by Nicola Marsh
But whoever sent those emails to me had dirt on her too?
The whole convoluted rigmarole makes my head ache and as we wait for May’s front door to open I hope that for a few hours tonight I can forget the entire mess. Surprisingly, Justin answers the door and my stupid heart gives a betraying leap.
“How are two of my favorite ladies in the world doing?” He does a funny little bow and Shelley giggles.
“Uncle Justin, Jessie and Ellen are your two favorite girls.”
I note she doesn’t add Ashlin to the mix. She’s smart, my daughter, has probably picked up on the vibes her aunt exudes no matter how hard I’ve tried to shield her.
“They sure are, but I can have plenty of favorites.” He bends down to hug Shelley and an unexpected lump forms in my throat.
Justin is a kind, lovely man.
And one hundred percent off limits.
Our eyes meet over Shelley’s head and I see something in his steady gaze that makes me want to turn around and run before we fall into this forbidden thing any further than we already have.
“The girls are waiting for you inside.” He releases Shelley and she runs off without a backward glance, leaving me feeling gauche and awkward, before he says, “How are you?”
“Fine.”
I sound too perky and try not to cringe.
“I told Ashlin it’s over.”
He sounds relieved and nothing like a man who’s walked away from a thirteen-year marriage and may harbor regrets.
I want to ask a multitude of questions. How did she take it? How are you feeling? What happens from here? But I don’t want to appear too invested, so I settle for, “How are you holding up?”
“Good.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Better than Mom after the morning she’s had.”
“What happened?”
A sliver of foreboding pierces my false cheeriness. The possibility of Ashlin being deliberately run off the road hot on the heels of those threatening emails has me in a funk and I’m on guard.
“Some idiot on a bike practically ran her over.” He beckons me inside and I grit my teeth as a waft of his aftershave tickles my nose.
“Is she okay?”
He nods. “A badly sprained wrist, according to the doc.”
“Lucky she didn’t break any bones.”
“Yeah, especially considering the woman who witnessed it thought it was deliberate.”
I stumble and his hand is under my elbow in a second. “What do you mean?”
“Mom said it was an accident, but the woman who used Mom’s phone to ring Christine said it looked like the cyclist tried to mow her down.”
While Justin’s touch discombobulates me, I’ve never been more grateful for his steadying hand. This doesn’t make any sense. I know someone has it in for my sisters-in-law if those emails are any indication, and someone may have targeted Ashlin, but now May too? I’d seen nothing in those emails referencing my mother-in-law being in danger, so what the hell is going on?
“That’s awful,” I finally say, when I catch Justin staring at me. “Does she really want to come tonight?”
“Says nothing will keep her away.” He rolls his eyes. “You know Mom. Admitting weakness isn’t her style.”
I almost confide in him then. I need someone else’s point of view that I’m not crazy in imagining someone has this family in their sights. But I know deep down why I can’t.
It’s obvious: the one person whose life would become easier if Ashlin is out of the picture is Justin.
It’s a truth I don’t want to acknowledge, a supposition more than likely based on reading one too many thrillers. But if anything happens to Ashlin, Justin would be primary suspect and if he really wished to harm her why separate now and throw extra suspicion on himself? Besides, my fanciful theory is flawed: he’d never harm his mother deliberately.
No, I’m way off base, but I can’t ignore a sliver of doubt… how well do I know this man and can I really trust him?
“Are you okay?” His grip slides from my elbow to my upper arm, where it tightens, lingers, making my skin prickle with unease.
“I’m fine.” I ease my arm away and feel oddly relieved. “Is May in the conservatory?”
“Yeah. Christine’s got some board games set up for the girls.”
“I’ll just pop in and say hi before we go—”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I bite my bottom lip from blurting exactly how not okay I am and give him a blasé wave before heading toward the conservatory.
First Ashlin, now May. I wish Grayson would hurry up and respond to my email because something is off in this family and I need to discover what the hell is going on before I’m next in the firing line.
27
May
“Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can get you?” Ria continues to fuss around me, despite being told several times on the drive over and for the last half hour in Shamira’s shop that I’m fine. I don’t like people hovering over me and Ria has been more than attentive, while ignoring Justin.
I have no idea what’s going on with those two but Justin seems exceptionally casual around Ria and Ria appears standoffish and jumpy. I should be glad Ria isn’t as loose and amoral as Ashlin, obviously keeping her distance from Justin because of his recent separation, but one of these days I’ll have a quiet word with Ria and voice my approval of a potential match with my eldest son in the distant future.
“Go and mingle, I’m fine.” I wave her away, glad to be left on a stool behind the counter, where I can rest and observe in peace. Rest because my wrist continues to throb despite the painkillers I’ve downed and observe because something’s amiss with Shamira.
My daughter-in-law usually thrives on this kind of evening, launching a new product, content in an environment she loves, glowing as she takes center stage. Not tonight. Ever since I walked in with Ria and Justin I knew something’s amiss. For one thing Trent isn’t buzzing around his wife like he usually does and for another Shamira sports a pallor that makes her look ill.
They’ve obviously had a falling-out and I sigh. I couldn’t be happier for Justin finally leaving Ashlin but I like Shamira. The free spirit is good for my softer son. Besides, with Grayson botching his marriage to Ria, Justin about to be divorced, and Christine perpetually single, I want one successful union in this family.
I watch Shamira drift through the crowd, offering tiny shot glasses of some hideous green concoction she made for gut health. I prefer a straight double malt whiskey before dinner every day to keep my gut healthy but I’ll keep that gem to myself. Shamira smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes and her gaze constantly darts around the room, seeking Trent, who seems content to talk to everyone but his wife.
They’ve definitely had an argument, a rarity with those two. I hope they resolve it quickly. I raise my good arm to get Shamira’s attention but my daughter-in-law doesn’t see me. She’s doing a round of the room, commanding attention like any Parker woman worth her salt. The crowd is eclectic; a combination of Chicago’s elite prepared to pay anything for the latest health craze, to locals wearing tie-dyed loose T-shirts over brightly colored leggings. Shamira chats to them all, but her conversations are brief and her smiles are forced, I can tell. When there’s a brief lull, she scuttles toward a far table where she’s lined up bottles to refill the shot glasses.
I watch her pour a black liquid into the glasses before ducking down to where she stocks her personal supply. Shamira rarely gets sick and proudly attributes it to her home remedies that she swigs at various intervals throughout the day. Personally, I’d rather drink anything other than Shamira’s concoctions, going by the look and smell, but if it keeps my daughter-in-law healthy who am I to judge?
Shamira uncorks a silver bottle, her favorite. No one touches it, not even Trent, as Shamira has told us all on several occasions. She says it’s her magic elixir of youth. I think it stinks like mowed grass mixed with fertilizer.
; Shamira takes several sips and screws up her nose before tipping the entire bottle down her throat. She pulls a face and I bite back a smile. That foul stuff obviously tastes as bad as it smells. Shamira straightens and resumes filling the remaining glasses. She works too hard, that girl. I wave again, trying to get her attention, but Shamira picks up the tray filled with glasses and takes a step forward before swaying, stumbling and righting herself.
Something’s wrong and I stand, ready to help. But I watch, helpless, as Shamira staggers a few steps as if in slow motion, before she crumples to the floor.
I cry out but the crash of glasses has already garnered attention. Ria and Justin are nearby and kneel beside Shamira, checking her pulse and her breathing.
I stride over, holding out my good arm to part the gathering crowd. “Give her some space,” I bellow, waving my arm around, cursing the throb in my other arm in its annoying sling. I kneel next to Ria. “Is she okay?”
Ria’s stricken gaze focuses on Justin. “Call an ambulance. Now.”
I back away as I catch sight of Trent pushing through the crowd, his eyes wild.
“Where’s my wife?”
I try to lay a comforting hand on his arm but he brushes me off, distraught as he spots Shamira lying unconscious on the floor.
“What the hell happened?” He kneels beside her, tears in his eyes as he grabs her limp hand.
No one answers so I feel compelled to divulge what I’d seen. “She drank one of her concoctions, then keeled over a few seconds later.”
“I always said that health stuff will kill you,” Justin says, his lame attempt at humor earning a scathing glare from Trent and a disapproving shake of the head from Ria.
Justin winces. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.” He lays a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She’ll be all right, probably overtired and has fainted.”
I turn away before I blurt something I shouldn’t.
Like this is the third time a mishap has befallen one of the women in this family and it certainly isn’t a charm.
28
Shamira
There’s a hair on my left cheek and it itches.
I’m exhausted. So tired even my eyelids feel heavy, like they’re pinned down with weights. My heart has felt heavier every time I’ve tried to catch Trent’s eye tonight and he’s ignored me.
At least he came to the launch. He didn’t help me or speak to me, waiting until the first guests filtered in before switching off his music and coming downstairs. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week but I know that’s not true. I only told him the truth this morning. But he looks disheveled, with his crumpled shirt half hanging out of his pants, the sleeves rolled up at mismatching angles and he’s missing a sock.
No one comments because he’s his charming, laid-back self, to everyone but me. I pretend it doesn’t bother me, putting on a brave face for the guests, giving my welcome speech, handing out free samples. But I’m gutted inside, unsure of everything.
Will he wait until everyone leaves before kicking me out? Will he speak to me again or will he want to handle everything through lawyers, like I imagine Justin and Ashlin will?
I lift my hand to swipe away the hair on my cheek and that’s when I realize my eyes are actually closed and I haven’t been imagining the heaviness in the lids. I crank them open with difficulty. They feel raspy and dry, like they’re stuck together with glue. When they fully open, I see Trent, his face mere inches from mine. He doesn’t look mad. He looks relieved. Earnest. Dare I say it, happy?
“Thank God you’re all right.” He leans forward to brush a gentle kiss across my lips. “You gave me one hell of a scare. Don’t ever do that again, okay?”
“Wh-what happened?” My lips feel as dry and stuck together as my eyelids. Anticipating my needs as always, he slips a straw between them and I suck gratefully, the cold water filling my mouth and trickling down my throat, easing the tightness.
He glances away, as if he doesn’t want to tell me, and that’s when I realize something else. I’m in the hospital. When I wiggle my hand I feel the tug of a tube stuck in it.
“Was there an accident at the launch?”
“Something like that,” he finally says, the tenderness in his tone almost undoing me. “Do you remember what happened?”
I screw up my face. It hurts. Like I’ve walked front-on into something and I’m bruised. “Not really. I think the launch went well but I was tired so I had some of my energy blend.”
He nods, his grave expression alerting me that I may not like what he has to say next. “You passed out. The ambulance brought you here. Toxicology ran some tests. You had a high level of acetaminophen in your blood.”
“What the heck is that?”
“They call it APAP. It’s found in some pain relieving medicines, cough mixtures, stuff like that. It’s okay in small doses but can be lethal in large doses.”
My head aches. I can’t understand what he’s saying. “So how did it get inside me?”
I glimpse something in my husband’s eyes I’ve never seen before: fear. “There were traces in your energy blend bottle.”
He lets the implication sink in and it takes a moment before I realize the truth.
“Someone tried to poison me?”
“We don’t know, but it looks that way.” He shrugs, seemingly helpless. “Unless you accidentally did it yourself? I don’t know what you use in that blend and the pharmacist said you could’ve inadvertently topped up too much of one substance, causing an imbalance and possible reaction?”
It’s bollocks and we both know it.
Though I had been distracted after I’d told him the truth that morning. Maybe I blended too much of something… though I’ve never heard of APAP and doubt I can manufacture it by mixing basil, cinnamon leaf, lemon and a mint infusion.
Which means someone added it my drink, but who?
The prime suspect is Ashlin, considering how I blabbed about her impending divorce this morning before she’d heard the news from Justin, but she hadn’t been there. Which leaves a bunch of strangers and paying clients, and family. My mother-in-law likes me, as does Justin and Ria. Only my husband has a reason to dislike me at the moment. But to resort to poisoning me to teach me a lesson? It’s ludicrous. Trent is the most relaxed, caring man I’ve ever met. He adores me.
Has the revelation about my past pushed him too far? If so, I can never tell him what happened to our baby when I fell pregnant.
“I use all natural ingredients. I doubt anything I mix can conjure up poison out of thin air.”
I’m subdued, confusion exacerbating my doubts about my stalwart husband.
“But even natural substances taken in wrong dosages can be toxic. At least, that’s what the pharmacist said,” he adds, like he’s nervous I’ll think he’s way too knowledgeable and somehow blame him.
Right now, I don’t know what to think. Except that I can’t trust anyone, even my own husband.
“I’m tired.” I close my eyes, hoping he’ll take the hint.
Thankfully, he does. “You rest up and I’ll be waiting right here when you wake up.”
He takes hold of my hand, the rhythmic sweep of his thumb on the back of it so familiar my eyes sting. I should feel comforted and relieved that he’s touching me again.
I don’t.
I feel nothing but trepidation that someone wants to do me harm and I’m clueless as to who it is.
29
Ria
I’m at May’s, waiting for news. Trent preferred we didn’t go to the hospital and I can understand. He loves Shamira so much, they’re an insular couple who live in a bubble, content to be independent from the rest of the family outside of May’s gatherings.
By his attentiveness when she collapsed I assume she hasn’t told him everything yet. In a way I’m glad. She needs him by her side to deal with whatever this is. It was terrifying, seeing her unconscious on the floor, then being carted off by the paramedics. That had been fifty-five mi
nutes ago and while he’d texted May to say Shamira had regained consciousness, we know nothing about why she’d passed out in the first place.
“The girls are awfully quiet,” May says, glancing at her phone rather than me.
“They’re watching online videos.”
I don’t let Shelley watch them as a rule but Jessie is physically attached to her smartphone and right now I’m happy to keep the peace. I’d wanted to take Shelley home but she hadn’t wanted to cut the evening short so rather than cause a ruckus I agreed to stay for another hour. Surely we’ll have news of Shamira by then.
As if wishing for it has conjured it up, May’s phone rings and she snatches it up and presses it to her ear.
Her expression is grave as she answers it. “Trent, how’s Shamira?”
Christine rushes into the room, a deep frown slashing her brows. While we don’t see each other very often I’m glad she’s stuck around longer this time. It’s good for my daughter to spend time with her aunt, to place value on family even if her father is gone.
I see May’s eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline.
“Are you sure?” she says, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, shock widening her eyes. “Uh-huh. Okay. Well, give her my love. Ria and Christine send theirs too.”
We both nod vigorously as May continues. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call, regardless of the time.”
She hangs up and lets the phone clatter to the table, like her fingers have lost all feeling.
“What’s wrong?” I sit forward, increasingly worried when May doesn’t respond for a moment.
“Mom?” Christine perches on the arm of May’s chair and lays a hand on her shoulder.
May gives a little shake, like she’s trying to clear her head. “Trent said they ran tests on Shamira at the hospital and the toxicology report indicates she had a high level of some kind of painkiller in her blood.”
