Hannah snagged my arm. “He’s very funny. Not much to look at, but you should think about going out with him. He’s crazy about you.”
If we’d been little, I’d have pulled her pigtail for saying such a thing. “You have to help me discourage him, Hannah. I’m not interested.”
She picked up half the cups and saucers and headed for the door. “Don’t be so hasty. I don’t see anyone else lining up outside.”
I followed her with the rest of the cups and saucers. Dad poked at a crackling fire in the living room fireplace. MacArthur, Daisy, and Mochie stretched out in front of it, but MacArthur kept an uneasy eye on Mochie.
I poured coffee for everyone and had just taken a seat when we heard the kitchen door bang open. Bernie and June appeared in the living room doorway, bundled up in winter coats.
“Where’s the turkey?” asked Bernie. “I’m starved.”
He helped June with her coat and led her to a seat. She grasped the arm of the chair and lowered herself unsteadily.
Something was terribly wrong.
Mom stirred sugar into coffee and held it out to her. “You need some sugar, June. Haven’t you eaten anything since you left?”
I couldn’t believe no one had asked the obvious. I blurted, “How’s Mars?”
June sipped at the coffee. Her shoulders sagged and she seemed to have aged twenty years.
I looked up at Bernie, who said simply, “Poison.”
THIRTEEN
From “THE GOOD LIFE”:
Dear Sophie,
It’s a tradition in my family to go shopping the day after Thanksgiving, then come home for yummy leftovers. But when I reheat the turkey, it’s dry and tough. Any suggestions?
—Masticating in Martinsville
Dear Masticating,
Reheating turkey dries the meat. Take a tip from restaurants. Instead of heating the meat, heat the gravy. Slice the cold turkey and place it on warmed plates. Just before serving, pour hot gravy over the meat. It will be almost as good as it was right out of the oven.
—Sophie
“How could that be?” I felt like a noose tightened around my throat. No wonder June didn’t feel well. Someone had poisoned her son.
“He’ll be fine. They’re keeping him overnight for observation, but the doctors said he would be okay.” Bernie slid his coat off and tossed it over a chair with June’s.
The colonel sat ramrod straight. “Rat poison?”
Bernie scratched the side of his face. “Actually, it turned out to be a nasty thing called muscarine. One of those odd coincidences. Because it’s a holiday and there were staffing issues, one of the ER doctors happened to be a pediatric specialist. Recognized the symptoms because he’d seen it in a few children.”
Francie smiled slyly. “Very clever. Poison mushrooms.”
The colonel raised his eyebrows. “You’re intimately acquainted with poisons?”
“You don’t get to our age without learning a few things along the way. We picked our own mushrooms when I was a girl. My cousin died from eating a beautiful red-capped mushroom. Looked like it came right out of a picture-book fairy tale.” Francie nodded her head. “Muscarine.”
“But Bernie said Mars will be okay,” I protested.
“Yes, by all means. He’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.” Bernie stood behind June’s chair and motioned to me with his hand.
I followed him to the kitchen. “Is June all right?”
“She’s as distressed as any good mum would be to learn someone tried to kill her son.”
“And even worse, it had to be one of us who was here for Thanksgiving dinner.”
Bernie frowned. “The doctor said it could have been in food he ate earlier in the day, at breakfast maybe.”
“Unless he had breakfast with a whole lot of people, that sort of narrows it down to Natasha, doesn’t it?” I felt guilty for even thinking it.
“She claims they ordered room service. Could have been poisoned in the kitchen or when it was being delivered.”
“Is Natasha showing any symptoms?”
Bernie snorted. “Hardly. She’s plenty nervous about something though.”
I’d noticed that, too. Had she been on edge because she slipped poison into Mars’s breakfast and was waiting for him to die? Natasha had her faults, but surely she wouldn’t poison Mars. Still, the circumstances pointed to her. “Did the doctor say how long it takes before a person reacts to the poison?”
“There’s the difficulty. Could be as little as half an hour or as much as six or eight hours. Depends on the dose and the variety.”
Mom rushed in. “Sweetheart, I think it’s time to unload the leftovers and serve a second go-round. Apparently the hospital dining service closed early because of the holiday.”
The ovens hadn’t fully cooled when I set them to preheat again. Then I stood in front of the refrigerator and handed Bernie one container after another.
“Any soup left?” he asked.
“Very funny.”
“I’m not joking. It tasted delicious.”
“We ate it all. The police officer had to take the bowls to get samples.”
“Too bad. I’d have enjoyed a bowl.”
I knew I hadn’t tampered with the soup and even I wouldn’t have dared take another bite now that we knew Mars had been poisoned.
Half an hour later, we gathered at the dining room table again. Those of us who hadn’t gone to the hospital picked at our favorites, but Bernie and June ate proper meals.
The colonel placed his hand on top of June’s. “Mars will be fine. He received prompt medical treatment and most likely won’t have any lingering effects.”
“You can’t imagine what it’s like to know someone wants to kill your son. And then to have the police suspect his own family—Andrew and Vicki and me. I never thought I would live to see anything like this.”
After dinner, Mom helped June up to bed. The gallant colonel whistled for MacArthur, collected his walking stick, and insisted he walk Francie home in the dark. With a coquettish smile, Francie took his arm and strolled into the night.
Humphrey offered to help with the dishes, but it had been a long and strange day for all of us and, frankly, I didn’t want to deal with his overtures. I assured him that he’d done more than his fair share of dishes and saw him to the door.
Hannah, Craig, and Dad retired to the family room.
Bernie and I made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen. I could barely keep my eyes open and headed for bed, but Bernie joined the others for a movie.