The Poison in Her Glass

Eleanor's bedroom had remained locked for almost four years.

Richard had told himself that preserving it would help him grieve. Victoria had told him that keeping the room untouched was unhealthy.

Neither explanation changed the fact that he had never entered it again.

The bedroom stood at the end of the second-floor corridor, behind a white door with a brass handle. A small brass plaque bearing Eleanor's initials remained attached to the frame.

James approached it slowly.

“Victoria keeps the key,” he said.

Richard looked toward the staircase.

“Where?””

“In her jewelry box.””

Richard's jaw tightened.

“Then we'll ask her for it.””

James caught his arm.

“She won't give it to you.””

“I'm not asking her permission to enter my own house.””

He walked downstairs.

Victoria was in the master bedroom, standing before a mirror while removing her earrings. Her emerald gown lay across the bed. She had changed into a cream silk robe, and her hair was pinned neatly at the back of her head.

She looked like a woman preparing for an ordinary evening.

When Richard entered, she placed one earring on the dresser.

“You should knock.””

“Give me the key to Eleanor's bedroom.””

Victoria froze.

Then she laughed softly.

“Why?””

“Because I asked you to.””

“You haven't entered that room in years.””

“That's about to change.””

She turned toward him.

“Richard, I understand that today's events have been upsetting. But I won't let you encourage James's obsession with his mother's death.””

“Give me the key.””

Victoria opened a drawer and removed a small velvet jewelry box.

She lifted the lid.

Inside lay several rings, a diamond bracelet, and a brass key.

She picked it up.

“Before I give you this, I want you to understand something. Eleanor was not the saint everyone remembers. She could be controlling.

She could be cruel. And she knew how to manipulate you.””

Richard stared at her.

“You're talking about a woman who is dead.””

“I'm talking about a woman who nearly destroyed our marriage before it began.””

“Then perhaps you should have told me that four years ago.””

Victoria's expression hardened.

She dropped the key onto the dresser.

“Take it.””

Richard picked it up.

As he turned to leave, she spoke again.

“If you open that door, you may discover things about Eleanor that you cannot forgive.””

Richard paused.

“I've spent four years forgiving myself for not being there when she died. I doubt you have anything left to show me that could make it worse.””

He walked out.

James was waiting outside the bedroom.

Together, they climbed the stairs.

Richard inserted the key into Eleanor's lock.

It turned with a dry metallic click.

The door opened.

The room smelled faintly of lavender.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the white roses Eleanor had painted on the wallpaper. Her books remained on the shelves. A pair of reading glasses rested beside the bed. On the dresser stood a photograph of Richard, Eleanor, and James at the beach.

Nothing had been moved.

Or so it appeared.

James walked toward the desk.

“Mom used to keep everything in that drawer.””

He pulled it open.

Inside lay stationery, envelopes, a fountain pen, and several notebooks.

Richard picked up one of the notebooks.

The first pages contained shopping lists, appointments, and notes about the hospital wing. Further in, the writing became more hurried.

November 8. Another unexplained change in my medication. The nurse insists the prescription is correct.

November 11. Victoria says I am imagining the side effects. I asked her to leave the room, and she became angry.

November 14. Richard thinks I am exhausted. I cannot tell him everything yet.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed.

The words blurred.

He remembered Eleanor asking him to stay home one evening in November.

He had promised to return early.

Instead, he had flown to Chicago for a meeting.

When he returned, Eleanor had been asleep.

He had kissed her forehead and told himself there would be another evening.

There had not been enough of them.

James opened the bottom drawer.

“Dad, look.””

Inside lay a small blue folder.

Richard reached for it.

The folder contained printed emails, copies of prescriptions, and several photographs of a woman entering the house through the side entrance.

Victoria.

In one photograph, she was carrying a small white pharmacy bag.

In another, she stood in the kitchen beside a man wearing a security uniform.

The man's face was turned away from the camera.

But the scar on his neck was unmistakable.

Richard took out his phone and enlarged the image.

“Who is he?”” James asked.

Richard swallowed.

“His name is Peter Voss.””

“Do you know him?””

“I hired him twelve years ago.””

“For what?””

“Security consulting. He worked for Whitmore Financial Group before joining a private firm. He was dismissed after an internal investigation.””

“Why?””

Richard stared at the photograph.

“Because money disappeared from a confidential account. Peter was suspected of helping someone move it.””

“Was he arrested?””

“No. He vanished before the investigators could question him.””

James looked toward the door.

“And now he's here?””

Richard turned the photograph over.

On the back, Eleanor had written a date and three words.

He came back.

The date was November 19.

Richard opened the next document.

It was an email printed from Eleanor's personal account.

The sender was listed as Victoria.

The subject line read: A conversation we need to have.

The message was short.

Eleanor, I know you have been asking questions. I suggest you stop. You have a son who needs you, and Richard has already given you everything you could possibly want. Don't make this harder than it has to be.

Richard felt a wave of nausea.

He checked the date.

November 18.

The day before the cameras had gone dark.

“Why would Victoria send her that?”” James asked.

Richard didn't answer.

He was staring at the final page in the folder.

It was a copy of a bank transfer from an account belonging to Whitmore Financial Group. A large sum had been sent to a company called Northbridge Medical Consulting.

The authorization bore Richard's electronic signature.

But the date was wrong.

He had been in London when the transfer was supposedly approved.

“I never signed this,” he said.

James leaned closer.

“Then who did?””

Richard studied the signature.

Someone had copied it almost perfectly.

He had seen this before.

Years earlier, during a corporate fraud investigation, a senior executive had used forged approvals to move money through a series of shell companies.

The executive had been Peter Voss.

Richard turned to the final sheet.

It was a handwritten note from Eleanor.

Richard, if you ever find this, the money is not the real secret. Follow the payments to Northbridge. The person behind it is not working alone.

A floorboard creaked behind them.

They turned.

Margaret stood in the doorway.

Her face was pale.

“I was hoping you wouldn't find that folder without me,” she said.

Richard rose.

“You knew it was here?””

“I helped Eleanor hide it.””

“Why didn't you tell me?””

“Because Victoria threatened James.””

The room seemed to shrink around them.

Richard stepped toward her.

“What did she threaten to do?””

Margaret's eyes filled.

“She told Eleanor that if she ever exposed the financial scheme, James would be sent away. Then she made sure Eleanor believed she had no one she could trust.””

James shook his head.

“She wouldn't have been able to send me anywhere without Dad's permission.””

Margaret looked at him sadly.

“She didn't need your father's permission to make your mother afraid.””

Richard closed the folder.

“Who is behind the money transfers?””

Margaret hesitated.

Then she reached into her handbag and removed a photograph.

It showed Victoria standing outside a medical office beside a tall man in a dark coat.

Richard recognized the building.

Northbridge Medical Consulting.

But it was the man beside Victoria who made his blood run cold.