Arsenic with Austen (31 page)

But Lizzie couldn't drink frozen formula. Jiggling Lizzie, who by now was screaming in frustration, Emily scoured the cupboards again for a pan and filled it with the hottest water the tap would produce, then stood the bottle upright in the water. She didn't dare heat it on the stove for fear the plastic would melt.

Willing the milk to thaw at improbable speed, Emily did a slow bouncing walk around the kitchen, singing, “Hush, little baby,” over Lizzie's desperate wails and hoping Katie's medicated sleep was deep enough for her not to hear. After a few rounds, she stopped to check on the milk. It wasn't warm, but at least it was thawed. She'd give it a shot.

She took the bottle and sat at the table, shifting Lizzie to lie prone in the crook of her left arm. She put the bottle to the baby's lips, but she turned her mouth away, wailing louder. “It's good milk, Lizzie. Mommy's milk, just like you're used to. Come on, try it.” She nudged the nipple against Lizzie's open mouth, but she only turned her head again.

Emily shook a drop of milk onto her finger and touched it to Lizzie's tiny pink tongue. The baby's eyes opened wide, and she stopped in mid-wail. Emily repeated the process with a larger drop, then gave Lizzie a third drop while inserting the nipple into her mouth at the same time. This time Lizzie clamped her mouth on the nipple and sucked greedily.

Emily sighed with relief, feeling as if she'd just scaled Everest. She sat back in the chair and crooned to the baby as she drank. This was what it would have been like if she'd had one of her own—except she wouldn't have had all the bother about the bottle. The sweet warmth of Lizzie's head against her arm, her tiny fingers curled around Emily's pinkie as she held the bottle. It was well worth the screaming.

At last, replete and exhausted from her tantrum, Lizzie drifted off, and the nipple slipped from her lips. Emily put her feet up on the opposite chair, shifted the baby in her arms, and napped as well.

*   *   *

Luke's voice roused her through a desperate dream in which Lizzie was her own child and someone had poisoned her. She watched, helpless, as the baby struggled for her fragile life, wishing desperately that she could be the one to die instead—she couldn't go on living without her child.

The dream was so vivid that when she opened her eyes to see Luke standing before her, she couldn't immediately distinguish reality from the dream. She glanced down at the baby motionless in her arms and gasped. “My God, she's dead! Luke, our baby's dead!”

Just then Lizzie's mouth made a little sucking motion in her sleep. Luke squatted before them. “She's fine, see? She's moving.” He tucked Lizzie's blanket more closely around her, then put his hand to Emily's cheek. “Em, wake up. It's me. Lizzie's fine. You're fine. You must've been dreaming.”

Emily blinked, gasping for air as the dream receded. “Oh, Luke. I dreamed somebody poisoned her. She was ours, and they poisoned her.”

He put his hand behind her head and kissed her. “Now why would you go and dream a thing like that?”

“Because of Katie.” She realized with a start she'd been so busy with Lizzie, she'd never called Luke to tell him about Katie. “She ate some Turkish delight and got terribly sick. Sam fixed her up. She's sleeping now. But Sam thinks it was arsenic. And, Luke—that candy was meant for me.”

He sprang to his feet, his face like a thundercloud. “Where is it?”

“In the library.” She led him in there and showed him the Turkish delight and the larger box it had come in. “I asked the boy at Sweets by the Sea to continue Beatrice's standing order for me. I didn't realize it included Turkish delight. I hate the stuff, so I let Katie have it. She only ate one piece, thank God. If she'd had more, this baby might have become mine for real.” Emily hugged the baby closer. “Not that
that
would be so very bad.”

Luke flipped the lid off the box with his fingernail. “What made Sam think it was arsenic?”

“She tasted a tiny bit of the sugar. Arsenic has a bitter taste, doesn't it?”

“Yeah.” Luke touched his finger to a piece, tasted it, and grimaced. “I think she's right. I'll get this to the lab first thing tomorrow—too late tonight.” He pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and slipped it over the box. “Now, tell me exactly what happened with Sweets by the Sea.”

“I already told you about Mrs. Sweet being so hostile, right?” He nodded. She related her conversation with Matthew as closely as she could remember it. “He only mentioned licorice taffy, so I thought that was it.”

Luke stood and paced the room, one hand on his hip, the other scratching his head. “No reason to think Matthew had anything to do with this. He said he and his dad did these orders without the grandma's knowledge?”

“That's what he said. But maybe she found out.”

“I think she must have. I can't see George Sweet being involved any more than Matthew.” He stopped and pounded one fist into the opposite palm. “Damn, I wish I could remember what my granny told me about her and Beatrice. Hard to believe any grudge could stay fresh for sixty-odd years, but this sure as hell looks like it could've been what happened to Beatrice, too.”

Suddenly a number of facts converged in Emily's mind.
“Strong Poison!
”

“Yeah, arsenic's pretty strong.”

“No, I mean the book. The mystery by Dorothy L. Sayers.”

“Sorry, no clue.” He grimaced. “No pun intended.”

“I found a copy upstairs in the room Brock used to use, hidden inside the headboard. It's all about arsenic. The killer doses himself with arsenic over time so he can share a meal full of it with his victim and not get sick. Then Lord Peter Wimsey traps him by feeding him Turkish delight and pretending he's covered it with arsenic powder. Just like somebody did for real here.”

Luke stared at her. “You found the book in Brock's room?”

“And remember the rat poison in the attic? And the piece of brown paper in Beatrice's fireplace? This box came wrapped in brown paper. It all adds up. Plus, Agnes told me she was sneezing all day the day Beatrice died—and she was allergic to roses. It's rosewater Turkish delight.”

“So either Brock really is involved, or someone's trying awful hard to make us think he is. Be pretty tough for somebody to plant the book and the poison, though. Have to be somebody who had regular access to the house.” He shot her a sharp look. “And since Agnes is dead, and Katie wasn't here yet, that pretty much means Billy.”

“I refuse to suspect Billy. Even if he did bear a grudge against Beatrice and Agnes, can you see him plotting something this elaborate? And what would he have against
me
?”

“I know. I want to pin it on Brock too. But what does all our evidence against him amount to, when all's said and done? It's all circumstantial.” Luke counted off on his fingers. “A book and a can of rat poison don't prove murder, especially since I can't imagine how he'd get into a sealed package at the candy store to plant the stuff. He had the opportunity with Agnes, but we can't prove anything without the DNA. We can put him at the scene for your brake job, but we can't prove he did it. We know he was having an illicit affair, but so what? People who screw around don't necessarily commit murder.” He ticked off the fourth finger and threw up his hands.

“Which means it could be Mrs. Sweet after all.” Emily's stomach went cold. “So … you think her grudge—whatever it was—could extend to wanting
me
dead? That's a powerful lot of hatred. Hard to believe she'd have waited all these years to act.”

“True. But that's all we've got to go on right now. Tell you what—my granny's still alive in a nursing home in Seaside. We'll go up there tomorrow and see what she can tell us. She's got all that ancient history down pat, even if she can't remember what she had for breakfast.”

“I'd love to meet your granny, history or no history. But isn't there anything we can do tonight?”

“I don't think so. I could go question the Sweets, but I'd like to hear what Granny has to say first—give me more leverage to make them talk.”

“In that case, we may as well have some dinner. I'm starved. Could you sneak quietly into Katie's room and bring the cradle in here so I can put Lizzie down?”

Luke brought in the cradle with catlike tread, and Emily laid the baby down as gently as if she were a priceless and fragile objet d'art. Lizzie did wake, but lay quiet in the cradle, staring up at Emily. Emily smiled at her, and for the first time she'd seen, Lizzie smiled back. Emily couldn't tear herself away.

“You two stay right there. I'll rustle up some grub.” Luke opened the fridge, rummaged through the cupboards, and stuck a frying pan on the stove while Emily and Lizzie carried on an inarticulate but highly satisfying conversation.

By the time Lizzie's eyes began to drift shut again, Luke was putting plates on the kitchen table and scooping something onto them from the frying pan.

“What's this?”

“Joe's Special. Hamburger, mushrooms, onions, spinach, and eggs.”

“Smells wonderful.” It tasted good too. “Goodness, a man who can cook as well as fight the bad guys. What more could a woman ask for?”

“You forgot the red-hot lover part.” He winked.

“Oh no, I didn't.” She leaned over and kissed him. “But I've known about that for a long time. This is the first time I've tasted your cooking.”

The edge off her hunger, she could think clearly again. “Speaking of red-hot lovers—did you find out anything about Brock's blonde?”

Luke shook his head. “Not a word. He was getting pretty frayed around the edges after just a few hours in jail—I didn't think it'd take much to loosen his tongue. It rattled him bad when I asked him about her, but he wouldn't give her name. He wasn't afraid of anything the law could do to him—he was afraid of
her
. What
she'd
do to him if he talked.”

“Even supposing her to be such a virago, what could she do to him in jail?”

“Not much, you wouldn't think. Security's not so tight as a federal prison, but it's tight enough. All he'd need to do is refuse her visits. But he seemed to think she had some kind of supernatural power. ‘She'll get me,' he said. ‘I don't know how or when or where, but she'll get me in the end.'”

Emily was always reluctant to believe the worst about any of her own sex, despite plenty of evidence from literature and life that the female of the species could be deadlier than the male. She glanced over at Lizzie, stirring and making little noises in her cradle, her reddish fuzz of hair damp with sweat. “You could never grow up to be like that, could you?” she crooned to her. “Thank God, at least you're not a blonde.”

At that Lizzie let out a wail, as if insulted by the mere suggestion. Luke picked her up and soothed her while Emily prepared another bottle. She turned with the bottle ready to see Luke jiggling the baby on his shoulder like an old hand.

“Here, give that to me,” he said. He took the bottle from her, shifted Lizzie into the crook of his arm, and guided the nipple into her waiting mouth.

“You're a natural,” Emily said in wonder.

“You forget, I've had one of my own. Long time ago, but some things you never lose.”

She almost told him then. But something still held her back.
Let's just get through this case. When my life isn't in danger, then I'll tell him. Then we can start over, right from the beginning.

 

thirty

“Aye, it is but too true. He is to be married very soon—a good-for-nothing fellow! I have no patience with him.… He has used a young lady of my acquaintance abominably ill, and I wish with all my soul his wife may plague his heart out.”

Mrs. Jennings to Elinor Dashwood,
Sense and Sensibility

Luke slept in the guest room again, while Emily took the baby to bed with her. She left another bottle of milk thawing in the fridge, expecting to be roused in the middle of the night, but Lizzie miraculously slept until six. By that time Katie was awake and feeling nearly herself again.

“I forgot to ask the doctor whether the arsenic would get into my milk,” she said as she welcomed Lizzie into her arms. “I think I'd better throw out whatever I've got now just in case.”

“No problem. There's a bottle waiting in the fridge.” Emily retrieved the bottle, warmed it, and fed Lizzie while Katie expressed her possibly poisoned milk. Then Emily handed the baby back to her mother. “You take your time. I'll get my own breakfast.”

She went back to the kitchen to find Luke already making coffee. She got out some eggs and cheese. “One thing I can cook is scrambled eggs.”

Luke fried bacon and made toast. Emily took Katie some toast and juice.

“I'll have to run that candy over to the lab before we head up to Seaside,” Luke said as he washed down the last of his bacon. “Then I better do some paperwork. Visiting hours don't start till ten, anyway. Pick you up at nine thirty?”

“All right.” Emily had been mulling something over, and this seemed like a good opportunity to pursue it. “Pick me up at Saint Bede's.”

“You gonna walk to Saint Bede's?”

“Well … Actually, I was thinking of taking the Vespa.”

“Emily, remember what we agreed? Only for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency. A spiritual emergency. I haven't been inside a church except for a funeral in weeks. I really need this, Luke.” She tried to combine an arch look with one of spiritual intensity—an effort so absurd, it made her laugh at herself.

Luke laughed with her. “All right, you win. But just this once. I'm going to pick you up a motorcycle manual while I'm in Tillamook, and tomorrow we'll go get you that learner's permit.”