Chapter 2 - THE RED TEA
The ambulance doors closed with Brandon outside them.
There was room for only one parent beside Luke, and he had chosen me before the paramedic finished asking.
My son lay strapped to the narrow stretcher, his face almost colorless beneath the oxygen mask.
“Stay with me, baby.”
“My tummy hurts.”
“I know.”
His pulse raced. He vomited again into a plastic basin, producing thin red fluid and fragments of blackberry.
The paramedic asked what he had eaten.
“Blackberry cobbler. Some cream. Maybe hibiscus tea.”
“How much tea?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any medication?”
“None.”
“Medical conditions?”
“No.”
The answer felt uncertain the moment I gave it.
Luke had seasonal allergies. He took children’s antihistamine occasionally. Nothing that explained the burning pain, vomiting, weakness, or strange tremor passing through his legs.
At the hospital, nurses transferred him to a pediatric emergency room. Blood was drawn. An IV line was placed. His stomach was treated while toxicology staff contacted poison control.
Brandon arrived ten minutes later with purple cobbler streaked across his dress shirt.
“Police kept Mom at the estate.”
“What did she say?”
“That the cobbler was spoiled.”
“It came from our kitchen.”
“She said the berries were unsafe.”
“We bought them yesterday.”
His jaw tightened.
“She also said Luke isn’t my son.”
I looked toward the curtain surrounding his bed.
“Not now.”
“I know.”
But the words remained inside the room.
A physician named Dr. Helen Marsh examined Luke and asked whether he had swallowed any household medicine, supplement, plant extract, or concentrated syrup.
“No,” I said.
Luke opened his eyes.
“Grandma gave me a red drink.”
Brandon stepped closer.
“When?”
“Before I brought the cake.”
“What did she say?”
Luke’s brows pulled together.
“She said it was for brave boys.”
“How much did you drink?”
He lifted two fingers weakly.
“Two sips.”
I closed my eyes.
The tea had not been untouched.
Madeline must have refilled or repositioned the glass after Luke drank.
Dr. Marsh asked him whether it tasted strange.
“Bitter.”
A nurse sealed his vomit sample and sent it to the laboratory.
Police arrived with photographs from the terrace.
The broken plate had been collected.
So had the spoon.
The tea glass was gone.
Madeline claimed a server removed it during the emergency.
Every server denied touching it.
The flower bed beneath the table contained diluted tea, but rain from the automatic irrigation system had already soaked the soil.
A detective named Mara Cole sat beside us.
“Mrs. Vance, you mentioned residue.”
“On the saucer.”
“What did it look like?”
“Pale. Powdery, but wet around the edge.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Did anyone else?”
“Madeline moved the glass.”
Brandon stared at the floor.
Detective Cole asked the question he did not want to hear.
“Does your mother have any reason to harm Luke?”
“No.”
Then he looked at our son’s curled body.
“I don’t know.”
The first laboratory results ruled out common food-borne causes that would act so quickly.
Luke’s potassium was low. His heart rhythm showed irregular beats that required monitoring.
Dr. Marsh would not speculate.
“We are looking for an ingested substance.”
Brandon gripped the bed rail.
“What kind?”
“We do not know yet.”
A hospital social worker entered with a sealed envelope delivered by courier.
It had been addressed to the pediatric emergency department before Luke arrived.
Inside was a typed note.
TEST THE COBBLER. HIS MOTHER HAS BEEN GIVING HIM MEDICINE.
May you like
No signature.
The courier receipt showed the envelope had been sent from Madeline’s estate twenty minutes before she kicked the plate from Luke’s hands.
