"But interesting," Brook added. "In my opinion, the pie was intended to do the same thing that pushing you down the steps was intended to do."
"And what was that?" I asked angrily.
No one answered.
"We'll sort this out, Kate," Adrian assured me. "I want the pie wrapped up," he instructed Mrs. Hopewell "We'll have it tested." He turned toward Patrick's room.
"That won't be possible," the housekeeper said.
Adrian swung around. "And why not?"
"I have cleared it away."
"Then take it out of the trash, Louise." He said each word distinctly.
"I do not put spoiled food in the trash. It may develop a bad odor and attract wildlife. I ground the dessert in the garbage disposal."
"What about the rest of the pie?" Adrian asked.
"The rest!" I cried, frustrated. "Tainting can be done after a piece is cut, done to just one serving. A test will prove nothing."
Mrs. Hopewell went on as if I hadn't spoken. "I thought it best, sir, to dispose of the entire pie."
Adrian grimaced. "Have the doctor speak to me first when he arrives. In the meantime, inform Trent and Robyn of the situation. And take Brook downstairs with you. Kate, I want you to stay with Emily and me." He led the way into Patrick's room.
Patrick was turning the pages of his favorite book, looking at pictures of Max and "the wild things," paging forward and backward. Emily resumed reading aloud. I couldn't tell if Patrick was listening; his eyes followed me around the room as I mechanically straightened things that didn't need straightening. Adrian sat in the rocking chair, motionless, deep in thought.
When the doctor arrived, Adrian met with her briefly in the hall to explain the situation, then introduced her to us as Dr. Whelan, informing Patrick that she was covering for his pediatrician. Emily pointed out the door to Patrick's bathroom, so that the physician could wash her hands before examining Patrick.
She returned to the bedroom with an odd expression on her face. As she checked Patrick's eyes, mouth, and ears, she questioned him.
"Tell me what you ate," she said softly.
"Some of Kate's crackers."
"A package from a vending machine," I told her.
"And some of Kate's pie."
She got out her stethoscope. "What kind was it?"
"Raspberry."
"What else did you eat?"
"Nothing."
"Take a big breath for me. Good. Take another. You ate nothing else?"
"No."
"He had an after-school snack around three forty-five," I said, "a piece of buttered toast and a small glass of apple juice."
"Any tremors, convulsions, labored breathing?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," I replied.
"Patrick, did you have anything to drink later?" No.
"Why don't you whisper the answer to me?" the doctor suggested.
"He didn't have anything else!" I said, frustrated that she wasn't keying in on the pie. "Why do you keep asking him?"
She turned to me. "Because there is a bottle of cough syrup lying open on the bathroom sink."
I stared at her dumbfounded.
Emily's red eyebrows pulled together. "His medicine cabinet is kept locked." She looked at me accusingly. "At least, it's supposed to be."
"I keep it locked, just as you told me to," I said, starting out of the room to see for myself. "Besides, there was nothing on the sink when I washed up Patrick."
I stopped at the bathroom's marble transom. There was now-a half-empty bottle. I had been in a hurry to clean him up and get him in bed, but surely I would have noticed it.
I returned to the room. "I don't know how that bottle got there."
"How much of the medicine did you drink, Patrick?" Adrian asked wearily.
"None."
"Tell the truth."
I am!"
"Did Ashley dare you to take some?" I asked.
"Kate," Emily pleaded.
"Who is Ashley?" Dr. Whelan asked.
Emily sighed. "Patrick's imaginary playmate."
"Did she?" I persisted.
Patrick shook his head no.
I turned to Adrian. He met my eyes, but I couldn't read his gaze — he didn't want me to.
"Dr. Whelan," I said, "is it possible that Patrick ate something that was poisonous enough to make him sick and, if he had eaten more, could have killed him?"
The physician studied me, the lines in her softly weathered face deepening. "There are an endless number of poisons, some more potent than others, some more deadly in a higher dosage. Why do you ask?"
"Are some tasteless?" I persisted. "Some odorless?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Because I don't think Patrick drank any cough syrup. And as it happens, that raspberry pie-the entire piece, not two bites-was intended for me."
Dr. Whelan glanced at Adrian.
"When you have finished examining Patrick, we will discuss matters downstairs in my office," he said.
"I'm done," she told him.
"Emily?" He held out his hand for his wife. "Kate, would you mind staying with Patrick until he is asleep?"
He was not allowing me to talk further with the doctor. What was he afraid of-that I would give her even more reason to question the situation she found at Mason's Choice?
"I'm staying with him all night," I replied.
The doctor rewashed her hands and accompanied Adrian and Emily downstairs. Patrick resumed looking at the illustrations in his old book. I sensed he didn't want me sitting on his bed reading to him, so I pulled a chair next to it and sat quietly.
"I didn't have any medicine, Kate," he said, looking up from the book. "And Ashley didn't dare me."
"I know, Patrick."
I knew that flesh-and-blood hands had tainted the pie and unlocked the medicine cabinet. Whether by poisoning or by framing, someone was desperate to get rid of me. After twelve years, someone's nerves were starting to fray, and I was pretty sure it was Ashley's killer.
I spent the night on Patrick's bedroom floor, getting more rest when I wasn't asleep, for in my dreams I ran continually, searching for Patrick, all the while being chased by someone or something I couldn't see. It was a relief when the alarm clock rang.
Patrick ate all of his breakfast and wanted to go to school. Emily was uncertain about sending him, but Adrian was pleased and praised him repeatedly for being "a strong boy," which made me wince. While Patrick waited for Emily to finish a note to his teacher, I went out to get the car. I stepped into a soft gray day, the warm air and melting snow blanketing the land with fog.
"Good morning."
"Sam!" I exclaimed, startled to see him leaning against his car in the Westbrooks' driveway.
I got home too late to call you back," he said.
"Your mother told me you were out."
"She told me that she gave you Sara's number." He cocked his head. "Why didn't you call?"
"I didn't want to interrupt anything."
"Anything like what?" he asked, laughing.
"Anything."
He moved closer, examining my face, his own becoming more serious. "You don't look like you got a lot of sleep."
"Right you are, Sherlock."
"What happened?" He opened the front door on the passenger side of his car. "Have a seat here in my office. Talk, Kate."
I sat sideways, keeping my feet outside the car, and told him about the poisoning of November, the dessert intended for me, and the sudden appearance of the cough syrup.
"I think Adrian is losing faith in me," I concluded, lapsing into silence. I was more tired than I had realized.
Sam's verbal explosions woke me up. His eyes flashed and he kicked the tires of his car. "You've got to leave, Kate. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you. I can't."
"You've got to!"
"I will not abandon Patrick," I said firmly. "I know how it feels to be left as a child."