Case of the Poison Powder Chapter 6
Calling Jake Mercer fans! You don't want to miss this one.
The Case of the Poison Powder
(Miss Chapter 5? Find it Here) Or start with the first chapter!
Chapter 6
Back at her office, Margaret settled in behind her desk. She believed Sade’s story. But she had to concede ASA Griffith’s point. Her alibi was thin. A light rap on the door drew her attention. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and Margaret’s heart skipped a beat. A tall, ruggedly handsome man smiled at her. Margaret swallowed hard. “Hi, Jake.”
The private detective stepped into the office as Spotty launched himself from his cushion beside the file cabinet, tail wagging furiously. Jake crouched down, scratching behind the terrier’s ears.
“Hey there, buddy.” Jake straightened, producing a folder from inside his jacket. “Got something for you, Maggie.”
The nickname. Jake was the only soul on earth who called her that. Not even Katherine dared. But coming from him, in his quiet, steady voice, it felt like being wrapped in a favorite sweater. She’d correct anyone else without hesitation, but from Jake? She never wanted him to stop.
Margaret gestured to the chair across from her desk, willing her pulse to settle back to its normal rhythm. Professional, Margaret. Focus on the case. Her hand knocked against her coffee mug, thankfully empty, sending it rolling toward the edge of the desk. She caught it with a graceless lunge that probably looked like a seal flopping after a fish.
“Smooth,” she muttered to herself.
Jake’s lips twitched. “You okay there?”
“Fine! Totally fine. Just—” She set the mug down carefully, as if it were a live grenade. “Coffee. Would you like coffee? I just made a fresh pot. Well, not ‘just’ just, maybe twenty minutes ago, but it’s still hot. Probably. Unless the heating plate failed, which it does sometimes, but I can check—”
She was standing now, though she didn’t remember standing. Her body had apparently decided to take independent action.
“—or water! I have water. Sparkling and non-sparkling. Also juice boxes, but those are technically for Spotty’s vet visits, so they’re apple-flavored and probably weird for adults, not that you’re weird, obviously you’re not weird, you’re very—”
She physically covered her mouth with one hand.
Stop talking, Margaret Louise Mitchell. Your mouth has declared war on your dignity and dignity is losing.
“I’m good, thanks.” Jake’s expression held something that might have been affection. Or pity. Margaret couldn’t tell which was worse.
He settled into a chair and slid the folder across her desk. “Your witness.”
Margaret flipped it open, her eyes scanning the typed statement. “Ben Williams. Construction supervisor.” She looked up. “Jake, you found him?”
“Twelve possibles on the crew that night. Narrowed it down. He remembers your client. Even got her phone number.”
“He what?” Margaret couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Oh, that’s perfect. ASA Griffith can’t argue with that kind of corroboration.” She read through the statement again, more slowly this time, her attorney brain cataloging each detail. The date matched. The time frame aligned. Williams’ description of Sade was spot-on, right down to the company logo on her jacket.
“This is solid work, h—” Margaret choked mid-word, her face flushing hot. She grabbed for her water glass and took a hasty sip, coughing delicately. Dear Lord, you almost called him ‘hon.’ She cleared her throat. “Really solid. How on earth did you track him down so fast?”
Jake’s eyebrow lifted slightly, but he didn’t comment. “Called around. Found the construction company. Their safety manager was ... helpful.” The slight pause before ‘helpful’ suggested there was a story there.
“Do I want to know?” Margaret’s voice had recovered its professional steadiness, though her cheeks still felt warm.
“He ate a TV dinner during our entire conversation.” Jake’s deadpan delivery made Margaret snort despite herself. “Never stopped talking through it, either.”
“Well, bless his heart,” Margaret said, grateful for the familiar phrase that felt safe on her tongue.
Katherine’s words from last week echoed in her mind: “Maybe the two of you can get together for dinner to discuss his results.” That sly smile on her friend’s face had been unmistakable.
Margaret’s mouth went dry. She could do it. She could ask him right now. Something casual, professional. Maybe we could grab dinner to go over the details? You know, in case I need clarification for the motion.
But even as she formed the words, her throat closed up. What if he said no? What if he thought she was being inappropriate? Worse, what if that quiet, steady friendship they’d built over years crumbled under the weight of her attraction? She’d rather have Jake in her life as a colleague than risk losing him entirely.
Jake shifted in his chair, and Margaret realized she’d been staring.
“I, um...” She picked up her pen, then set it down again. “This changes everything for Sade. She’s been so worried. Two little ones at home, and the thought of going to trial...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “You’ve given her hope.”
“Just doing my job.” But Margaret knew it was more than that. Jake Mercer didn’t just work cases. He protected people. It was woven into every fiber of his being.
Spotty had claimed his spot at Jake’s feet, little doggy sighs of contentment punctuating the silence that stretched between them. The silence felt weighted somehow, full of things neither of them seemed willing to say.
Margaret glanced at the folder again, then back at Jake. “Katherine will send me the invoice?”
“She will.” Jake stood, and Margaret felt something twist in her chest. Disappointment, maybe, or relief that the moment was passing without her having to risk anything. He crossed to the door in a few smooth, efficient steps.
Now, Margaret. Ask him now. Just dinner. Just professional coordination.
But the words tangled in her throat, and what came out instead was: “Wait.”
Jake stopped, hand on the doorknob. He turned back, and for a heartbeat their eyes met. Margaret saw something flicker across his features—hope? uncertainty?—before the professional mask settled back into place.
“Jake, I just...” She came around the desk. “This witness could be the difference between my client going home to her babies or spending years in prison for something she didn’t do. That matters. What you did matters.”
Jake’s hand tightened on the doorknob. Then, so quietly she almost missed it: , “I’m glad I could help.”
He opened the door.
“Jake—” The word escaped before she could stop it.
He turned back, and this time the hope in his eyes was unmistakable. “Yeah?”
Margaret’s heart hammered. She had his full attention. He was waiting. All she had to do was—
“I’ll ... let Katherine know the witness came through.” The words were ash in her mouth even as she said them.
Something shuttered behind Jake’s eyes. He nodded once. “Good night, Maggie.”
The door closed with a soft click.
Margaret closed the door and leaned against it, the witness statement still clutched in her hand.
Coward, she told herself. Absolute coward.
Katherine’s suggestion had been so simple, so reasonable. Dinner to discuss his results. Professional coordination. Except there was nothing remotely professional about the way her pulse quickened when Jake Mercer walked into a room, or the way that low voice saying “Maggie” made her feel like the only person in the world.
Tomorrow, she’d be better. Tomorrow, she’d ask him properly.
She’d been saying that for seven years.
She looked down at Spotty, who tilted his head as if asking what all the fuss was about.
“Don’t you dare judge me,” she told the terrier. But her voice was gentler than the words.
She returned to her desk and sank into her chair. Tomorrow she’d file her motion. Tomorrow she’d fight like hell for Sade’s freedom. Tomorrow she’d be the confident, principled advocate everyone expected her to be.
Today, she’d just have to sit with the strange ache of a question left unasked, and the look in Jake Mercer’s eyes that suggested maybe—just maybe—these feelings weren’t one- sided.
Stay tuned for Chapter 7, next week!
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Margaret Mitchell, her white terrier Spotty, and her gang at the local nursing home tackle Baltimore mysteries with pluck, perception, and palaver.
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