Til Death Do Us Part (37 page)

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “Your entire family has a great deal to gain if I die.”

“George McNamara is somewhere down in hell right this minute, laughing his head off.” Perry removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together nervously. “He's enjoying seeing me suffer. He always did like to see me sweat. And I'm sweating now, Cleo. Does that give you pleasure, too?”

“No, Uncle Perry, seeing you sweat gives me no pleasure. And I'm sorry that your relationship with Uncle George was so detrimental to you. What I don't understand is that if you and Uncle George hated each other so much, why did you stay here? Why didn't you leave years ago?”

Removing his hands from his pockets, Perry wrung his hands repeatedly and paced the room. He stopped abruptly by the Palladian windows. “If I'd been more of a man, I
would have left. I'd have taken my wife and children and gotten as far away from River Bend as I could have. If I had, maybe Trey and Daphne wouldn't be… Maybe Oralie and I…”

“Did you stay for the money?” Cleo asked. “Did you think Uncle George would disinherit Aunt Oralie and Trey and Daphne if y'all weren't living here in his home?”

“The money didn't have a damn thing to do with my staying.” He glared at Cleo, his eyes overly bright, a fine mist of tears coating their dark surface. “I had…personal reasons for wanting to stay. And Oralie never would have left. You know how much her social position here in River Bend means to her. Being a McNamara is what her life is all about.”

“Yes, I'm well aware of how much being a McNamara means to Aunt Oralie,” Cleo said. “She wanted desperately to be Uncle George's favorite and resented him and Aunt Beatrice because they both adored my father so. But she thought she'd finally won Uncle George over when she saw how he loved her twins. Then when my father died and my mother deserted me and I came to River Bend to live permanently, Aunt Oralie resented my intrusion into her perfect little world.”

“Oralie can't help being the way she is.” Perry hung his head, sadness and defeat overcoming him.

“You've always resented me, too, haven't you, Uncle Perry? You dislike me a great deal. I've always felt it, but pretended otherwise. My existence has made life much more difficult for you, hasn't it?”

Lifting his head just a fraction, he moved his eyes upward and glared at Cleo over the rim of his glasses, which were perched on his nose. “Yes. Yes. Anything that creates a problem for Oralie makes my life more difficult.” He tilted his chin up and stared directly at Cleo.
“But I haven't tried to harm you. You must believe me. Beatrice loves you so dearly. Despite everything, I would never… Please, Cleo, ask your husband to stop tormenting me. I am guilty of many things—foolishness, stupidity, cowardliness—but not of trying to kill you.”

“I'll speak to Simon, but—”

Roarke opened the pocket doors. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said.

Aunt Beatrice stood in front of Roarke, a small silver tray in her hands. “It's my fault, I'm afraid. I insisted on bringing you your evening tea, my dear.”

“It's all right,” Cleo said. “Come on in. Maybe you can persuade Uncle Perry that no one has accused him of trying to harm me.”

Roarke looked over Beatrice's head, his stare questioning Cleo. Her return gaze reassured him that everything was under control. He stepped back into the hall, but left the double doors open.

“Why on earth would anyone accuse Perry, of all people?” Beatrice set the silver tray down on the Jacobean desk, lifted the small china teapot and poured the hot liquid into a matching Lenox cup. “Perry wouldn't hurt a fly.”

Beatrice glanced at Perry and the warm smile disappeared suddenly. He gazed at her, the look melancholy and wistful. She returned his gaze with the same tender longing. Tears gathered in the corners of her sad, green eyes. Cleo felt like a voyeur witnessing this bittersweet moment between two people who had once been in love. She remembered the first time she'd noticed this type of heartbreaking exchange between them. She'd been thirteen and had asked Pearl what it meant. Now she often wished that Pearl had never told her about Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Perry's past relationship.

“Mr. Roarke has been harassing me ever since Sheriff Bacon reported to him about the brown recluses being taken from the science lab at Covenant College,” Perry told Beatrice. “I've been pleading with Cleo for understanding. Bea, you know I'd never do anything to harm her. You know I wouldn't.”

Beatrice set the teapot down and turned to her niece. “You must put a stop to this immediately!” Tilting her head, she looked out into the hallway, where Roarke stood guard, his back to them. Snapping her head around, she faced Cleo. “I can't believe you could possibly think that Perry is capable of attempted murder.”

“Aunt Beatrice, no one has accused Uncle Perry of anything. Roarke has simply been asking him questions in an effort to get to the truth and find out who put those spiders in my bathroom.”

“Well, Perry most certainly didn't do it!”

“Beatrice, don't upset yourself this way.” Perry took a hesitant step toward her, then stopped abruptly. “There's no need for you to fight my battles with Cleo the way you always tried to do with your father.”

“I—I simply can't bear to…” Beatrice breathed deeply. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I can't bear to see you suffer.”

Perry cleared his throat loudly. He blinked away the mist covering his eyes, nodded to Beatrice and hurried out of the room. Roarke stepped inside the study and closed the pocket doors.

“Aunt Beatrice, I know that you believe Uncle Perry is incapable of harming me, but—”

“There are no buts! He knows you're like my own child, that I love you more than my own life. He'd never…never…” Tears streamed down Beatrice's face. Her small, delicate hands trembled.

“Oh, please don't do this to yourself.” Cleo rushed to her aunt's side, slipped her arm around her waist and led her to the wingback chair opposite the sofa. “Sit down.”

Beatrice eased down into the huge chair. Cleo knelt in front of Beatrice and took her aunt's quivering hands into hers.

“I'm sorry, dear,” Beatrice said, squeezing Cleo's hands. “I didn't mean to act so silly. It's just that I know the kind of person Perry really is and the thought of… No, no, you must never suspect Perry.” Beatrice pulled her hands free and clasped Cleo's face. “Life has been so unkind to him, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” Cleo rose to her feet, glanced across at Roarke, who stood silently at the closed doors. She smiled sadly at him. He nodded.

She walked over, picked up the cup of tea her aunt had poured for her and brought it to Beatrice. “Here, drink this. Tea always soothes my nerves. That's why you fix it and bring it to me when I've had a difficult day.”

Beatrice accepted the tea. The saucer shook in her unsteady hands. She lifted the cup to her lips and sipped.

“Better?” Cleo asked.

“Yes, dear.” Beatrice continued sipping the tea.

Cleo sat down on the sofa. “Don't worry about Uncle Perry anymore. I promise Roarke won't harass him.”

Cleo felt Roarke tense. She glanced up instantly and saw the disapproving look in his eyes. If only she could explain her promise to Aunt Beatrice. Take me on faith, she tried to convey to him. Believe that I know what I'm doing. As she stared at Roarke, she saw his big body gradually relax and she knew that on some level, she had reached him with her thoughts.

When Beatrice finished the tea, Cleo jumped up, took
the cup from her and placed it on the tray. “Everything's all right now. Right?”

“Yes—” Beatrice gasped for air. “Oh, dear. I'm afraid I—” Her face twitched. She laid her hand on her cheek. “My—my cheek is numb.”

“What's wrong?” Cleo rushed to her aunt's side. “Roarke, come here—quickly! Something's wrong with Aunt Beatrice.”

When he reached Beatrice, she was breathing erratically. Checking her pulse, he found it irregular. His mind sorted through his past experiences. Erratic breathing. Irregular pulse. Facial twitching and numbness.

Beatrice grabbed Cleo's hand. “I'm going to be sick.” She tried to get out of the chair, but before she could rise to her feet, she swayed backward, then promptly threw up.

“Oh, my. My,” Beatrice moaned.

“I'm calling 911.” Cleo dashed toward the telephone on the Jacobean desk.

“No!” Roarke said.

Cleo stopped, her hand hovering over the telephone.

He'd seen this sort of thing before. Men. Women. Children. Animals. Poisoned. The symptoms varied, depending upon the type of poison used, but the results were usually the same. Death.

Roarke stripped off Beatrice's soiled blouse, then lifted her into his arms. “Get that afghan.” He nodded at the cream knit shawl lying across the back of the leather sofa. “We don't have any time to waste. We've got to get her to the hospital immediately.”

“Why?” Cleo jerked the afghan off the sofa and followed Roarke out of the study. “What do you think's wrong with her?”

Roarke carried Beatrice down the hallway and into the foyer. “Open the door and go get a car. Any car. Just hurry.”

“What's wrong with her?” Cleo demanded.

“I'm pretty sure she's ingested some kind of fast-acting poison,” Roarke said. “Every minute counts. Do you understand?”

Cleo flung open the door and ran outside. Trey's silver Mercedes was in the driveway. She opened the door and said a silent prayer of thanks that, as he often did, Trey had left the keys in the ignition.

Roarke laid Beatrice in the backseat. Cleo crawled in beside her, putting her aunt's head in her lap. Beatrice groaned, then gasped for air.

Roarke got in on the driver's side, reached inside his pocket and pulled out his cellular phone. He tossed it to Cleo.

“Call 911 and have them notify the hospital to expect us,” Roarke said. “The hospital's on Madison Street, isn't it?”

“Yes, two blocks off Main,” Cleo replied.

Roarke started the engine, shifted the gears into Drive and raced around the circular driveway and down the private road leading to the highway.

“After you contact 911, call the house and speak to Kane,” Roarke told her. “Have him go into the study and get the cup Beatrice drank from, along with the teapot. Tell him to ask Pearl where the loose tea is kept. Then have him call Sheriff Bacon.”

“The tea?” Cleo trembled as realization dawned.

“Yeah, honey. That'd be my guess.”

The tea had been poisoned! The tea Aunt Beatrice had brought to her. The tea she'd given her aunt to drink. Cleo's private blend. No one else in the house drank that special blend. Of course! That had to be what had happened. Whoever doctored the tea hadn't meant to harm Aunt Beatrice. They'd meant to kill Cleo!

C
LEO PACED BACK
and forth in the emergency room waiting area, her soft leather sandals silent against the tiled floor. What were the doctors doing for Aunt Beatrice? Would they be able to save her life? Dear God, if she didn't find out something soon, she'd lose her mind!

How could this have happened? It wasn't fair. Aunt Beatrice had never done anything to harm another living soul. Why was she being punished this way?

Roarke draped his arm around Cleo's shoulder, bringing her frantic pacing to a halt. “Come on, honey. Let's sit down. You're not doing yourself or your aunt any good working yourself into a frenzy like this.”

Turning into Roarke's embrace, she buried her face against his chest. He encompassed her in his arms. “Oh, Simon, why did I give her that damned cup of tea to drink? If only I'd gotten her a glass of water, instead.”

Roarke cupped Cleo's chin in his hand and tilted her chin. She looked up at him. “This isn't your fault. You didn't poison the tea.”

“You're sure, aren't you, that the tea was poisoned?”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure. I've seen the symptoms before. My guess would be cyanide or something related to it. That's what I told Dr. Iverson.” Roarke led Cleo over to a green vinyl sofa in a corner of the room, away from the other people waiting for emergency care. “Whatever
was used had to be water soluble. My guess is a powder of some kind.”

Resting her head against Roarke's shoulder, Cleo relaxed. Roarke took her hand in his. “Who were you talking to on your cellular phone when the nurses forced me to come back out here?” she asked. “Kane.”

Her whole body tensed. Cleo lifted her head and stared directly at Roarke. “What did he tell you?”

“He and Sheriff Bacon are waiting at McNamara Industries lab while Dave Hibbett runs some tests on the tea,” Roarke said. “Bacon agreed with Kane that your lab and technicians could get results quickly, whereas waiting on the police lab could waste time that we simply don't have.”

“Knowing what type of poison it was could save Aunt Beatrice's life, couldn't it?”

“Yeah, honey, it could.”

Cleo relaxed against her husband again, and together they waited. Time stood still for Cleo. The minutes seemed like hours. Just as Dr. Iverson emerged from the cubicle where nurses and another doctor still worked with Beatrice, the emergency doors parted and the entire Sutton clan stormed in like a threatening tornado.

“Where's Beatrice?” Perry Sutton demanded. “That Kane fellow said y'all had rushed her to the hospital.”

“What happened?” Oralie asked. “She was perfectly fine earlier this evening.”

“Was it a heart attack?” Trey asked.

“A stroke?” Daphne slipped her arm around her mother's waist. “Is she still alive?”

Leaving Trey's side, Marla approached Cleo. “Is there anything we can do? The minute Mr. Kane told us that
Aunt Beatrice was ill and y'all were en route to the emergency room, we rushed here as quickly as we could.”

“Thank you, Marla,” Cleo said. “But there's nothing any of us can do, except wait and pray.” Cleo stood, brushed past Marla and walked slowly over to Dr. Iverson.

Following Cleo, Roarke waited behind her, his hands on her shoulders when she faced the doctor. She trembled. He tightened his hold on her shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“How is Aunt Beatrice?” Cleo asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

“We need to find out exactly what type of poison she ingested. I've begun some preliminary treatment, but—” Dr. Iverson hesitated briefly. “She's having great difficulty breathing, and I'm afraid she could go into respiratory failure at any time. Until we know what kind of poison she ingested, all we can do is treat the symptoms.”

“We have Dr. Hibbett, from the company lab, running tests on the tea Aunt Beatrice drank shortly before she became ill,” Cleo said.

“Sheriff Bacon is at the lab and he'll phone the hospital as soon as they have the results.” Roarke watched Dr. Iverson, wondering if he had told them everything. But Roarke didn't have to be told that time was of the essence. Proper treatment could save Beatrice's life, but at this point, the doctor would be playing a guessing game.

“What are you talking about?” Oralie nudged Daphne in the ribs and loosened her daughter's hold about her waist. She pushed past Trey and Perry. “Are you saying that Beatrice drank some sort of poisoned tea?”

“Yes,” Roarke said, without glancing at Oralie. “Beatrice drank the tea she'd prepared for Cleo.”

“But no one ever drinks that stuff except Cleo.” All eyes turned to Daphne when she spoke. Her cheeks
colored slightly. “Well, it's no secret. Everyone knows that Pearl buys that special brand for Cleo.”

Dr. Iverson reached out and took Cleo's hands. “We're moving Miss McNamara up to ICU, Cleo. I promise you that we'll do everything possible to save her.”

“Dear God, you're saying that Beatrice could die.” Perry's voice quivered. His eyes filled with tears.

Cleo glanced at her uncle and saw genuine fear and great sorrow on his lined face. Quickly she turned back to the doctor. “Thank you.”

Dr. Iverson disappeared behind the private emergency room door. A nurse emerged and came directly toward the family.

“Mrs. Roarke?”

“Yes,” Cleo replied.

“Y'all can go on upstairs to the ICU waiting room. We'll be transferring Miss McNamara immediately.”

“May I see her?” Cleo asked.

“Not until we have her in ICU, and then only if… Well, we'll just have to wait and see.”

Roarke draped his arm around Cleo's shoulder as she turned to face the Suttons. Surveying the group, he wondered which one of them had deliberately poisoned Cleo's tea.

Perry Sutton looked as if he might crumble at any moment. His tall, slender body suddenly seemed haggard and his handsome face appeared pale and gaunt. Apparently, he was genuinely distraught over Beatrice's condition, but his concern did not rule him out as a suspect.

Cleo had been the target, not Beatrice. Only a chance happening had prevented Cleo from drinking the tea.

“Why on earth would Aunt Beatrice drink your tea?” Daphne asked. “She has always preferred coffee, even in the evenings.”

“She had brought the tea to me, as she often does when I'm working in the study,” Cleo said. “But tonight, she was upset and I thought…I thought a sip or two of my tea might help calm her.”

“You gave her the tea after I left?” Perry asked.

“What do you mean, after you left?” Oralie grabbed her husband's arm. Her neatly manicured nails bit into the sleeve of his jacket.

Roarke had never seen Oralie looking less than perfect. Her curly salt-and-pepper hair was cut stylishly short and fluffed into a soft halo around her square face. Diamonds, rubies and sapphires glistened on her fingers and two heavy gold bracelets jangled on her wrist.

Her hazel eyes glimmered as she glared at Perry, who tightened his jaw, grasped her hand and lifted it from his arm.

“I was speaking privately with Cleo when Beatrice came in with the tea,” Perry said.

His explanation obviously satisfied Oralie, who turned her full attention on Daphne. “Where is Hugh? Did he come with you?”

“Hugh loaned me his car, but he simply couldn't leave the Andersons' dinner party,” Daphne said. “I've promised to call him and let him know how Aunt Beatrice is doing.”

Roarke glanced at Daphne. She still wore a silver satin tea-length dress. Amethyst teardrops dangled from her ears and a matching bracelet circled her wrist. She was a beautiful woman, but there was something cold and hard about her. He'd known her type. The kind who made a man pay with his life's blood for her favors. Like mother, like daughter? he wondered.

Cleo slipped her hand into Roarke's. When he looked at her, a tight knot of pain formed in his stomach. The very
thought that it could have been Cleo on her way to ICU, that it could have been Cleo hovering between life and death right now, unnerved him far more than it should. As much as he liked and respected Cleo, the possibility of her dying shouldn't scare the hell out of him.

But she was his responsibility. His job was to protect her, to keep her from all harm. How could he have prevented the poisoning? Not even he would have suspected a cup of tea made by Aunt Beatrice's loving hand could prove deadly.

“Let's go upstairs,” Cleo said. “I want to be there, just in case they'll let me in to see her.”

“Come on.”

Together they walked out of the emergency room and down the hallway to the elevators. The Suttons followed closely behind. Trey and Marla whispered to each other, while Daphne and Oralie openly discussed the possibility that Beatrice might be dying. Perry remained quiet. Roarke noticed that his eyes were filled with tears.

When the elevator doors opened, Roarke rushed Cleo inside and punched the close button quickly, shutting out the rest of the family. As the doors fastened, they heard Trey shouting at them.

“Thank you,” Cleo gripped Roarke's hand. “I'd had about all I could take of them.”

“They'll be right behind us,” Roarke said. “I just gained us a few minutes of solitude. You'll have to face them all again once we get upstairs.”

“One of them poisoned the tea. One of them is responsible for what happened to Aunt Beatrice.”

“Yeah. At least one member of your family is capable of murder. But which one?”

“I wish it were anyone except a member of my own family, even Hugh,” Cleo said.

The elevator stopped at the third floor. The doors opened automatically. Cleo closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said a quick, silent prayer for her aunt Beatrice.

A young blond nurse whose name tag read K. Mullins met them the moment they entered the ICU waiting room. “Are you Mrs. Roarke?”

“Yes.” Cleo's heartbeat roared in her ears like a jet engine. “Has something happened to my aunt?”

“It's good news, Mrs. Roarke,” the nurse said. “Dr. Iverson said to tell you and your husband—” she glanced up at Roarke and smiled “—that Sheriff Bacon called. The lab identified the poison.”

“Oh, thank God.” Cleo swayed unsteadily on her feet.

Roarke grabbed her, putting his arm around her waist and lifting her against him. “Did Dr. Iverson say what it was?”

“Yes. It was some sort of fluoroacetate. Dr. Iverson mentioned something about it being a rodenticide, I believe. But he said the stuff was banned years ago.”

“What was banned?” Oralie asked, as she and her troupe descended upon the ICU waiting room. “Is there news about Beatrice?”

“Dr. Iverson will be out shortly,” Ms. Mullins told Cleo, then excused herself and returned to the intensive care unit.

“What was that all about?” Trey asked.

“The lab identified the poison,” Roarke said.

“So quickly?” Perry stood behind his wife and children, his shoulders slumped, his face moist with tears. “Does that mean they'll be able to save Beatrice?”

“It means that Dr. Iverson will be better able to administer whatever treatment is available for that type of poison, even though many poisons are similar.” Roarke
answered Perry's question, but his gaze never left Cleo. She was his main concern. Hell, she was his only concern.

He guided her farther into the waiting room, eased her down onto a brown vinyl cushion and then joined her on the row of backless seats attached to the wall.

Oralie and her brood chattered among themselves, occasionally throwing out a question or comment to Roarke or Cleo. Neither of them responded, and when Roarke finally gave them his killer stare, they stopped speaking to him altogether.

Perry Sutton stood by the windows facing the back parking lot. He didn't say a word and never once turned to reply to anything his wife or children said to him. Several times Roarke noticed the man's shoulders shaking.

Cleo held Roarke's hand, finding strength and comfort in his nearness. This man had been a part of her life for only a couple of weeks and yet she could not imagine turning to anyone else at a time like this. Simon Roarke was a solid, immovable rock. Powerful. Dependable. Trustworthy.

Over the next hour, Cleo watched the clock. Wondering. Waiting. Praying. She had ignored Aunt Oralie and her cousins entirely, tuning out their incessant jabber. But occasionally she glanced over at her uncle, who had sat down at the far end of the waiting room, physically separating himself from his family. He sat with his eyes closed, but Cleo suspected that he wasn't asleep.

“Mrs. Roarke?” Ms. Mullins appeared in the doorway.

Cleo jumped. “Yes?”

Roarke helped her to stand. “Easy, honey,” he said.

“Dr. Iverson said that you may come in and see your aunt for a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Cleo hugged Roarke, then pulled away from him and followed the nurse into the ICU.

“What's happened?” Perry opened his bloodshot eyes.

“They're letting Cleo go in to see Aunt Beatrice,” Daphne told her father.

 

D
R
. I
VERSON MET
Cleo at the foot of Beatrice's bed. He patted Cleo on the back, a comforting, fatherly gesture.

“It was touch and go there for a while. She went into convulsions and I was afraid she'd slip into a coma, but since giving her an injection of calcium gluconate, the convulsions have stopped. It's possible that the symptoms will reappear later, but we'll treat them if and when that happens.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Cleo glanced at her aunt. Beatrice looked so small and pale lying there, her petite body connected to an endless assortment of wires and tubes. Lifesaving devices. Dear Lord, please let them be just that.

“I can't guarantee her recovery,” the doctor said. “But Beatrice is a fighter, and with God's help she should pull through.”