Chapter 1
“Daddy, don’t drink it!”
Lily’s scream cut through the dining room just as I raised the teacup to my mouth.
I froze.
My six-year-old daughter stood near the doorway in her yellow Sunday dress, eyes wide, face white with terror.
Before I could ask what was wrong, Nora moved.
She grabbed Lily from behind and yanked her backward so hard my daughter’s little shoes scraped across the marble.
“Stop it right now,” Nora snapped.
Lily twisted in her arms.
“No! Daddy!”
“Lily,” I said, standing. “What happened?”
Nora tightened her grip.
“She’s having one of her episodes again.”
My chest went cold.
Lily had never had episodes.
She had nightmares since her mother died, yes.
She had quiet mornings.
She had moments when she missed Claire so badly she hid in my closet with one of her scarves.
But she did not scream for nothing.
Not like this.
“Let her go,” I said.
Nora smiled at me.
A small, nervous smile.
“Daniel, sit down. Your tea is getting cold.”
Lily fought harder.
Her sleeve tore with a sharp rip.
That sound changed something in me.
“Let her go.”
Nora’s face hardened.
Then Lily slipped free.
She ran across the dining room with both hands out.
“Don’t!”
Her small body hit the edge of the table.
The china jumped.
My elbow struck the cup.
It fell from my hand.
CRASH.
Porcelain shattered against the marble.
Dark tea spread across the white floor.
Then it began to hiss.
Tiny bubbles rose through the puddle.
A bitter, chemical smell filled the room.
For one second, nobody breathed.
I stared down at the foaming tea.
Then I looked at Nora.
My wife of eight months stood near the doorway, one hand still curled in the air where Lily had been.
All the color had drained from her face.
Lily backed into my legs and pointed at her.
“She made it for you.”
My heart slammed so hard I felt it in my throat.
Nora shook her head.
“No. She’s confused. She saw me put lemon drops in it. That’s all.”
“Lemon doesn’t hiss,” I said.
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I stepped over the broken cup and moved toward her.
She backed away.
“Daniel, think carefully.”
“I am.”
“You’re frightening me.”
“You dragged my daughter by the arm.”
“She was about to embarrass us in front of staff.”
“There is no staff in the room.”
Her eyes flicked toward the hall.
A mistake.
Because I turned and saw Marta, our housekeeper, standing frozen beside the serving cart.
Her hands were shaking.
“Marta,” I said quietly. “Did Nora make that tea?”
Marta looked at Nora.
Nora’s eyes narrowed.
“Marta,” I repeated. “Tell me the truth.”
Tears filled Marta’s eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Whitmore.”
Nora hissed, “You stupid woman.”
Lily clutched my pant leg.
“She put drops in it,” she whispered. “From the blue bottle.”
Nora lunged toward Lily.
I stepped between them.
My hand moved before my mind could stop it.
SLAP.
The sound cracked through the dining room.
Nora stumbled back, touching her cheek, eyes huge with shock.
I hated myself for losing control.
But I hated the thought of that cup reaching my mouth more.
“You tried to poison me,” I said. “In front of my child.”
Nora’s expression changed.
Fear disappeared.
Something colder replaced it.
“You have no idea what she saw.”
Lily began to cry.
I picked her up with one arm and grabbed my phone with the other.
“Nora, don’t move.”
She laughed softly.
“You think police will believe a grieving widower and a dramatic little girl?”
I dialed 911.
Before the call connected, Lily pressed her wet face against my neck.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “Mommy told me.”
My blood turned to ice.
Claire had been dead for fourteen months.
I looked at my daughter.
“What did you say?”
Lily pointed toward the locked china cabinet.
“Mommy left the blue bottle there.”
May you like
Nora screamed, “Shut up!”
And that was when I knew the tea was not the first secret in my house.
