Read Online A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn by Patrice Greenwood - Free Book Online Page A

then?”
    â€œIt was botulism.”

 
    Â 
9
    â€œB otulism?!”
    â€œHang on, don’t freak out,” Tony said. “Are you listening?”
    I was breathing fast, and my gut had clenched with panic at the thought that I’d killed one of my customers. I had to concentrate to keep from dropping the phone. I closed my eyes.
    â€œYes, I’m listening.”
    â€œOK, I want you to think about it for a minute. Botulism takes hours to build up to fatal levels in the bloodstream. Days, even.”
    I took a couple more breaths. My brain seemed to have shut off.
    â€œSo she can’t have picked it up at the tearoom, right?” Tony said. “She died shortly after she arrived.”
    â€œOh.” A cold flood of relief washed through me. “Yes, I see.”
    â€œThey’re testing the food anyway, just to eliminate it as a possible source.”
    â€œOK.”
    â€œYou all right?”
    I took a shaky breath. “Uh—yeah. Thanks. Thanks for calling me.”
    â€œI figured you’d panic if you heard it in passing.”
    I gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”
    â€œIt’s not your fault, OK? You didn’t cause this.”
    â€œRight. Thanks.”
    A pause followed, during which I was able to collect my wits. I was deeply grateful to Tony for going out of his way to call me.
    â€œSorry I had to run out on you earlier,” he said.
    â€œIt’s OK.”
    â€œAny chance you’re not busy tomorrow evening? I’d like to make it up to you.”
    â€œOh ... no. I mean, yes. I—I don’t have any plans.”
    â€œHow about dinner?”
    My stomach clenched again, but for a different reason. “Sounds great,” I said.
    â€œYou close at six, right? I can pick you up at, say, seven-thirty?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œSee you then.”
    â€œHey, Tony—”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œUm, thanks a lot for calling me. I’m grateful.”
    â€œNo problem. See you tomorrow night.”
    He hung up. I stood there for a moment, still sorting through all the different feelings of the last couple of minutes.
    â€œBye,” I said softly, though he was long gone.
    I turned off the phone and returned to the living room. Gina gave me a curious look.
    â€œBotulism?”
    I glanced at her sharply. She shrugged.
    â€œYou yelled it. I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
    I took a long breath. “Yeah, botulism. That’s what killed Mrs. Garcia, but it didn’t come from the tearoom. She had to have gotten it earlier.”
    Gina frowned. “She didn’t put honey in her tea, did she? I know you’re not supposed to give honey to babies ‘cause they might get botulism. Maybe old ladies are susceptible, too.”
    I endured a painful moment of trying to recall how Mrs. Garcia had taken her tea before remembering Tony’s reassurance. “It can’t have been anything at the tearoom. It takes a long time to build up in the bloodstream, and she was there for less than an hour, poor thing.”
    Gina nodded. “Poor thing indeed. Poor you, too.”
    â€œIt could have been much worse.”
    â€œYeah, the Bird Woman could have been there.”
    I tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile of laughter. “Actually, she was.”
    â€œNo! Was she horrible?”
    â€œOnly moderately. At least the press didn’t show up.”
    I went back to the sofa. The TV now displayed a frozen frame from the opening credits of Charade . Gina topped off our wineglasses, and I sat back and let myself get immersed in the movie. Compared to Audrey Hepburn’s adventures, my life was positively dull.
    By the time the film ended I was yawning my head off, despite its exciting conclusion. Long, emotional day and I was exhausted. Gina sent me home with hugs, kisses, and a large chunk of tiramisu which I shamefully intended to eat for breakfast.
    I drove home slowly, though by now the alcohol