Rachel Grate | fiction | Agatha Christie and a Kiss

  
  
  
Agatha Christie and a Kiss 


“Murder!” Britt shrieked. “There’s been a murder!”

The tassels on Britt’s bright red flapper dress spun as she turned and pointed a long, trembling finger at Aarthi. A fake cigarette dangled from Britt’s gloved hand as she continued with a painfully thick Southern drawl. 

“You,” Britt breathed. “This dreadful woman was sleeping with my husband!”

Aarthi blinked, her cheeks flushing as everyone in the room turned to face her, anticipation in their eyes. Twelve friends were crowded in her and Britt’s tiny San Francisco living room, which they’d decorated with pumpkins, enough candles to violate fire code, and a “dead body” (a mannequin Britt’s girlfriend Zoe had borrowed from the vintage store where she worked). 

Aarthi fumbled with her notes on her lap, scanning the fact sheet she’d been handed about her character. For the tenth time that night, she regretted telling Britt she could host a 1920s murder mystery party for her LGBTQ+ theatre troupe for Halloween. Aarthi would have preferred carving jack-o-lanterns or handing out candy to the kids in their apartment building, but Britt was so excited about the party — and after two years of canceled plans during the pandemic, Aarthi didn’t have it in her to say no. 

Of course, Aarthi had agreed before she’d found out Britt had cast her as the lead suspect in said murder mystery.  

“I didn’t sleep with your husband?” she said, more a question than a statement. The instructions in her hand confirmed that her character had, in fact, slept with the fictional husband, but was supposed to deny it. 

“So you hadn’t asked him to leave me, his wife, for you last night?” Britt murmured. Her voice was low and their friends leaned in to catch every word, just like the audience always did when Britt was on stage. 

Aarthi took a deep breath, fighting the urge to run to her room and join her cat Agatha, who was probably hiding under her bed. Her therapist had told her to get out of her comfort zone; well, acting as a “bubbly and flirtatious” mistress was about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

“I— I didn’t ask him to leave you.” Aarthi swallowed. She racked her mind for a character to emulate from the countless murder mysteries she’d read. What would a mistress tell her dead lover’s wife? “And I didn’t want him to die either! I loved him!” 

Britt gasped theatrically. “You dare use the word ‘love’!”

Too late, Aarthi realized she’d admitted to the love affair. She’d already broken the only rule for her character — to deny the affair at all costs.

Suddenly, the jazz that had been playing on Britt’s record player in the corner stopped. A man in a tophat, button-up shirt, and rainbow suspenders had lifted the needle from the album. He had curly hair, a five-o-clock shadow, and dark green eyes that were staring at her like they already knew every secret she’d ever kept. 

Britt had briefly mentioned Noah, the newest member of their theatre troupe, would come tonight, but Aarthi had been nervously studying her character sheet and hadn't noticed him earlier. Now, she blinked at the man in front of her. He was like a younger blend of Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock Holmes and Matthew Macfadyen’s Mr. Darcy — two of Aarthi’s favorite fictional boyfriends, rolled into one. 

“You loved him, did you?” he intoned, taking off his top hat and holding it to his chest. “You don’t sound so sure.”

Aarthi wiped her sweaty palms against her jeans. Britt had disapproved of her unthematic outfit, muttering about how women didn’t wear trousers in the ‘20s, but it was only now that Noah inspected her that she wished she had put more effort in.

“And who are you?” Aarthi’s voice was more steady now, but that was because her question was genuine. She couldn’t remember who Britt had told her Noah was playing.

“I’m the private investigator.” He held out his hand for her to shake.

Aarthi hated handshakes. She never knew if she was holding too firmly, or not firmly at all, and how much shaking was too much, really? But when Aarthi slipped her hand in his, he smiled. It was a sweet grin that said It’s nice to meet you more genuinely than anyone had ever said those words. And then there was the matter of his hands. Warm and calloused from doing something — Rock climbing? Rowing? Some craft? She was about to ask him, but he spoke first.

“Britt called me in to handle the investigation so that none of her husband’s bootlegging business comes to light.” Noah drew his hand away and Aarthi flexed her fingers, her palm tingling where his hand had warmed hers. 

Right. They were in the middle of a ‘murder investigation.’ For the moment his hand had wrapped around hers, rough and comforting all at the same time, she had forgotten.  

“Your investigation should be easy,” Britt declared, interrupting Aarthi’s reverie. “She begged him to leave me, and killed him when he wouldn’t. Isn’t it obvious?”

“I’ll be asking the questions,” Noah reminded Britt sternly. He turned back to Aarthi, taking her in from head to toe. “Starting with the most unusual mistress I’ve ever met.”

“I beg your pardon,” Aarthi coughed. She had never thought she’d feel insulted for not being considered a viable mistress. But even as underdressed as she was, was it really that unbelievable that a fictional man would have chosen her over Britt? “Are you in the business of meeting many mistresses?”

“In this line of work, you meet all folks,” Noah said with a friendly smile, not flustered by Aarthi’s building annoyance. “But I’ve never met a mistress who didn’t want her lover to leave his wife.”

An inelegant snort escaped Aarthi’s body before she could stop herself. He was right. In all the books she’d read, the mistress always wanted the lover to leave. She’d never quite understood why — clearly the man wasn’t such a catch if he was cheating in the first place.  

“I think loving a man and wanting to live with him are totally different,” Aarthi shrugged. The words came easily because they were true: she wanted to date someone, sure, but she wouldn’t give up living with Britt in this apartment for the world. “Besides, I’m perfectly happy with my cat.”

Their friends in the living room laughed, but Aarthi barely noticed. Her eyes were locked on the grin that Noah quickly wiped from his face. At the brief sight of his lips twisting upwards, Aarthi felt like she was floating. 

Was this why Britt liked being on stage? Did she feel this way about making every audience member laugh? Because Aarthi had never felt a rush like this until now.

“I don’t think his wife believes you,” Noah mock-whispered. The crowd laughed again, and Aarthi smiled with them.  

Strange. She minded the audience less now that Noah was sharing the spotlight with her. 

“I’m not sure I believe you either,” Noah continued. “I’m taking you in for questioning at the station.”

Aarthi’s mouth dropped open, ready to protest her abrupt incrimination. But once Noah leaned towards her, his hands circling her wrists, the voice that whispered in her ear was surprisingly gentle.
 
“Is it okay if I pretend to handcuff you?” he murmured, his breath warming her neck. “Britt wanted me to end Act 1 with a bang. If you’re okay with it.”

Aarthi’s mouth fell open, but she nodded instantly. She blamed the thrill that ran up her spine as Noah’s lips brushed against her ear. Noah gently pulled her arms behind her back and snapped cold metal around her wrists. Cold metal and … fur? 

“Don’t worry, they’re fake,” he whispered. But her relief was brief as he continued. “They’re Britt’s. Don’t forget to look terrified anyways.” 

Finally, Aarthi understood what Britt meant when she said acting came naturally to her. Aarthi had heard the scandalous tales of the creative ways Britt used her leopard-print handcuffs, and now those very handcuffs were pressing into her wrists. Who knew if they’d been properly sanitized since their last rendezvous?

Looking horrified wasn’t hard to do.



***



Noah led her out of the room and slammed the door dramatically, engulfing them in darkness for a breath until he found the light switch. The light flicked on to reveal Aarthi’s twin-size bed, a photo of her and Britt at graduation on the nightstand, and Agatha’s towering cat tree in the corner.

“Is this Britt’s room?” His voice was softer now that they weren’t performing, a midwest twang sneaking into his words. 

“Mine, actually.” Aarthi bit her lip, watching his eyes scan over the posters with classic covers of her favorite novels lined the wall: The Woman in White, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and Murder on the Orient Express. 

“Sorry for pushing you in here so abruptly,” Noah said, undoing the cuffs around her wrists. “Britt said I needed to end the first act to give her time to plant some clues before act two.”

Aarthi turned to face him and took a deep breath — did he smell like pine, or was she just imagining it? “That’s okay. I’m relieved to have the break. I know it’s blasphemy to say in front of Britt’s theatre crew, but I’m really not into—” she gestured vaguely at her door, “all that.”

He looked pointedly at the movie posters on her wall. “You have confusing decor for someone who’s not a fan of murder mysteries.”

“I love mystery books. But acting in them? That’s Britt’s thing. And yours, I guess?”

Noah nodded. “I used to do improv before the pandemic. I joined the theater troupe last month to get back into it.”

“Meanwhile, I’d rather be eating popcorn and watching Hocus Pocus with my cat tonight.” Aarthi was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t every day she had a boy in her bedroom. It wasn’t even every year. It wasn’t that Aarthi didn’t want to date — hypothetically. It was that every time she actually planned a date, she ended up hyperventilating on the bathroom floor with Britt instead. Stage fright, Britt called it. It was probably why she had the twisted idea to make Aarthi actually act tonight — exposure therapy.

Noah laughed, and there was that feeling again. That feeling of floating. Why did making Noah smile feel like the most important thing she’d accomplished all day?

Aarthi collapsed down on her bed and leaned onto the pillows, earning a disgruntled meow from the creature hiding between them. She sat up as her elderly black rescue cat crawled out from between her pillows, blinked at her, then curled up on her lap to fall back asleep.

“Sorry, Agatha,” she said. “I know you don’t like the party either.”

“Agatha?” he said. “As in…”

“Agatha Christie.”

“So you really like murder mysteries.” 

“Reading them, sure! Or listening. I’m happy to binge true crime podcasts about unsolved small-town murders while I’m baking peanut butter cookies.” Aarthi forced herself to stop talking. The one time she’d admitted her love of true crime to her boss, he’d looked at her like she was a psycho.

But Noah sat down next to her, his eyes eager. “Do you listen to Small Town, Big Murder?”

“You know the show?” Aarthi’s eyes got big. She was normally embarrassed to admit she listened to the show — even saying the name was humiliating — but it was her favorite podcast. 

“I’m obsessed. I just listened to the latest episode while I was volunteering at the community garden this afternoon.”

Satisfaction burst through Aarthi like she’d solved a little mystery about this man. Gardening: That explained the calluses on his palm and the smell of pine on his skin. A vision of Noah bent over a plant, lovingly watering and trimming it, filled her brain for a sweet moment. 

Aarthi pulled her attention back to Noah’s words. He was still talking about this week’s episode. “You wouldn’t expect a podcast with such a stupid name to have high-quality investigative journalism!” 

“Right?” Aarthi agreed. “And the small town sounds so idyllic.”

“Besides the murder rate, you mean?” 

“Besides that,” Aarthi allowed. “I grew up in San Francisco and never moved away. I love it, but sometimes I wonder about the small-town childhood I missed out on.”

“I get that. But for me, it reminds me of what I escaped,” Noah said. “Trust me, if you grow up bi in a small town in the Midwest, things aren’t as glamorous as murder podcasts make it out to be.”

“That sounds tough.”  

He shrugged. “It’s okay, I’m here now. Though I have to admit, all the Full House episodes I watched in anticipation don’t exactly give an accurate view of San Francisco the way taking the MUNI home at 1 a.m. does.”

Aarthi laughed and shifted closer to him. As she did, Agatha meowed and stood up from her lap, glancing at Aarthi in disapproval. The cat jumped onto Noah’s legs and brazenly curled up on them instead. When Noah pet her, a large purr erupted from her small body. 	

“Your cat is more promiscuous than your character,” he laughed. 

“Not usually!” Aarthi stared in shock. Agatha didn’t normally like strangers. Hell, it took her nearly a month before she even let Britt hold her. “I assure you, we’re both normally prudes.”

“So you weren’t typecast?”

Aarthi burst out laughing. “What part of my atrocious acting skills made you think being flirty came naturally to me?”

“You could have fooled me.” Noah winked.

Aarthi had thought she felt like floating before. Now, she had melted. Her core was molten, and one more word from Noah would turn her into flame.

“Didn’t you just call me the world’s least likely mistress out there?” Aarthi said.

His eyes searched hers, surprised. “Not unlikely. Unusual. Like, unique. For what it’s worth, I think you could totally be a mistress. I mean, if you wanted to be.”

She flushed. “Thanks, I guess.” She felt almost relieved Noah could be as awkward off-stage as she was. “But playing a mistress does not come naturally to me. Though it certainly doesn’t help when the character is completely one-dimensional. I could have written a better story than this one, not that I can expect the $0.99 online Murder at the Speakeasy game to be a literary masterpiece.”

“What would you change about the story if you were writing it, then?” he asked.

Aarthi blinked — she’d ignored her dream of being a writer since her entry-level job juggling calendars at an ad agency had completely drained her creative energy. But now, talking to Noah, she felt her old creative flame spark back to life.

“To start with, I’d give my character more complexity than her sex drive.” Aarthi began to rant. She’d wanted to write a murder mystery of her own in college — she’d even outlined one in her journal. “It’s too obvious who the murderer is. My affair is the only secret uncovered. Where’s the overdue bank loan, the secret child, the business deal turned sour? In a good murder mystery, everyone has something to hide.”

“Oh yeah?” He nudged her shoulder with his own, then didn’t pull away. “And what are you hiding?”

“Not me,” Aarthi blushed. “I’m an open book.”

Someone knocked on the door and Aarthi jumped to put space between them. She hadn’t even realized how close she’d been sitting to him, their thighs pressed together, shoulders touching, until she felt his absence.

“Is the interrogation over?” Britt sang out as she opened the door, raising her eyebrow when she saw them together on the bed, Agatha still blissfully purring on his lap. 

“Aarthi was just telling me how she would change the murder mystery if she was writing it,” Noah said calmly. 

She and Noah might as well have been caught mid-make out for how high Britt’s eyebrows rose at his words. Aarthi blushed even deeper — Britt knew she hadn’t opened up about her writing dreams to many people. Any people, really.	

“Well, your feedback is just in time,” Britt said. “I’m about to hand out your envelopes for Act Two if you’re ready to return to the crime scene. Aarthi, can you help me in the kitchen first?”



***



“Did I just walk in on the lead suspect romancing the investigator?” Britt turned on Aarthi as soon as they reached the kitchen. “We’ve lived together since freshman year of college and I haven’t seen you blush that hard ever.”

“I think we were flirting?” Aarthi admitted. She recapped Noah’s thoughtful gestures, how he’d won over Agatha, and their shared love of true crime podcasts. “But how do I know he’s actually interested in me, and not just playing his character? You practically assigned him to walk me off stage.”

“I told him he could arrest anyone, Aarthi. It didn’t have to be you. Noah wanted it to be you.” 

“Really?” Aarthi bit her lip, not sure she could trust Britt’s confidence. Britt thought Aarthi was a catch — but men usually didn’t agree.

“Noah’s interest in you is entirely real-world.” Britt’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “But this is perfect: You can practice flirting and you don’t even need to feel like you’re putting yourself out there. You can just say you were acting!”

Aarthi reddened. “Are you trying to humiliate me?”

“It’s your call, Aarthi. Play out a boring scene if you want. But wouldn’t it be more fun to get into your sultry character?”



***



Ten minutes later, Britt ran into the living room holding a butter knife coated in ketchup. “I found the murder weapon!” she shrieked.

Act Two had begun. 

Noah launched into action, questioning Britt and working the crowd. Aarthi had always admired that magnetic quality Britt had to capture a crowd’s attention with a flick of her wrist, but Noah matched her step for step, like a verbal jousting match. 

When he dragged his gaze past Aarthi to face the rest of the audience, Aarthi knew she should be relieved — she wouldn’t be pulled into the scene just yet. It was considerate of him, really, given she’d just told him how much she hated acting. 

So why did she feel disappointed?

But any disappointment quickly faded into awe as Noah began to improv an investigation. He questioned suspects, helping people embellish their dull characters with a better story: The banker hadn’t just made the deceased a loan, he’d come to collect his overdue payment. The landlord hadn’t just stopped by the party because of a noise complaint, he’d come with an eviction notice. The drunk in the corner wasn’t just harmless, he’d threatened to expose their business if he was cut off. The flat, lifeless characters came to life once Noah guided them. 

“What were you doing at the time of the murder?” Noah pressed Britt’s girlfriend Zoe.

“I went to the kitchen before he died,” Zoe admitted, spinning to face Aarthi. “I saw him kissing her. His back was pressed up against the counter — the one with all the knives!”

The crowd gasped and Noah faced Aarthi, his mouth dropped open as if in disbelief. 

“The victim was stabbed in the back with a kitchen knife,” Noah murmured. "You’re the one I’ve been looking for.”  

The words were an accusation, not a declaration of love. Still, a thrill ran up Aarthi’s spine, goosebumps erupting on her arms. She could feel his gaze on her, like a fingertip trailing along her skin. 

“I’ll be the one for you,” Aarthi found herself whispering. Her cheeks began to flame, but Britt’s reminder was in the back of her head. She could flirt as much as she wanted without embarrassment — she was literally a seductive mistress. 

“What were you doing at the time of the murder?” Noah stepped closer to her.

“It’s a story it would be more fun to tell in private, if you know what I mean.” Aarthi’s heart pounded, the words coming out a half-whisper because of nerves.

Noah’s eyes were as dark as he wrapped his hand around her arm, his grip loose enough she knew she could easily break away if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. She wanted Noah to drag her away to her bedroom for the second time tonight, and not to leave.

“I know a nice private room for us,” Noah said. “In the police station.”

Aarthi rested her hand against Noah’s chest like she was going to push him away. But instead, she found her hand looping around his rainbow suspenders, pulling him an inch closer. Even through the coarse fabric, she could feel the heat of his chest underneath, the swell of his chest as he breathed in quickly at her touch.

“Nice job questioning the crowd,” Aarthi murmured quietly.

“I did what you told me to.” Noah’s lips brushed against her ear.

Aarthi wrinkled her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”	

“You told me the story would be better if everyone had a secret to keep. So I helped them make one up. It’s like you said — everyone’s hiding something.”

Aarthi smiled, not caring if it was how her character should react to being arrested. Noah had listened to her, had taken her ideas seriously, and had used them. And she had been right — the story was better as a result.

Aarthi lifted her eyes to his, an electric spark shooting up her spine as their eyes met. She took another step closer to him, so close that their chests would touch if she took a deep breath. 

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Noah murmured quietly. “I know you don’t like acting.”

“I’m not acting,” she said honestly. “And I think this story’s just begun.”

Noah smiled widely, not looking away from Aarthi’s eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our murderer,” he declared. 

Britt wolf-whistled and started clapping, and more of their friends joined in. Noah bowed his head to the crowd, but he didn’t pull away from Aarthi’s grip. 

“Just in time,” Britt called loudly. “The pizza’s almost here!” 

Someone turned the record back on, an old Irving Berlin song cackling over the din as people began to chatter, attention slipping away from the scene. The crowd dispersed, the promise of food drawing their attention away, but Noah and Aarthi stayed locked together in the corner. His eyes searched hers, their green the shade of a forest she couldn’t wait to get lost in. 

“The scene’s over,” Aarthi murmured. “You don’t have to investigate me anymore.” Her heart raced, and she dared to believe that Britt was right, that Noah had been intrigued by more than the mystery.

“I don’t care about your character,” Noah smiled wickedly. “But there’s so much I still want to know about you.”

And then Aarthi did something truly out of character: When Noah leaned in slowly, giving her ample time to pull away, she stood on her tiptoes instead. As their lips met, Aarthi realized there was a better feeling than making Noah laugh. Floating didn’t even begin to describe how she felt when they kissed. It was the moment the fog cleared in San Francisco, the sun finally warming her skin, the city glowing under its blaze.

Aarthi broke away when she felt something furry rub along her ankle. Agatha had emerged from the bedroom.

“Agatha joined the party.” Aarthi’s jaw dropped. Apparently, she and her cat were both acting outside of character tonight. “I swear, she normally hates strangers.”

Noah laughed. “Well, what’s a murder mystery without a twist?”