Pinot Noir and Poison

by Sandra Woffington

  A plate of mixed greens with red and gold beets, goat cheese, and white lacy flowers landed before Sally. She picked it up and set it before Max, who whispered, “You should eat.” His tone was soft and caring.

  “I will. Just not greenery on this stomach.” She took another large draught of champagne. With her napkin, she dabbed her face and neck. She felt sweaty. She hoped the water she drank would settle her stomach.

  Kate put her hands on Sally’s shoulders and mumbled about bringing her soup. In no time, a steaming bowl of potato and herb soup sat before her.

  Kate took her place at the end of the table at last.

  Red said grace and told everyone to begin.

  Sally picked up her spoon. The hot soup sat well on her stomach. She gobbled it down. As she ate, Red bragged about his daughter-in-law Lizzy to the new guests, going on about her degree in biochemistry. Lizzy called Red “Dad.”

  Lizzy prattled too. “Sally and I lost our father when Sally was thirty-nine and I was a senior in college. Sally has run the company ever since as CEO.”

  Sally finished the soup and set her spoon in the bowl. “That’s right. You people pat yourselves on the back for being book smart, but I’m strategy smart. The best kind of smart.”

  Joy tilted her head. “How so, Sally?”

  Sally liked a good fight. If the girl wanted to open a can, she had some worms to dish out. Sally polished off her champagne. “Did you get As in school?”

  Max answered for her. “She started college at fifteen.”

  Sally leaned in as if to share a secret. She rubbed her stomach. “I outsmarted the teachers. I paid smart people, like you and Lizzy, to write my papers for me.”

  “Sally,” warned Lizzy. “Please don’t. This is not the time or the place.”

  Sally laughed. “Sure it is. Joy likes to peel onions—but careful, Joy, they make you cry.”

  The girl was silly enough to press, “What about the exams?”

  “The two I couldn’t fake my way through, I failed. And I still got As in the class.” Sally grinned. “You use your talents; I use mine.” She leaned in to whisper, but she didn’t really care who heard and who didn’t. “I banged the professors. Even a woman.”

  “Sally,” said Logan. “Zip it.”

  The onion-peeler didn’t flinch. Sally already liked this woman as much as she hated her. The impudent girl leaned forward and whispered back, “That would get you a C, a passing grade, but not an A. You blackmailed your teachers, Sally.”

  Sally could not believe her ears. She wagged her dragon nails. “You’re good, Joy. Personal experience.”

  “Lots, analyzing murderers, thieves, and common thugs. Students like you stood out.”

  “Students like me,” Sally boasted, “become CEOs of companies like Kinsey Pharmaceuticals, and her smart sister works in the lab.” Sally wiped her cheeks with the napkin. It felt awfully hot in the room.

  Lizzy set down her fork. “People like me, Sally, helped scientists like Linus Tyler create MuscleToxA, the single most successful drug the company has seen to date, a drug you use to keep those wrinkles at bay.”

  Sally attempted to nod, but her head wobbled. “Now there’s something we agree on, Sis. I had a treatment just this morning. We don’t need to age anymore, at least we don’t have to look old. We can stay pretty and have perky tits throughout our lives.”

  Red jumped into the fray. “No, thanks, lass. Hollywood is full of walking mummies and zombies.”

  Sally had to have the last word. “By the time I’m dead, I’ll already be mummified. Save you all the trouble.” The room spun again. She needed to eat and stop drinking, but part of her already sensed it was too late.

  Sally ate a few bites of salmon but poked at her vegetables and potatoes. She felt like throwing up. She decided to let her food settle before eating more. The conversation swirled around her. Her mouth felt dry. At one point, she became disoriented and forgot where she was, but soon remembered why she sat at the table. She gazed at Lizzy and saw their father in her place.

  Harold Kinsey wagged a finger at Sally, just like how she wagged her finger at others now. Right before he died, he’d said, “You’re hell on heels, Sally. Meaner than I’ve ever been.” Sally laughed at that. No one could have been meaner—to her—than her father.

  “You need a man to settle you down. Guide you,” said the figment of her imagination.

  Sally let out a sigh and thought, “I needed you to love me.” She hoped she hadn’t said it out loud. No one seemed to be paying attention to her. She blinked the old man away and tried another bite of fish. Her tongue felt heavy. She felt drool drip from her mouth. She wiped it away and wondered what was happening. Her fingers tingled. She had no sooner dropped her fork than someone swept her plate away.

  The lights dimmed. Kate pushed a cart into the room topped with a birthday cake on which candle flames danced. The candlelight hurt Sally’s eyes.

  Everyone stood up, but Sally stayed in her seat. She felt a nudge from Elliot, who soon gave up and sang aloud with everyone else, led by Red. “Happy birthday, to you…happy birthday to you...”

  Sally’s voice rose up. “Happy birthday, dear Daddy. Happy birthday to you.”

  As everyone sat down, Sally folded her hands in her lap. She couldn’t stop them from shaking. Someone set a piece of cake before her. Her muscles twitched.

  Sally’s arms convulsed. “Whasss happening?”

  Max’s arms convulsed too. He shot a frightened look across the table to Joy.

  Joy rose to her feet. “Max?”

  Steele rose to his feet too.

  Muscle spasms twisted Sally’s neck and limbs at awkward angles. She struggled to breathe. She threw her head back. Her body slammed forward into the cake, where it remained, frosted in death.

  2

  Every guest jumped up from the table.

  Max’s brows creased in worry. His arms convulsed again. “Joy!”

  Joy raced around the table. She yanked Sally’s face out of the cake. She felt for a pulse. None. “She’s dead.”

  Sally looked as if she wore a facial mask, one she could wipe off, open her eyes, and be alive again.

  Shouts erupted from the crowd.

  Joy used her fingers to push Max’s droopy eyelids open and saw his fear. “Dilated pupils!” she shouted to Steele. She felt for Max’s pulse. “Rapid pulse. Call for an ambulance. They’ve been poisoned!”

  “Poison!” The onlookers clung to one another and searched for signs of illness.

  Cathy dove into Liam’s shoulder.

  Logan put an arm around Matteo.

  Kate and Lizzy grabbed Rio and Oliver.

  Jack and Alfie scrutinized one another and asked, “Feel anything?” And, “No. You?”

  Alice rushed into the room and consoled Elliot, while Todd stood dumfounded.

  Steele dialed his cell phone and ordered several ambulances. He called the station, reported the death, and requested a forensics team.

  Joy inspected Sally’s cake. She plucked a small cluster of white flowers from the frosting.

  Joy’s eyes swept the room. She inspected the sheet cake, topped with edible pansies in purple, red, lavender and yellow—but no white flowers. She locked her eyes on to a vase of flowers on the sideboard—the same type of flowers that had decorated the salads. Tiny white flowers formed delicate umbrellas.

  Joy rushed to the vase, needing a closer look. Purplish splotches covered the green stem. Her heart sank. She eyed Max. “The blood of Socrates.”

  “Ambulances and police are on their way,” Steele shouted to Joy, but she barely heard it.

  “Hemlock,” shouted Joy, rushing back to Max’s side. “Help me move Max to the floor.”

  Echoes of “hemlock” rose up from the crowd.

  Steele scooped Max up from under his arms, while Joy moved the chair aside. Steele lowered Max to the oriental carpet.

  Max’s limbs jerked in spasms.

  Joy leaned closer,
and with her hand, she wiped away drool that ran down Max’s cheek.

  Max’s eyes, fully aware, pleaded with Joy for help.

  Joy swept her hand over Max’s cheek. “I’m here, Max. Hang in there. Help is on the way.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  Red rushed out of the room to open the gate.

  Joy’s shoulders shook. It was all too familiar. Impossibly familiar. The ambulance sirens from long ago mirrored the ones blaring now. Her eyes closed to shut out the memeory of the ceiling lights that blinded her as she and Max, hands joined and squeezed together on the same gurney, sped down the hospital corridor when, less than four-years old, a lady had poisoned them. Hospital staff split them apart. When she woke up, she never saw Max again—until she stood on the hill at David King’s recent funeral.

  The calm monotone girl vanished and a hysterical girl appeared in her place. “Stay with me, pardner!” Joy shouted it so loudly that her voiced rasped. “You hear me! Stay with me! Don’t leave me, Max. I can’t lose you again.”

  Joy’s hand trembled from sheer fear. She interlocked her fingers in Max’s, lay her head against his chest to listen for sounds of strained breathing, and waited for the ambulance. She curled against his body.

  Steele knelt beside her and squeezed her shoulder to signal his presence. “Tell me what to do, Joy.”

  “There’s nothing we can do, except hope the ambulances get here before he suffocates.”

  No one else showed signs yet. So either they had not consumed as much—or the poison killed the intended victim—Sally Kinsey Fee.

  A swarm of medical personnel raced through the door and spilled into the dining room. A team of two assessed Max.

  Only then did Joy spring to her feet. “Possible hemlock poisoning.”

  The team of white-shirted men loaded Max on a gurney and hauled him away.

  Joy turned to Steele. Her eyes pleaded with his.

  Steele said, “Go with him. I’ll wait for the team.”

  On the way to the hospital, Joy laced her fingers through Max’s. She figured he must have gone through the same event when he lost his father, riding with him in the ambulance to the hospital, only to go home without him. Joy let the paramedic do his job. She didn’t really hear the communications between the Emergency Room doctor and the paramedic. She only heard the sirens that wailed, signaling the attempt to outrun the Grim Reaper.

  The back doors flew open, ripping Joy back to the moment. She let go of Max’s hand and jumped out.

  The gurney came out in a well-rehearsed movement. The driver and his partner pushed the gurney slower than Joy would have liked, but it allowed her to find Max’s hand, grip it, and let him know she was there.

  The emergency doors opened with a whoosh of air. The all-too-white walls made Joy sick—they looked too much like the waiting room of heaven. A doctor in a white coat raced to meet them.

  An arm caught Joy and impeded her progress, but she had a hold on Max, so the gurney jerked to a stop. The doctor tried to pull her hand away from Max’s.

  “Let go, Miss.” Joy glared into the eyes of a male nurse the size of a lumberjack.

  “You can’t go with him,” said the doctor, “And I can’t treat him in the hallway!”

  “Come with me.” The soft-spoken lumberjack pulled gently on her hand until Max’s hand slipped out of hers. “He’s in good hands.”

  By the time Joy turned around, the other ambulances had begun to arrive, lights flashing.

  Guests from the dinner party filtered into the waiting room and checked in. Kate saw Joy, and she rushed to her and put an arm around her. “Come sit with me, Joy. We’ll find a spot to wait.” Joy could not form a sentence, so Kate kept talking as she led her to a chair and sat down beside her. “They checked us in the ambulance. All normal so far. They want us to hang around for a bit, and they’ll keep checking. Personally, I’d like a cozy cot, but they told us they need the beds for sick people, and that might not be us.”

  Joy hung her head in her hands.

  Kate stroked her back. “I’m Max’s godmother.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve known David and Max for as long as we’ve been in Wine Valley. Those two cowboys were always on their own, so we included them at holidays, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Halloween parties. I call Max ‘one of my boys.’” Kate’s eyes welled. Her voice cracked. “Who would do such a thing?”

  Joy had nothing to say. She wallowed in her own stew of turmoil. She could feel herself tremble clear through to her ribs. She could not withstand losing Max. It would kill her. She’d have nothing left to hang on to. No hope.

  Joy had no clue how much time had gone by when Steele rushed over to her.

  “The team arrived, so I thought I’d help you take statements here.” He could tell she hadn’t done anything of the sort. “Or, I’ll take statements. Any word?”

  Joy shook her head. As if on autopilot, she sat up straight. “Statements. I guess I…we have to do our jobs. We have to find who did this.” Joy walked to the lumberjack at the reception desk and asked for paper and a pen. He found the items and passed them to her.

  Joy moved like an automaton: slow, clunky, and mechanical. She started with Kate. “I have to ask you some questions. Where did the vase come from?”

  “Sally had it sent over. It arrived this afternoon. I didn’t think it looked like much, to tell you the truth, but I put it where she’d see it.”

  “Who had access to the kitchen?”

  “Everyone. People came and went. Besides Maria and Rosa, I saw Rio, Elliot, Alfie, Matteo, Todd, maybe others. I don’t know.”

  “Did you set the dishes?”

  “Not entirely. We formed a little assembly line.”

  “Would anyone want to hurt Sally?” asked Joy.

  Kate pursed her lips.

  Joy prodded. “I need this information. Kate.”

  “I shan’t cast aspersions on the ghosts of the deceased, but the woman heaped up enough bile to choke an elephant. Horrible, just—” Kate slapped a hand over her mouth. “I just said I wouldn’t do that. Sally was insufferable. Had she not been Lizzy’s sister, she would never get past our front door.”

  “You hated her?”

  “She made Lizzy’s life miserable. And at times, ours too. Vile woman. Never satisfied. I guess that’s hate. But I’m not a hateful person. I’ve never met anyone who pushed me to the point of hate—but Sally does that to people. Still—I don’t understand who would…? And in my house.” Kate made the sign of the cross over her chest.

  Next, Joy interviewed Rio and Oliver, who seemed anxious. “Did you see anything?”

  “Nothing,” said Rio. Oliver shook his head.

  “That was fast. Need time to think about it?” asked Joy.

  “I didn’t do it, but I’m not sorry she’s dead,” said Rio.

  “Were you in the kitchen?”

  Oliver remained mute, but nodded.

  Rio defended his brother. “As were many others. Including me.”

  There was more Rio wasn’t saying. He had no intention of helping Joy, probably because Aunt Sally gave his mom grief. She made a note of it and moved on.

  Joy asked each person the same questions, as did Steele, and they traded notes—same answers all around. No one specifically remembered who had set the salad plate before Sally. Maria had been handed a bowl of flowers, and Kate instructed her to put them on each plate, which she did. So far, it seems that most flowers consumed were Queen Anne’s Lace—not hemlock. So someone had added the secret ingredient to Sally’s salad, which she passed to Max. The lab would also have to test the soup that Kate served Sally in lieu of the salad.

  The doctor approached Joy and Steele. “Are you his family?”

  Joy didn’t hesitate. “Yes. We’re the only family he’s got.” For the first time, Joy really saw the doctor: he had a large nose and large ears and tired eyes, but he had that dedicated skilled look that gave her comfort.

  �
�It looks like you were right about hemlock poisoning. There is no antidote for hemlock. We performed a gastric lavage to clean out his stomach, and we administered activated charcoal, which helps absorb the poison. The poison affects the central nervous system. It has a curare-like effect, causing paralysis of muscles and—”

  “Doctor! He’s crashing!” shouted a dark-haired Indian nurse.

  The doctor raced away. This time, Joy followed. She ducked past the lumberjack, busy with a full waiting room.

  Joy slipped into the treatment room. She pressed her back against the wall to resist racing to Max’s side.

  The doctor saw her. Their eyes met. But he didn’t have time nor the inclination to chase her away. He expertly slid an endotracheal tube down Max’s throat. He attached a manual ventilator bag to the tube and shouted, “Get him to ICU, stat!”

  A respiratory technician depressed the bag at intervals while others cleared lines and hung Max’s IV bag on a hook attached to the cart.

  Once weaned from tethering cords, two nurses pushed the gurney at a safe pace down the hallway. The doctor signaled for Joy to go with them.

  The team entered a special elevator dedicated to patient transport. One of them pushed the button for the Intensive Care Unit. The elevator whirred and rose up.

  Joy stepped out of the elevator after the others, who seemed far too calm as they wheeled an inert man down a corridor.

  One of the team punched a large square button on the wall beside the double doors to the ICU. The door whooshed open, and a nurse directed them to an empty bed.

  The team adeptly moved Max over in one flawless motion and then departed, except for the respiratory technician.

  The nurse checked Max’s IV and the other lines that ran to his body.

  The respiratory tech pushed some buttons on a machine. She disconnected the bag ventilator and connected Max’s endotracheal tube to the mechanical ventilation device.

  Both the nurse and the tech worked calmly, while Joy bristled with anxiety. The scene was surreal, Max lying there incapable of breathing on his own.