Chapter 5: Whose Signature

At eight the next morning I carried the IV bag downstairs in a pillowcase.

I walked into the dining room, where Beatrice sat alone with a cup of tea she wasn't drinking.

The housekeeper stood by the sideboard, and the doctor and the day nurse had followed me in.

So had the head of estate security, a heavy man who never said much.

I put the pillowcase on the table and took out the bag.

"Somebody tried to kill your son last night," I said. "And the chart says you gave the order."

Beatrice went white.

"Clara," the doctor said, "this isn't the way."

"Then tell me the way," I said. "Because the next bag might not have a label I can read."

Upstairs, Damian lay alone.

He was too far away for me to hear a single thought, and I had never felt so alone in that house.

Beatrice put the teacup down so carefully that it didn't click.

"I was in my room by nine," she said. "I take a pill, and I don't wake up. I've done it since my husband died."

"Somebody phoned that order in with your name," I said.

"Then somebody lied."

"Who handles the phones at night?"

"The estate office," said the nurse in a small voice.

"And who runs the estate office?" I asked.

Nobody answered.

The door opened behind me.

"Good morning," Rhett said.

He came in with a tray of pastries from the kitchen, in a pale gray suit, and he looked sleepless and deeply concerned.

"I heard about last night. Aunt Bea, I came as soon as I could."

I watched him put the tray down.

He did it without looking at the bag.

"A terrible mistake," he said. "I've already spoken to the agency. My assistant must have misheard the substitution on the phone."

"Your assistant," I said.

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