Chapter 1 - The Wrong Cup
The ambulance doors slammed shut.
For a moment, nobody in my living room moved.
The music was still playing.
That was the strangest part.
Some upbeat country song continued through the speakers as if nothing had happened, while two paramedics wheeled Grant through the front door and into the afternoon sunlight.
My new hardwood floor was streaked with pink liquid.
A paper umbrella lay crushed beneath the coffee table.
And Melissa stood in the middle of my kitchen, staring at me.
Not at her husband.
At me.
“Mr. Carter?”
I turned.
A police officer stood beside the front door.
He was probably in his late thirties, calm-faced, with a small notebook in his hand.
“Detective Aaron Cole,” he said. “I need to ask you some questions.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
He glanced toward the stairs.
“Is your son upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Can someone keep him away from this area?”
“My cousin is with him.”
“Good.”
Detective Cole looked at the pink drink container on the floor.
“Was that the drink Mr. Grant consumed?”
“I believe so.”
“Believe?”
I looked at Melissa.
She lowered her eyes.
“I didn't see him take the first sip,” I said.
That was true.
Cole noticed the distinction.
“Who prepared the drinks?”
“Melissa.”
Her head snapped up.
“I made several drinks.”
“For whom?”
She hesitated.
“For everyone.”
“That one?”
She stared at the floor.
“Yes.”
I heard one of my cousins whisper something behind me.
Cole wrote it down.
“Did Mr. Grant drink from that cup before he collapsed?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else?”
I paused.
“My son was originally holding it.”
Melissa suddenly stepped forward.
“That doesn't mean anything.”
Cole looked at her.
“I didn't say it did.”
“I made the drink for Ethan because he likes pineapple.”
Her voice sounded defensive.
I said nothing.
Cole turned back to me.
“Why did you switch the cups?”
The question hit the room like a dropped plate.
I hadn't told him.
I looked at him carefully.
“How did you know I switched them?”
He pointed toward the coffee table.
“Your cousin told me.”
Tyler.
Of course.
I nodded.
“I saw something that made me uncomfortable.”
“What?”
“Melissa poured something into Ethan's cup.”
Everyone went silent.
Melissa's face drained.
“You saw me pour juice.”
“I saw you pour something from a small bottle.”
“It was flavoring.”
“What flavoring?”
She didn't answer.
Cole looked at her.
“Where is the bottle?”
Melissa's hand went instinctively toward her purse.
Cole noticed.
“So did I.
“May I see it?”
“No.”
Her answer was immediate.
Cole's expression hardened.
“Why not?”
“It's personal.”
“This is now part of a possible poisoning investigation.”
Her lips trembled.
“I didn't poison Grant.”
“No one has accused you of that.”
“But you think I did.”
Cole closed his notebook.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“I'm not Mrs. Carter.”
“Ms. Melissa?”
“Yes?”
“I need you to stay here until another officer arrives.”
She stared at him.
Then at me.
Her expression changed.
The fear disappeared.
Something colder replaced it.
“You did this,” she whispered.
I frowned.
“What?”
“You switched the cups.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
She gave a short, bitter laugh.
“So you set Grant up.”
“No.”
“You knew he'd drink it.”
“I had no idea who would drink it.”
“You put him in danger!”
I stared at her.
“You handed the drink to my seven-year-old son.”
She went quiet.
Cole looked between us.
“That's enough for now.”
A second officer approached Melissa.
She stepped backward.
“This is ridiculous.”
Nobody answered.
I walked toward the stairs.
Halfway up, I heard Cole ask,
“Mr. Carter, one more question.”
I turned.
“Why didn't you confront her before switching the cups?”
I looked down at the pink stain on my floor.
“Because I wanted to know whether I was wrong.”
Cole nodded slowly.
“And now?”
I looked at Melissa.
“No.”
That evening, the hospital called.
Grant was alive.
The doctors believed he had ingested a toxic substance, but they needed laboratory results to determine exactly what it was.
Melissa was allowed to accompany him.
Before she left, she stopped at my front door.
“You think you've won.”
I didn't answer.
She stepped closer.
“You haven't.”
“What does that mean?”
She smiled.
“You should ask yourself why Rachel trusted me.”
My stomach tightened.
Then she walked away.
I watched her get into the police car.
Only after it disappeared did I realize something.
She hadn't said Rachel loved me.
She hadn't said Rachel would be proud of me.
She had said Rachel trusted her.
And suddenly I remembered something from thirteen months earlier.
A conversation I'd forgotten.
Rachel had been sitting at the kitchen table late one night, rubbing her temples.
Melissa had called her.
Rachel hadn't answered.
When I asked why, she had said,
“I'm tired of fixing Melissa's messes.”
At the time, I'd assumed they were talking about money.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I went upstairs.
Ethan was sitting on his bed with Scout beside him.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did Aunt Melissa give me the pink drink?”
I sat beside him.
“Because she thought you'd like it.”
He frowned.
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“She told me something.”
My entire body became still.
“What?”
Ethan looked toward the hallway.
“She said I shouldn't tell you.”
I swallowed.
“What did she say?”
He lowered his voice.
“She said…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“She said, ‘If you drink all of it, Daddy won't have to worry anymore.’”
I felt cold.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Certainty.
I reached for my phone.
“I need to make a call.”
“To who?”
“A lawyer.”
But before I could dial, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice spoke.
“Mr. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“You don't know me.”
“Who is this?”
“I worked for your wife.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean worked for her?”
There was a pause.
Then the man said,
“Your wife wasn't worried about Melissa.”
He took a breath.
“She was afraid of her.”
The line went dead.
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