'It smells delicious,' I said encouragingly. 'How does it taste?'
'Good. I think it's raspberry.'
'Have some more.'
He ate another spoonful.
'Eat all you want. Raspberries are good for you.'
He took one more spoonful, then pushed the pie away. I sat next to him again and watched the cartoon. Just when the hero was about to storm the castle belonging to the evil wizard, Patrick announced, 'I want to go to my room.'
'Don't you want to see what happens?'
No.
I looked at my watch. 'Patrick, it's not even seven o'clock. Let's try another channel.'
'I want to go to bed.'
'How about this-we'll put on your pajamas and read a while.'
'I want to sleep.'
He was probably exhausted from the accumulation of things that had been happening. But what if he planned to slip out and see Ashley as soon as his bedroom door was shut? Perhaps he imagined that she alone could understand how he felt about November. Adrian had promised to turn on the alarm system before retiring, but I wasn't taking chances; I planned to spend the night in Patrick's room.
We took the main stairway down, Patrick walking ahead of me. I carried the piece of pie, hoping I could coax him to eat a little more. As we crossed the second-floor hall to his room, Patrick suddenly stopped. He looked back at me, then quickly turned away.
'What's wrong?'
His body shuddered violently, then he bent over and threw up. I quickly set the pie on a side table and put my arm around his waist, supporting him. He heaved and heaved, but nothing more came out after that first sickening puddle of reddish purple.
'My tummy hurts, Kate. It hurts bad.'
Even in the warm light of the hall lamps, his face was pale as milk. He clutched his stomach, his fingers digging into his clothes. I laid my hand over his, then rubbed his tummy gently, trying to soothe him.
'Do you think you can make it as far as your bathroom?' I asked. It was the next door down the hall, just before his bedroom. 'We'll rinse your mouth and wipe your face, then get you in bed.'
We had taken only five more steps, when he began to shudder again. I dropped down next to him. He strained forward in my arms and wretched a second time.
'I can't help it. I can't stop it.'
'Oh, Patrick, I know that. You're ill.'
'Mrs. Hopewell is going to be mad.'
'I'll clean it up before she sees it. It's hardly anything,' I said, glancing at the second puddle, less red this time, with a lot of clear liquid.
He has nothing in him to vomit, I thought, probably less than the cat had, just crackers and three bites of raspberry pie. Then a chill went through me. The crackers were plain soda wafers, packaged in cellophane. I doubted they had caused the problem. But the raspberry pie had come from downstairs. Had someone dared to taint his food? I was ready to believe it. If Patrick hadn't been so miserable, I would have rushed down the steps, screaming at the lot of them.
'I guess I shouldn't have eaten your pie,' Patrick said.
My pie. I was so focused on protecting him, I had forgotten-the piece was intended for me.
'Come on, Patrick, a few steps more. Let's get you cleaned up.'
From the bathroom I buzzed the intercom for assistance.
'Henry is coming,' Mrs. Hopewell responded, then clicked off before I could tell her what I wanted.
I buzzed again. 'Mrs. Hopewell, please send up Emily and Adrian. Patrick is ill.'
'I will tell them after dinner is over.' Click.
I pushed the button a third time.
'You will tell them now. The pie may have been tainted,' I said, avoiding the word 'poisoned' for Patrick's sake.
A long silence followed. 'I don't understand,' Mrs. Hopewell replied at last. 'What exactly is the problem?'
'He ate a few bites of the pie. He has thrown up twice.'
'That wasn't his dessert!'
Was she irate because a plan to poison me had gone awry or because her rule about dinner before dessert had been ignored? It was difficult to tell with her.
'Mrs. Hopewell, send Adrian up before I make my own decision to phone for medical assistance.' I clicked off.
She, Adrian, Emily, and Brook arrived upstairs shortly after, meeting Patrick and me in the bedroom. I made him comfortable under his quilt and quickly recounted what had happened. Patrick was no longer holding his stomach, and his color had started to return. Still, when Emily wanted to call a paramedic, I pressed Adrian for the same thing. 'At least his doctor,' I said.
'The child is already recovering,' Mrs. Hopewell observed. 'You can't call a pediatrician every time a child sneezes or throws up.'
'My mother did,' Brook remarked. 'Though sometimes she got confused and called the vet.'
'The last time the doctor was called, all of Wisteria knew it,' Mrs. Hopewell reminded Adrian.
He nodded. 'It was most unfortunate. Call the doctor, Louise.'
While Emily sat by Patrick's bed holding his hand, Adrian paced back and forth in the room. The expression on his face was calm, his hands steady, but I had observed his son enough to recognize the stiffness in his shoulders and the set of his jaw. He was upset and steeling himself against something.
Brook lounged against the bedroom door. Since he had no affection for Patrick, I wished he had stayed downstairs with Trent and Robyn. 'Thank you, Brook,' I said quietly, 'but I have all the help I need.'
He gazed at me, surprised. 'I'm not here to help. I'm bored.'
Adrian flicked him a look.
I handed Patrick's favorite old picture book to Emily, hoping he would find it comforting to read with her. Outside in the hall, Henry cleaned the Oriental rug. Mrs. Hopewell returned to say the doctor was coming. When the housekeeper told Adrian she wanted to speak to him in the hall, I followed them uninvited, as. did Emily, who closed the bedroom door behind us. The door opened and Brook darted out from Patrick's room, then hung like a roach on the wall, listening.
'No one informed me that Patrick had an allergy to raspberries,' Mrs. Hopewell said to Emily. 'Not that the dessert was intended for him,' she added, glancing at me.
'How could I inform you if I wasn't aware of it?' Emily replied, sounding defensive. 'You know as well as I do, he has never had a reaction before, not to berries or to any other kind of food.'
'And he didn't now,' I said. 'He was poisoned.'
'Poisoned,' Emily echoed faintly.
Adrian turned to stare at me. 'Do you mean deliberately?'
'I believe the tainting was deliberate-though it was meant for me, not Patrick. If I hadn't been concerned about him, I would have eaten the entire serving myself. What do you think'-l looked from one face to the next and tried to keep my voice steady-'was the pie meant only to make me ill, so I couldn't care for Patrick, or did someone want to kill me?'
'That's a ridiculous question,' said Mrs. Hopewell.
