“What about you, Ian?” Cal asked. “Are you convinced Jan’s innocent, too?”
He threw his hands up in exasperation. “There are so many suspects in this case, I’m not buying anything yet. I’ve been hoping you might have a bone or two for me. Do you have those autopsy results?”
Cal nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s nothing you don’t already know. Death was due to arsenic in both cases. Analysis of the stomach contents was basically inconclusive — we’re pretty sure the arsenic came in food, rather than a beverage. There’s very little excoriation of the mouth or esophagus. No signs that force was used, no external entry wounds or needle punctures. We can say that the arsenic was taken orally. But that’s about it.”
“So much for modern science,” Ian complained. “I checked up on Callahan — though he doesn’t seem to have a motive. His alibi’s solid. He was in San Diego from Sunday morning until late Sunday evening. He was scheduled to arrive at five thirty, but his plane was delayed in St. Louis.”
“That fits what he told us,” Cal agreed.
“How’s Reiss doing?” Plato asked.
“About the same. Not awake yet. But they seem confident that he’ll pull out of it.”
Cal started. “Ian, is there any possibility that someone was after Leonard? What was he investigating down in the capital?”
“Pretty sharp of you to think of that. The thought had crossed my mind, too. I called his editor at the Herald Press.” The sheriff sighed, put his feet up on a chair. “Nothing doing, though. Something about substance abuse problems in Mexico. Pretty far from home. More likely, someone wanted to kill Mrs. Reiss and got the wrong car. They’re practically identical.”
He brightened. “I did find out something interesting, though. Remember what I said about Homer?”
They nodded.
“Well, I did some research of my own. Down at the library in Seneca.” Ian pulled his beard thoughtfully. “Seems young Homer does have a motive after all. He lost the use of his legs back when he was fifteen. In a water skiing accident on Lake Cantauck. And guess who was driving the boat?”
“Rufus Thorndyke,” Plato answered.
“Right. Worse, he was drunk as a skunk. There was a scandal, but he never was charged.”
“How awful,” Cal whispered softly.
“Do you think he did it?” Plato asked.
Ian shrugged. “Maybe. He’s a microbiologist. He was at the party all day. Plenty of means and opportunity. And all the motive in the world.”
“What about the attempt on Mrs. Reiss, though?” Cal asked. “I mean, in his wheelchair it might be hard to sneak up and drain that brake fluid.”
The sheriff shuddered. “I’ve seen him in action, lass. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
The next morning, the telephone jangled Plato from a fitful sleep. Blearily, he rubbed the fog from his eyes and glanced at the clock. Nine thirty. He was late for morning rounds.
“Hello?” His voice was still fuzzy.
“Plato? Sorry to wake you, dear, but it’s time for work anyway.”
“Yes, Cal.”
“I talked Sandy Aaronson into seeing your patients this morning. I have a favor to ask.”
“What now?” Plato groaned, lying back and pulling the pillow over his head. This investigation was getting out of hand.
“Well, you remember our talk about Jan Thorndyke? I think you’re right. She didn’t kill Rufus.”
“Thank you,” he replied warily.
“But you see, Plato, she’s going home this morning.”
“That’s nice.”
There was a pause. “And she doesn’t feel safe. I don’t blame her. Somewhere out there, the person who killed her husband is walking around free. Someone already tried to kill Mrs. Reiss. Jan’s worried that they might come after her.”
“Mmph.”
“Plato? Could you come, please? She asked me to go to the house with her, to be sure it’s okay. I’d like you to come along.”
What could an obstetrician do against a murderer? Wave a pair of forceps at him? Threaten to suture his nose to his lips? But there was no use arguing. “Okay. Let me shower first.”
Before the Thorndyke house, a pale silver Cadillac waited in the swirling morning mist. Jan sighed, put her head in her hand. “Someone you know?” Plato asked.
“My father.”
From the back seat, Cal patted her shoulder. “If you’d like, Plato and I can—”
“No.” She turned to face them. “Please come in with me. I may have given you the wrong impression. Daddy isn’t such an ogre. It’s just that since Mother died, I’m the only family he’s got. He’s terribly lonely.”
Cal glanced at her husband. “Okay. At least we can help you get settled.”
Gage emerged from his car as they mounted the steps and rushed to help with Jan’s bag. “Good to see you again, Plato. And this is—”
“Calista Marley,” Cal answered, shaking his hand. “I’m Plato’s wife. I’m also a pathologist at the hospital.”
“Such an interesting name. And so appropriate.”
Cal blushed.
“In Greek, it means ‘beautiful,’ ” Plato explained, seeing Jan’s confusion.
She smiled and showed them to the study. “This was always my favorite room.”
Heavy oak shelves lined the walls. Two full-length windows looked east across the fog. Red leather chairs squatted in the corner, near an antique globe.
After they were seated, Jan asked, “Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“Nonsense,” Cal admonished, rising to her feet. “You just show me where things are; I’ll get them ready.”
“How is the investigation going?” asked Dr. Gage. He sat back and crossed his legs.
“I don’t really know much about it,” Plato lied. “Of course, you heard that Leonard Reiss was in an accident last night.”
Gage’s face darkened. “No, I hadn’t.”
“Mrs. Reiss is a patient of yours?”
“Yes. Yes, she is.”
Cal returned shortly with a silver tea set. While she was serving, the doorbell rang. A moment later, Martin Callahan appeared in the doorway beside Jan. Dressed in a suit of glossy black silk, he looked as sleek as ever.
“Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Father, this is Martin Callahan,” Jan said. “My father, Nicholas Gage.”
“A pleasure,” Gage muttered, rising and shaking hands. It was clear that he was losing patience with his daughter’s visitors. “Jan, you’re tired. Perhaps we should all—”
“That’s okay, Father. Really.” She addressed the group. “Please stay for a while. I don’t want to be alone just yet.”
“Certainly. I wanted to offer my condolences, er, about Rufus.” For once, Callahan’s voice lacked its customary smoothness.
“Thank you, Martin.” Taking a seat across from her father, Jan grimaced. Sipping her tea, she complained, “Since I got home, my stomach’s been bothering me again.”
“All this activity.” Gage waggled a finger. “You should be in bed. Your system’s had a nasty shock.”
“I’ll be just fine.” Jan smiled, and her blonde hair glowed in the lamplight. She reached into her purse, pulled out a pill bottle. “Remember how Rufus always made me carry these stomach pills around? The ones you prescribed for him? Rufus would hunt through my purse for them whenever he felt sick. I don’t know why I didn’t take one at the party.”
It was like a slow-motion sequence. Before anyone could move, she unscrewed the lid and tipped a capsule into her hand. Cal caught her arm before she could raise it to her mouth.
“Wait!”
Jan looked at her, startled.
“Has Sheriff Cameron checked those pills?”