Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

someone must have mentioned that to you. Probably in a sentence with other words like no good , and lazy .”
    “Stuart, look…I’ve got to go. Tell my aunt I’ll talk to her soon.”
    Steven Estenfelder stood at my end of the sofa. I got a good whiff of his heavenly cologne. He smiled at me before turning to leave.
    Stuart excused himself and left with Steven.
    I took my teacup and headed to the other side of the room where Trish sat alone. She looked delighted to have company.
    “You own a temp agency,” Trish began. “Maybe I’ll come down and see you.”
    I felt like telling her to first buy a longer skirt and a bra, but despite the young woman’s appearance she seemed warm and friendly, and a bit lost and at odds.
    “Do you have experience working in an office?”
    “Well no, not exactly. You see, I just got divorced and I’m kind of at loose ends. You know? So I thought maybe I could get a job.”
    “Have you ever had one?” Again, not a very tactful question but Trish didn’t seem to notice.
    “No. Actually, I’ve never done much of anything.” Trish looked dejected. “I finished high school and then I went to a junior college for two years, but that’s about it.”
    “Nothing wrong with that,” I said brightly, hoping to boost the young woman’s spirits. “Do you have computer experience?”
    “Some. I use the Internet a lot. I can type but I’m not very good with the different software programs.”
    “Maybe you can start off by taking some computer classes at the community college. They have a very good selection of administrative courses.”
    “Yeah, you think so? Sure, why not.” Trish brightened. “I’m getting a bit tired of playing hostess at Daddy’s dinner parties and just sitting around the house all day.”
    A knock sounded at the front door, and before I could jump up to answer it, Mrs. Platz came down the hall. “Good morning, Detectives. Come in.”
    John and Jim walked into the living room and looked all around.
    “Alex, do you know where Mrs. Brissart is?” John asked.
    “Yes, she’s in the study with her son.” I excused myself from Trish and stepped away from the group to join John. “Is something wrong? You look kind of odd.”
    “Detective Van der Burg, Detective Maroni. Good morning.”
    No one had heard Mrs. Brissart come down the hall.
    “Mrs. Brissart, is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
    “Yes, certainly. Come into the study. If it’s about Bradley, then I think Kenneth and Lillian should hear. Alex, you come as well.”
    We walked toward the study and a sense of dread washed over me. I tried to read John’s face and felt certain he had figured out who killed Bradley Brissart.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

    If Detective Maroni thought it odd that Mrs. Brissart asked me to join them, he didn’t say anything, and neither did John, to my great relief.
    Mrs. Brissart took my arm again and looked up at me. “I wish this was all over. I’m afraid it’s wearing on me.”
    After everyone took a seat, John told them what he found out from the lab. “We’ve tested all the food along with the liquor in the cabinet.”
    “Do you know what killed our son?” asked a soft-spoken Lillian Brissart.
    “Yes, Mrs. Brissart, we do. As assumed, we found cyanide in several of the macaroons.”
    Roberta Brissart gave a small gasp. Her son took her hand.
    “That’s what killed him,” Kenneth whispered.
    “Yes, sir, I’m afraid that it did. It’s a quick-acting poison. Cyanide poisoning results in something called anoxia, meaning it causes a complete lack of oxygen in the brain and all the other tissues of the body. If it’s not immediately reversed, then death occurs rather quickly. I’m sorry.”
    Roberta looked up with moist eyes. “You mean Bradley perhaps could have been saved if he got immediate attention?”
    “Well, Mrs. Brissart, with a doctor present with an ampoule of amyl nitrite and the knowledge of what to do, perhaps. The killer knew that no help would be immediately available,” John said.
    “Detective, wouldn’t Bradley taste the cyanide and spit it out?” asked Lillian.
    “Unfortunately the killer planned it well. The cyanide, being in the macaroons, would go undetected, at least at first. It sometimes tastes like almonds though probably not as much as people think, and if I understand correctly from the lab, the macaroons are made with…” John consulted his notes and pointed to a spot on the paper. “Almond