Chapter 6 - Results in the Dark
The cold realization settled over me not as fear, but as absolute, unyielding clarity.
They hadn't just plotted in the heat of passion. Martha had researched the lethal interactions. She had obtained oleander—a cardiac toxicant—and combined it with an allergen she knew I carried an EpiPen for in my everyday purse. A purse that Rebecca had conveniently offered to hold in the bridal suite during the ceremony.
I glanced over toward the coat check alcove. My leather handbag was sitting on a shelf behind the locked door, out of reach. If I had drank that wine, I would have suffocated while scrambling for medication that had been intentionally removed from my person.
"Caroline?" Patrick's voice broke through my thoughts. He saw the change in my expression, the complete absence of color in my face. "What is on that phone?"
"Patrick, please, come to the solarium," Martha pleaded, her voice rising an octave, catching the attention of the state supreme court justice standing twenty feet away. "We don't have time for your wife's petty dramatics!"
"Excuse me for a moment," I said, ignoring Martha entirely. I pulled Patrick toward the French doors leading out to the terrace. The autumn air hit us like a bucket of ice water, shocking the heavy banquet perfume from our lungs.
The terrace was empty, overlooking the sprawling manicured lawns of the country club. Below us, the city lights twinkled like distant, uncaring stars.
"Caroline, talk to me," Patrick demanded, taking both of my hands in his. "You're shaking."
"I'm not shaking from fear, Patrick," I said, my voice dead level. "I'm shaking from rage."
I held up the phone screen.
He took the device from my hand. He read the text once. He read it twice. His brow furrowed in confusion, his mind desperately trying to assemble the puzzle without accepting the horrifying picture it formed.
"Aconite? Oleander? Peanut protein?" Patrick murmured, his voice cracking on the final word. "Caroline... this is... this looks like a lab report. Where did this come from?"
"That is the chemical analysis of the wine Rebecca served me at place setting four," I said, each word landing like a lead weight. "The glass you took from my hand. The glass you drank from."
Patrick stared at me, his eyes widening in pure horror. "What? But... I drank it. I drank the whole glass, Caroline!"
"You drank from a replacement glass Michael swapped five seconds before you picked it up," I explained, stepping closer, holding his gaze so he wouldn't spiral. "The poisoned glass was sealed in a sample tube. Michael ran it through the hospital mass spectrometer twenty minutes ago."
Patrick stumbled back against the stone balustrade, his breath tearing from his throat in ragged gasps. He pressed a hand to his chest, suddenly hyperventilating, the phantom sensation of poison gripping his mind even though his body was completely unharmed.
"My mother..." Patrick whispered, his voice trembling so violently he could barely form the syllables. "My mother screamed because... she thought..."
"She screamed because she thought she had just murdered her own son," I finished for him.
"No," Patrick groaned, burying his face in his hands. "No, no, no. She hates you, Caroline, I know she does, she's always been cruel, but... murder? My mother wouldn't... Rebecca wouldn't..."
"Rebecca was crying on the floor of the bridal suite twenty minutes ago, Patrick," I said, showing no mercy. He needed the raw, unvarnished truth if we were going to survive the night. "She admitted everything. Martha told her I was going to ruin the family trust. Martha planned the dose. Rebecca carried the vial."
Patrick lowered his hands. His face had transformed. The grief, the shock, the filial loyalty that had bound him to Martha Vance for thirty-two years burned away in the span of ten seconds, leaving behind an ash-gray mask of pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Why?" Patrick rasped, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly whisper. "Why would she do this to you?"
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"That," I said, looking back through the glass doors toward the brightly lit ballroom, "is what we are going to find out in Martha's suite right now."
***
