introduce him to the neighbors as her grandson.”
Cobb looked around. “Where is he now?”
Peg gestured toward the window. “In the front yard, playing. I asked Thea Carson who runs the children’s Sunday school program to bring her son over to play. Keith’s too little to understand about his grandmother’s death. Although I think he knows more about death than any little boy should.”
The more Peg talked, the heavier the silence.
Jake’s eyes were desperate. “But Susan was ill. Very ill. I can see how she might accidentally take too much medicine. It had to be an accident.”
No one else spoke.
Cobb surveyed the room. His tone was bland. “From all accounts, Mrs. Flynn was a careful and precise woman, which makes accidental ingestion unlikely. Since Mrs. Flynn was in good spirits yesterday, the hypothesis of suicide also seems unlikely.”
Harrison cleared his throat. “Susan’s last day was filled with great happiness and we are grateful for that. However, we all feared that she was overdoing. You have to remember that she was very ill. She hadn’t attended the Pritchard House Christmas party for several years. Yesterday, she took part and even had dinner with us to celebrate Keith’s arrival. How can anyone know what happened after she went to her room? She may have suffered great pain and, in a moment of despair, possibly not even reckoning the outcome, poured a handful of pills—”
“Susan would never commit suicide.” Peg’s eyes flashed. “Never in a million years.”
Charlotte brushed back an untidy gray curl. “Susan didn’t commit suicide.” She spoke with utter certainty. “So”—her expression was quizzical—“I believe that leaves us with murder.”
“Charlotte!” Harrison’s voice was anguished.
Dave Lewis didn’t look as handsome when he turned to glare at Charlotte.
Charlotte’s light blue eyes watched Cobb. “You indicated Susan died from an overdose of digitalis. How was the overdose administered? Or is there any way of knowing that?”
“We can be fairly certain we know the answer.” Cobb’s answer was swift and emphatic. “Digitalis in a heavy concentration was found in the dregs of both a cup of cocoa and a pot of cocoa found on a table in her bedroom. Was she in the custom of drinking cocoa every evening?”
Jake looked stunned. “Every night.”
Cobb held his pen over the pad. “Who prepared the cocoa Saturday night?”
Jake’s fingers closed over the strand of pearls. “I did. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. I fixed it like I always did, two tablespoons of cocoa, two cups of whole milk, an eighth cup of sugar, a dash of vanilla.” Her breath came in irregular gasps.
Peg pulled away from Dave’s grasp and leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “Mother took wonderful care of Susan. Always.”
Gina stiffened. “I took the cocoa upstairs. There was a Christmas cookie on the plate as well.”
Cobb swiveled toward Gina. “Where did you put the tray?”
“On the table by Susan’s chair. Susan was in the bathroom. I didn’t call out. I knew she’d see the tray.”
“Did you pour the cocoa?”
Peg shook her head. “Susan often waited until later to have a cup. Sometimes she read late and drank the cocoa right before she went to bed.”
Cobb turned back to Jake. “When you poured the cocoa from the saucepan, did you look into the china pot?”
Jake frowned at him in bewilderment. “Why would I do that? The pot was clean and waiting on the tray. I lifted the lid and poured in the cocoa.” A look of horror crossed her face. “I stirred it.” Her hand slid up to clutch at her throat. “Do you think there was digitalis in the pot?”
“That is a possibility. What time did you prepare the cocoa?”
“Just after everyone left. It was about eight-thirty.” Her lips clamped shut.
“I’d like to see where the chocolate service was kept.”
I followed Cobb and Jake to the kitchen. She pointed at the far end of one counter near the pantry. “Every morning I brought the tray down and washed everything up. I put the tray there.”
He made a note. “Did anyone else ever use the service?”
“Oh no.” Jake stared at him with huge eyes. “Everyone knew that was for Susan’s cocoa.”
Cobb glanced from the counter to the swinging door that opened into the main hall.
I timed Cobb and Jake’s passage from the kitchen to the living room. It took only a matter of seconds. As they walked into the living room, I waited until the door closed behind them. I appeared. I wasn’t worried about anyone coming out of the living room. Chief Cobb had much more to discuss with them. Since the hall was chilly, I changed into a pink velour blouse and slacks and pink loafers, and a wristwatch with a pink leather band. I do like pink. I checked the time down to the second. I paused in the hallway, taking a careful glance around as someone last night must have checked to be certain no one was watching. I walked up the stairs, quickly, quietly, softly. Again I looked about in the upper hallway. No one. Twenty-eight steps to Susan’s room. I disappeared, slipped through the closed door, reappeared. Twelve steps to the bedside table where the pill containers had stood. They were gone, most likely removed by the crime lab. I didn’t need them. I pretended to pull a tissue from a container, pick up a plastic vial, twist off the cap, empty a dozen pills into my hand, replace the cap. Twelve steps to the door. I disappeared. In the hall, I reappeared and, after a swift glance about, hurried downstairs. At the door to the living room, I looked at my watch. I had gone up and down in three minutes and forty-six seconds. I walked down the hall, entered the kitchen, pretended to drop pills into a china pot, then walked back to the front hall. I disappeared and returned to the living room.
