Pinot Noir and Poison

by Sandra Woffington

  “I can understand why Sam would keep mother ‘unknown,’ for our sakes.”

  “All I know is that Ursula is the only link to our pre-history, the time before David King and Sam Burton.” Joy rose from the desk and paced. “Max, I didn’t always want to know or care. When I returned to Sam, I felt like I really came ‘home.’ I wore a pair of boots he had given me. I pushed Ursula into the oblivious recesses of my mind. But then Sam died. I felt stranded without answers.”

  “So what can you tell me about her?”

  Joy sipped from her mug and set it on the table. “After emerging from my cave of depression, I began to go through Sam’s things. I found the key to the storage unit. There sat three boxes. Belladonna is sitting in the Central California Women’s Facility. Her real name is Ursula Winters. She was arrested in the raid on our house at the outskirts of Vine Valley mid-May 1995. Our fathers found a grave site on the property with a dozen bodies, as well as a hidden poison garden that included Atropa belladonna or ‘deadly nightshade.’ Cyrus Novak owned the property. He was a beyond-brilliant scientist, contracted by the government to work on various top-secret projects at its most top-secret facilities. He has never been found. The FBI pinned the murders on Ursula. She’ll never step foot outside of prison.”

  “And the other bodies?”

  “That gets weird. They were a wide array of folks, from notorious drug lords to ammunitions dealers to money launderers and other elite criminals. According to Sam’s files on Belladonna, the FBI suspected that she was some kind of free-lance spy or assassin. She has an electrical engineering degree and a minor in biology. All of the dead were poisoned with a particular nasty concoction, a formula only Belladonna knows. But a purple nightshade flower was found atop the victims in each grave on the property—hence her nickname. And while poisonings continue to abound in the world, no more nightshade flowers have been left behind.”

  “Signatures, as you know, are risky. It’s a way we can pin multiple murders on a single suspect.”

  “I still think Sam knew more than he told me. It just didn’t make sense. Belladonna claimed that Cyrus was selling secrets, and she tried to pin the murders on him. Cyrus was a smart cookie, but his arrogant profile didn’t add up to murder.”

  “And Belladonna?”

  “Life in prison with no possibility for parole. At her trial, her lawyer tried to claim she had M.S.P. or Munchhausen by Proxy Syndrome, where she poisoned people in order to care for them, but that turned out to be a big fat, provable lie. She’d been spotted at a bar having dinner with her last victim, dead body number twelve, a Russian who worked at the consulate in Los Angeles. She probably thought the insane tactic would reduce her sentence or get her in an institution with less security.”

  “How long is her sentence?”

  “Before the jury came back with a verdict, she accepted a plea bargain: life without parole. She’s been on Administrative Segregation all this time. Prisons don’t normally assign AdSeg, aka ‘the hole’ for prolonged periods, unless the prisoner is a danger to others or a security risk. For over two decades, Ursula has never mixed with the general population.”

  Max glanced at his watch. “We’d better get going. Do you have the envelope?”

  “In my car.”

  “Grab it.

  Max and Joy flew in a Cirrus SR22T. The flight would take under two hours.

  Joy held the envelope. Max yanked a piece of paper from his notebook and handed it to Joy. He yanked out a piece for himself as well. Max wrote a word and folded the paper. He handed the pen to Joy. “No pressure.”

  “Choices.” Joy began the countdown. “Three. Two. One.”

  Max opened his folded paper, and Joy flashed hers.

  His read, “open.” Hers, “open.”

  Joy clutched the envelope to her chest as Max reached for it. “I know you said we wouldn’t talk each other into a decision, but I need to know why you want to see this.”

  “That’s the eight-cylinder brain.” Max peered out the cockpit window into the blue sky and an expansive brown and green patchwork landscape below. “When I ran out of the poison garden, it was because it became real—the oatmeal, the woman who fed it to me. I saw her face, heard her voice. She suffocated your kitten right in front of us. Then you told me you had an appointment with her. I partly lied to you. I am here to protect you, but I need to see her too. I need to look that monster in the face. And before I see her, I need to know if we’re foster kids or something more.”

  Joy shook her head in regret. “Max, I brought all of this on you. I should have stayed away. It’s not too late. We can turn this plane around and burn this envelope. I said ‘open’ because I owed it to you, not because I need to know anymore.”

  “It is too late to turn back, Joy. Her face is in my head and it won’t get out. It’s time to open Pandora’s Box.”

  Joy handed Max the envelope. “I can’t.” Joy peered out the window. Her heart imploded in her chest. She knew full well the grief Pandora wrought on mankind—she was no better for crushing Max under the weight of her curiosity.

  Max opened the envelope and lifted two papers out, the first being a thank-you letter for using the lab’s services. Max put the thank-you page behind the report and began to read. “What the…? What the hell is heteroparental superfecundation?”

  Joy spun to face him. She grabbed the paper. “Let me see that. I don’t believe it. But it makes sense.” Her eyes scanned the page. She tilted her head back and let out a belly laugh. “How perfect is this! The immortals are playing games on us, Max. They’re laughing their heads off from Olympus.”

  “That was English, but it sounded Greek. Are we related or not?”

  Joy’s face lit up. “The good news—I think it’s terrific—is that we are half-siblings. We have the same mother, but we have two different fathers.”

  “But we’re twins, right?”

  “Right, Max. Fraternal twins, to be exact. Our mother ovulated twice. She also had sex with two different men within a couple of days, thereby producing twins with the same genetic mother but different genetic fathers.”

  “I need to give that some time to process.”

  “Me too, bro. And I mean that in the DNA way. We’ve got about an hour before we land.”

  “I have a sister.”

  “I have a brother. It’s what I hoped for, Max.” Joy slapped Max on the thigh.

  “Shhh. Processing over here on four cylinders.”

  23

  A prison guard met Max and Joy on the tarmac and drove them to the prison. The guard headed out of town, turned left on Avenue 24, a desolate flat road to nowhere, and turned right on Road 22.

  Another prison, Valley State Prison, sat on the other side of the major avenue and housed men.

  They drew closer to the women’s prison. The spiraling barbed-wire atop the high fence, the manned guard towers, and the windowless architecture seemed excessive to control any human being, despite their crimes. The beige ground blended with the beige buildings and drab concrete to complete a utilitarian look: the prison had a single purpose, incarceration of female criminals, and that did not require color or frills.

  This could not have been a stranger place for Max and Joy to take their first walk together as half-siblings, but the knowledge had changed them. They looked into each other’s faces, searching for and finding new commonalities: the well-honed nose, the same lips, the same facial shape. And where their father’s genes encroached—the differences in hair color and eye color—they acknowledged with profound respect. Their opposing looks and personalities gave them impenetrable strength.

  The guard accompanied Max and Joy inside and escorted them through the required paperwork and ID checks before taking them to see the prisoner.

  Joy had seen mugshots of Ursula Winters, a beautiful woman when arrested. All through the trial, she’d dressed like a model. She had high cheekbones, full lips, ravishing but cold hazel-green eyes, long wavy tresses of deep chestnu
t hair, and a figure men would kill for.

  As Max and Joy stepped into the cell-like conference room and sat opposite Ursula, Max took note of how more than two decades of prison had diminished the glow of her skin. She was mid-fifties. Silver strands dulled her washed-out reddish-brown tresses, but she had the taut muscles of a guard dog, and her angry, determined eyes glared with controlled purpose.

  Ursula spoke with the slight Eastern European accent that Max remembered. “My children, my Pride and Joy, you’re here with me at last. I knew you’d come.”

  “Whoa, there, Nellie,” said Max with no regard whatsoever to the possibility of offending her. “Let’s take this one step at a time before we call you Mom.”

  Max had prepared Joy well during the drive in.

  Joy kept her emotions in check. “I came here to interview you for research.”

  Ursula smirked. Her eyes shot knowing glares over both of them. “You came for answers.”

  “Then tell us what we want to know, and we’ll be on our way.” Max folded his arms across his chest and leaned back to distance himself from her. His stomach twisted, reviling the memory of how casually she had fed them poison.

  “Ask?” Ursula leaned forward, setting her handcuffed wrists on the table as if she had nothing to hide.

  “Why did you try to kill us?” Joy turned to Max. “We want to know that, right?”

  “Good place to start,” said Max.

  Ursula implored, “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want you to end up in foster care. I thought I was saving you. I see now how stupid that was. Please, you must forgive me.”

  Max added, “Why did you kill all of those other people?”

  Ursula glanced around the room. “I didn’t kill those people. Belladonna did. They framed me. They framed Cyrus too.”

  “They?” asked Max. “This is the assassin team you’ve been promoting?”

  “I tried to tell that FBI agent, the one who adopted y0u, Joy. So sorry for your loss—I heard he passed. He would not listen to me. No one listened. But you’ll listen.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Leave Sam Burton out of this,” said Joy.

  Ursula’s eyes swept to the guard at the door and back again. She whispered, “Cyrus sold his secrets to the highest bidder. He made enemies.”

  “And how do you know this?” asked Max.

  “Because he sold them to me. I brokered the deals.”

  Joy challenged her. “Then he killed his clients and buried them in his backyard? One of which was a drug lord?”

  Ursula shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. The man was brilliant with computers. Cyrus set up illegal operations, assassinations, computer programs for the dark net, prostitution; you name it.”

  Joy added, “We didn’t come here for fairytales. There’s no record of our births. Where were we born?”

  Ursula laughed. “Not in a hospital, my children.”

  “And Daddy Dearest?” asked Max.

  Ursula studied them. Her eyes roamed back and forth between them. “Cyrus.” Ursula yawned. Her head drooped. “Forgive me. I feel suddenly fatigued.”

  Max couldn’t sit still. He had to distance himself. He rose to his feet and stepped back, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “Let’s recap: a dozen dead, you poinsoned your own children. Sounds like you’re the assassin, Ursula.”

  “You were alone when arrested. Cyrus is conveniently missing? Where is he? Is he dead? Did you bury him somewhere else?” asked Joy.

  “I wish…” Ursula’s eyes drooped. She put her head on the table. When she lifted her head, her eyes stared vacantly at them, like confusion had set in. Her mouth hung open. Her breathing became shallow. She clutched her chest.

  “Ursula,” asked Joy. “Are you all right?”

  “Who…? Where am…?” Ursula turned away and stood up to leave. “I have to go home now.” The moment she lifted her body from the chair, she staggered a few steps. She fell toward the bars and the guard behind them.

  The guard shouted, “Medic!” An alarm sounded.

  Ursula crumpled to the ground.

  The door slid open.

  “Ursula!” Joy rushed to her side.

  Max knelt down beside Joy. He put his hand under Ursula’s head. Loathing welled up within him. Utter hatred.

  Ursula’s eyes rolled back in her head. She expelled one final breath.

  “Ursula!” Joy felt for a pulse and checked her eyes. “I don’t feel a pulse. Her pupils don’t react. Hypotonia—flaccidity in her limbs. I think she’s dead!”

  Guards rushed in. Two of them grabbed Max and Joy, hauled them out of the room, and whisked them down the hall. The officer who had escorted them to the cell remained by Ursula’s side.

  Before allowing Max and Joy to leave the building, guards pushed them into separate interview rooms, grilled them, and had them sign formal statements. They performed routine searches, patting them down.

  Nothing was found.

  The guard who had dropped them off drove them back to the airport.

  An ambulance raced Ursula to the emergency room of the local hospital. Rumor had it she had died, but no official statement had been released.

  The guards tossed her cell and found a purple belladonna flower pressed between the pages of a biography of Nero. The page described Nero’s employment of Locusta, a famed poisoner, who frequently used belladonna.

  During the ride back, Max suggested, “What if she was telling the truth? She’s not Belladonna.”

  “Or she planned an elaborate suicide that would cast doubt on her guilt.”

  “Joy, do you have any older women in your class? Maybe fiftyish?”

  “I don’t think so. I can check. Why?”

  “There was a lady at the back of the classroom on Monday. She left just before the break.”

  “Max, you’re paranoid. Lots of people sit in on my classes. Not bragging, but it happens.”

  “You’re right. This whole thing has gotten me buggy.”

  Max’s voice dropped to a serious note. “You know, if anyone finds out that we’re half-siblings, we can’t work together.”

  Joy’s heart ripped, leaving a small tear. She and Steele had opened up—her first time for opening up to anyone besides Blackmoor and her father—but Sam didn’t know everything and neither did Blackmoor. But this was different. She wanted to tell Steele the truth. Keep no secrets. But Max was right. If Chief Goldsby or Captain Banks found out, they’d never let them work together. Yet a lie of omission was still a lie. One she’d either have to live with or break up the team. And, frankly, they had formed a great crime-busting duo.

  “We keep it between us.” Joy handed Max the envelope. “Burn it.”

  By the time Max drove back to the office, they’d aligned their stories just in case anyone asked. They sat at their desks and combed through the mound of paperwork. Max flipped through his binder of notes and data, and Joy combed through a stack of files.

  Max hit the keyboard and punched in Harold Kinsey. The screen populated with images. Max clicked on one of them. “Hey, look.”

  Joy walked around to see Max’s computer screen. “That’s the picture hanging in the executive hallway at Kinsey. There’s Elliot, Sally, Harold, Lizzy’s mom Alison, Lizzy, and who is that?”

  “The caption says it’s Linus Tyler.” Max clicked the link that took him to a website with an obituary.

  “That’s the chemist who created MuscleToxA,” Joy blurted.

  An obituary filled the screen: Linus Tyler, former Head Chemist at Kinsey Pharmaceuticals, died of undisclosed causes. He is survived by a daughter, Alice Tyler.

  Joy tilted her head. “Alice? Look, there’s a little girl in the picture standing in front of Linus. She’s maybe four or five.”

  “Lizzy’s mom died when she was a freshmen in college. Harold died her senior year. This photo must have been taken right before Harold died.” Max punched the keyboard. “Alice’s mother was killed by a drunk driver shortly after she was born.
That’s why the mother wasn’t mentioned in the obituary. After Linus died, Alice went into foster care. She was picked up for shoplifting when she was ten.”

  Joy read the screen. “She attended UCLA. Her major is chemistry. She graduated this past May.”

  “Sally took over the company and kicked Linus Tyler out.”

  Joy leaned forward and typed on Max’s keyboard. A coroner’s report flashed on the screen. “Linus Tyler died of hemlock poisoning. Suicide. Right before Christmas.”

  Max typed again. “Alice Tyler became Alice Worth when her foster-parents adopted her.”

  “That’s the connection. Todd helped Sally with the legalities; they cut her father out of the company, and he killed himself.”

  “Joy, she may not be done. Lizzy didn’t stop Sally, nor did Elliot.”

  24

  Max switched on the lights and the sirens. It was just past five when he and Joy reached Kinsey Pharmaceuticals.

  The tires screeched as Max braked hard in front of the building. They leaped out of the car and raced into the lobby.

  Max punched the button on the elevator, which moved far too slowly, it seemed. He eyed the door to the stairs. But the ding of the elevator signaled its arrival. The doors slid open.

  Joy rushed in, followed by Max. They reached the executive floor and ran to Alice’s desk. She wasn’t there. They found Elliot’s secretary at her desk, tidying up. “Where’s Lizzy and Elliot?”

  “They left a while ago. I overheard Lizzy invite Mr. Fee over for a drink.”

  “And Alice?” asked Joy.

  “You just missed her.”

  Max and Joy turned to walk back to the elevators. The secretary called after them. “Try the garden! I asked Alice if she wanted to get a bite to eat with me, but she said she was too tired. She was going to stop by the garden and feel ‘the shades of night.’ Isn’t that poetic? She’s such a lovely girl.”