Read Online Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned by Elaine Macko - Free Book Online
Authors: Elaine Macko
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married to April and they have two children who go to a private school out west. Steven is divorced and has a daughter, Trish Hollander. She’s divorced as well after only a year of marriage. Larry and April are okay, though April’s a little dingy and Larry’s pretty useless. Then we have—”
But Mrs. Brissart didn’t have a chance to continue. The doorbell rang and a few minutes later Mrs. Platz came in to announce that everyone had arrived.
Mrs. Brissart and I spent the afternoon in the study working on funeral arrangements and the death announcements the printer delivered that afternoon. John and Detective Maroni spent the afternoon interviewing the other parties.
Shortly after six they came into the study with some disturbing news. John took Mrs. Brissart’s small hand in his and looked into her eyes. This didn’t look good but I couldn’t figure out how it could get much worse.
“We’ve done a preliminary interview of everyone and need to talk again with certain people. We still haven’t received the lab results, but...”
“But what, Detective?” Mrs. Brissart asked with a trembling voice.
“It’s our opinion that your grandson was not the intended victim. You were.”
“Oh, dear God, oh, dear God.” Mrs. Brissart sobbed uncontrollably while I held her and John looked on helplessly. “If I had just agreed to sell that land this never would have happened! I killed him with my self-righteous principles. My dear, sweet Bradley, it’s all my fault. Which one of my precious relatives did it?” she demanded looking up at John and pleading for an answer.
“We don’t know that yet. But it seems everyone is harboring animosity towards you because of the land. So far no one has said anything that would lead us to believe Bradley was the intended victim. We will find out who is responsible, I promise you.”
“Then it was one of them?” Mrs. Brissart asked, as tears streaked her face.
“I’m afraid we don’t know that yet, either,” John admitted. “But we have to start somewhere and this is the direction we’re taking for the moment.”
The door to the study opened and a man in his early fifties walked in.
“Kenneth!” Mrs. Brissart jumped up and threw her thin arms around her son, both of them crying softly.
Leaving the family to grieve in private, John, Detective Maroni and I left the study.
“John, do you really think someone from her own family could have done this?”
“We’re contacting some of the local charities that Mrs. Brissart worked with, though I doubt we’ll find any connection there.”
“But it is possible that someone, a total stranger, could have come in. The door is always unlocked.”
“With a batch of poisoned macaroons? Highly unlikely.”
I blushed at the inanity of my statement. Of course there was no one walking around Indian Cove with contaminated cookies.
At least, I hoped not.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Mom, how do you manage to wrap these samosas so tight? Mine always unravel in the deep fryer,” I asked half an hour later while I stood in my parents’ kitchen helping my mother with the final touches for game night.
My mother gave me a thoughtful look. “I don’t know, I just kind of fold it like a diaper and it stays.”
Well, that must be it. A diaper. What the heck did I know about diapers? Both my niece and nephew, Kendall and Henry, had their little bottoms encased in disposables. Who needed to fold? By the time I managed to put the plate with the samosas and mint yogurt sauce out in the living room, I managed to eat two, looking carefully at exactly how in the world my mother folded them.
In addition to the samosas, my mom had prepared an assortment of cut vegetables and a horseradish dip, her famous hot artichoke and jalapeño pepper dip with crackers, and some different kinds of cheese.
I eyed the chocolate cake sitting on the kitchen counter but knew it would do no good to ask for a slice now. The cake was for later . Later. Exactly
But Mrs. Brissart didn’t have a chance to continue. The doorbell rang and a few minutes later Mrs. Platz came in to announce that everyone had arrived.
Mrs. Brissart and I spent the afternoon in the study working on funeral arrangements and the death announcements the printer delivered that afternoon. John and Detective Maroni spent the afternoon interviewing the other parties.
Shortly after six they came into the study with some disturbing news. John took Mrs. Brissart’s small hand in his and looked into her eyes. This didn’t look good but I couldn’t figure out how it could get much worse.
“We’ve done a preliminary interview of everyone and need to talk again with certain people. We still haven’t received the lab results, but...”
“But what, Detective?” Mrs. Brissart asked with a trembling voice.
“It’s our opinion that your grandson was not the intended victim. You were.”
“Oh, dear God, oh, dear God.” Mrs. Brissart sobbed uncontrollably while I held her and John looked on helplessly. “If I had just agreed to sell that land this never would have happened! I killed him with my self-righteous principles. My dear, sweet Bradley, it’s all my fault. Which one of my precious relatives did it?” she demanded looking up at John and pleading for an answer.
“We don’t know that yet. But it seems everyone is harboring animosity towards you because of the land. So far no one has said anything that would lead us to believe Bradley was the intended victim. We will find out who is responsible, I promise you.”
“Then it was one of them?” Mrs. Brissart asked, as tears streaked her face.
“I’m afraid we don’t know that yet, either,” John admitted. “But we have to start somewhere and this is the direction we’re taking for the moment.”
The door to the study opened and a man in his early fifties walked in.
“Kenneth!” Mrs. Brissart jumped up and threw her thin arms around her son, both of them crying softly.
Leaving the family to grieve in private, John, Detective Maroni and I left the study.
“John, do you really think someone from her own family could have done this?”
“We’re contacting some of the local charities that Mrs. Brissart worked with, though I doubt we’ll find any connection there.”
“But it is possible that someone, a total stranger, could have come in. The door is always unlocked.”
“With a batch of poisoned macaroons? Highly unlikely.”
I blushed at the inanity of my statement. Of course there was no one walking around Indian Cove with contaminated cookies.
At least, I hoped not.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Mom, how do you manage to wrap these samosas so tight? Mine always unravel in the deep fryer,” I asked half an hour later while I stood in my parents’ kitchen helping my mother with the final touches for game night.
My mother gave me a thoughtful look. “I don’t know, I just kind of fold it like a diaper and it stays.”
Well, that must be it. A diaper. What the heck did I know about diapers? Both my niece and nephew, Kendall and Henry, had their little bottoms encased in disposables. Who needed to fold? By the time I managed to put the plate with the samosas and mint yogurt sauce out in the living room, I managed to eat two, looking carefully at exactly how in the world my mother folded them.
In addition to the samosas, my mom had prepared an assortment of cut vegetables and a horseradish dip, her famous hot artichoke and jalapeño pepper dip with crackers, and some different kinds of cheese.
I eyed the chocolate cake sitting on the kitchen counter but knew it would do no good to ask for a slice now. The cake was for later . Later. Exactly
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