EDITING: Politics and Poison

Chapter Seven: Tainted Tea

Joe and I took Togo to the park, and then, after an hour, dropped the dog off at home. While Joe had a shower, I tried to read my e-mails at. But my mind was at sea, stranded between thoughts of Senator Greer, Frank Hardy and Ned Nickerson.

The clock said that it was only seven. I closed my laptop, and stretched. Fenton Hardy sat beside me at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. And my father was washing dishes, talking to Hannah Gruen who was drying. They seemed serious, involved in their conversation. 

"Looks like Collig will be doing Greer's speech," Mr. Hardy commented, showing me the front page of the local newspaper. "I have no idea how that will go. Ezra knows about as much about politics as I do about botox." He licked his index finger, to open a new page of the paper, tutted under his breath. "I think I'd better go, just so that he has someone to hold his hand when the crowd start throwing tomatoes. I'll need a drink to get through it, I reckon."

Dad wandered over, still wearing Hannah's pink washing gloves. "I'll sit with you, Fen," he promised.

I admired how hard they were trying to get past Greer's death, and keep their heads up. They used humor to alleviate the stress and grief they must have been feeling. Cracks showed, however, when they thought nobody was looking. I saw Hannah Gruen looking at my father's back, blinking back tears.

Joe Hardy: News of Greer's death had spread like wildfire. The showgrounds were like a minefield, with journalists and curious town-folk, at the convention only to collect information for their greedy little gossip sessions. Collig bravely plowed through a pile of palm cards on racism, which sparked fires of discontent in the crowd. Dad excused himself to go searching for a glass of whiskey.

"He's talking trash. Those black kids who got shot deserved it. They're nothing but trouble. There's no use helping them," Deirdre Shannon said hotly.

Her voice was loud enough, that in the row behind them, I could hear.

"Shut up," Carson said coldly. "And do something useful. Get Fenton a good, stiff drink. I'll have a cup of tea. Go on."

Deirdre looked wounded, but scurried off.

Collig practically fled from the stage and was followed by a legal professor at Harvard, someone Michael,  who gave a lecture on gun laws. And a lecture it was. I felt guilty, my glock like a weight at my waist. Bess rested her head upon my shoulder, and on my other side, Nancy sat straight like an arrow. Everywhere, the effects of death and shock rested like a dank mist. The audience were depressed and silent. I wanted to go drink with my father. 

At the end of the speech, Deirdre sulked into the tent, and handed Carson his tea. He took a sip, asked Nancy to mind it, while he quickly went to ask McGuinness whether he was still needed to conclude the session or not.

Norman Gruen, Hannah's ex-husband wandered over, to offer us cheese and crackers.

Nancy declined.

I took a few.

"Someone hasn't had their tea," Mr. Gruen observed. "Wasn't it satisfactory?" he looked from me to Nancy, alarmed. "Or couldn't Ms. Shannon find the gentleman who ordered it?"

"It's fine, thank you," Nancy assured him. "My father will be back."

Mr. Gruen smiled, evidently relieved. "Well...if that's all..."

"Oh, but sir, could you by any chance fix me up a steak, or something-"I broke off, when Dad came walking over.

His brisk, long stride alerted me to the fact that something was not right.

I rose, worried. "Dad, what's up?"

"It's Carson." Dad beckoned us both outside the tent. "He was nauseous. I called an ambulance, and Hannah went with him to the hospital. I thought you might want to go see him...."

Nancy went pale, instantly. "Oh God!" she cried out.

"Wait." I caught her arm, tugged her back. "The tea... the tea..."

She went still, as I grabbed Carson's tea cup and held it up to my nose. At first, I smelt only lemon, and milk, tea leaves, and cream. But, with a sinking heart, I detected the scent of garlic.

"Nancy, don't they suspect that the Senator was poisoned with arsenic?"

She nodded. Her voice was a small whisper, as her eyes found mine. "Oh God," she said again. "They poisoned my Dad, as well!"

I waved over a waiter, who quickly ran back with a bottle of water. Brow furrowed, I tipped the water out, and then poured the tea into the empty plastic bottle. I tucked the bottle into one of the deep pockets in my leather jacket, and Dad wrapped the tea cup in his handkerchief.

I drove Dad's car to the hospital, and while Dad escorted Nancy to the reception, I excused myself, walked across the road to the police station.

River Heights had a small, convenient town center, with the hospital facing the police and fire stations, like partners at a town dance. The hospital was flanked by the Mid-West Banking Trust on one side, the town hall on the other. Further down, neat little boutiques and restaurants huddled close, warded off the cold with warming golden lights and heat pumps purring like contented kittens.

The street was deserted, aside from an old man leaning against the post office building, next to the police station. He lent on a broom, hands cupping the flame of his pipe. He watched me with shiny eyes, as I strode across the street, eyes roving the bright tinsel streamers, adorning the antique street lights.I made my visit quick. The police station was almost empty, save the two pimply uniforms playing cards at the front desk.

"This is to go to McGuinness as soon as possible," I stated firmly, "nobody else. Tell him it's from Joe Hardy."I only left, when both the tea and the cup were sealed in an airtight plastic evidence pocket and placed upon the Captain's desk.