Chapter 7 - GRANDMA’S HOUSE
The earlier drink had not been milk.
It had been chocolate juice, the name Emma used for a cold cocoa drink my mother sometimes made.
Three weeks before the family dinner, Rachel had visited my parents while Emma was staying overnight.
Rachel gave Emma a drink in a purple plastic cup.
It tasted bitter.
Emma drank only a little because Rachel told her it would make her sleep better.
Later that night, Emma became unusually drowsy.
My mother assumed she was exhausted after playing outside.
No one called us.
No one mentioned it.
Rachel told Emma not to tell me because I would become angry about her having sugar before bed.
I returned to the consultation room after Emma fell asleep.
Detective Hayes was interviewing Rachel.
Rachel denied giving Emma medication.
“I made cocoa,” she insisted.
“That’s all.”
“Why tell her to keep it secret?” I asked.
Rachel looked at me.
“Because Mom had asked me not to give her sweets.”
“Emma said you told her it would make her sleep.”
“She misunderstood.”
“She is seven.”
“She remembers exactly what people say.”
David stood in the corner with his arms crossed.
He had stopped defending Rachel.
Detective Hayes asked whether Rachel possessed the type of medication found in Emma’s system.
Rachel admitted she had received a prescription two years earlier.
She claimed she no longer used it.
A search of her purse revealed no bottle.
However, the pharmacy database showed a refill twelve days before Emma’s birthday.
Rachel said she had lost it.
Detective Hayes asked when.
Rachel could not remember.
My mother suddenly stood.
“She left the bottle at my house.”
Every face turned toward her.
Mom said she found it beneath the guest-room bed after Rachel’s visit.
She placed it in the bathroom cabinet.
When police searched my parents’ house, the bottle was gone.
My father claimed he had thrown it away.
“Why?” Detective Hayes asked.
“Because it was old.”
“It had been filled less than two weeks earlier.”
Dad did not answer.
Mark sat beside the window, watching all of them.
He looked less surprised than he should have.
I remembered the anonymous warning he had received.
The sender knew about the first laboratory test.
Only the people at the secret family meeting knew that test existed.
I turned toward him.
“Did you ever identify the number that threatened you?”
“No.”
“But you tried.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The prepaid phone was activated near your parents’ house.”
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My mother began crying again.
My father remained completely still.
