Chapter 8 - The Wine Was Worse Than I Imagined
The restaurant owner used his private physician connection to get the wine tested immediately at a nearby emergency toxicology lab.
Everett made a call as well.
Just under an hour later, he got the answer.
I was still in the office when he returned.
He shut the door.
His face looked ten years older than it had at dinner.
“There was a heavy sedative in the decanter,” he said.
My stomach dropped.
He continued in a low voice.
“Not enough to kill me instantly. Enough to impair me. But combined with my heart medication, it could have triggered a collapse, confusion, or loss of consciousness.”
I sat very still.
Not poison in the dramatic movie sense.
Something colder.
Something planned.
“You could’ve passed out,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And then?”
He gave a bitter laugh.
“Then I suspect Marlene would’ve said I was tired, unwell, or disoriented. Maybe she’d even call herself heroic for getting me safely home.”
The transfer papers.
The rushed signature.
The control over his properties.
Suddenly it all fit.
He looked at me carefully.
“You saved my life tonight, Ms. Vale.”
No one had ever said a sentence that heavy to me before.
I didn’t know what to do with it.
“I just didn’t want you to drink it,” I said softly.
“That may be the plainest way anyone has ever described rescue.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then his face hardened.
“She didn’t just want money,” he said. “She wanted authority. And she wanted it before I had time to stop her.”
May you like
He looked toward the door where Marlene waited elsewhere in the building.
“And that means she was prepared to ruin me while smiling beside me at dinner.”
