since I last checked it.

It’s 4:30 in the morning. Instead of waking Jake or continuing to try to fall asleep, I decide to go for a run. I slip out of bed and turn to check on Jake. He’s so cute when he sleeps; he has this contented smile, like sleeping is the best thing in the world. I shouldn’t have called him, I know I shouldn’t have, but it’d been a rough week and I needed a distraction—and he’s the perfect distraction. He is six foot five, a former college football player with curly brown hair, big brown eyes and a strong jaw. We have had a relationship of convenience for years and, I have to admit, mostly when it’s convenient for me. He’s like a safety net. It’s great.

I turn away from Jake, slip into my trusty Hoka sneakers and head out for a five miler before sunrise. It’s not uncommon for me to run in the dark and I live in a safe neighborhood, but this morning, for the first time in many years, I feel afraid. I run back inside to snag Jake’s Swiss-army knife out of his jacket and then step out into the mist. Dallas has had over twenty straight days of rain; I’ve almost forgotten what the sun and a blue sky look like. I wonder if it’s ever going to stop raining.

I turn my face from the sky to the street and begin jogging. The rainy mist creates an eerie setting, so I decide to pocket my headphones and focus on my surroundings. A dog bark makes my heart jump out of my chest and I quicken my pace. Once I settle into my stride, I start to relax, as always. When I was a freshman in high school, I joined the cross-country team as a way of getting out of the standard PE class. To my surprise, I discovered that I not only enjoyed running, but I was pretty good at it too. Nowadays running is one of my favorite ways of relaxing (that or a nice glass of cabernet, of course). I finish five miles in thirty-five minutes—not bad considering the lack of sleep I’ve had over the last few days. Back in my condo, I’m barely dry and out of the shower when my phone rings from the callbox out front—I have an early morning visitor.

James Abbott, my business partner and the unfortunate widower whose wife was murdered last week, is at my door within seconds of my buzzing him in. James is also tall, probably six feet, with a very short haircut due to his rapid balding, and a sweet smile. His head is a little damp this morning and his shirt is speckled with water. Still raining, he says unnecessarily as he steps into my kitchen. We’ve worked together for seven years, but the last few days have really brought us closer together.

He follows me to the living room and gives me a gift of brand-new Converse sneakers. I glance over at the fireplace, where my 16-year-old pair of gray Converse are lying, and crack a small smile. Thank you, I say. Those old shoes really did need to be replaced, I just never got around to it. And they haven’t fallen apart, so you know, why get new ones?

Ava, those shoes are disgusting. I can’t believe you can still confidently wear them after all these years, he jabs.

It’s all part of my charm, I reply with a smirk. Joking around with James is making me feel better, but it seems like I’m having the opposite effect on him. He isn’t showing much emotion, but it’s clear he’s hurting on the inside.

We sit in silence for a time, both staring into space. I think about everything that’s come to light in the last week and decide to lighten the mood. Hey, when are you coming back to work? I’m having dinner with Clint and a few guys from Briley Commercial next week, want to come? I ask, elbowing him in the side.

Ava! he exclaims, half laughing, half shocked, shut up and say nothing! he grumbles, before breaking into a slightly awkward smile—the first I’ve seen in several days.

I won’t, I won’t! But come on - I reserve the right to tease you about this for at least a year. A blow job, honestly! I reply, and we both awkwardly laugh, remembering his shocking one-nighter with our coworker, Clint’s, wife.

2.

Ava, one week later

What do we have today, Cap? Detective Susie Grimm asks as she walks into Basil Kitchen. Grimm looks to be about thirty years old, though I’ve never asked her age. With her long legs and lean body she could be a runway model, but she seems oblivious to the looks she gets when she walks through a room. Today she’s wearing skinny jeans and, as usual, a green top. Her red hair is up in a bun and she’s wearing large, rectangle-rimmed glasses. I don’t recall ever seeing her in glasses before.

Well look who decided to show up! Captain Brooks sniggers, tossing a pair of gloves to Grimm. She grimaces and pulls on the gloves. It’s a poisoning, I’m afraid. I just sent his plate to the lab, Brooks says. Brooks is a burly black man with extremely white teeth. He never goes anywhere without a toothpick in his mouth, which caused my aunt Sally to nearly kill him recently. Sally is an old friend of Captain Brooks – they went through Dallas PD training together. The other day she snuck up behind him and covered his mouth and eyes with her hands, accidentally shoving the toothpick to the back of his throat. He was not happy.

Any idea what it was? Grimm asks.

Possibly Cyanide, Brooks replies. We’re told it happened really fast.

But we won’t know for sure until the lab results come back, I chime in.

Ava! I didn’t see you there. What are you doing here? Grimm asks me.

Unlucky circumferences, I meekly respond.

Circumstances, you mean? Grimm asks as she bursts out laughing.

Right, yeah, isn’t that what I said? Unlucky circumstances, I correct myself.

Grimm snorts and says, Ava, I need to get you a dictionary – you are always using the wrong word – although yours are always close to the correct one... So, what was the unlucky circumstance anyway?

I was dining with our deceased.

"Damn, that is bad luck. You didn’t break a mirror did you?"

I force a chuckle at this, but really it isn’t funny. Two weeks ago James’s wife was murdered and this week a business associate of mine dies while we share a dinner table. I spent a lot of time with Detective Grimm in connection with the last murder and now here she is again. She is probably thinking that I’m jinxed – which I just might be.

Grimm adjusts the fingers on her latex gloves and walks up to the table where we had been eating. She bends down so her face is eye-level with the table and rubs her fingers across the wooden surface. She stands up suddenly and circles the table a few times, frowning. The victim, Keith Trammer, has already been taken to the morgue for autopsy, but the rest of our dinner party is still here, waiting to be interviewed.

Was it just you and our victim eating together? Grimm asks me.

No, no it wasn’t just us. In addition to Keith I was also dining with Clint Davis and Dan Swanson. Clint works with me at QV, I say, as Clint walks over to join us. And Dan is sitting over there, I point to Dan, who’s slumped over, seated on the floor in the corner of the restaurant.

Grimm looks at me, almost sizing me up, then she shifts her focus over to Clint for a few seconds before responding. Clint is in his early-thirties and kind of squirrely looking; he’s very lean, only a few inches taller than I, with long brown hair and bright-blue eyes. Today his forehead is speckled with sweat and his face is pale. Clint doesn’t know it, but during the recent investigation into the murder of Lacey, Grimm interrogated Clint’s wife upon learning of her late-night office blow job with James. As a result, Clint’s face was posted up on her murder board for several days – he was never called in for questioning though.

What were you doing here at Basil? she asks Clint as we take a seat at a window table.

Well, Ava and I, we work together at QV.

So I’ve been told. And Keith?

Keith is … well, was, the president of Briley Commercial. Briley is a similar company to QV, though slightly larger. Dan is a real estate investor – basically a rich guy looking for ways to diversify his money. A group of us usually gets together about once a quarter for dinner or drinks, to catch up on the latest market news, discuss a few deals, showboat a bit you know? That type of thing, Clint says.

I see. And did Keith mention anything, ah, interesting?

Nothing dangerous, if that’s what you mean. Keith hasn’t been here long, moved to Dallas from New York City just last year, I reply.

He’s the new president for the Central Region of Briley Commercial—a nationwide real estate group. It was a dream gig for someone as young as Keith, Clint informs her.

Dream gig? In what way? Grimm asks us.

Well, he’s young, youngest in Briley history I think, to be promoted to president of a region. Hefty salary, no longer on commissions, huge marketing budget to enjoy, I respond.

I mean sure, it’s a management role, so he has to deal with the office politics and complaints from whiny staff members, but anyone would kill for that job, Clint replies, then stiffens, I mean, shit, no, that’s just an expression. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.

Mhmm, Grimm retorts, not meeting his eye, I have to ask this—do either of you know anyone that wanted him dead? For his job or maybe another reason?

Clint and I both shrug, and I answer, no, I’m sorry but I don’t.

"I really don’t even know him that well. Like I said, we get together once a