Chapter 3 - THE DOCTOR WHO KNEW EXACTLY WHAT TO EXPECT
Nobody believed Colin at first.
Not even Everett.
“Samuel?”
His voice cracked.
“You’re saying Dr. Reed?”
Colin breathed hard through the phone.
“Yes.”
“He told me it wasn’t poison.”
“He said it was something that would make Mr. Calder sick.”
“Just sick enough to cancel tomorrow’s meeting.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“What meeting?”
Everyone in the room knew.
Tomorrow morning Vincent was scheduled to meet county commissioners, labor representatives, and two Duvall executives regarding a waterfront redevelopment agreement worth hundreds of millions.
The type of project legitimate businessmen fought publicly over—
and less legitimate men fought privately over.
“Why would Reed want it canceled?” Nathan asked.
Colin answered:
“I don’t know.”
“He said somebody would pay five thousand dollars if I switched one saucepan after Lena left the line.”
My stomach turned.
Five thousand.
That was all.
Vincent Calder nearly died for less than the cost of the wine cellar’s monthly inventory.
“What exactly did you do?” I asked.
Colin hesitated.
“I went upstairs.”
“Pan was already there.”
“Covered.”
“Warm.”
“Reed told you it was there?”
“Yes.”
“He said swap the sauce and bring the original downstairs.”
“Why?”
“So it would look like nothing changed.”
Everett closed his eyes.
His son had been stupid.
Desperate.
Not necessarily murderous.
Vincent asked:
“Where did the blue N come from?”
“I put it.”
Nathan stared.
“Why?”
“Reed told me to mark the replacement.”
“With N?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you what N meant?”
“No.”
Conveniently implicating Nathan.
Vincent understood.
So did I.
“Where are you now?”
Everett asked.
Colin would not answer.
“I’m scared.”
“You should be.”
Nathan muttered.
Vincent looked at him.
Nathan went quiet.
Vincent spoke into the phone.
“Colin.”
“Yes?”
“If you come back voluntarily and tell the truth, nobody in this house touches you.”
Everett looked at him.
Vincent continued:
“You will still answer for what you did.”
“But you will answer alive.”
Silence.
Then Colin gave an address.
A motel fifteen miles outside Bellweather.
Vincent sent two men.
No chase.
No guns.
Bring him back.
Then I asked the question bothering me.
“If Reed poisoned the food, why did he save Aaron?”
Everyone looked at me.
Nathan frowned.
“Because he’s a doctor.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“If he wanted Vincent dead, why stabilize the person who ate it?”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Maybe because Aaron was never supposed to eat it.”
Exactly.
Maybe the dose was designed for Vincent.
Maybe Reed knew Vincent’s medical history.
Weight.
Heart condition?
Medication?
I looked at him.
“Do you take anything?”
His expression hardened.
“That is not kitchen business.”
“Tonight it is.”
Nathan almost smiled.
Vincent did not.
Then:
“Blood-pressure medication.”
Dr. Reed prescribed it.
Of course.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“When did Reed last change your dose?”
“Three weeks ago.”
My stomach tightened.
Nathan saw.
“What?”
I looked at Vincent.
“What if the sauce alone wasn’t supposed to kill you?”
Silence.
“What if it only became dangerous with something already in your system?”
That was beyond my expertise.
I said so.
“I don’t know medicine.”
“But Reed does.”
Vincent’s security chief called the hospital immediately.
Samuel Reed was still there.
With Aaron.
At least according to staff.
Ten minutes later, another call.
Reed had left the emergency department through a staff corridor eight minutes earlier.
No one knew where he went.
Vincent’s face became stone.
Nathan said:
“He ran.”
Maybe.
Or somebody made sure he left.
Vincent turned to his security chief.
“Freeze his estate access.”
“Phones.”
“Vehicle tracking.”
“Find him.”
Then he looked at me.
“You’re leaving.”
I stiffened.
“What?”
“Tonight.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“My apartment is twenty minutes away.”
“Which Reed knows.”
That stopped me.
Of course he did.
Estate medical records included emergency contacts for employees.
Not everyone’s address.
But senior staff?
Possibly.
Vincent looked at Everett.
“You too.”
Everett shook his head.
“I’m waiting for my son.”
“Then you stay in the staff residence with security.”
Nathan leaned back against the counter.
“And me?”
Vincent looked at him.
“You’re not leaving my sight.”
Nathan gave a humorless laugh.
“Family warmth.”
“No.”
“Trust assessment.”
I should have been terrified.
Instead, anger replaced fear.
Dr. Reed had eaten in our kitchen.
Complimented my lemon tart.
Bandaged my hand when I burned it two winters ago.
He had delivered Christmas baskets to staff.
Everyone trusted him.
Maybe that was why he could move through every room.
I remembered something.
“The rosemary.”
Vincent looked at me.
“What?”
“The sauce smelled wrong before I got close.”
“So?”
“Reed came through the kitchen at six.”
Everett frowned.
“He was checking Vincent’s wine intake.”
Vincent looked irritated.
“He does that.”
“I know.”
I continued.
“He picked up the rosemary bunch.”
“Smelled it.”
“Then asked whether I was using it in your venison.”
Nathan went still.
“What did you tell him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He joked that rosemary hides everything if cooks use too much.”
Silence.
I had laughed.
I hated remembering that.
Vincent asked:
“Anything else?”
“He asked who finished the plate.”
“I said I made the sauce but Everett plated.”
Everett stared.
“So he knew workflow.”
“Yes.”
Nathan folded his arms.
“He knew exactly when to send Colin.”
“Yes.”
The deeper question remained.
Why?
The next morning’s meeting?
Maybe.
But poisoning Vincent carried enormous risk simply to postpone a deal.
There had to be more.
Colin returned after midnight.
Twenty-four.
Pale.
Terrified.
No criminal mastermind.
A young man who owed money to a sports-betting operation and thought five thousand dollars sounded like rescue.
Everett looked at him with heartbreak and rage.
“You stupid boy.”
Colin cried.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Everett answered.
That mattered.
Vincent questioned him with an attorney present.
Interesting.
Even in that world, he wanted the account usable.
Colin repeated everything.
Reed approached him four days earlier.
Knew about his gambling debt.
Offered money.
Said Vincent needed “a medical scare.”
Nothing permanent.
Colin swapped the sauce.
Never touched it.
Never added anything.
“Who gave you the replacement pan?”
“Reed left it inside the warming cabinet.”
“Did you see him?”
“No.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“He texted the location.”
“Show me.”
Colin gave up his phone.
The messages came from a prepaid number.
Not proof.
But one contained a phrase:
Your father doesn’t need to know until the debt is gone.
That sounded like someone who knew Everett too.
Then security found Reed’s vehicle.
Abandoned outside a church.
Blood on the driver’s door.
Not much.
Enough.
Nathan looked at Vincent.
“You still think he ran?”
Vincent said nothing.
Then his security chief handed him something found inside the car.
A photograph.
Vincent.
Nathan.
Aaron.
Everett.
Me.
Taken through the kitchen service window two weeks earlier.
On the back, one line:
ONE OF THEM ALREADY KNOWS.
I stared.
“Knows what?”
Nobody answered.
Then Aaron called from the hospital.
Not Reed.
Aaron himself.
Weak.
Terrified.
“Boss.”
Vincent put him on speaker.
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“Dr. Reed came into my room after everyone left.”
My skin went cold.
“He thought I was asleep.”
“What did he do?”
“He checked my monitor.”
“Then he said something on the phone.”
“What?”
Aaron swallowed.
“He said, ‘Calder didn’t eat it.’”
A pause.
“Then he said…”
May you like
Everyone waited.
“‘We’ll have to use Lena instead.’”
