A Will and a Way

to stand.
    “Oh, Michael, he’s sick. We should get him to a vet.”
    “It’ll be midnight before we get to town. We won’t find a vet at midnight on Christmas Eve.” Gently Michael laid a hand on Bruno’s belly and heard him moan. “Maybe I can get someone on the phone.”
    “Do you think it’s something he ate?”
    “Sweeney’s been supervising his feeding like a new mother.”On cue Bruno struggled and shuddered and relieved himself of what offended his stomach. Exhausted from the effort, he lay back and dozed fitfully. “Something he drank,” Michael murmured.
    Pampering and soothing, Pandora stroked the dog. “That little bit of champagne shouldn’t have made him ill.” Because the dog was already resting easier, she relaxed a bit. “Charles isn’t going to be pleased Bruno cast up his accounts on the carpet. Maybe I should—” She broke off as Michael grabbed her arm.
    “How much champagne did you drink?”
    “Only a sip. Why—” She broke off again to stare. “The champagne. You think something’s wrong with it?”
    “I think I’m an idiot for not suspecting an anonymous present.” He grabbed her by the chin. “Only a sip. You’re sure? How do you feel?”
    Her skin had gone cold, but she answered calmly enough. “I’m fine. Look at my glass, it’s still full.” She turned her head to look at it herself. “You—you think it was poisoned?”
    “We’ll find out.”
    Logic seeped through, making her shake her head. “But, Michael, the wine was corked. How could it have been tampered with?”
    “The first season on Logan I used a device like this.” He thought back, remembering how he’d tested the theory by adding food coloring to a bottle of Dom Perignon. “The killer poisoned champagne by shooting cyanide through the cork with a hypodermic.”
    “Fiction,” Pandora claimed, and fought a shiver. “That’s just fiction.”
    “Until we find out differently, we’re going to treat it as fact. The rest of the bottle’s going into New York to Sanfield Labs for testing.”
    Shaky, Pandora swallowed. “For testing,” she said on an unsteady breath. “All right, I suppose we’ll both be easier when we’re sure. Do you know someone who works there?”
    “We own Sanfield.” He looked down at the sleeping puppy. “Or we will own it in a matter of months. That’s just one of the reasons someone might’ve sent us some doctored champagne.”
    “Michael, if it was poisoned…” She tried to imagine it and found it nearly impossible. “If it was poisoned,” she repeated, “this wouldn’t just be a game anymore.”
    He thought of what might have happened if they hadn’t been distracted from the wine. “No, it wouldn’t be a game.”
    “It doesn’t make any sense.” Uneasy and fighting to calm herself, Pandora rose. “Vandalism I can see, petty annoyances I can understand, but I just can’t attribute something like this to one of the family. We’re probably over reacting. Bruno’s had too much excitement. He could very well have picked up something in the pound.”
    “I had him sent to the vet for his shots before he was delivered here yesterday.” Michael’s voice was calm, but his eyes were hot. “He was healthy, Pandora, until he lapped up some spilled champagne.”
    One look at him told her rationalizing was useless. “All right. The wine should be tested in any case so we can stop speculating. We can’t do anything about it until day after tomorrow. In the meantime, I don’t want to dwell on it.”
    “Pulling the blinds down, Pandora?”
    “No.” She picked up Bruno, who whimpered and burrowed into her breast. “But until it’s proven, I don’t want to consider that a member of my family tried to kill me. I’ll fix him something warm to drink, then I’m going to take him upstairs. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.”
    “All right.” Fighting a combination of frustration and fury, Michael stood by the fire.
     
    Long after midnight when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work, Michael looked in on her. She’d left a light burning low across the room so that the white spreads and covers took on a rosy hue. Outside snow was falling again in big, festive flakes. Michael could see her, curled in the wide bed, the blankets up to her chin. The fire was nearly out. On the rug in front of it, the puppy snored. She’d put a mohair throw over him and had set a shallow bowl filled with what looked like tea nearby. Michael crouched beside the