Rival's Break

by Carla Neggers

  “What happened?” Emma asked. “Did he survive?”

  “He’s in intensive care in a London hospital.” Henrietta stared at her teapot. “It’s not a good prognosis.”

  Colin tapped the table with two fingers. “What made him sick, Henrietta?”

  “Our first fear, obviously, was a nerve agent. We had the Novichok poisonings in the UK not long ago. It’s only one of a number of substances that came to mind, but the cause of Robin’s condition turns out to be much more mundane. He’s an avid wild mushroom forager. Unfortunately, he consumed a toxic mushroom that grows in the park where he was found. Death cap, it’s called.”

  “It’s a deadly Amanita,” Emma said.

  Henrietta’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you a forager yourself, Emma?”

  She shook her head. “No. Please, go on.”

  “Apparently, Robin’s daughter shares his interest in foraging. I assume you know that by now.” Henrietta paused, glancing at Oliver, dutifully drinking his tea, letting her do the talking. “We don’t know how or why he ingested the death caps. Given their delayed toxicity, there’s quite a window of time in which it could have happened.”

  “What about Georgina?” Emma asked.

  Henrietta shook her head. “They picked wild mushrooms on Sunday but didn’t prepare any before she left. She knows about her father’s condition. She’s his next of kin. His doctor contacted her.”

  Colin frowned at Henrietta. “Jeremy left Robin fighting for his life and flew to Boston?”

  “He says he didn’t want Georgina to be alone.” Henrietta gave a small shrug. “He’s too sick for me to ask him many questions. He simply cleared me to speak with you and Emma. There’s no indication Georgina was responsible for her father’s illness. Robin could have made a mistake, or...” She stopped, fingered her teapot. “Attempted suicide is a real possibility.”

  Emma leaned back in her chair. “I’d like to hear about your trip to Dublin on Tuesday.”

  Oliver looked at Henrietta in surprise, but she smiled coolly at Emma. “You’ve been busy, I see. Your grandfather heard I was in town?”

  “He saw you while he was at a party at Aoife O’Byrne’s studio.”

  “She’s a brilliant Irish artist. I thought I might pop in to say hello and introduce myself, but I didn’t once I saw she was having a party. I wasn’t going to invite myself up. I flew to Dublin that morning. I met a friend for a bit of a shopping spree. We indulged ourselves at Brown Thomas and then had tea at the Shelbourne. I’d booked a room there, another indulgence. Didn’t you and Colin stay at the Shelbourne in June on your honeymoon?”

  “One night,” Emma said. “It was a gift from my grandfather.”

  “I didn’t contact him while I was in Dublin. I wasn’t sure if he was still in Kerry on his walk, and I didn’t get a chance to stop by his house.”

  “Who’s the friend you saw?” Colin asked.

  Henrietta didn’t miss a beat. “A garden designer.”

  Not a bad tale, Colin thought—probably a mix of truth to it, should he or Emma decide to look into it. Henrietta didn’t seem to care whether or not they believed her. Oliver looked on with admiration, although he’d seen her in action before.

  “Robin Masterson was in Dublin on Monday,” Emma said. “He bought a painting from Aoife O’Byrne.”

  “I see,” Henrietta said.

  It was about as noncommittal a response as there was. Colin said nothing, but Emma eyed the MI5 officer across from her. “I assume he flew back to London that evening, if he was found in the park on Tuesday morning.”

  “Easy to check, isn’t it?” Oliver asked.

  Emma nodded. “Are you aware of or do you suspect a connection between the painting Robin Masterson bought and his poisoning and then the yacht poisoning?”

  “I haven’t seen the painting, but what kind of connection could there be?”

  Emma turned to Oliver. “What about you?”

  He squirmed. Only word for it. Colin resisted the urge to jump down his throat. “Oliver, we’re trying to help. Please tell us what you know.”

  Henrietta tilted her head back, eyeing Oliver suspiciously. “That’s right, Oliver. Tell us.”

  He didn’t quite meet her eye. Instead, he scooped a few grains of sugar off the table into his hand and dumped them into his tea, then shoved his cup aside. “I met Robin Masterson on Saturday at a gallery in London. Aoife’s work was on display, and he was taken in by it. Transfixed, you might say.”

  Henrietta’s blue-green eyes widened in obvious surprise. “You met with him? What does that mean?”

  “He wanted to talk to me about the use of poisons in myths and folktales.”

  “You’re joking,” Henrietta said. “Why on earth—”

  “I don’t know why. I’m not on the why side of things. I’m on the Oliver, I need you to do this, don’t ask questions side of things.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me about this meeting?”

  “I had instructions not to tell anyone.”

  “Jeremy put Robin in touch with you. Bloody hell.” Henrietta was close to sputtering. “He gave you the all clear to talk just now? When we visited—how? I was there the whole time. Did you two have a secret handshake?”

  “He said we could tell everything we knew. He didn’t just say everything you knew.”

  She slapped the table. “Well, there you have it, then. I didn’t notice. I want to know everything about this meeting, Oliver. Every bloody word you and Robin said to each other. And Jeremy,” she added. “Every word he said to you.”

  And it dinged with Colin. “Jeremy’s off the grid.”

  Before Henrietta could respond, Georgina Masterson enter the cafeteria. She spotted them and stopped dead in her tracks. Then she bolted, charging to the exit to the meditation garden, not saying a word but pale, stiff, clearly on the verge of spinning out of control.

  Henrietta started to her feet, but Emma shook her head. “I’ll see to her.”

  12

  Emma caught up with Georgina on a stone path that wound through tall, soothing grasses that did nothing to ease her obvious agitation. She was shaking, sobbing. “I didn’t do anything to deliberately hurt anyone. I swear I didn’t.”

  “Georgina, what’s happened?”

  She gulped in a breath. “Nothing, never mind.”

  “What are you doing at the hospital?”

  “I wanted to check on Bill Hornsby. I rode up here with Nick and Melodie. They’re seeing about Bryce. They’re checking with his doctors now.” She hugged her arms to her chest, shivering with emotion as much as the cool air. “I’m sorry I’m on edge. I’m not myself. I made a terrible mistake...” Her lower lip trembled. “Stupid, careless. Melodie was right about the tacos.”

  “Right about what, Georgina?” Emma asked.

  “I went foraging yesterday morning at the local convent that provided us with fresh vegetables for the party. I picked a couple of dozen of chanterelles and slipped a few inedible mushrooms in with them. You’re not supposed to mix different mushrooms together, but I did. I only had one bag, and I’d run out there...” She groaned in obvious frustration with herself. “Russula emetica is their Latin name. We know them as sickeners in the mushroom world.”

  Georgina lowered her arms to her sides. She wasn’t in her crew uniform today and looked smaller, frailer, in leggings and a sweater, her short, fine hair wispy in the breeze. “I’m familiar with both mushrooms,” Emma said. “They’re quite distinct from each other and not easily confused, I would think.”

  “Not easily at all. Sickeners are red, for one thing. I didn’t mix them together. I didn’t serve the chanterelles. I grilled them thinking I might offer them to anyone who wanted to try them, knowing I’d picked them. I got cold feet and threw them out. I must have grabbed a few sickeners not thinking
and added them to the mini tacos.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not typical of me. I was on autopilot. I’d forgotten I’d picked them, and it didn’t occur to me I’d run into anything inedible in my galley. That’s my usual practice. But I did, and it’s my responsibility.”

  Emma ran her palm over the tops of tall, soothing ornamental grasses. “Sickeners have a strong bitter taste.”

  “Melodie noticed it. The tacos made her sick. She didn’t think much of it at first since she doesn’t usually go for spicy foods, anyway, and these were pretty hot. I can see others might not have noticed anything amiss, or just didn’t want to say anything.” Georgina gave a rueful laugh. “I did notice people didn’t come back for seconds. Melodie’s been very understanding. I’m an independent contractor. I work for the Fannings. Richie is sympathetic, but he’d fire me in a heartbeat if he could.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “Nick, Richie, Melodie. She’ll tell Bryce when he’s well enough. And the doctors.” She bit down on her lower lip, then exhaled slowly. “I can’t make sense of much of anything right now. My father’s very sick. I’ve been preoccupied with what to do—feeling guilty about not going to see him right away, trying to figure out when I should fly back to London. I’ve been in a haze of—I don’t know what.” She paused, staring at a hydrangea, its blossoms having turned a soft burgundy color for autumn. “Shock, I suppose.”

  “I’m sorry, Georgina.”

  “My mother died when I was little, and my father pawned me off on nannies and schools. We didn’t have much to do with each other. Then I got into cooking and decided to sail the seven seas, as they say.” Georgina picked up a few burgundy-colored hydrangea blossoms that had fallen onto the walk. She held them in the palm of her slender hand, staring at them as she continued. “I don’t think he’s going to make it, Agent Sharpe—Emma.”

  “Have you spoken with his doctors?”

  Georgina nodded. She bit on her lower lip, then breathed out, as if trying to control her emotions. “My father accidentally ingested a lethal type of mushroom. He’s an amateur forager, and he must have made a mistake. When I learned he was sick, I think part of me believed if I went about my life instead of running back to London, it meant he’d be okay. He’d rally.”

  “There aren’t always clear ways forward,” Emma said.

  “The truth is, there’s nothing I can do to help him, here or in London. He’s in a coma. His liver and kidneys are failing. I doubt he’d know I was there, and he wouldn’t expect it if he did know. It was to be a short, fun, beautiful cruise.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “No one was supposed to get poisoned.”

  She dropped the hydrangea blossoms onto the walk. Emma remembered the first days after her father’s death, and appreciated Georgina’s sense of shock and uselessness. “How did you end up working for the Fannings?”

  “Adventure. I’d been working as a chef for a couple of years for a charter business, and I ran into Richie and Nick—in Edinburgh, of all places. The Fannings were looking for a personal chef and I passed the test. Not a real test. I don’t mean that. I cooked for them. They liked it, and they liked me.”

  “Were they in London when you were visiting your father?”

  “Yes. Nick and Richie were there, too. We all looked at a yacht for sale and then went our separate ways. Bryce and Melodie had business in London. Nick and Richie visited friends and saw the sights.” She brushed tears off her cheeks, red with the cold and her volatile emotions. “I’m sorry I screwed up.”

  Georgina sniffled, steadier as she and Emma rounded a curve, past a waist-high stone wall.

  “It is a pleasant garden.” Georgina nodded back toward the cafeteria. “I recognize the man with you and Agent Donovan. I don’t recognize the woman. The man is Oliver York. I met him last Saturday at an art gallery in London. She was with him in Bill Hornsby’s room a little while ago. How do you know them, Agent Sharpe?”

  “Colin and I know Oliver through my and my family’s work in art crimes. He’s a highly regarded mythologist. We met Ms. Balfour—Henrietta—through him.”

  “They’re seeing each other?”

  Emma smiled. “Yes. They grew up together in the Cotswolds.”

  “And Bill Hornsby?”

  “I don’t know him well.” It was an honest response, Emma thought, if not a complete one. “What about you?”

  “He and my father have been friends for years, but I don’t know him well, either. I imagine there’s a lot I don’t know about my father and his friends and colleagues, given the nature of his work. Much of it was classified, but he did teach and lecture on neurotoxicology. I wish I knew more about what he did.”

  They walk past more grasses, shrubs and mums in muted autumn colors. “How was your visit with your father?” Emma asked.

  “It was great, actually. I realized I’m probably more like him temperamentally than I’ve wanted to admit. We don’t go for deep, heart-to-heart chats. I’m about two notches more introspective than he is, but that’s not saying much.”

  “Did you stay with him?”

  She nodded. “For two nights—Friday and Saturday—and then I flew to Boston on Sunday to get ready for the foliage cruise. He was in good health when I left him. It’s upsetting to think he’s sick because of eating the wrong mushroom rather than due to a stroke or a heart attack.”

  “I’d like to hear more about the Aoife O’Byrne painting you mentioned,” Emma said.

  Georgina slowed her pace. “It wasn’t at the gallery when I met Oliver, but three paintings in the same series were. I fell in love with them. The painting is a gift from my father. I don’t know where he purchased it. Do you know Aoife O’Byrne’s work?”

  “She’s a friend.”

  “Small world, but you must know a lot of people from your family’s art recovery business and your FBI work. My father didn’t steal the painting, in case that’s on your mind. He’s not that sort.”

  Emma smiled. “That wasn’t on my mind. I’d like to see it. I’m not familiar with this new series.”

  “I’d love for you to see it, too,” Georgina said, sounding genuine. “Right now I’m focused on making sure everyone recovers after yesterday and seeing to my father. I don’t know what he was thinking buying me that painting. What am I going to do with an expensive painting? It shows how little he knows about my life. I suppose I wanted it that way, too. It suits us both. Now that he’s sick...” She bit down on her lower lip again and winced with palpable regret. “I feel terrible for scorning his gift. Maybe it was crazy and extravagant, but it was also generous and kindly meant. That’s what Bill Hornsby said, anyway.”

  “And spontaneous, from the sound of it,” Emma said.

  “Yes, I like that part. Bill Hornsby and Melodie wanted to see the Sharpe offices, but I understand no one’s there? Everyone’s in Ireland or someplace?”

  Emma noticed the walkway was looping them back to the cafeteria entrance. “My grandfather and brother are in Ireland, and my mother’s traveling.”

  “Aoife O’Byrne is Irish,” Georgina said, matter-of-fact. “Buying one of her paintings for me was quite the grand gesture on my father’s part.” Her step faltered, but she stood straight, her eyes brimming with tears. “Then he goes and eats death caps. My poor, weird, impossible dad.”

  Her tone was filled with bemusement, pain and affection—the special kind of grief of an imminent loss. She was clearly uncomfortable with such strong emotions, as if she should be able to contain them. Tears spilled down her pale cheeks. She looked tiny, as if she could blow away as easily as a fallen leaf.

  “Who else knows about the painting?” Emma asked.

  “Only Hornsby.”

  “If it’s missing, Georgina, we can help.”

  She shook her head, adamant. “I can’t say anything t
o the Fannings or the crew. I’m on thin ice as it is. Can you imagine if I had the police search the yacht? No, it’s fine. It’s not a problem. I shouldn’t have said anything to your husband. I wasn’t thinking about him as an FBI agent. I was just thinking he’d been in Hornsby’s cabin.”

  “Did you take the painting there?”

  “No.” Georgina pushed back strands of hair. “I’m glad death caps weren’t involved yesterday. I can’t see myself even accidentally bringing them into my galley. They can cause relatively mild symptoms at first. You can even start to feel better and think you’re going to be okay. Meanwhile the toxin is spreading throughout your body and slowly killing you. All of a sudden you feel dramatically worse. At that point, it’s often too late.”

  “I’m sorry about your father, Georgina,” Emma said quietly.

  “Thank you.” Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she seemed less tight and tense. “If he doesn’t make it, I’m glad we had a good visit. We picked wild mushrooms in the same park where he was discovered on Tuesday morning. I wonder if he’d been out there all night, or if he’d gone for a walk early that morning. I like to think he’d just found a wonderful wild edible before he collapsed.”

  “Do you know who found him?”

  “A passerby. Probably someone walking their dog.” She sniffled, more under control. “He was a good man, Agent Sharpe, even if he was a crap father. Is,” she corrected herself. “He’s still with us.”

  They came to the soothing grasses at the cafeteria entrance. Georgina pointed at a mushroom poking up out of the mulch. “You see? Mushrooms are everywhere. It’s a good year for them in England. I left my father happily playing in his kitchen with our haul of wild mushrooms and took the train to Heathrow.” She paused, turning to Emma. “It didn’t occur to me he’d eat death caps. Supposedly they’re tasty, not like the sickeners.”