Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Tea
The realization that Marcus was dead didn't break me. It did something far more dangerous: it burned away the last shred of human mercy inside my heart.
Evan and Marissa weren't just greedy opportunists. They were calculating, serial predators who had eliminated the only man who could have protected me.
“Claire,” Dr. Mercer said, his voice trembling as he returned from the clinic's back lab holding a printed spectrometer read-out. “The pill is 0.50 milligrams of pure digitalis extract. It’s four times the therapeutic threshold. Two more doses of this would have triggered massive cardiac arrest within forty-eight hours.”
“Keep that printout locked in your safe, Dr. Mercer,” I said, folding the paper and handing it back to him. “And do not sign that discharge summary. Tell Evan your computer system is down until Friday afternoon.”
“What are you going to do?” Mercer asked, terror plain in his eyes. “You can’t go back there alone.”
“I have to,” I replied, putting my dark sunglasses back on. “If I run now, they’ll hide the money, liquidate the offshore accounts, and claim I disappeared because of mental instability. I need them to walk straight into their own trap.”
I took a cab back to the neighborhood, getting dropped off three blocks away to avoid any tire noise near our security cameras. I walked up our long driveway, tapped my cane against the front steps, and opened the door at precisely eleven-forty-five.
Fifteen minutes before Marissa returned.
I sat in the armchair in the sunroom, resting my hands in my lap, breathing slowly.
At noon, the front door swung open. Marissa strode in, smelling of salon hairspray and expensive perfume, carrying several shopping bags from high-end boutiques downtown.
“Claire?” she called out.
“I’m in the sunroom, Marissa,” I answered, keeping my tone weak and raspy.
She walked in, setting her bags on the credenza. She wore a tight emerald-green dress, her hair freshly styled into glamorous waves. She looked down at me, and I caught the fleeting expression of disgust that flashed across her face before she rearranged her features into a pouting, affectionate smile.
“Look at you, sitting in the dark,” she cooed, pulling the sheer curtains back. “How are you feeling? Did your headache get worse?”
“A little,” I murmured, blinking behind my dark glasses as if the sudden sunlight pained me. “My chest feels heavy, Marissa. Like someone is sitting on it.”
Marissa’s eyes flared with suppressed excitement.
*The symptoms are matching the schedule,* she was thinking.
“Oh, darling,” she purred, kneeling beside my chair and taking my cold hands into hers. “That’s just the anxiety. Evan called—he’s so worried about you. He’s coming home early so we can spend a quiet evening together.”
“He is?”
“Yes. He thought it would be wonderful if we took you up to the Cumberland lake house tomorrow evening instead of waiting for the weekend. The fresh mountain air will do wonders for your breathing.”
*The lake house.*
They were moving the timeline up. Evan had realized Mercer was stalling on the discharge paperwork, and they were accelerating the alternative plan: the submersion accident at the lake house dock.
“That sounds... lovely,” I whispered. “I always loved the water.”
“I know you did,” Marissa smiled, patting my knee. “I’m going to make you some of that special ginger and honey tea. It’ll settle your chest.”
I watched her through the dark tint of my glasses as she walked into the kitchen.
She pulled a mug from the cupboard. She heated the water in the electric kettle. Then, she reached into the small pocket of her designer handbag, pulled out a small glass vial filled with clear liquid, and squeezed five concentrated drops into the steaming mug.
She stirred it with a silver spoon.
She turned around, her face composed into a portrait of sisterly devotion, and carried the steaming poison toward me.
“Here you go, Claire-bear,” she said, placing the warm mug into my hands. “Drink it while it’s hot. Drink every drop.”
I raised the mug to my lips. The steam smelled faintly of bitter almonds beneath the sharp scent of ginger.
“It smells wonderful,” I murmured.
Suddenly, from the driveway outside, Evan’s truck engine rumbled.
Marissa’s head snapped toward the window. For a fraction of a second, her attention shifted entirely to the front yard.
In that single second, I tilted the mug sideways. The boiling ginger liquid poured silently into the thick, potting soil of the large potted Boston fern sitting right beside my armchair.
I left barely a quarter-inch of liquid at the bottom of the mug.
When Marissa turned back to look at me, I was wiping my mouth with a linen napkin, holding the nearly empty mug with both hands.
“All gone,” I said, coughing softly, letting my head loll back against the cushion of the armchair. “It’s... it’s making me feel very sleepy, Marissa.”
Marissa stared at the empty mug, and a slow, wicked smile spread across her red lips.
“Good,” she whispered, leaning down until her lips were right beside my ear. “Go to sleep, Claire. You’ve been tired for such a long time.”
I let my eyelids flutter shut. I let my breathing turn shallow and ragged.
Above me, my sister stood tall, smoothed her dress, and whispered under her breath:
May you like
“Almost over, you blind bitch.”
***
