Convicted (Consequences)

the tissue sample analysis for Simon Johnson. Since Rawlings confessed to paying for Simon’s demise, no one had taken the time to verify the Johnson case. Harry wanted to let it go. He wanted Anthony Rawlings to rot in jail for a very long time. Without a doubt, hiring someone to sabotage a plane was a crime, and of that—without a doubt—Rawlings was guilty. Of actually murdering Simon Johnson—Harry wanted to say—yes, Rawlings was responsible—but he couldn’t. Johnson’s body had been so badly burnt, the forensics were difficult.
    The toxicology report came back with one hundred percent accuracy that actaea pachypoda was not in Simon’s system. Over the last few months, Harry had begun to wonder, what was in Simon’s system. Now, as he accessed the data, he found the answer to his question—the only foreign substance detected in Simon’s tissues was diphenhydramine. Harry scrolled to the raw data—diphenhydramine, micrograms/liter 17.5. Saying a silent prayer that his snooping would go undetected, he wrote down the information and backed out of the system. He was finally getting his life and his head where they needed to be. Harry didn’t need the powers that be to know he was still obsessing over a closed case.
    A quick Google search on his phone confirmed Harry’s thoughts—diphenhydramine was more commonly known as Benadryl. He and Simon had been friends for a few years. Harry tried to remember if Simon had allergies—after all, his plane did crash in the late fall. With the dryness and fires often associated with autumn in California, it would make sense that he’d take Benadryl during allergy season. Harry had Simon’s medical history on his laptop back at the hotel and made a mental note to check for allergies. One last search, then Harry was done—he wanted to know the lethal volume of distribution for diphenhydramine...he waited.
    After a few clicks, the answer appeared—lethal volume of distribution for diphenhydramine in adults—19.5 mg/L—children 7.5 mg/L—and infants 1.53 mg/L. Simon’s volume of distribution didn’t fall in the lethal range. Once again, Harry had more questions than answers.

 
     
     
    Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.
    —Mark Twain
     
     
     
    Claire stared down at their three-month-old daughter. She remembered to breathe, as air fought with pride and love, to fill her chest. Staring at Nichol’s big brown eyes, she watched the chocolate come and go as her stubborn little girl fought unsuccessfully to keep her eyes alert. The lids fluttered slower and slower, each blink lasting longer than the last, until sleep overtook her round, angel like face. While her pink lips pursed and her long, dark lashes rested upon her rosy cheeks, Claire swooned helplessly, finding it difficult to look away from the child resting peacefully in her arms. Claire wasn’t the only one held captive by Nichol’s charm. It reached out to anyone within her sphere, including Madeline.
    Claire rocked Nichol gently as Madeline’s rich laugh and hearty voice filled the tropical air, “Madame el, she eats well! Your beautiful daughter, she’s growing every day. Look at those cheeks!”
    Both women peered at Nichol’s soft skin nestled against Claire’s breast. Answering in a stage whisper, Claire replied, “She is —too fast! I want to hold her and rock her forever.”
    “Enjoy, because soon she’ll be crawling all over this floor. Next, she’ll be running all over the island.”
    Claire shook her head. She couldn’t imagine her little baby girl crawling, much less running. Enjoying the even pace of the rocking chair, Claire closed her eyes and sighed. “I never imagined it would be so amazing.”
    “Madame el, do you want me to put the princess in her crib?”
    Claire started to say, no , when she looked up and saw Tony enter the room. The gleam which normally occupied his soft brown eyes—especially since the birth of their daughter, was gone. In its place, Claire saw darkness. She wasn’t sure the cause. Was it worry or concern? His stoic expression hid any revealing clues, yet she knew there was something. It wasn’t just his eyes; she could feel the tension radiating from his every pore. It’d been so long since she’d seen him this way. Instinctively, she understood he wanted to speak to her alone.
    Feigning a smile toward Madeline, Claire relinquished the sleeping bundle. “I’d love to sit here all day; however, I’ll