by Lea Wait
“I can’t imagine Sarah eating snuff or chewing a nicotine patch!”
“Which is why she appears to have been poisoned. Perhaps by drinking something that had liquid nicotine, which is very potent, mixed in it. She isn’t a big woman, and she didn’t smoke. She would have been affected quickly.”
“How much do you think she drank?”
“We can’t tell exactly. But I’d guess at least thirty-five milligrams to put her in the coma. Keep in mind there are fifteen to twenty milligrams of nicotine in a cigarette, but drinking liquid nicotine is much more dangerous than inhaling it.”
“Wouldn’t it taste awful?”
“Perhaps it was mixed with food or drink that was highly spiced and the spices partially covered the taste and smell. That’s up to the police to figure out. I passed the information on to them, and knew you wanted to hear, too.”
“One more question, Doctor. How long would it take for the effects of liquid nicotine poisoning to begin?”
“It would happen very quickly. Depending on the size of the person and the amount ingested, liquid nicotine can take effect in as little as one or two minutes. In a smoker it would take longer.”
“One or two minutes!”
“She probably ingested the nicotine immediately before her collapse. Dizziness, nausea, weakness, and then coma. That’s all consistent with her condition immediately before and just after her arrival at the emergency room.”
“Yes.” Maggie paused. There was no doubt, then: Sarah had been poisoned at the Whitcombs’ party. Where she had been in full view of everyone. “Will knowing that nicotine poisoning is the reason for her coma mean you can help Sarah more?”
“We’re hoping so. I’m not an expert on poisoning, but we’ve contacted some people at the regional poison control center who are. The good news is that we haven’t done anything contraindicated by nicotine poisoning. We just need to find out if there is anything additional we can try.”
“I hope so, Dr. Stevens.”
“I do, too. Shall I continue to call you if there are any changes in her condition?”
“Please. I’ll stop at the hospital first thing in the morning in any case. And—one more question? Sarah’s nurse said a man had called asking about her, and she’d referred him to you. Do you know who he was?”
“I did talk with someone briefly today. He said he was a relative, and I told him her condition was critical and she couldn’t have any visitors. Should I have gotten his name?”
“If he calls again, would you, please? We didn’t know Sarah had any relatives. It could be important.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t question him.”
“You’ve helped Sarah. That’s what’s important.”
“Ask one of the nurses to call me if you have questions in the morning.” Dr. Stevens paused. “Will Mrs. Whitcomb be with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“She spent a good part of today at the hospital and seemed very upset. It might be good for her to have a friend nearby. You’ll tell her about the nicotine?”
“I’ll tell her.”
She sat back in the armchair and sipped her cognac. Nicotine poisoning.
Maggie thought back to the party. Sarah had been talking to Dorothy. She had seemed fine then. Maggie had recommended the roast beef…but she had eaten that, too, and she wasn’t ill. Sarah had been drinking nothing but Bloody Mary mix.
The Bloody Mary mix! It had been a full pitcher, and it would have been spicy. Could it have covered the smell of liquid nicotine? Had anyone else seen Sarah drinking it? Who had access to the bar?
Oliver had organized the bottles. Paul had helped him. But what possible reason would Oliver or Paul have had to poison Sarah? Even if there was a relationship between Oliver and Sarah…How would he have known she would drink the Bloody Mary mix? Anyone there could have helped themselves. Anyone could have been poisoned. Maggie shuddered. She liked Virgin Marys herself. She could have been the one in the hospital.
Oliver might have less-than-ideal moral standards, but he wasn’t stupid. Even if he’d wanted to hurt Sarah, why would he have done it in his own home, where he would be the logical person to have mixed the drinks?
Paul? But he didn’t even know Sarah! Or so he’d said.
Maggie felt surrounded by hazy clouds of information. She was exhausted. She needed to call Dorothy. No matter what the consequences, she didn’t want Dorothy to think she was hiding something.
Maggie looked at her watch. It was after eleven. No matter; she had promised to call.
Oliver answered.
“I’m sorry to call so late, Oliver. It’s Maggie Summer. Is Dorothy there?”
“She’s here, Maggie, but neither of us can talk now. The police are here. Dorothy’s with the detectives.”
Chapter 19
T-Tiger; U-Unicorn; V-Vampire. Lithographed alphabet page from Walter Crane’s New Toy Book. Picture shows a tiger, a bat, and, interestingly, not a unicorn but another one-horned creature—a rhinoceros. Walter Crane (1845–1915) was an English designer, illustrator, and painter, grouped with the Pre-Raphaelites but remembered for his illustrations of books for children. He, like William Morris, tried to bring art to the home through the design of textiles, windows, and tapestries. c. 1880. 7 x 9.5 inches. Price: $60.
The police must have gone directly to the Whitcombs’ after hearing about the nicotine.
How awful for Dorothy to know for certain that Sarah had been poisoned in her home. Everyone at that party was a potential suspect. Even the caterers, Maggie realized. And, of course, Dorothy and Oliver would be on the list.
Dorothy wouldn’t have killed Sarah; Sarah was her daughter. But the police didn’t know that, and neither did Oliver. Could the detectives have found out that Dorothy had given a child up for adoption and connected that child to Sarah?
Not likely, with sealed adoption records. But someone could have seen Oliver and Sarah together and suspected Dorothy of jealousy. Or Oliver could have been trying to cover up an affair.
Anything was possible.
Maggie took another sip of her cognac, and then another. If any day called for cognac, this was it. She looked down at the telephone in her lap and realized she hadn’t even checked her answering machine. It was probably too late now to return calls.
But in the morning she’d be focused on getting to the hospital to see Sarah as quickly as possible, before her ten o’clock class. Thank goodness she’d packed the van tonight. Tomorrow was Tuesday. She’d have to stop at the grocery and then make up a bed in one of the guest rooms for Gussie and Jim.
The house should be dusted and vacuumed; the dishes in the kitchen sink washed. No matter how tired she was, she had to do something now. She was a night person, not a morning person, she reminded herself. She was exhausted, but if she did the work, she could sleep in a little tomorrow.
She finished her cognac, considered pouring some more, reconsidered, and then went to the kitchen and washed the crystal under running water. Not matter how tired she was, crystal had to be washed by hand. She rinsed the dishes she’d left in the sink yesterday and put them in the dishwasher. Already she felt more organized. At least if the police came back, they wouldn’t find dirty dishes in the sink.
She grimaced. They had no reason to come back to her home. Not that she could think of. But they probably had a search warrant for the Whitcombs’ house. Did a house where someone was poisoned qualify as a crime scene? She wasn’t sure of the legalities. But as long as Sarah was alive, at least it wasn’t a murder scene.
As Maggie straightened her study, replacing the portfolios she hadn’t packed, and piling her unmatted prints near her paper cutter, her mind kept returning to one question: Who poisoned Sarah? Who had a motive? No matter how much she scrutinized the people who’d been at Sunday afternoon’s gathering, she couldn’t imagine anyone who had a reason to hurt Sarah.
Sarah’s housemates all had different backgrounds and interests. Dorothy said she w
as Sarah’s mother. She wanted custody of Aura should Sarah die. But would Dorothy kill Sarah to get custody of Aura? Improbable.
Paul had insinuated that Oliver might have a relationship with Sarah. But would he try to kill her?
Who else at the party even knew Sarah? President Hagfield had met Sarah at other receptions. Paul knew of her, but said he’d never met her. She must have classes with other professors who were there besides Maggie.
It just didn’t make sense.
I should write to Will, she suddenly thought. She felt a surge of guilt. He wrote to her every day, and she’d had dinner with Paul…and the computer was right here in the study.
Dear Will,
Life has been more hectic than usual here. One of my Whitcomb House girls is in the hospital, and she doesn’t have any family, so I’ve been visiting her between classes and getting ready for the show this weekend. But the van is finally packed! You know what a relief that is. Gussie and Jim are driving down from Massachusetts and should be here late Wednesday night. I hope you’ve found wonderful bargains and that both our shows this weekend are fantastic. I’m weary—you can tell by when I’m writing this—way past my usual bedtime. Wish you were here. I could use a shoulder to lean on. Although if I did, I’d probably just fall asleep on it. Fair skies and clear roads, and know I’m thinking of you.
Maggie
Short, but she’d let him know she was still here. And caring about him.
The answering machine was in the kitchen. One more task before she gave up for the night.
“Maggie, it’s Gussie. Got your message, and Jim and I are almost packed and ready to go. We’ll drive down Wednesday, and see you in the early hours of Thursday morning, after the theater. Don’t bother having food for us; we have reservations to eat in New York before the play starts. Looking forward to seeing you!”
Good, Maggie thought. That means I don’t have to hit the grocery store until Wednesday. It would be good to see Gussie. Gussie could sometimes see solutions where Maggie saw only puzzle pieces.
There were two hang-up calls before “Professor Summer? It’s Tiffany. I forgot something. I need to see you again. Soon. I’m going to be out for a while this evening, so could I meet you at your office first thing in the morning? I’ll call tomorrow to confirm. Thanks!”
What could that be about? Had Tiffany thought of something that might help Sarah? Darn. If she’d checked her messages earlier, maybe she could have called Tiffany back tonight. But not this late. Whatever it was would have to wait until tomorrow.
“Is this Maggie Summer? I’m Martha Graves. I live down the street from you. David George, next door, said you were an antique-print dealer. I’ve been cleaning out my mother’s attic and I found a whole box of Godey’s Lady’s Book fashion prints. Would you be interested in buying them? Please call.”
Godey’s! Maggie could always use more early fashion prints, especially if they were the double-size ones that had folded into the magazines. Those were getting harder and harder to find, and if those were in good condition…people hung them in bedrooms or bathrooms or hallways and liked the light touch of the elegant Victorian fashions. Especially when the scenes included children or animals or men. Or brides. Brides were the hardest to find, and the fastest to sell. They made wonderful shower or wedding or anniversary gifts. But it was too late to call Martha Graves tonight.
Maggie wrote down her number and yawned. Enough was enough. Sleep called.
Too late for the Godey’s, too late to call Tiffany. Too late.
Chapter 20
Les Modes Parisiennes: Peterson’s Magazine. February 1891. Five slender, elegantly dressed women in a hand-colored steel-engraved (by Illman Brothers) fashion print. Two of the women are dressed in blue; two in tan; one in gold. A young girl, also elegantly dressed, peeks from behind their skirts, as does a small terrier. Originally a centerfold in Peterson’s, a monthly magazine for women. Fold still visible. Small tears in left margin covered by mat. 9.5 x 11.5 inches. Price: $50.
For the second morning in a row Maggie’s dreams were interrupted by the persistent ringing of her bedside telephone. She tried to focus on the illuminated dial of her clock radio: 5:34.
“Professor Summer! We called 911 and the police came. But we knew you’d want to be here.”
Maggie struggled to sit up and identify the tearful voice. She’d been in bed less than five hours. “Kayla?”
“Yes, it’s Kayla. It’s awful. I can’t believe this nightmare. Maria is talking about leaving right now and dropping out of college and moving back to her parents’ house. Kendall’s trying to talk her into staying.” Maggie heard sobbing in the background. “Heather is crying, and I just don’t know how we’re going to explain it to the kids. They’re all awake and they know something awful happened.”
“Whoa, Kayla. Slow down. What did happen?” Maggie was definitely awake now. She picked up the pencil near her telephone pad, in case she needed to write down anything.
“I’m sorry. It’s just so awful…and I don’t know how it could have happened! Aura woke up early this morning. She was probably missing her mother, but I put her in her own bed last night, because she and Katie didn’t get much sleep Sunday night.”
Could something have happened to Aura? Maggie felt her heart take a leap. “What happened, Kayla? Is Aura all right?”
“She’s in shock, I guess. She was crying at first. But now she’s just sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen holding her teddy bear.”
“But what happened? You said you’d called 911. The police were there!”
“Yes. But it’s not Aura. It’s Tiffany.”
“Tiffany!”
“Aura found her on the kitchen floor. She looked awful. Professor Summer, she’s dead!” Kayla began to sob, and Maggie missed her next muffled words. “…came in late last night, I guess. We must all have been in bed. She was lying just inside the kitchen door, sort of stretched out, on her back. Kendall and I heard Aura scream, and we both got there at about the same time. We found Tiffany on the floor. Aura was sitting next to her, stroking her hair and sobbing. Tiffany looked awful. Her lips and mouth were swollen, and dark, and her blouse was stained, as though she’d thrown up. We knew right away that she was dead.”
“And you called 911?”
“Oh, yes! We kept thinking about Sarah, and that the police had just been here this morning—I mean yesterday morning—and we got really scared.”
“And the police came?”
“They came, and they wouldn’t let us use the phone right away. Not until they’d talked with us. That’s why I didn’t call until now. They just took Tiffany away. They’ve taped off part of the kitchen with that yellow crime-scene tape, like you see on TV, and one of the detectives is in the living room right now trying to talk to Heather.” Kayla paused for a moment and Maggie realized she was holding back her sobs. “But she’s kind of hysterical. I was sure you’d want to know what was happening.”
“Hang on, Kayla. I’ll be right over.”
“Thank you, Professor Summer! Heather and Maria and I…we’re scared. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but Sarah and Tiffany, both.”
“Sarah’s not dead, Kayla. This must be some sort of horrible coincidence. Try to keep calm, for the children’s sake. Tell the police whatever you can. None of you have anything to hide.” Maggie wished she believed that was true. But Tiffany had left a message last night saying she’d forgotten to tell Maggie something. Could it be a coincidence that she was dead only hours later? “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Chapter 21
Penitentiary, Philadelphia. Steel engraving drawn by C. Burton, New York, engraved and printed by Fenner, Sears & Company, published in London, 1831, by Hinton & Simpkin & Marshall. High-
walled, turreted stone building across a walkway from a lawn. Man and horse with a pull-cart in foreground. 4 x 6 inches. Price: $60.
Maggie pulled on a comfortable pair of navy slacks and a navy-and-white
sweater, quickly rebraided her hair, and pinned it up in a crown. “You look a lot older than thirty-eight,” she said to her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. She added lipstick and shrugged. “But who cares this morning. At least you’re alive.” A grim thought. She pinned on one of her brass M pins for luck. Her horseshoe alone didn’t seem to be doing the trick.
She picked up her classroom papers and pocketbook to leave and then stopped. She must call Dorothy.
Although it was Tiffany who was dead, not Sarah, Dorothy would want to know. Better for Maggie to deliver the news than for the police to do it.
“Dorothy? It’s Maggie. There’s another situation at Whitcomb House.”
“Another situation?” Dorothy was beginning to wake up and focus.
Winslow jumped onto the bed and rubbed against Maggie’s arm. She pushed him back onto the floor. No time for cats this morning. “Kayla called me half an hour ago. Tiffany’s dead. They found her body on the floor of the kitchen early this morning and called the police. They’ve already taken her away. Probably to do an autopsy.”
“Tiffany? Autopsy? What happened, Maggie?”
“I don’t know. I’m on my way over there right now. Kayla said Tiffany looked as though she’d thrown up; her blouse and face were stained.”
“Stained with blood? Could she have had a hemorrhage of some sort? How could she have just died? She was so young!”