“Poisoning?” he said. “How is that even possible?”
Before Dr. Sharma could respond, Genevieve’s voice came from behind the curtain.
“She did it.”
The curtain was pulled back, and Genevieve pointed directly at me.
“Eleanor poisoned my coffee,” she said. “She tried to kill me.”
The room seemed to freeze. Dr. Sharma looked at me with open shock. Arthur looked as though he had been blindsided, though there was something unconvincing about the performance.
“That’s impossible,” he said, but not with much force.
“She made the coffee herself,” Genevieve said, stronger now. “She handed it to me. She watched me drink it.”
So that was the plan. I had unintentionally saved her life, and in return she meant to hand me the blame.
Detective Ben Carter arrived within half an hour, which said something about how seriously a case like this was taken in our part of Texas. He was younger than I expected, maybe early forties, with sharp eyes and the patient demeanor of a man who had heard every lie a person could tell.
“Mrs. Vance,” he said after introducing himself, “I’d like to speak with you privately.”
We moved to a small consultation room down the hall, windowless and sterile, the kind of room designed for hard conversations.
“I want to be clear,” he said, opening his notebook. “You are not under arrest, and you are free to leave, but I need to understand what happened today.”
I told him exactly what had happened. The strange smell. My instinct. The switch. Genevieve drinking what had originally been intended for me. I kept it factual, the way I had once coached witnesses in court.
When I finished, Detective Carter looked at me for a long moment.
“Mrs. Vance, if you suspected something was wrong with the coffee, why didn’t you simply refuse it or warn Mrs. Morrison?”
It was the obvious question.
“Because I did not know for certain,” I said. “It was instinct, not proof. I thought switching the cups would test that instinct without creating unnecessary drama if I was mistaken. When Mrs. Morrison became ill, I understood that my instinct had been right.”
He made a note, expression unreadable.
“Who knew you were having coffee this morning?”
“Only Arthur and Genevieve. The visit was unplanned.”
“Have you received any threats recently? Do you know anyone who might wish you harm?”
I thought of Arthur’s request for money. Of the way he had looked at me when I refused him. But something in me still resisted handing my son to the police before I fully understood what was happening.
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