by Sara Rosett
I closed my eyes briefly. I didn’t want to think about Summer and poisons, but the fact remained that she was on her way to the hospital. “But you think there’s a strong possibility that she was poisoned?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I hope not, but that’s what my gut tells me.”
Mitch said, “You said it acts quickly. Are we talking hours or minutes?”
“It depends on the dose and the concentration. If it was digitalin—that’s the medicine—there are certain time frames, but if she consumed it in the raw state—foxglove—then it would depend on how much was in the plant, which varies from plant to plant.”
I frowned at Mitch. “I wonder if Summer was on any medicine?” I turned back to Rebekah quickly. “The medicine for poison ivy. Would she still be taking that?”
“Yes, she would need to take it over several days.”
My thoughts were spinning through all sorts of horrible possibilities. “I don’t like to even think about this, but is there any way someone could have switched out the medicine for the poison ivy with this digitalin? Do they look the same?”
Rebekah considered for a moment. “I’m not as familiar with digitalin but I believe it is dispensed in a small round tablet, similar to the medicine I prescribed for her poison ivy, but the prescription I wrote for her would have been in a blister pack. You know what those are? A flat, foil-backed sheet with each pill encased in a plastic bubble that you punch out.”
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about,” I said. “So it would be harder to switch out a tablet in one of those blister packs.”
“But not impossible,” Mitch said darkly. “You called Redding today, right?” At my nod, he reached for my phone, transferring the number to his phone. “I’m going back to Summer’s room. I have one of Brian’s key cards,” he said as he moved away, speaking over his shoulder. “I’ll ask Redding to meet me there.”
He strode away quickly, and Rebekah murmured, “That seems like a long shot. If someone wanted the bride to ingest digitalin there are easier ways to see that it gets in her system, like grinding it up and adding it to her food.”
“The rehearsal dinner.” I pressed a hand to my mouth for a second. “Summer and I had lunch together today. We split two appetizers, and I’m fine. I don’t think it could have happened at lunch.”
“Hmm . . . what did she have to drink?” Rebekah asked.
“A bottled water, and I watched her open it. No, if it was in something she ate, it had to have happened at the rehearsal dinner. I talked to her before the rehearsal, and she told me she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. I asked if she wanted some food, but she said no, that she felt great. I have to get back to the banquet room.”
Rebekah said, “Yes. That’s a good idea. Tell the detective I’m available to answer any questions he has.”
“Thanks,” I called, already half jogging across the shell drive. I reached the resort and hurried through the dining room, but I came to an abrupt halt at the threshold of the banquet room. Every table had been cleared, even the tablecloths had been removed. A crew of about four employees were shifting the bare tables around into a new arrangement, probably for another event on the following day.
I crossed the room to the door the servers had used during the evening and found it opened into the little alcove between the main dining room and the kitchen. The swinging wooden door that hid the servants’ staircase was directly across from me. I turned and pushed into the heat and bustle of the kitchen. “Where are the dishes from the banquet room?” I asked the first person I saw, a young woman unloading champagne glasses from a plastic square tray with high edges.
She shook her head. “No inglés.”
I moved to another woman, who stood at the center of the kitchen with a tablet in hand, and repeated my question. She gave me a puzzled look as she waved her hand toward a stack of clean white plates on a set of industrial chrome shelves. “They’re done.”
“And the food? Where’s the leftover food?”
The woman put her hand on her hip. “It’s gone. If you forgot your doggie bag, I’m sorry, but the banquet food was cleared away. Now, I need to ask you to leave. Resort guests aren’t allowed in this area.”
“It’s incredibly important. Surely, you don’t run all the leftover food down a garbage disposal, do you? There’s got to be trash or a compost pile or something left over.” I spotted a man pushing a large trash can across the room and moved in his direction. “Could it be in there?”
She gripped my arm and pulled me back. “Why?”
I should have called Mr. Markham before charging in here, I realized belatedly. His word carried weight. This woman thought I was just some crazy guest who’d probably had one too many. There was only one way to get her to take me seriously. “Someone may have been poisoned.”
She stared at me a moment, her gaze running over my face. I must have looked significantly shaken because her eyebrows lowered into a frown. “Does this have something to do with the commotion at the service entrance tonight?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders came down and her gaze went to the ceiling. “Of course it does.” She turned on her heel and called out, “Mel! Get those trash bags from the banquet room and put them aside.”
I pulled out my phone to call Mitch and realized I’d just missed a call from him. I’d turned the ringer off before the rehearsal and had forgotten to turn it back on. He’d followed up his missed call with a text.
Redding here with me in Summer’s room. No sign of her medicine being tampered with.
I switched the ringer on, then called him. He answered right away.
“I got your text. Is Redding still with you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. He needs to come to the kitchen. After you left, Rebekah said that an easier way to poison Summer would be to add something to her food. I’m in the kitchen now. They’ve already cleared the banquet room and washed the dishes, but the garbage is still here.”
“I’m putting Redding on.”
Mitch handed over the phone, and I repeated what I’d told Mitch.
“I’ll be right down. Make sure those bags aren’t thrown away.”
Redding arrived in the kitchen within a few minutes with Mitch at his side. Redding huddled with the woman with the tablet along with Mr. Markham, who had arrived shortly before Redding. The woman must have called him. Redding asked about the food, and they pointed out the bags of trash.
Redding nodded. “And the drinks?”
“The glasses are already washed,” the woman replied.
“What about the bottles you served it from?” Redding asked.
She pointed to rows of plastic crates stacked along one wall. “We recycle glass. The wine, beer, and champagne bottles are over there. Probably the top three or four were from that dinner, but there’s no way to know exactly which ones came from the dinner. They’d just be added to the crates.”
“No one touch those until my techs get here.”
I’d shifted off to the side, trying to keep out of the way of the constant busyness of the kitchen staff, but as soon as Mitch entered the kitchen, he spotted me and came to stand beside me. “Mom just called me,” he said. “They’re keeping Summer at the local hospital on the mainland for now. Her blood pressure is low, and she’s still feeling sick. They’re doing tests.”
“So they don’t know for sure what’s caused it?”
“No.”
“How are your parents?”
“Pretty shaken up.” Mitch would have said more, but he spotted Redding crossing the room toward us.
“Mr. and Mrs. Avery, I understand that this is a very stressful time for you. Thank you for the information you’ve provided, but I suggest you return to the wedding party events and let me take it from here.”
Mitch glowered at him. “My sister is in the hospital. You can’t expect us to go away and pretend nothing has happened—” I slipped my hand into Mitch’s and squeezed.
It took quite a bit to get my normally laid-back husband riled, but once he was worked up, he wouldn’t back down.
“No, I wouldn’t expect you to,” Redding said, his voice calm. He glanced around the room. Most of the kitchen staff were moving through their routines, but a few people were staring at us. “We don’t know for certain that your sister was poisoned. Until I get word on that, I have to move cautiously. But if she was poisoned and the person who did it thinks it wasn’t picked up on, then the chances of that person relaxing and making a mistake, giving themselves away, is greater. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“I see your point. I don’t like it, but I see it,” Mitch said.
“Good. Then can I count on you to put out the word that something disagreed with your sister, and she was hospitalized as a precaution?”
Mitch gave a reluctant nod. “But I expect you to keep us updated on the investigation. If she was poisoned—”
Redding interrupted Mitch. “We will make sure she’s safe. I’ll do everything I can. I promise you that. I’ve got a sister of my own, so I understand your reaction.”
I could feel Mitch’s arm, which had been pressed against mine, relax as he loosened his grip on our linked fingers. He gave a short nod, which Redding returned.
I let out the breath I was holding. “All right,” I said. “Come on, Mitch. There’s nothing else we can do here.” I tugged on his hand.
“I suppose you’re right.” He slowly followed me out of the kitchen and through the dining room.
“Oh! The kids—how long has it been since they went to play board games?” I asked, a sudden attack of mom-guilt mixed with panic coming over me as I realized that I hadn’t kept an eye on the time.
“Relax,” Mitch said. “It’s only been about an hour.”
“Really? It seems like so much longer.”
“I know.”
In the lobby, we turned the corner to go down the hallway that led to the library and almost collided with Yvonne. She jumped back, and I reached out automatically to steady her as she wobbled on her stiletto heels. She gripped my forearm. “Do you know about Summer? Have you heard that she’s in the hospital? That can’t be true, can it?”
Mitch and I exchanged a glance, and I said, “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Her face, which had been tense and worried, went pale. “Oh, no,” she murmured, “I had a voice mail, but I hoped . . .” Her hand fell away from my arm, and her whole body sagged.
Mitch reached out, hooked his hand under her forearm to steady her, and led her to one of the padded benches that lined the hallway.
She collapsed onto the bench. I sat down beside her. “Can I get you something? A glass of water, maybe?”
Her gaze was focused on her hands, which had fallen into her lap. She clenched her cell phone in one hand and lifted it slightly.
“I had a message from Brian, that Summer was sick. I hoped that she was okay, but then someone said she’d been taken away in an ambulance . . . He’ll be devastated and worried.” She lifted her gaze to mine, and I was surprised to see tears glittering in her eyes. I recognized that motherly instinct to comfort your child, that desire to smooth away the hurt and worries of life—or if you couldn’t do that, to at least share the burdens. She blinked rapidly and swallowed hard. “He said he’d call me later, but he’s not going to, not after the way I behaved toward Summer.” She dropped her head and sniffed.
I sent Mitch a help me here glance, and he shrugged, then gave a little head shake that I knew meant I have no idea what to do. “I, ah—I’ll go find some tissues,” Mitch said, then set off down the hallway.
Internally, I shook my head. A man would rather deal with a gun-toting mugger than a crying woman. I turned back to Yvonne. “I’m sure that’s not true. He’s probably just busy getting her to the hospital and everything sorted out. Once things calm down, I’m sure he’ll call you.”
She pressed her finger to her upper lip, but tears seeped from her eyes, tracking through her mascara and eyeliner. “Yes, but don’t you see—that’s why it’s so bad.” She sniffed, raised her head, and wiped her fingers under her eyes, smearing her makeup even more. “We’ve always been close, Brian and I. We didn’t have those horrible tense, angst-filled teenage years that are so common. Brian was a good kid. He was so concerned about his GPA.”
She rolled her eyes. “The GPA, the college admissions, the extracurricular activities, the college application essays. Sometimes I couldn’t believe Brian was my child. Had I really given birth to this goal-oriented, focused boy who wanted to be a lawyer? I mean, my son, a lawyer?” She laughed and I could see that there was pride behind her consternation. “But I had. He did everything exactly right, followed the rules, and excelled while he did it. So we skipped a lot of those painful teenage things. Brian was so adultlike, even from the time he was about twelve. Always focused on the future, making the best choices. It was easy to depend on him.” She heaved out a sigh that moved her shoulders. “I see that now. That perhaps I depended on him too much. Perhaps I was just a teeny bit selfish.”
I bit my lip and let her continue.
“And now he’s chosen a perfectly wonderful girl, and by pushing her away, I’ve pushed him away too.”
Mitch returned and held out a box of tissues.
“Thanks,” she said as she took one and wiped her face, but there wasn’t much damage control she could do. She only smeared the black mascara and liner more.
“Well, I don’t know Brian very well, but he doesn’t seem the type of person to hold a grudge. I’m sure you can make amends.”
She thought about it for a moment, then gave a little nod. “Yes. It’s possible, I suppose.”
“And Summer wants to patch things up. I know she does. You and Summer both want Brian to be happy. Surely it will work out.”
“Yes, it might,” she said slowly. “When you look at it like that . . .”
“We’ll let you know, if we hear anything,” I said.
“Alright.” She dabbed her eyes again, then squared her shoulders. “Thank you, I would appreciate that.” She stood and shook out her skirt. “Thank you for listening, too.”
“Anytime,” I said, shooting a reproachful glance at Mitch.
“I think I’ll check with the front desk, see what time the first ferry leaves in the morning,” Yvonne said.
As she walked away I said to Mitch, “Great job, getting the tissues.”
“I think I detect a note of sarcasm in your tone,” Mitch said.
“Yes. You practically sprinted away once the tears were imminent.”
Mitch tossed the tissue box on the bench and wrapped my hand around the crook of his arm. “Smartest thing I could do. Leave the women to talk, fetch tissues. I have learned that when a woman is crying, it’s best to not say too much. Usually, whatever I say is the wrong thing. Best to keep quiet and get the tissues. Besides, I wasn’t sure if those were real tears or just great acting,” Mitch said as we moved down the hall.
“I think they were real.”
“She is an actress.”
“Yes, but there was something raw and exposed. I think she was legitimately upset. And I doubt she’d ruin her makeup if she was just pretending to be worried.”
“Well, time will tell,” Mitch said.
“Yes. Speaking of time, it’s been a while since we heard anything from your mom and dad. They didn’t happen to call you while you were off getting tissues?”
“No, I called them,” Mitch said, and the lightness vanished from his tone. “I just wanted to check in. No change.”
Chapter Fourteen
The tap of rain against the window woke me. I rolled away from Mitch’s shoulder, slipped out of bed, and peeked between the curtains. The clouds that had been on the horizon yesterday had rolled in, casting a grayish tinge over the view. Raindrops streaked the window, blurring the landscape, but I was still able to see that the chalk lines on the grass had been washed away. The framework of the arch, marking
the entrance to the gazebo where Summer and Brian would have stood today to exchange their vows, looked barren without its layer of flowers.
I heard Mitch stirring, and I turned away from the gray view. The first thing he did was check his phone. “Anything?” I asked.
“No.”
“Well, at this point, no news is good news, I think,” I said, dropping down onto the foot of the bed. Mitch’s parents had called at three in the morning to let us know that Summer’s vital signs had stabilized.
Mitch fingered his phone. “Do you think it’s too early to call?”
“No, I doubt anyone’s gotten any sleep.”
I reached out a hand. “I’m sure she’s doing either the same or better.”
He nodded, but dialed anyway. I went to shower. I knew it wouldn’t be long before the kids were awake, and any tiny bit of jump on the day that I could get, I needed.
When I emerged from the bath, the kids were snuggled into the bed with Mitch.
Livvy looked at me, her face stricken. “Aunt Summer is in the hospital.”
We hadn’t told the kids last night, agreeing that it would be better to wait until they weren’t tired—kids took everything harder when they were exhausted—and we hoped we would have better news today.
“Yes,” Mitch said, “but she’s doing fine.”
“She is?” I asked, joining them.
“Her vital signs are back to normal and she’s feeling better. They want to keep her until tomorrow morning, just for observation.”
“Thank goodness.” I squeezed Mitch’s hand.
“I’m going over on the first ferry to give Mom and Dad a break.”
“Oh, good. I’m sure they need some rest. I’ll stay here and work all the wedding details.”
“The wedding,” he said, running a hand over his face. “I forgot for a second. This was supposed to be her wedding day.”
“She can’t get married now?” Livvy asked.
“No, she can still get married, but it may not be here. They may have to reschedule.”