Murder Most Persuasive

Chapter 24

In all the confusion, it’s hard to remember exactly what happened next. There were screams, of course, and people running and one small dog barking incessantly. Someone called 911. I think it was Joe. Ann ran over to Bonnie and tried to revive her. She wasn’t dead, but she sure as hell wasn’t very responsive either. Her skin was gray beneath her tan, and her face was slack.

Finally the paramedics came bursting onto the patio and we all stood back and let them do their job. They were able to get a pulse on her and rapidly loaded her onto a gurney and out to the waiting ambulance. Julian tried to go with Bonnie but was firmly, albeit politely, denied access. Peter, Aunt Winnie, and I drove to the hospital in my car. Joe drove Ann. Everyone else formed various car pools as well. Julian also went to the hospital, but I think he went by cab.

We arrived at the hospital and quickly made our way to the reception desk. A large woman with an expression that suggested a genetic link with the subfamily Bovinae listened apathetically to our story and then told us to take seats in the waiting room. We were duly informed that someone would be with us “shortly.” Someone wasn’t. Miles joined us, as did Reggie and Frances. Kit also came. I was surprised at first but then realized Kit would sooner cut off her left foot than miss out on any potential drama. Scott had taken the twins home, and Donny apparently had better things to do than hang out at a hospital. Laura drove Nana back to her house in St. Michaels and my mother returned to her house.

As the ten of us sat huddled together in the drab waiting room, ignorant of Bonnie’s condition, we offered various explanations of what had happened. Heart attack seemed the most popular guess, with stroke being a close second. It wasn’t until I saw the grim-faced doctor coming our way accompanied by a policeman that I began to suspect the truth.

“Hello,” the doctor said stiffly when he got to us, “I’m Dr. Moser. I’m taking care of Mrs. Reynolds.” Dr. Moser was about six two with wire-rimmed glasses and a scattering of gray hair. He studied our little group with a guarded expression. Gesturing to the officer next to him, he added, “This is Officer Daschle.” Officer Daschle was about five ten, with a stocky build and a blond crew cut. Unlike Dr. Moser, Officer Daschle watched us with an expression that was much easier to interpret. Angry suspicion radiated from his dark brown eyes.

“How is she?” asked Ann. “How’s Bonnie?”

Officer Daschle turned to Ann. “May I ask who you are?” he asked brusquely.

Joe’s jaw tightened at Officer Daschle’s tone with Ann. Stepping forward he said, “This is Ann Reynolds. She’s Mrs. Reynolds’s stepdaughter.”

Officer Daschle cast a suspicious eye at Joe. “And who are you?”

“Detective Joe Muldoon. I’m a … friend of Miss Reynolds.”

Officer Daschle nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Detective. I think I’ll need to talk with you later.” To Ann he said, “Well, Miss Reynolds, I’m sorry to say but your stepmother is in serious condition.”

“Was it a heart attack?” Reggie asked Dr. Moser.

Dr. Moser paused ominously before answering. “No, I’m afraid it wasn’t a heart attack.”

“A stroke, then?” Kit asked confidently. Earlier Kit had predicted that Bonnie had had a stroke.

Dr. Moser shook his head. “No. She was poisoned.”

“Poisoned!” cried several voices. Joe’s face hardened and he glanced suspiciously at Julian.

“Do you mean food poisoning?” asked Kit. “Are the rest of us in any danger? I’m pregnant—should I call my OB-GYN?” She clutched her belly protectively.

“It was not food poisoning,” said Dr. Moser. “We believe it was Convallaria majalis or, as it is more commonly known, lily of the valley.”

“You mean the flower?” asked Ann, perplexed.

“Yes. It is very common and very toxic. If ingested it generally leads to heart failure.”

“Is Bonnie going to be okay?” asked Aunt Winnie.

“I sincerely hope so,” Dr. Moser replied. “She’s in excellent physical condition for a woman her age; however, it’s too soon to tell. We’ve had to pump her stomach and she’s been given cardiac depressants to control her cardiac rhythm. Sometimes lily of the valley is mistaken for garlic. Do you by chance have a home garden?”

Ann shook her head. “No. Nothing at all like that.”

“May I ask what you were eating and drinking?”

“We all had some cheese and crackers,” said Ann. For some reason, everyone turned to look at me.

“It couldn’t have been that,” said Dr. Moser with a shake of his head. To my relief everyone stopped looking at me.

“We had just put the steaks on the grill,” Ann continued. “Bonnie was drinking a martini—”

Dr. Moser interrupted. “A martini? Who made the drink?”

No one answered right away, but we all looked at Reggie. “I did,” she finally answered. “Why?”

“As I said,” continued Dr. Moser, “lily of the valley is very toxic. Even putting the flowers into a glass of water would turn the water toxic. If that water was then added to a drink, it would poison the drink.”

“But I didn’t poison her drink!” exclaimed Reggie. “I made one for me and Julian! I made it the way I usually do—with gin, vermouth, and three olives!”

Officer Daschle took out his notebook and wrote something down. I doubted it was the recipe.

“I only made the drink—I didn’t even bring it to her!” Reggie added.

Officer Daschle looked up from his scribbling. “Who did bring out the drinks?” he asked.

Miles spoke up immediately. “I brought them out.”

“Interesting,” he murmured, his head bent low again over his notebook.

Miles flushed and began to protest. “I only brought them out! I certainly didn’t poison them!” Ann put her hand on his and smiled reassuringly at him.

“Would her drink still be at the house, by chance?” asked Dr. Moser.

“No, she dropped it when she fell. It broke,” said Ann.

“Well, we still might be able to get a sample from the broken glass,” said Dr. Moser. “Although I’m almost certain of the kind of poison we’re dealing with here, it never hurts to be one hundred percent sure.”

“Do you want me to go back to the house to get it?” offered Joe.

Dr. Moser nodded. “I think that would be best.”

“I’ll have someone retrieve it,” Officer Daschle said. “We’re going to need the glass for evidence.”

“Evidence!” cried Frances. “But you can’t think that this was intentional. None of us had any reason to hurt Bonnie.”

“But that is not true,” said Julian from where he stood a few feet away from the rest of us. “You were all very angry at her for trying to invest your money!”

“Just because we wanted to stop her from making a foolish investment doesn’t mean we tried to hurt her!” Frances retorted, glaring at Julian.

“You should also know that Bonnie had concerns over her late husband’s death,” Julian went on, ignoring Frances. “She felt that there was something odd about it…”

“The man died after a long battle with cancer,” snapped Aunt Winnie. “The only thing odd about it was that Bonnie didn’t see it coming.”

“Still, she wondered if his death could be connected to the discovery of that man’s body,” said Julian. “Your family seems to have had much death in it lately.”

Dr. Moser now took a decided step away from us. I really couldn’t blame him. “I think this is a matter for the police,” he said, glancing first at Joe and then at Officer Daschle, who was furiously scribbling in his notebook. He’d need a new one pretty soon if Julian was allowed to keep talking.

Officer Daschle nodded. “I agree. I think it might be best if we get a statement from everyone. In the meantime, let me call the station about getting out to the house to obtain the glass. Why don’t you all have a seat and I’ll be right back.”

Within an hour, Joe and Officer Daschle had retrieved not only Bonnie’s broken glass but Julian’s and Reggie’s glasses as well. Both had been handed over to the hospital staff for analysis. Bonnie remained in serious but stable condition. We all sat in the waiting room, numb with shock, an object of curiosity for the other patients who stared at and whispered about us while waiting to be called by the triage nurse.

Another officer had joined our company. Officer Newell was a trim black woman who appeared to be in her early thirties. She and Officer Daschle took our statements. Thanks to Julian they seemed very interested in the discovery of Michael’s body, the circumstances surrounding Uncle Marty’s death, and the level of anger toward Bonnie over the investments. Thanks to Kit they also knew that Ann and I had done a little investigating into the murder of Michael and that we’d discovered that Bonnie had possibly been out at the house in St. Michaels when the murder took place.

“It could be that whoever killed Michael tried to poison Bonnie today to keep her quiet,” Kit told the officers. “That’s just one possibility, of course,” she added knowingly. I wanted to smack her, but it didn’t seem in my best interests to hit a pregnant woman in a hospital and in front of two cops.

Dr. Moser returned, his face tired and drawn. “We’ve received the lab report. Mrs. Reynolds was definitely poisoned with lily of the valley. However, we found no traces of it on the broken glass. We did, however, find it in the other martini glass on the table.”

Julian leaped to his feet, his face pale with shock. “That was my glass! But how can that be? I am not sick!”

“You and Bonnie switched seats, remember?” said Aunt Winnie. “She said the sun was giving her a headache. She probably picked up your glass by mistake when she gave the toast.”

Julian was unconvinced. “But how do you know that the drink was not intended for me? Whoever did this might have wanted to kill me! I might now be the one who is near death!” He moved farther away from us. “You people are crazy!” He pointed an accusatory (and manicured) finger at us. “I demand police protection! I refuse to be left near them! I want police protection—my life is in danger!”

It might have been my imagination, but the more upset Julian got, the more his accent faded. By the end, I detected a strong hint of a Jersey upbringing.

“Why do you think that you were the intended victim?” asked Officer Daschle.

“I don’t know!” Julian said. “Maybe they think I know something about the other deaths! Maybe they want to keep me away from Bonnie!”

Officer Daschle eyed Julian dubiously. “I don’t think you need police protection.” He looked to Joe as if to confirm this. Joe shook his head to indicate that he thought it unnecessary as well. Officer Daschle continued, “I can’t see any evidence that you were the intended victim.”

“Oh, no?” Julian cried. “But I was threatened right before the party started!”

I groaned as Officer Daschle asked, “By whom?”

“That woman right there!” Julian said, pointing an angry finger at Aunt Winnie.

Officer Daschle glanced inquiringly at her. She rolled her eyes in derision. “I did no such thing,” she scoffed. “I merely warned him not to take advantage of Bonnie. I reminded him that she was not without friends.”

“Some friends you turned out to be—you poisoned her!” he shot back.

Several voices rose in angry reply to this, and it took several minutes before Officer Daschle could restore order. When he finally did, he turned back to Aunt Winnie and said, “I’d like to hear exactly what you said to this man to make him think his life was in danger.”

Aunt Winnie affected an I’m-taking-this-seriously-even-though-it’s-ridiculous expression. “I was worried that Mr. St. Claire’s interest in Bonnie was financial. I told him that I was watching him and that if he tried to use Bonnie in any way, he would not be successful.”

“She told me I’d end up dead like her brother!” Julian screamed.

Officer Daschle raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Aunt Winnie. She shrugged. “Just a figure of speech, I assure you. To the Irish, exaggeration is as normal as breathing. I have no intention of harming Mr. St. Claire.”

I spoke up. “My aunt talks a great deal, sir, and always with animation, but she is not a violent person.” Normally, I added privately.

Officer Daschle looked as if he was about to get a large headache. Aunt Winnie has that effect on a lot of people, especially people in law enforcement. After a moment, he turned back to Julian. “The fact remains, Mr. St. Claire, that you do not seem to be the intended victim here, despite what may have been said to you earlier.” Officer Daschle shot Aunt Winnie an accusatory look. She produced a guileless smile. The smile was not returned.

Julian sniffed indignantly. “Well, in any case, I refuse to stay in that house! I intend to check into a hotel. Immediately.” He turned away from us and yanked out his cell phone. With a few agitated jabs, he dialed a number and then pressed the phone to his ear. He spoke rapidly into it, his free arm gesturing dramatically. Within minutes, he hung up. “I have given you my statement,” he said. “Am I free to go now?”

Officer Daschle glanced at Officer Newell. She shrugged. He then looked at Joe. Joe shrugged as well.

“You can go, Mr. St. Claire,” Officer Daschle said. “Just make sure you provide us with an address where we can reach you.”

“You can reach me at the Ritz,” he said, as he turned on the heel of his open-toe sandal and headed for the doors.

I wondered if the Ritz could use that as a marketing tool: You might not be able to get police protection, but you can always get a room at the Ritz.