Annabelle paused in the doorway. Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise. Jonathan always sported the computer geek pallor, but she’d never seen his face so white. He was completely drained of color. Tubes sprouted out of both arms, and wires snaked up from his chest to beeping machines. A tap on the shoulder sent her whirling around.
“Miss Carlyle? I’m Doctor Robison. I treated your brother when he was first admitted.”
“He looks awful. How is he?”
“Your brother is a lucky man. If he’d been alone, unable to call for help, he’d be dead by now. Mrs. Haley undoubtedly saved his life.”
Annabelle closed her eyes in sheer relief. “So he will recover?”
“He should. We pumped his stomach, and he’s finishing a preventive round of dialysis to make sure we eradicated all the poison from his system. He’s going to have to stay here for a few days while we monitor his blood levels, but you should be able to take him home next week.”
Poison. She could barely wrap her mind around it. “And you’re certain he was poisoned?”
“Without a doubt. We’re waiting on the results of his lab work, but from the symptoms and sudden onset, our best guess is taxine poisoning.”
“What’s that?”
Ashby stepped forward, head cocked to the side. “From a yew tree?”
“Quite possibly.” The doctor shook Annabelle’s hand and promised to come back during his rounds.
“From what my mother described, every symptom fits. A yew tree—amazing.” Ashby scrubbed his hand across his eyes. “God, he really had a close call if it was taxine. That stuff’s lethal.”
“Ashby, should I be concerned that you seem to know quite a bit about whatever poisoned my brother?” Annabelle asked.
“What? No, of course not. This is what I do.”
“Poison people?” Jillian queried in an arch tone.
“Constructive addition to the conversation, Jilly,” Mark muttered under his breath.
“Annabelle, I’m a horticulturalist. Trees, shrubs, leaves—I know this stuff inside out.”
Annabelle braced herself with one hand on the door frame. She was dizzy with relief. “Calm down, Ashby. I’m not accusing you. It struck me as an unusually random piece of information for you to possess.”
“Not really. When you study the history of plants, you learn a ton of background about poisons. And you have to know which plants are toxic to humans and animals. Helps you figure out what you shouldn’t plant around a farm, for instance. For safety reasons, I learned to recognize symptoms of plant poisons.”
Mark added his two cents. “Over the centuries, poison’s been a murder weapon of choice because it was accessible to everyone, regardless of class or wealth. You could wander into any garden, mush up some leaves and have yourself a toxic cocktail.”
“Thank you, Professor Dering,” said Jillian, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now is not the time or place for a lecture.”
“It’s Doctor Dering, Jilly, and don’t you forget it,” Mark snapped. “A good part of my life was spent earning my title. I like to parade it around whenever possible.”
“Can we all focus, please?” Annabelle raised her voice over her sniping friends. “I know it’s late and we’re all tired, and a hospital’s the last place you want to be, but we need to figure out who did this to Jonathan.”
“Sorry, darlin’. I think we’re all feeling the stress.” Mark gave her an apologetic peck on the cheek.
“Trust me, I feel it too. Tonight is a turning point. This attack is a clue. If we dissect it, we’ll find something to bring us closer to the truth.”
“Turn our disadvantage into an advantage,” Mark said.
“Exactly.”
“Belle, is that you making all the noise?” Jonathan’s question caught everyone by surprise. Annabelle led them into his room and crowded up against his bedrails.
“Okay, who are these people? They look like they know who I am, but I don’t. Oh, man, do I have amnesia?” Jonathan looked at Ashby and Jillian in confusion, and then back at Annabelle. “But if I have amnesia, why do I know you’re my sister? And that you’re sleeping with the man standing next to you?”
“Just won’t let it go, will you?” Mark mumbled.
Annabelle was careful to avoid his IV as she laced her fingers through his. “You don’t have amnesia. At least, the doctor didn’t mention it. And the ones you don’t recognize are Ashby and Jillian.”
Jonathan gave a slight nod of recognition. “Heard about you two. We’re all going to the ball together tomorrow night, right?”
“Not anymore. You’ve been benched,” said Ashby.
“No sports analogies. He’s a computer geek—it’s like a foreign language to him,” Mark explained.
“How about this? Jonathan, you’re in a hospital. Which means no dancing or cramming yourself into a rented costume.”
“Have to admit, I’m not sure I could get out of bed if I tried. Why doesn’t one of you tell me what’s wrong with me?”
“The doctor thinks you were poisoned.” Annabelle didn’t think it was possible, but her brother actually turned paler. “As bad as it sounds, I don’t want you to worry. You’re going to be fine.”
“Are you sure? I feel like crap.”
Mark snickered. “Well, poisoning doesn’t exactly get good word of mouth. The important part is you’re alive enough to feel that way.” He bent over and rested his arms on the bedrail. “Tell us what happened.”
“I don’t know.”
“Think, Jonathan,” Annabelle encouraged. “Anything you tell us could help.”
“After you dropped me off, I followed the directions you gave me to your room. Didn’t look like anyone else was up. I was still too keyed up to sleep, so I ...” his voice trailed off.
“What is it?”
“The cookies on the dresser. There was a big plate of chocolate chip cookies on the dresser. They were covered up with saran, and had a note with your name on top. I brought the plate into bed with me and started surfing channels. I ate about five cookies before I started feeling sick. I remember falling on the floor, and then nothing till I woke up just now.”
“Bottom line is if you weren’t such a pig, you wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed right now.” Annabelle smiled at him. He was going to live. Her world steadied.
“I think I’ll find a way to keep a leash on my sweet tooth from now on.”
“What about the note? What did it say?” Mark asked.
“Hey, I may be a pig, but I’m not a snoop. I didn’t open it. I learned my lesson a long time ago. Annabelle caught me reading her diary when she was twelve and I had bruises for a week.”
Ashby cleared his throat. “The note’s a dead end.”
“What are you, psychic?”
“The police told us. They sent a crime scene unit to go over your room, and it didn’t take them long to figure out the poison was in the cookies.”
“The note was extremely vague.” Jillian took up the tale and turned to face Annabelle. “It had your name on the outside, and the inside said Welcome to Charleston. Mrs. Haley told the police they arrived on her doorstep this afternoon in a plain box. She put them on a plate and stuck them in your room for when you returned.”
“That’s why the police are so sure the poison was meant for you, Annabelle. There’s a strong chance it would’ve worked.” Ashby squared his shoulders. “We had to tell them what’s going on. I know you didn’t think they’d pay attention, but it’s different now.”
Annabelle hastened to reassure him. “Ashby, I wouldn’t expect you to lie to the police. I’m glad you told them. But it doesn’t change anything.”
“Of course it does.” said Jillian. “They’re putting a guard outside this room until Jonathan gets discharged, so you won’t have to worry about your brother’s safety.”
“It certainly puts my mind at ease. But I won’t sit on my hands and wait for the police to figure this out. I know we’re close.
We have to be, or this attempt never would’ve happened.”
Jonathan waved a corner of his sheet to get Annabelle’s attention. “Near miss is a more apt description than attempt. Attempt makes it sounds like nothing happened, like the bad guys didn’t make any progress at all.” He rolled his head to the side and closed his eyes. “I know they say close only counts in horseshoes, but I feel like close counted for something this time around. If I could describe one tenth of how lousy I feel, I would.”
“And remember, now they’ve found Tad’s body, we know for sure whoever it is won’t stop at scare tactics to keep us away,” Jillian chimed in. ”Somebody is set on getting you out of the way permanently, Annabelle.”
“Guys, I hear you, honestly.” Annabelle patted her brother’s arm in reassurance. “I’m not discounting the danger. But whatever I know, whatever they think we may all know, doesn’t disappear if I go back to New York. Running away won’t solve anything.”
“Annabelle’s right. This has to end before anyone else gets hurt. The only way is to cut it off at the source,” Mark said.
A nurse bustled in before he could continue. “I believe we said Mr. Carlyle could have one visitor at a time. You’re too much excitement after what this poor man’s been through. He needs his rest. You can all come back tomorrow and visit him.”
Annabelle’s hand flew to her mouth. “Jonathan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think—I had to see you myself to know you were alright.”
“Wasn’t too disappointed to see your face either, Belle. But this seals the deal. I’m never leaving New York again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Annabelle lifted her hair to let the breeze cool her neck. “It feels so good. And it blows away the awful hospital smell.”
“We’re about a block from the marina. There’s always a good breeze at night by the water,” Mark said.
“Only a block? Let’s go. We have to talk about our plan, and I’d rather not do it on the hospital steps.”
Jillian led the way, while Ashby wrapped up a phone call to his mother. By the time he hung up, Annabelle, Mark and Jillian were lined up on a bench at the water’s edge. He sprawled on the grass in front of them.
“She’s fine. Calmed down quite a bit. Offered to move all the guests into a hotel downtown, and every single one of them refused. Said they didn’t want to miss another shot at her cinnamon rolls. She sounded downright proud.”
What a relief. If she’d cost the Haleys any of their guests, Annabelle would feel even guiltier. And with the massive guilt she already felt over Jonathan, that would’ve been too much to handle.
“Are the police gone?” asked Mark.
“Yup. Wasn’t much for them to do once they scraped the cookies off the floor and bagged the note. They did mention wanting to get statements from both of you tomorrow.” Ashby handed over the detective’s card.
“Oh sure, now they’re in a hurry to talk about this. I think I’ll give them a chance to dig up the files on Tad and Vanessa before I check in with them. Actually, I can do one better.” Annabelle chuckled. Turnabout was fair play. No reason she couldn’t have a tiny bit of revenge on the Charleston PD. “I’ll call Ralph Paxton. He’d love the opportunity to point out how they screwed this up.”
Mark held up his hands in a time-out signal. “Not to deprive you of your fun, but did you consider that pissing off law enforcement officials isn’t the best way to ensure their cooperation?”
If a little embarrassment made them aware of their shortcomings so they never overlooked this sort of thing again? It was worth it. “It’s not like I’m going to rent a billboard advertising that if they’d done their job my brother wouldn’t be in a hospital bed right now. But they repeatedly turned a deaf ear to Ralph, and as a direct consequence, this murderer had the opportunity to almost kill again.”
“I’m not discounting that. However, civility has been known to open doors which would be otherwise closed in the face of hostility.”
“Wow, your Southern is showing again in a big way.”
“Fact is, that’s how things work down here. And it isn’t a completely foreign idea to you. Remember, I’ve seen you turn on the charm. You’re letting your personal feelings get in the way of getting the job done.”
Annabelle sucked in a breath. “Low blow, Dering. Accurate, but painfully low. All right, I hear you. When we go in tomorrow morning, I’ll be professional and pleasant, bordering on charming.”
“You won’t regret it.”
“Don’t be so sure. Regardless, I’m still calling Ralph Paxton. He has a right to know. We’ll use a two pronged attack; sweetness and light on my end, and Ralph’s righteous wrath on the other.”
“Be sure you get over there first thing in the morning. We don’t need officers tracking you down in the middle of the ball,” Jillian said.
Annabelle smiled in reassurance. “Don’t worry. I know how much hard work you’ve put into this event. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything to disrupt it. I’ll check on Jonathan as soon as visiting hours start, and then we’ll head straight to the station.”
“I appreciate it. If the slightest thing goes wrong tomorrow night my mother will have a heart attack.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Annabelle said, only half in jest. “I suddenly have the urge to bring in a stripper pole and some dancers.”
“What on earth?”
“Let’s just say your mother and I didn’t hit it off too well. Especially once I mentioned that Mark’s my date for the ball.”
“Oh.” Comprehension dawned, and Jillian wrinkled her nose. “Sorry about that. She told you Mark and I are all but engaged?”
Ashby’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he said nothing.
“Something like that,” Annabelle answered dryly. She wasn’t sure how much to say about her altercation with Madelaine Beaufort. Family connections were tricky at best, and she didn’t have enough background on Jillian to know for sure how she might react. Her caution turned out to be unfounded, when Jillian pealed with laughter.
“If I showed up nine months pregnant, a man by my side and a wedding ring on my finger, I swear my mother would still ask me how things are going with Mark. She is relentless. And it’s your fault,” she said, jabbing Mark on the leg.
“Me? What did I do?” he asked, as he swatted her hand away.
“You were always unflaggingly polite to her; very unlike the other boys who came round. There is such a thing as making too good an impression, you know.”
“Hey, I’m polite,” Ashby protested. “If that’s what it takes, why doesn’t your mother fawn over me?”
Mark jumped in before Jillian could respond. “Consider yourself lucky, and don’t ask any questions. This whole conversation is making me twitchy. Jilly, can we please move on to a topic besides our imaginary relationship?”
“Not yet.”
Mark dropped his head back and let out a groan. “Why can’t you let this go?”
“Because I want to apologize to Annabelle. Obviously you didn’t warn her about what to expect from my mother, and no one should go up against her unprepared. We’re all used to her snippy officiousness, but it’s no excuse. I’m terribly sorry she made you uncomfortable,” she said to Annabelle.
“Don’t worry about it. I figure I’ll make her more uncomfortable tomorrow night when I plaster myself all over my man here.” She crooked her elbow around Mark’s neck to pull him in for a big kiss. “Petty? Unquestionably. But fun? Undeniably.”
“Oh, I’m putting my money on Annabelle. This is going to be a treat to watch. Don’t start without me in a ringside seat,” Ashby pleaded.
“And on that note, it’s time to regroup.” Mark stood and paced the grass behind Ashby. “Jillian, how soon can we get into the DOC mansion?”
“You lost me. Why do you want to get in before the ball? It’s going to be absolute chaos tomorrow.”
“Sorry, I forgot we haven’t had a chance to bring you up to speed. We found a copy of
the book that’s apparently the lynchpin to this entire mystery. It’s on loan to the museum at the Citadel.”
“Terrific!” She beamed at Annabelle. “I can’t believe you tracked it down so quickly.”
Annabelle tried for an air of nonchalance. “Dig enough holes and you’re bound to find something. Pretty much a universal truth, in everything from archaeology to investigation.”
“No modesty between friends. All the credit goes to Annabelle’s persistence,” Mark insisted.
“It isn’t modesty. This whole experience is just another day at the office, except for the remarkable fact you’re all helping me.” Annabelle shook her head in astonishment at how well she’d adapted to having a team. “It’s very strange, relying on other people, but it seems to be working. Which means I need everyone to dig deep and help with this final push.”
“You know we’re here for you, whatever you need. And I’m happy to let you into the mansion tomorrow morning as early as you like. But I don’t understand what it has to do with the Citadel?” Jillian persisted.
“A little undercover work of the less than straightforward variety. Maybe it’s better if we don’t tell you too much.” Mark’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper.
“Do you need to blindfold me before I let you in? Take an oath in blood?” Jillian whispered back, playing along.
“Might help.”
“Too late now for the cloak and dagger routine,” Annabelle remonstrated. “The three of us talked about this on the drive back to Charleston. We need to get access to the book, and for more than the two minute glimpse we’d get walking past the display case. The problem is Mark tells us the Citadel isn’t historically friendly to reporters, so my press pass won’t necessarily open any doors.”
“I don’t know anyone who went to school there, so we can’t work the inside connection,” Mark added.
“I thought if I called the Citadel from the DOC headquarters, posing as a member, they might grant access. The story is the book would be a special display at tonight’s ball. As two organizations which both honor the South’s history, their cooperation should be a lock,” Annabelle explained.
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