She pushed the dark thoughts away; she had to know if Seth was all right. “Listen, Bree, can you do me a favor? Find out where Seth is? Oh, and maybe find me some clothes?”
“I’m on it. I’ll bring you some scrubs or something and snoop around till I find Seth. Give me five.”
Bree bounded out into the hallway, leaving Meg feeling ridiculously old. There were only ten years between them, but at the moment it felt more like fifty.
From the flashes she remembered, Seth had been ranting, out of his head. And then gasping for breath. That was bad. But they’d gotten here quickly, hadn’t they? He had to be all right. As soon as Bree found out where he was, she’d go make sure. A fine plan, except that she wasn’t even sure she could stand.
Better find out. She threw off the thin blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. So far, so good. She slid down until her feet touched the cold linoleum floor—and almost kept sliding. She waited until she steadied, then took a few tentative steps toward the bathroom. Okay, the parts seemed to be working. She was almost sorry when she reached the bathroom and saw herself in the mirror: pale, bags under her eyes, hair lank and stringy. What did you expect, Meg? You were poisoned. Bet that never happened at your dinner parties, Mom.
Meg splashed water on her face, ran her fingers through her sweat-matted hair, and rinsed out her mouth. She wished she could remember more specifics about the pesticide. She did remember that the pesticide was extremely toxic—and obviously, it had killed Jason. How long had it taken him to die?
Not Seth. No, please, not Seth. He didn’t deserve to die just because he was a nice guy who had helped her out. Or because he’d liked her spaghetti sauce. That would be so wrong.
Meg walked back to her bed, feeling steadier, and sank back onto the mattress, exhausted by her efforts. Still no sign of Bree. All right, Meg, think! She had tasted the sauce throughout the afternoon and had suffered no ill effects. Then the others had arrived: Seth, Bree, then Michael and Daphne together. One of them must have added pesticide to the sauce. But who? Not Seth: he had no reason to poison anyone. Which left Bree, Michael, and Daphne, any one of whom could have brought the pesticide and known how to use it.
But had that person meant to kill or only to make them sick? Obviously someone knew what a fatal dose would be, because that person had killed Jason. But why would anyone want to make them sick? Who stood to gain by poisoning, or even killing, any of the others? It made no sense.
Bree reappeared and tossed a sweatshirt, some scrub pants, and a pair of disposable booties onto the bed. “There you go. Best I could do, but you’ll be covered. Seth’s one floor down, room 217, but that’s all I could find out. They wouldn’t tell me about his condition.”
“Thanks, Bree.” Meg stripped off the gown, thankful that at least the hospital had left her her underwear, and pulled on the clothes—too large, but clean. “I’m going to go find him. Can you call Art and tell him what’s going on? And wait for me here—I’ll be back as soon as I know that Seth is all right.”
“I hear you. No problem. If you’re not back, I’ll tell him where to look. And take the stairs—that way you don’t have to go past the nurses’ station and they won’t hassle you. Stairs are on the left, down the hall.”
“Got it.” Meg looked up and down the hall. There was no one in sight, so she left the room, trying to act normal, and found the door to the stairwell and slid through it. Down one flight, she opened the door and peered out. Same layout. She scanned the numbers on the doors. Room 217 should be at the opposite end of the corridor. She strode down the hall, pretending she belonged there. Pretending she wasn’t terrified about what she might find when she reached Seth’s room.
She arrived without attracting notice from the nursing staff but stopped before opening the door, her heart pounding. If he wasn’t all right, she’d never forgive herself. Only one way to find out, Meg. She pushed open the door.
A room much like hers. One bed. Seth. He didn’t notice her immediately: his eyes were closed. He was pale, but he was breathing. Was he conscious?
Meg stepped cautiously into the room. “Seth?” she said tentatively, but it came out as a whisper.
It was enough. His eyes opened; he turned his head. “Meg? You look good. You’re okay?”
He was worried about her? She moved quickly to the bed and perched on it, grabbing his hand. “I look like crap, but thanks. You really had me scared last night.”
“Good thing you knew what was going on. I don’t remember a lot of it, but . . . did I hit you?”
“No. Maybe kind of pushed. But that’s okay—I know you didn’t mean it. How’re you doing?”
“Not bad. I think they want to keep me around, give me another round of the antidote, make sure I’m still breathing. They going to let you go?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked yet.” I wanted to see you first. “Art’s on his way, and I assume he’ll call Marcus.”
Seth grimaced. “Just the person I want to see. Can I play possum?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“How’s everyone else?”
“Bree is fine—she’s upstairs. Must be great to bounce back so fast. The local police tracked down Michael, and it sounds like he’ll be all right—Bree talked to him. I’m worried about Daphne, though. There’s been no sign of her. Michael said he took her home, but the police haven’t found her yet.”
“So what happened?”
Meg studied her hand, entwined with his. “I’ve been trying to work that out. I’m betting somebody slipped pesticide into my dinner, and if I rule you and me out, it leaves either Bree, Michael, or Daphne. But why would any of them do something like that?”
Seth shut his eyes, and Meg felt a stab of anxiety. “Seth?”
“Oh, sorry. I was trying to think, but it’s not easy with a headache like this. I’m pretty sure we don’t know the big picture. Why would any of them want us dead?”
“You’re the sickest one, but you ate more than anyone else. Let’s take them one at a time. I think if someone wanted to kill us, they would have used a bigger dose.” Like the one that killed Jason. “So they wanted to scare us? Or point the finger at someone?”
“You mean at Jason’s killer?” Seth grimaced as he hauled himself up to lean against the pillows. “Doesn’t make sense—then there would be two people running around with the poison.”
“But that might be true. What if Michael and Daphne, or Michael and Bree, were working together to kill Jason, and they wanted to throw suspicion on whoever wasn’t involved?”
“Meg, this is just too complicated. Daphne told you she loved Jason, and Michael was his friend.”
“But Jason used Daphne, and Michael gets to take over GreenGrow now. So either of them might have a motive.”
“What about Bree? Why would she kill Jason?”
“I don’t know—an ex-lovers’ quarrel? Do you think Bree had anything to do with this?”
Seth hesitated before responding. “No, I don’t. She’s young, and she’s got a chip on her shoulder, but I think she’s a good kid, and I can’t see her plotting anything like this. She’d be more likely to confront someone to his or her face.”
“I agree. Which leaves Daphne and Michael, either one of them or working together. Seth, what am I supposed to tell Art? Or Marcus?”
“Art will probably come to the same conclusions we have. I can’t guess what Marcus is going to make of this.”
“I bet he’ll find a way to blame me for all this,” Meg said bitterly. She stood up, relinquishing Seth’s hand reluctantly. “Then I’d better go now, because Art’s on his way. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I will be.”
“Seth, I’m so sorry. I seem to be some sort of magnet for disaster. And you could have died . . .”
“Meg, you are not responsible for this—any of it. And I’ll be fine, really.”
Before she could find anything else to say, a nurse bustled in, surprised to
see her. “No visitors. Who are you?”
“I’m a friend, and I was just leaving. Oh, Seth, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“So am I.”
The nurse had watched the exchange with exasperated amusement. “Do this on your own time. I’ve got to check his vitals. Now shoo.” She smiled to soften her statement.
Meg fled. And she realized that she was angry. Someone had poisoned them, had almost killed Seth. Marcus had been dragging his feet, and look at what had happened. Meg was going to talk to Bree and then see what Michael and Daphne had to say.
33
She made her way back to her room, but by the time she arrived she was exhausted again. Bree was still there, and there was no sign of Art. Meg collapsed on the bed with relief.
“Seth okay?” Bree asked.
“I think so. He says he is. Look, Bree, before Art gets here, we have to talk.”
“Yeah?” she said cautiously.
Meg struggled to find the words and finally opted for the simplest. “The police are probably going to ask you if you had anything to do with this. That is, if they don’t decide to go after me first, just for being there both times.” When Bree started to protest, Meg stopped her. “No, I don’t think you had anything to do with this, but maybe you had a motive to kill Jason that I don’t know about. You might even have eaten some of the stuff yourself, just to throw everybody off. You have to be prepared for the questions.”
Bree stood up and leaned over the bed, glaring into Meg’s eyes. “Meg Corey, what kind of a motive would I have? Jason and me, we were over, period. And I would never do harm to another living being, even a piece of trash like Jason. Why do you think I do what I do? I want to make things grow, not kill them. And if you don’t believe me, you can find yourself another employee. Let the goddamn cops ask. I’m not hiding anything.”
Meg stopped for a moment to muster her strength. “Bree, I believe you. But somebody poisoned the spaghetti sauce. So if you didn’t, and I didn’t, and I can’t see any reason why Seth would, that leaves only two choices: Michael or Daphne.”
Bree spoke quickly. “I cannot believe Michael would do such a thing.”
“How well do you really know him? You haven’t been together all that long. The police could think he had reason to want Jason out of the way, so he could run GreenGrow the way he wanted.”
“But why go after us then?” Bree protested.
“I don’t know. Maybe he thought he could shift blame to one of us. Odds are it was the same batch of poison that killed Jason. Michael certainly had opportunity to slip something into the sauce last night.”
Bree was shaking her head vigorously. “No, no, no. He’s a good man. He was Jason’s friend, and it made him sad to see Jason go off the rails the way he did, but he wouldn’t have killed him. He didn’t want Jason dead. Michael doesn’t like to be in the spotlight. He hates speaking to groups and promoting the organization. That’s why he let Jason go on as long as he did—he didn’t want to have to take over that side of things.”
“Okay, okay. So that leaves Daphne.”
Bree threw herself back in the chair and contemplated the ceiling. “Then tell me why she would kill Jason. She worshipped him, followed him around like a dog. She took all kinds of crap from him, hoping he’d toss her a crumb. It was pathetic.”
“Maybe she finally had enough? Or she thought, if she couldn’t have him, nobody else would.”
Bree looked unconvinced. “I don’t see it.”
Meg had to admit she had trouble casting sad-sack Daphne as a villain, but someone had killed Jason and had tried to poison all of them. “But, Bree, it has to be one of us. And why else did Daphne invite herself along? Michael didn’t want her there.” Or so he said, Meg amended. Maybe they were working together and covering for each other? Maybe Michael was the brains behind this, and Daphne was carrying out his orders? She’d already demonstrated her talent for playing a doormat; maybe she’d switched allegiance from Jason to Michael.
Lost in thought, Meg was startled by a rap on her door. Expecting Art, she looked up to see Michael. Bree jumped up and went to him, and then stopped. Meg wondered if she was shy about showing him affection with an audience present—or whether she had taken Meg’s comments to heart and suddenly had doubts about him.
Then Michael wrapped an arm around Bree, and she didn’t protest.
“Michael, I’m glad to see you’re up and around,” Meg said. “You feeling okay?”
“I’m all right. Listen, Meg, I really wanted to apologize for bringing Daphne last night.”
“I think we have more important things to worry about. Somebody tried to poison us, all of us, and Daphne is still missing.” And she’d eaten mainly bread and salad, Meg recalled. Had she known about what was in the sauce? “Do you think Daphne did this?”
Michael stared at her. “I hadn’t . . . Wait, you don’t think I had anything to do with this?” Bree’s grip on his arm tightened.
Meg met his look. “Michael, Bree believes in you, but I hardly know you. If you had anything to do with this, I’ll make sure you pay.”
Michael looked sheepish. “Meg, I swear I had nothing to do with this. Bree’s already read me the riot act.” His expression sobered. “And Jason was my friend. I want to see whoever killed him punished. If it was Daphne, I don’t like that she used me. I’ll tell whoever asks whatever they want to know.”
“Good, because the police are going to ask.”
“Damn straight they are,” Art said, coming up behind Michael. “I’m getting tired of people trying to kill people in Granford. I have to say, Meg, and you, too, Bree, you’re looking a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you. Damn good thing you had that information handy, Meg—it made a difference. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if that gets twisted around on you. You all doing all right?”
Meg smiled at him. “More or less. Anyway, I had good reason to look up the pesticide in the first place, and the only reason I kept the printout was because I’m such a lousy housekeeper. Or maybe my karma is finally improving. What now?”
Art took charge. “Technically I should wait until Marcus gets here, and I should be talking to each of you alone, but screw that. We need to find Daphne, make sure she’s okay. Marcus has got men out looking for her. Oh, by the way, Meg, I went back to your place and rounded up your dirty dishes and your leftovers for evidence.”
“Great—now I don’t have to wash the dishes.” Meg realized she was feeling giddy—a remarkable improvement over dizzy. “Okay, what do you want to know, Art?”
“Let me rustle up some more chairs, so you invalid types don’t have to stand up for this.” He went out into the hall and returned with more chairs.
Since it was her room, Meg remained on the bed, sitting cross-legged against the pillows. “What first?” she asked Art once everyone else was seated.
“Give me the outline of what happened last night, up until you called me,” Art said.
Meg took Art through the events of the previous day. When she mentioned that Seth had brought wine, Art interrupted. “Hang on. Did everyone drink the wine?”
“No—Michael didn’t, because he said he was driving, and Daphne didn’t, because she said she didn’t drink.”
“Okay. Who showed up next, after Seth?”
“Then Bree arrived, in her car, and then Michael and Daphne together, in his car.” Meg grimaced. “I hadn’t expected Daphne.”
“So how did she end up there?” Art asked.
“That’s my fault,” Michael said. “I had some stuff to do at GreenGrow headquarters, and she was there, din-king around at something. She’s there a lot. I thought maybe she’d stop, after Jason . . . Anyway, I couldn’t not talk to her, if you know what I mean.” Michael sighed. “She started talking about how lonely she was without Jason, and how she wished we were better friends. Heck, I was worried she’d latch on to me next, so that’s why I invited her along.”
“Michael, what were you
thinking?” Bree swatted his arm.
He turned to her. “I thought that maybe if she saw you and me together, she’d get the idea and back off.”
Art put up a hand. “Hold it. You and Bree?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, for a while now. But Bree didn’t come around to the office, so Daphne wouldn’t have had any reason to notice or know about us.”
“Did you two get together before or after Jason died?”
“Before, a few months, maybe. That was the main reason Bree stayed away from GreenGrow—she didn’t want to cross paths with Jason. You guys went through all that when he died, right? About him and Bree?”
“Yes. But Bree, you told Marcus you were at the GreenGrow dinner the night Jason died, right?”
“Yeah. I got tired of hiding, and Michael asked me to come.”
Bree and Michael exchanged a glance, and then Bree nudged Michael and nodded toward Art. “Tell him.”
Michael straightened up and faced Art. “We kind of left something out the last time we talked to the police. Bree and I were at the dinner, and we left together, and Jason left with Daphne. But Bree and I were together the whole night. I didn’t want to say anything until she did.”
Chivalry lives, Meg thought—and then realized the implications of what Michael had said. “But that means you couldn’t have been hauling Jason around in the middle of the night! That’s an alibi, you idiots!” Unless they were co-conspirators, but no way was Meg going to believe that.
Art struggled to suppress a smile, and Meg wondered if he was thinking the same thing. “Can we get back to last night? So there you all were, at Meg’s. What were you doing?”
“I was putting the finishing touches on dinner—boiling spaghetti, heating the garlic bread,” Meg answered.
“Who was in the kitchen?”
“Everyone, at one time or another.”
“So anyone could have slipped something into the food.”
“More or less. But nothing tasted off.”
Art smiled openly this time. “Turns out the stuff tastes like garlic. Handy, wasn’t it? Who knew what your menu was?”
Rotten to the Core Page 24