Chương 4
“They know.”
He showed her the photograph. Emily slept sideways across Laura’s guest bed, one bare foot resting against the wall. Sophie lay awake beside her, staring at a book she was not reading.
Natalie touched the screen with one finger.
“She won’t sleep tonight.”
“I can go.”
“No. You should stay here until the doctor says we’re safe.”
“I can send someone—”
“They don’t need someone. They need you.”
“So do you.”
Her hand lowered.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Daniel waited.
She looked toward the dark window.
“Your mother built a life where everybody needs you in opposite directions, and you keep calling that loyalty.”
The doctor returned before he could answer.
By morning, police had collected the tea, cup, spoon, napkin, bottle, and tray. Kayla gave a statement at the hotel. Vincent provided security footage and access records. Guests were released shortly before midnight after officers obtained contact information and asked them not to discuss the active investigation. Several discussed it immediately.
Margaret left through a service entrance with her attorney.
She was not arrested that night.
The detective assigned to the case, Lena Ortiz, explained this to Daniel at the hospital with a patience that suggested she often spoke to people who believed certainty should move at the speed of outrage.
“We have an allegation, a prescription bottle, witnesses, and a beverage that may contain medication,” she said. “We need laboratory results. We need separate interviews. We need to establish possession and intent. Your mother has counsel and is voluntarily available through counsel.”
“She tried to take the bottle.”
“I saw the video.”
“She knew what was in it.”
“That may matter. It is not the same as proving every element today.”
Daniel disliked her answer because it was reasonable.
Detective Ortiz wore a navy blazer over a plain shirt and carried a paper cup of coffee that smelled burnt. She did not drink from it. She asked Daniel whether he had access to his mother’s home, whether his father had taken warfarin, whether old medications had been stored after his death, and whether there had been disputes about the pregnancy.
Daniel answered until he heard himself say, “My mother would never—”
The words stopped in his throat.
Detective Ortiz waited.
He rubbed his thumb along the seam of his trouser pocket.
“My father took it,” he said. “After a heart procedure. The bottle looked like one from his private medication cabinet.”
“Who had access?”
“My mother. Household staff. Laura and I, technically.”
“Did you remove anything after his death?”
“No. My mother handled his belongings.”
“Any reason she would keep old medication?”
“She keeps everything.”
“What kind of disputes about the pregnancy?”
Daniel looked at Natalie.
She was watching the fetal monitor.
“My mother said it was too soon after my first wife died.”
“How long had it been?”
“Three years when Natalie became pregnant.”
Detective Ortiz made a note.
“Anything else?”
“She was worried about my daughters.”
“In what way?”
“She thought they would feel replaced.”
“Did they?”
“No.”
Sophie had been wary of Natalie at first. Emily had followed her from room to room within a month. Sophie needed proof that affection was not a trick. Natalie gave her space, remembered which foods could not touch on a plate, and never moved the framed photograph of Claire from the girls’ hallway.
Margaret had noticed those things too. She praised Natalie for them in public and criticized her privately for trying too hard.
Detective Ortiz turned toward Natalie.
“Did Margaret ever threaten you?”
“No.”
“Suggest you end the pregnancy?”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
Natalie took a breath.
“She asked whether Daniel and I had considered every option. She said a baby could make grief more complicated for the girls. Later, she asked if my doctor had explained that miscarriages were common at my age.”
Detective Ortiz’s pen paused.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“What did you say?”
“That I was not discussing my pregnancy with her.”
“Did you tell Daniel?”
Natalie looked at him.
“No.”
The detective noticed.
“Why not?”
“Because Daniel was in the room.”
He closed his eyes.
He remembered the lunch. Margaret had spoken in an almost sympathetic tone. He had interpreted it as clumsy concern. Natalie had left the table before dessert. He had followed her to the hallway and asked her not to let his mother ruin the afternoon.
Detective Ortiz continued gently.
“Has Margaret given you food or drinks at other times?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Family dinners. Meetings at the hotel. Tea at her house.”
“Did anything taste unusual?”
“Twice. Maybe three times.”
“And symptoms afterward?”
Natalie described the nosebleeds, bruising, dizziness, and cramping. Her voice remained even until she mentioned a small patch of blood she had found one morning and hidden from Daniel because she feared it meant she was losing the baby.
Daniel stood.
The chair legs scraped the floor.
“I need a minute.”
He walked into the corridor and kept going until he reached a vending machine near the elevators. The display offered water, soda, and energy drinks. He stared at the rows without seeing them.
A man in work boots approached, bought a ginger ale, and waited while the machine took too long to release it. He slapped the side once.
“Every damn hospital,” he muttered.
Daniel stepped aside.
The man retrieved the can and left.
Daniel remained there with one hand against the wall.
May you like
He had spent years believing his mother’s worst quality was control. Control could be managed. It could be negotiated, redirected, occasionally resisted. He had believed irritation was the price of her loyalty and that loyalty was the reason the girls had survived the year after Claire died without losing every familiar thing.
Margaret had moved into the guest room for four months. She had packed lunches, washed uniforms, answered condolence cards, and sat with Emily through night terrors. She had also decided which of Claire’s clothes were donated before Daniel could enter the closet. When he objected, she told him someone had to make decisions.
