Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

we have to start somewhere and this is the direction we’re taking for the moment.”
    The door to the study opened and a man in his early fifties walked in.
    “Kenneth!” Mrs. Brissart jumped up and threw her thin arms around her son, both of them crying softly.
    Leaving the family to grieve in private, John, Detective Maroni and I left the study.
    “John, do you really think someone from her own family could have done this?”
    “We’re contacting some of the local charities that Mrs. Brissart worked with, though I doubt we’ll find any connection there.”
    “But it is possible that someone, a total stranger, could have come in. The door is always unlocked.”
    “With a batch of poisoned macaroons? Highly unlikely.”
    I blushed at the inanity of my statement. Of course there was no one walking around Indian Cove with contaminated cookies.
    At least, I hoped not.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    “Mom, how do you manage to wrap these samosas so tight? Mine always unravel in the deep fryer,” I asked half an hour later while I stood in my parents’ kitchen helping my mother with the final touches for game night.
    My mother gave me a thoughtful look. “I don’t know, I just kind of fold it like a diaper and it stays.”
    Well, that must be it. A diaper. What the heck did I know about diapers? Both my niece and nephew, Kendall and Henry, had their little bottoms encased in disposables. Who needed to fold? By the time I managed to put the plate with the samosas and mint yogurt sauce out in the living room, I managed to eat two, looking carefully at exactly how in the world my mother folded them.
    In addition to the samosas, my mom had prepared an assortment of cut vegetables and a horseradish dip, her famous hot artichoke and jalapeño pepper dip with crackers, and some different kinds of cheese.
    I eyed the chocolate cake sitting on the kitchen counter but knew it would do no good to ask for a slice now. The cake was for later . Later. Exactly when was later? It had always intrigued me from the time I was little and my mother would say we’re going later , or, we’ll have that later . How did mothers know when later had arrived?
    “Boo! What were you thinking about? You’re always off somewhere on a cloud lately.”
    “Sorry. I didn’t hear you arrive,” I said to my sister. “Where’s Michael?” I asked referring to Sam’s husband.
    Sam took off her short denim jacket and hung it on the hook behind the kitchen door. “In the living room with John and Mom and Dad. What are you thinking about?”
    “Just wondering if it would do any good to ask for a piece of this cake right now.”
    “Later. Now come on, tell me what’s going on with the investigation?”
    I walked to the door leading to the hall. “Good. Just checking on John. There’s not much to report yet except John thinks Mrs. Brissart might have been the intended victim.”
    Sam leaned closer. “Really? Why?”
    “I don’t know. We never got that far. Mrs. Brissart’s son and his wife, Bradley’s parents, arrived, and we didn’t get a chance to talk more about it.”
    “Have you met any of the family yet?”
    “No. Not to talk with anyway.”
    “When do you think you’ll be starting your investigation?”
    I looked aghast and had the decency to put my hand to my chest. “What makes you think I’ll be investigating?”
    “Because you’re dying to get your nose in the middle of everything.”
    I gave my sister a sly smile and grabbed onto the sleeve of Sam’s purple turtleneck sweater. “You’re right and if John thinks Mrs. Brissart was the intended victim then I better not waste any more time.”
    “Why?”
    “Because if someone wanted to kill her and didn’t do it right the first time, I’m sure they’ll try again.”
    “Girls! Come, let’s get started,” Mom shouted from the other room. We would always be girls to our mother even when we hit our nineties.
    “Just make sure you keep me up to date on any new developments,” Sam whispered as she followed me into the living room.
    The Harris family had been brought up on games. Meme was a big card player, and even though my mom worked most of her life and had a family, she always made time for a game of cards or, better yet, Scrabble.
    “This is what I thought we would do tonight,” Mom said, taking charge. “Instead of playing the actual game and trying to get the different color pie pieces, I thought we would pair up into two teams. We’ll have one minute to