Chapter 5
Rachel was arrested the next morning.
She called me from jail.
I almost refused the call.
Then I answered.
“Claire.”
My sister sounded calm.
Too calm.
“You poisoned Emma.”
“No.”
“You insured her life.”
“No.”
“You wrote about the party.”
“Mark wrote those notes.”
“In your handwriting?”
“You know handwriting can be copied.”
I laughed.
“You think I’m stupid.”
“I think you’re grieving and Mark is manipulating you.”
“Emma saw you kissing him.”
Silence.
There it was.
Finally, something Rachel could not explain away.
“How long were you sleeping with my husband?”
“Claire—”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why?”
“I loved him.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I felt.”
“You threatened his daughter.”
“She is my niece.”
“Exactly.”
My voice cracked.
“You held her the day she was born.”
Rachel began crying.
“I would never hurt Emma.”
“Then explain the drugs.”
“Mark put them there.”
“The notebook?”
“Mark.”
“The insurance policy?”
“Mark.”
“The eighty thousand from Malcolm?”
Silence again.
I leaned closer to the phone.
“You weren’t expecting that.”
Rachel exhaled.
“I borrowed money.”
“For Mark?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he was desperate.”
“And you wanted him dependent on you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“He told me you didn’t love him anymore.”
I almost laughed.
“So you decided to destroy my child?”
“No!”
Her voice cracked.
“I wanted him to leave you.”
“And Emma?”
“I love Emma.”
“Then why did she look afraid when you entered her hospital room?”
Rachel said nothing.
My heart tightened.
“What did you say to her after she caught you?”
“I told her she misunderstood.”
“She didn’t.”
“She’s seven.”
“She knew exactly what she saw.”
Rachel lowered her voice.
“I told her adults sometimes make mistakes.”
“Did you tell her not to tell me?”
Another silence.
“Rachel.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did you threaten her with?”
“I didn’t threaten her.”
“Emma was scared.”
“I said if she told you, her family might break apart.”
My stomach twisted.
“You made a seven-year-old responsible for my marriage.”
“I was panicking.”
“You were protecting yourself.”
“Yes.”
At least that answer was honest.
Then Rachel whispered:
“But I did not drug her.”
I wanted to hang up.
Instead, I asked:
“Who did?”
“I think Mark did.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted me gone.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“He changed his mind about us.”
“That doesn’t explain Emma.”
“He knew if drugs were found in her system and police traced them to me, I would disappear from his life.”
“But police found the vial in his vehicle.”
“Because I moved it.”
I froze.
“What?”
Rachel began breathing fast.
“I found it in Emma’s cup holder after she collapsed.”
I stood.
“You found a vial where?”
“In the car.”
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“Because I panicked.”
“So you hid it under Mark’s seat.”
“Yes.”
My mind raced.
That explained the vial.
But not the poisoning.
“You’re admitting evidence tampering.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought he did it.”
“Why would Mark poison his own daughter?”
“To frame me.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expected you to believe he loved you.”
That hurt because once, I had.
Rachel continued.
“Ask yourself why Mark took Emma’s cup into the garage.”
“He said he wanted to talk to her.”
“He’s lying.”
“How do you know?”
“I followed him.”
I gripped the phone.
“What happened?”
“He poured something into the cup.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
“I saw him.”
“Why didn’t you tell police immediately?”
“Because I had drugs in my storage unit. He could expose me.”
“You watched my husband poison my daughter and said nothing?”
“I didn’t know what he poured.”
“You just said you thought he did it.”
“I realized afterward.”
I started crying.
Not because I believed her.
Because I no longer knew whom to believe.
The call ended.
I contacted Harris immediately.
He did not dismiss Rachel’s claim.
“We’re checking cameras.”
“There were no cameras in the garage.”
“Maybe not yours.”
A neighbor across the street had a security camera angled toward our driveway.
The footage showed Mark entering the garage at 4:08.
Emma followed him.
At 4:10, Rachel appeared in the garage doorway.
At 4:11, Rachel left.
At 4:12, Mark carried Emma’s cup back inside.
The timeline fit Rachel’s story.
But the camera could not show what happened inside.
Harris brought Emma’s cup back to the lab.
They found traces of Mark’s fingerprints.
Rachel’s.
Mine.
Emma’s.
No surprise.
Then investigators recovered Mark’s work records.
One vial of the sedative had gone missing three days before Emma’s party.
Mark had signed the inventory sheet.
He claimed it was transferred.
There was no transfer record.
Harris arrested Mark.
I watched officers handcuff my husband in the hospital parking lot.
He looked at me.
“Claire, please.”
I stood beside Detective Harris.
“Did you do it?”
“No.”
“Did you take the vial from work?”
Mark’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
My heart broke.
“Why?”
“Rachel told me Malcolm needed one more.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The day before the party.”
I stared.
“So Rachel had it.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew.”
“I didn’t know she would use it.”
“How did it end up in Emma?”
“I don’t know.”
I wanted to believe him.
Then Harris asked:
“What did you pour into Emma’s cup in the garage?”
Mark stared.
“You saw the footage?”
“What did you pour?”
“Nothing.”
Rachel claimed she saw you.”
“She’s lying.”
“Then why take the cup?”
Mark looked toward me.
His face changed.
And suddenly I knew there was still another secret.
“Tell me.”
“Claire…”
“Tell me!”
His shoulders collapsed.
“I took some lemonade out.”
“Why?”
He swallowed.
“Emma said it tasted funny.”
My body went cold.
“What?”
“She took one sip and said it tasted bitter.”
The world stopped.
“Before you took her to the garage?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you throw it away?”
“I tasted it.”
I stared.
“And?”
“It tasted strange.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected something.”
I could barely stand.
“What did you do?”
“I poured some out and added fresh lemonade because I thought maybe Rachel had mixed it badly.”
I stepped backward.
“You gave it back to her.”
“I didn’t know there was a drug in it.”
“You knew it tasted wrong.”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“You knew Rachel had the sedative.”
He began crying.
“Claire.”
“You knew she had it.”
“Yes.”
“And you gave the cup back to Emma anyway.”
His face crumpled.
That was when I understood something worse than guilt.
May you like
Sometimes a person does not have to intend harm to become responsible for it.
Sometimes cowardice is enough.
