Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

cheek.
    “Yes, I saw Stuart here yesterday morning. Were he and Bradley close?”
    “No. Not especially. But they were brothers nevertheless. They were very different, always had been. Not cut from the same cloth, I’m afraid. Stuart’s my grandson and I love him, but, well...” She sighed. “Come and have something to drink before we get started.”
    I followed the old woman down the hall to the spotless kitchen in the rear of the house. No sign of John so far. Good. “Mrs. Brissart, I hope it’s okay about my being here, I mean for Chantal.”
    “It’s fine. Chantal told me several weeks ago she needed to help her mother-in-law. Life doesn’t stop. Things have to go on. I know in time I will believe that, but for the moment, well, I just don’t know how any of us will be able to continue. I’m old. My life is almost over. But Kenneth and Lillian.” She sighed. “My poor son. Bradley meant everything to him, and to Lillian, too.”
    Mrs. Brissart didn’t mentioned Stuart and I feared he wasn’t the comfort that one would hope.
    I made a cup of tea from the kettle on the stove, carefully rinsing it out before adding fresh water. I wasn’t sure what to do about the tea bags, but after concluding that no one, not even a killer, would take the time to undo the bag, taint it, and put it back together, I tossed one in my cup. Besides, the boiling water was sure to kill anything poisonous if by chance they managed to syringe something through the paper I reasoned with my own brand of logic.
    I followed Mrs. Brissart down the hall to the study. The woman usually had perfect posture and an elegant stride—very self-assured—but today her shoulders slumped and her pace slowed, even for her age. I wanted to wrap my arms around the frail creature in front of me who tried so hard to maintain some sort of decorum in the face of this horrific tragedy.
    Mrs. Brissart stopped in front of the doorway that led to the study and looked across the hall at the yellow police tape pasted across the door. “That’s where Virginia found him.” She gestured to the heavy wooden door. “It’s a little TV room. He must have gone in to watch something after we all went to bed.”
    John told me last night it looked like Bradley probably had been poisoned, though they wouldn’t know by what for a few days. He died a rather horrific death and lived long enough to vomit and to make an attempt at getting help, as the phone, on the same table with a plate of menacing looking macaroons, was off the hook. Finally he had gone into convulsions and died. Whether accidental or not, was yet to be seen. But how poison, of any kind, could accidentally get into a batch of cookies, made no sense.
    Mrs. Platz told John she checked on Bradley first thing in the morning to ask what he’d like for breakfast. Not finding him in his room, she looked for his car and sure enough, saw it parked out front as it had been the night before. When she didn’t locate him in any of the upstairs bathrooms or the kitchen, she checked the study and then the den. Her screams brought Mrs. Brissart and Mr. Kaminski, the gardener, running.
    “I wish I could just get a cleaning service in here now, but the police suggested we leave it for the time being. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go in there again.”
    Mrs. Brissart turned and went into the study. I took a seat behind the large desk by the bay window. The smaller desk in the corner held the computer terminal and phone. There was also a fax machine on the other side of the office. Bookshelves lined another wall and held dictionaries and encyclopedias and other reference books along with some rather good reading material.
    I fingered several volumes.
    “Help yourself to anything. I don’t get a chance to read very often any more. Well, that’s not entirely true. My eyesight is a bit bad for reading all that tiny print. Besides, I’ve read everything there several times. Now, I need to make the arrangements. I wanted to wait for Kenneth and Lillian, but they said anything I wanted would be fine. I’d like you to work on the death announcements.” My face must have shown shock. “I know. It’s a morbid custom. You know, even today in some smaller towns in Europe they still send out death announcements. To everyone. They just go around the area and put one in every mailbox. Whether you knew the deceased or not. We will not send them out to everyone in Indian Cove, I dare say, but, well, I have