Read Online Tainted by Ross Pennie - Free Book Online Page A

curb and set the handbrake. Vanderven’s three-storey mansion dominated a cul-de-sac at the edge of the Escarpment. It looked like a brand-new French château, right out of the box. The slate roof alone would have cost more than an average Hamilton house. Natasha clutched at the gaping collar of her coat and picked her way up the long flight of front steps, Ermalinda two steps behind her. There was no handrail, and the shards of ice that had escaped the gardener’s shovel made the fashionable fieldstone treacherous. An icy wind howled through the cedars screening the back garden.
    “Good morning,” Natasha said to the small woman who cracked open the front door. Dark, almond eyes squinted in the burst of unexpected sunshine that leapt from behind a bank of heavy clouds.
    The wind whipped across the vulnerable spot between the hem of Natasha’s skirt and the tops of her boots. “I’m Natasha,” she said, shivering, “from the health unit.”
    The housekeeper, her jet-black housedress and frilly white apron ironed to perfection, ushered the visitors in. Ermalinda completed the introductions. Natasha, who had never thought of herself as tall, towered over the two Filipina women. She was struck by how gentle they were, how slowly they spoke, how carefully they moved.
    Letty took their coats and led them into a sun-filled room at the rear of the house. Most other families might have furnished such a space with a pair of loveseats, a plump armchair, pastel colours, and wicker accents. The Vandervens had crammed it with stiff faux Versailles: French-provincial settees and matching hardback chairs, porcelain vases sprouting silk flowers, gilded bowls stuffed with wax pineapples and pomegranates. The formality reminded Natasha ofthe reception area at Vanderven’s office and sparred with the California windows that stretched to the vaulted ceiling on three sides. The effect was no less tacky than Mrs. Patel’s Gujarati kitsch.
    Natasha chose a chair and pulled her notepad from her briefcase. “Thank you for meeting with us, Letty. I hope we won’t take too much of your time.”
    The housekeeper lifted a plate of home-baked gingersnaps from the coffee table. “You like a cookie?” There was sadness and uncertainty in her eyes, as if to say,
This is a lonely place — I don’t know how I’m supposed to help you — I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake.
    Natasha took a cookie, placed it on a napkin, and wiped her fingers. She had no intention of eating the gingersnap. She never ate on the site of an outbreak investigation. “I’m not sure what Mr. Vanderven has told you, but we think Mrs. Vanderven ate something that made her sick.”
    Letty’s hand leapt to her mouth. “You mean,” she cried, “I . . .” Tears filled her eyes, and her shoulders heaved.
    Ermalinda jumped from her chair and sat beside Letty on the loveseat, her arm around the sobbing woman. “It’s okay, Letty, dear. Don’t worry. It not your fault. Miss Sharma not saying it’s your cooking.”
    “I’m sorry, Letty,” Natasha said. “I didn’t mean to . . . Ermalinda’s right. It’s not your fault.”
    Ermalinda dabbed her friend’s cheeks with a tissue. The two women held hands while Letty sobbed, wrapped in a grief so intense one would think Joanna Vanderven had died last week, not five months ago. Letty blew her nose and stuffed the tissue into her sleeve. She stared at her shoes and looked like she would never open her mouth again.
    Natasha felt like an idiot. She’d treated Letty like a witness instead of Ermalinda’s friend, and now Letty had clammed up. Natasha forced herself to pick up the cookie and bite into it. Barely tasting it, she washed it down with a swig of orange juice. “These cookies are delicious. I wish I could bake,” she said, hoping Letty would look up from her shoes, or at least stop sobbing. She tookanother bite, surprised that the gingersnap actually was tasty. She told Letty so again, this time with genuine