Authors: Jo Goodman
Dee's black brows rose a fraction. She wove a loose strand of hair around her finger, twisting, unwinding, and twisting it again. "That was different. It was the matter of the amount. Too much at first, then too little. I told you that."
Houston glanced in her direction. His eyes fell briefly on her absent, nervous gesture. "You did say that, didn't you?"
Her hand fell away from her hair. She got off the bed, smoothing her lavender gown across her midriff and hips. The action dried her damp palms. She went to the rain-spotted window and drew back the curtains. "It's a nice enough day for a ride in Central Park. We can go past the hotel if you wish. Sometimes Ethan and Michael sit on the balcony outside their room. I've seen that much with my own eyes."
"Central Park," he said. "Yes, I'd like seeing that. What about you? Do you have time before you have to go to work?"
"I don't work today." It was the first day she'd had off since being hired at the St. Mark. Missing one day now and again didn't concern her. There might be a slight lessening of the pain, but the poison was well into Michael's system by now. Detra was a little surprised Michael hadn't lost the baby yet. She had expected that to have happened by now. The only explanation she had for it was that Michael, because of Dee's work schedule, was not receiving the poison at each meal. Instead she got it at one, or at the most, two meals every day. It was better that way, Detra supposed. It made it that much harder for the doctor to find any specific cause for the illness.
Detra dropped the curtains and turned away from the narrow clapboarded buildings across the street. "Let's go to the park," she said. "You're right about needing to get out of here. The fresh air will do us both a world of good."
* * *
"I don't understand, Doctor," Michael said. "I thought I was coming down with the same thing as Ethan, but I recovered the following morning. That was four days ago. You saw me then. You know what I was like. But I'm fine now and he's growing weaker all the time."
"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here," Ethan called from the bedroom. "Come in where I don't have to strain to hear you."
Michael sighed, but Scott Turner was impressed by his patient's grit. He followed Michael into the bedroom. "Your wife's telling me that she's recovered from her bout and you're not improving. Is there something you care to add to that?"
With some effort Ethan pushed himself upright. "No," he said sourly. "That's the truth. I wish to God someone would give me a little of it. What the hell's wrong with me?"
"Besides being bad-tempered, you mean," Michael said sweetly. "Please, Dr. Turner, don't take everything he says to heart. I'll wait in the sitting room while you examine him. Call me if you need help."
Scott waited until Michael had closed the door behind her before he sat on the bed. He opened his leather bag, listened to Ethan's heart with his stethoscope, and checked his eyes and general color. "Your wife's full of sass," he said.
"Always."
The doctor grinned. "So's mine." He got up from the bed, drew the tie backs off the curtains at the French doors and let them fall. Shadows fell across the room.
"You don't like the sunshine?" Ethan asked.
"Love it. But I want to see something."
Making the room dark seemed an odd way to go about seeing something, but Ethan kept his comment to himself.
Scott leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest. "I enjoy Michael's work for the
Chronicle.
So does Susan. That's my wife. She was very happy when she learned Logan was hiring a woman for his staff."
"You know Logan Marshall?"
"We're good friends. I've known his brother Christian a lot longer, but Logan and I have had our share of adventures together. Susan is close to their wives. In fact, Logan's the reason Michael became my patient. When she suspected she was pregnant she went to him to resign. He wouldn't accept it. Gave her my name instead and told her to stay healthy." Scott pushed away from the doors and sat back on the bed. He told Ethan to look straight ahead while he lifted each lid in turn and examined his eyes closely. When he was done he closed his bag, set it on the floor, and moved to the rocker.
"I like your wife a lot, Mr. Stone, so I don't want you to think badly of me for asking this, but you're my patient and I have to consider every possibility."
Ethan grimaced as a light contraction gripped his middle. He slipped under the covers again, raising his head by doubling the pillow under him. "I can't imagine what you want to know."
Scott took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He rubbed the bottom of his chin with his forefinger, his handsome features set solemnly. "Is there any reason you can think of that Michael might want to poison you?"
"A hundred of them," Ethan drawled, amused for the first time in more than a week. "I abducted her, forced her to work in a saloon, got her drugged, trapped in a mine, dragged her into court, let her leave Denver when she was carrying my child, and completely disrupted her sister's wedding. That's some that come easily to mind. Ask Michael, she'll give you the others."
"I know a little of your unusual courtship with Michael. What I didn't read in the papers, Michael's shared with me herself. I can see you're not taking this very seriously."
"You're damn right."
"All right, Mr. Stone," Scott said, "but there's some evidence to suggest that is what's happening to you. Your pupils, for instance, are still constricted, even in this darkened room. Your color is ashen. The painful stomach spasms, your inability to keep down much food, and your accelerated heart rate, could all point toward a particular poison. I wouldn't have thought it at all until Michael had similar symptoms a few days ago. I asked her what she had had to eat or drink. She mentioned you had shared some chamomile tea. Then she asked me if I thought smoking would be harmful to the baby. It seems she had a powerful craving for a cigarette."
"Michael gave up smoking months ago. She wouldn't go back on her bargain, not that one."
Scott shrugged. "She was coming awfully close."
Ethan reached for a glass of water on the nightstand and sipped it. It seemed he could never get rid of the slightly bitter, acrid taste in his mouth. "I'm not sure I understand your point. If Michael were poisoning me then why would she drink from the same pot of tea?"
"Nicotine. That's the drug I suspect."
Putting the glass aside, Ethan raised himself on an elbow. He waited for a spasm to pass, his mouth flattening at the corners. Dr. Turner had his full attention now. "Drug? You said poison. You didn't mention drugs."
"Didn't I? I suppose that's because almost anything can meet the definition of a poison. I know of a case where a man died from ingesting thirteen ounces of table salt. So, you see, it's all relative. Vary the amount and the innocuous becomes life-threatening."
Scott hadn't thought what he might expect in the way of a reaction to his information, but he knew he wouldn't have anticipated Ethan's laughter.
Pained with laughter and another spasm, Ethan's call to Michael was weak. She appeared at the door within seconds anyway and when she saw Ethan convulsed on the bed she rushed to his side. "What's wrong with him?" she demanded of Scott. "Isn't there something you can give him?"
Ethan took her hand. "It's all right," he said shakily, letting her see his smile for the first time. "It's just that Dr. Turner thinks you're trying to poison me."
Michael withdrew her hand. "I hardly think that's amusing," she snapped. "That's the sort of thing Dee would try, not me."
"I know," he said, smiling broadly now. "I know. Isn't it wonderful?" His attention shifted to Dr. Turner. "I
am
going to be all right, aren't I, now that you know what it is?"
The doctor nodded, bewildered.
"You see, Michael?" The white line of pain around Ethan's mouth eased slightly. "Detra's found us. It has to be Dee."
Michael sat down slowly, her mouth gaping slightly, struck by the perfect insanity of the idea and the inescapable possibility of it. "My God," she said softly. "But how... how could she possibly?"
Scott Turner's glance darted between Michael and Ethan. "Are you both saying it
is
poison? And you know who's doing it?"
Ethan nodded. "Why are you so surprised? You're the one who proposed the idea."
"Yes... but I didn't suppose you'd both take it so well."
"Well?" Michael asked, incredulous. "I'm not taking this well at all." Her tapered nails scored her own palms as she clenched her fists. The light in her eyes was feral. "I swear it, Ethan. She's going to pay for doing this to you."
He held Michael's hand as she started to rise. "Come. Sit here and think for a moment. The worst thing we could do is let her know we've caught on." He looked at Scott. "We need to know what to do now."
"If we can assure that everything you eat and drink is untainted then it's a safe wager that you'll be much stronger in a week. Don't push yourself, Ethan. What's happened to you is serious. I didn't want to believe Michael was responsible but I hoped she was."
"Dr. Turner!" Michael said, appalled.
"Don't misunderstand, Michael. At least when I thought it might be nicotine poisoning I knew I could save your husband. Otherwise..." He let them finish his thought themselves. He saw Michael squeeze her husband's hand. "Very well, this is what we'll do." He leaned forward in the rocker, his forearms resting on his knees, and outlined the plan.
When the doctor was gone Michael joined Ethan in the bedroom. He was struggling into a pair of jeans. He looked as if he had already done battle with a clean shirt and the shirt had gotten the better of him.
She sighed. "Ethan, Dr. Turner just said not to push yourself. What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm dressing myself," he said patiently, paying her no mind. "Then I'm going to go out on the balcony—without help—and I'm going to sit in the sunshine and decide how I'm going to draw Detra Kelly out."
"We," she said, following right behind him, prepared to catch him if he stumbled. It didn't occur to her that she couldn't have done it. "How
we
are going to draw Dee out."
Ethan wouldn't let himself be baited. He sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs on the balcony and raised his feet against the railing, pushing back so he tipped the chair on its rear legs. Watching him, Michael could almost be convinced that he was recovering before her eyes. What he was doing, she knew, was only ignoring the pain in his gut. The bruises beneath his eyes hadn't miraculously disappeared, nor had his drawn face suddenly filled out.
She sat down, her back to the wrought iron railing. "It was good of Dr. Turner to make arrangements for our food and drink. I'm sure his wife will see to everything we need."
"It was good of him," Ethan said, "but it's only one part of the problem. I don't think we can assume that I'm Dee's target."
"What do you mean? You're the one who's been sick."
"But that first night, Michael, I ate most of your meal. I drank your wine. We can't be sure it wasn't your food that was tainted. Dee must be an employee here, it's the only possible way she would have access to our food. After I became sick, and you started ordering the broth and tea for me, it would have been easy for her to know where to put the drug. Sometimes I would became more ill after a meal and sometimes not. That's because she doesn't have any method of poisoning all the meals. She's in and out of here."
Ethan's conclusion made sense to Michael. "I haven't been out since you got sick," she said thoughtfully. "She may well believe I am the one who is ill. Do you think Houston's with her?"
"It seems likely, but this is Dee's way of working." He chuckled. "I'm beginning to believe those stories about Mr. Kelly are true."
His black humor made Michael wince. "How do we find her? Should I talk to Mr. Covington?"
"No, he may become suspicious and say something to her. If we tell him too much he'd be well within his rights to fire her. We want to keep her close, Michael, but on our terms."
"So what's the answer?"
"Perhaps Dr. Turner and his wife would like to have dinner at the St. Mark a few evenings this week."
Below them on Broadway an open carriage passed in front of the St. Mark. Neither Ethan nor Michael saw Dee point them out to Houston.
* * *
Scott and Susan Turner accepted Ethan's invitation to dine at the St. Mark the following evening. They had no difficulty identifying Dee Kelly from the description Ethan and Michael gave them. Trays of food were delivered to suite 305 as usual, but Michael and Ethan ate and drank only from the selection Susan brought. In twenty-four hours Ethan's contractions had almost stopped completely. He was still weak, though desperate as always not to show it. There were signs of withdrawal as the poison was flushed from his body and his ill-temper tried Michael's patience and his own.
After four days Ethan decided he was well enough to take on Detra Kelly.
Michael stood in the doorway to the bedroom watching Ethan dress, exasperated that he was going against Scott Turner's advice. "I don't see why you can't simply bring her here and ask her what you want to know."
"Because Dee won't tell me anything, or rather what she tells me won't be the truth." He passed Michael as he skirted the bed and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. Out of the corner of his eye he saw she was not mollified. "The simplest thing is to follow her when she leaves here today. If Houston's staying with her then she'll lead me directly to him."