Chapter 6 - THE TEA LEAVES
~900 words
The silence in the playroom was absolute.
Vincent slowly let go of Charlotte. He turned to look at the seventy-four-year-old dishwasher who had just celebrated her birthday with a bread roll and a candle.
June stood perfectly still, her hands resting on her cane. She didn't look terrified. She looked incredibly tired.
“June?” Vincent whispered. The betrayal in his voice was devastating. “What is she talking about?”
“She’s lying!” I stepped between them. “She’s trying to save herself! Arthur just told us she caused the crash that killed Maria!”
“I did!” Charlotte screamed, pulling her knees to her chest on the floor. “I was in the car! I stole the necklace! I was a horrible person, Vincent! But I tried to change. I became a nurse to pay for my sins. I was assigned to Lily’s ward. And I loved her.”
Charlotte looked at June with pure hatred. “Tell him, June. Tell him what you brought in your thermos every Tuesday when you came to visit her.”
Vincent stared at June. “You brought her chamomile tea. You said it helped with the nausea.”
“It wasn't chamomile,” Charlotte choked out. “I tested the dregs of the cup the night she died. It was foxglove. Digitalis. A deadly poison in high doses. It caused her heart failure. The doctors thought it was a complication from the chemo.”
The room spun. I looked at June, expecting her to scream, to deny it, to call Charlotte a monster.
Instead, June closed her eyes. A single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek.
“I didn't want her to suffer anymore,” June whispered.
Vincent stumbled backward as if he’d been shot. Marcus caught him by the shoulder to keep him upright.
“You... you killed my little girl?” Vincent’s voice broke entirely.
“She was in so much pain, Vincent!” June cried, taking a step toward him. “The doctors said she only had weeks left! She was begging me to make it stop! You wouldn't let them give her enough morphine because you wanted her lucid. You were keeping her alive for YOU, not for her!”
“She was nine years old!” Vincent roared, a sound of such primal agony it shook the walls.
Marcus drew his weapon, pointing it directly at June.
I threw myself in front of the gun. “No! Marcus, put it down! She’s an old woman!”
“Move, Evelyn,” Marcus said coldly.
“Vincent, please!” I begged, turning to him. “This doesn't make sense! Why would Arthur send June the hospital letters and the bracelet if June was the one who killed Lily? Why would Arthur target June?”
Vincent froze. The raw grief in his eyes shifted, just a fraction, as the logic of my question penetrated his rage.
He looked at Charlotte. “How did Arthur know about the bracelet?”
Charlotte hesitated. “Arthur... Arthur knew I had Maria’s necklace. He used it to blackmail me into giving him the deed to the house.”
“That doesn't answer the question!” Vincent yelled. “How did Arthur get Lily’s bracelet to mail to June?!”
Charlotte looked down at the floor. “Because... because Arthur was at the hospital that night, too.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “What?”
“Arthur is a pharmacist,” Charlotte whispered. “He supplied the hospital. He was furious that I left him. He tracked me down. He saw me working in Lily’s room. He saw June bring the tea.”
“And he let her drink it?” Vincent asked.
“He didn't just let her drink it,” Charlotte said, raising her eyes. “He swapped the herbs. June brought chamomile. Arthur put the foxglove in the cup while I was checking the monitors. I saw him do it, but he threatened to expose what I did to Maria if I said anything. He took the silver bracelet off her wrist as a souvenir.”
Vincent looked at June.
June was trembling violently, her eyes wide with shock. “I... I just brought chamomile. I swear to you, Vincent. I thought... all these years, I thought the tea interacted with her meds. I thought it was my fault. I’ve carried that guilt every single day.”
Vincent turned slowly to Marcus.
“Where is Arthur?”
“He’s locked in the study, sir. Guarded by two men.”
Vincent didn't say a word. He just turned and walked out of the playroom.
Marcus lowered his gun and followed him.
I looked at Charlotte on the floor, then at June, who had collapsed into a small rocking chair, sobbing uncontrollably.
I ran after Vincent.
“Mr. Romano! Wait!” I sprinted down the hall.
Vincent reached the third-floor landing. He strode toward the study. The two guards stepped aside as he approached.
He didn't hesitate. He kicked the heavy oak door open.
“Arthur,” Vincent said, his voice deadly quiet.
But the room was empty.
The window behind the desk was smashed open, cold night air blowing in.
May you like
Arthur Vale was gone.
And so was the deed to the estate.
