Chapter 3 - WHAT WAS IN THE TEA
Wren barely reached her bedroom before the footsteps reached the second floor.
She slipped inside, closed the door without letting the latch click, and climbed into bed fully dressed.
Three seconds later, a shadow stopped outside.
Wren stared at the ceiling.
The handle moved.
Once.
Slowly.
Locked.
Another second passed.
Then whoever stood outside walked away.
Wren did not sleep.
At sunrise she went straight to Adriano.
Getting to him was more difficult than finding him.
Two guards blocked his study.
“Kitchen emergency,” Wren said.
Neither moved.
“Mrs. Vescari's breakfast?”
“Bigger.”
That worked.
Adriano stood behind an enormous desk when she entered, jacket off, sleeves rolled up.
“What happened?”
“Your nutritionist is lying to you.”
He did not react.
That was somehow worse.
Wren told him everything.
The midnight conversation.
The cellar badge.
The sentence about Odile getting stronger.
Adriano listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he asked, “Did you see the man?”
“No.”
“Can you identify his voice?”
“Maybe.”
“Evidence?”
“No.”
His expression closed.
“Then you have an accusation.”
“Yes.”
“Against a woman who has worked for my family for seven years.”
“Yes.”
“And you have worked here two days.”
“Also yes.”
He walked toward her.
“You understand what happens in my world when people make accusations they cannot prove?”
“People stop inviting them to Christmas?”
His eyes flashed.
Wren's humor disappeared.
“I know what you're saying. But if I'm right, your mother may be in danger.”
“My mother is always in danger.”
“From inside your house?”
That landed.
Adriano turned toward the window.
“Verity was hired by my mother's physician.”
“Which physician?”
“Dr. Hollis.”
“Who controls the medications?”
“Hollis prescribes them. Nurse Keene administers them.”
“And Verity?”
“Dietary supplements.”
Wren thought of the pantry.
“What does Odile drink every night?”
Adriano turned.
“Tea.”
“Who prepares it?”
His expression changed.
An hour later, Wren was in the kitchen making tea.
Verity entered at nine precisely.
“I'll take Mrs. Vescari's tray.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“New rule. I deliver everything I cook.”
“You do not have authority to make rules.”
“Mr. Vescari does.”
Adriano appeared behind her.
“She's correct.”
Verity's face barely changed.
Barely.
“Of course.”
Wren carried the tray upstairs.
Odile sat beside the window.
“You again.”
“Tragic, isn't it?”
“What did you make?”
“Toast.”
Odile looked offended.
“Yesterday beans. Today toast. Are you trying to bankrupt my son with extravagance?”
“Strawberry jam.”
That silenced her.
Wren set down the tray.
Odile touched the jam with the tip of her knife.
“My husband liked this brand.”
Wren had not known.
“Good taste?”
“Terrible taste. In almost everything.”
Wren smiled.
Odile ate half a slice.
Then reached automatically toward the tea.
Wren stopped her.
“Not that.”
Odile looked at her hand.
“Why?”
“I made another pot.”
“I've had this tea every morning for months.”
“I know.”
Something in Wren's voice changed Odile's expression.
The old woman looked toward the door.
“Adriano.”
He entered.
Odile's face hardened.
“You're investigating my tea?”
“Yes.”
“You think someone is poisoning me?”
“I think someone may be giving you something you weren't prescribed.”
“That's poisoning with better manners.”
Adriano said nothing.
The tea was sent to a private laboratory outside the Vescari network.
The results arrived that evening.
Wren was chopping parsley when Adriano entered the kitchen.
Everyone else was ordered out.
He placed a paper on the counter.
“What?”
“Read.”
She did.
The tea contained a prescription appetite suppressant.
Not enough to kill.
Enough to reduce hunger.
Enough, in an elderly woman already grieving and nauseated, to make food almost impossible.
Wren looked up.
“Verity?”
“Missing.”
Her stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
“You let her leave?”
“I did not.”
Adriano's voice became terrifyingly quiet.
“She left through a service gate using credentials belonging to a guard who has worked for me for twelve years.”
Wren put down the knife.
“So this is bigger than her.”
“Yes.”
“Is Odile safe?”
“She has six men outside her room.”
“That's not what I asked.”
For the first time, Adriano looked tired.
“No,” he said.
“My mother is not safe.”
A crash sounded upstairs.
Adriano moved before Wren understood what she had heard.
They ran.
Odile's room was empty.
The balcony doors stood open.
Rain blew through the curtains.
Her cane lay on the floor.
And on the bed was a note.
Three words.
May you like
STOP DIGGING, COOK.
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