Chapter 18: Drink It

The committee let Colson and Tiffany back on the ridge at dawn.

They had a lawyer, a signed apology for the "misunderstanding" about the rope, and the Brantley name.

The producer looked sick when she announced it.

"Today's round is a shared meal," she said to the lens. "Both teams cook for the judges, in the meadow, live."

Tiffany stood at her station in a clean white apron with her hair in a braid.

She looked ready to be forgiven.

I had one thing to carry to my own station, and Ben had it in a padded case.

At ten I walked across the gravel to her table.

"Tiffany," I said. "I'd like to start with a truce."

Her eyes went to the camera, then back to me.

"Of course," she said. "Anything."

I set the case on her table, and I opened it.

Inside lay a green thermos in a sealed clear bag, with a lab tag tied to the handle.

The producer's tablet, held up behind me, showed the report in plain black type.

*Digitalis. Foxglove, a lethal dose.*

"This is yours," I said. "You brought it to my cabin with an apology."

I held it out.

"I'd like you to hold it."

"I don't want to," Tiffany said.

"Why not? It's only a thermos."

"It's evidence. You shouldn't..."

"It's a thermos, Tiffany. You brought it, so you know what's in it."

I stood very close.

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