Gray bristled. “Was it careless when someone put poisonous mushrooms in my sister’s car? The exact same kind of mushroom that has been getting into the food?”
Ted’s head swiveled back sharply to face him. “Is that so?”
Gray didn’t know if the police would appreciate him sharing that information with the press, but if it saved LeClarks…
“That’s so,” Landon confirmed for him. “Call the department if you don’t believe him. It happened on Thursday, around 2 pm, when she was parked at the boardwalk.” He paused and then added, “They aren’t sure whether the mushrooms were put in the car or her purse.”
“The boardwalk is pretty quiet at 2 pm on a Thursday,” Ted said after thinking it over. “Did anyone get close enough to plant them on her?”
“I did.”
Ted’s eyebrows raised as he looked harder at Landon. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully—straddling the line between ethics and economics. “What you’re shaping this story into,” he said slowly, “is one where LeClarks is being targeted, and you were at the scene of the crime. I know James Investments has a stake in this paper, but you should know I’m obligated to report the whole picture.”
“Oh, I know.” Landon smiled grimly. He could just see the look on Martha’s face when Ted did. If her plan had been to make LeClarks look bad, she was about to experience karma. The thought of his mother reminded him. “Ted, when you worked here fifteen years ago, do you know if my parents encouraged the LeClarks coverage?”
Ted blinked, caught off guard by the rapid redirection. “I couldn’t say for sure.”
“If you had to, though. Off the record.”
“I’d say that during that time period, I was in the old editor-in-chief’s office more than once when he got a call from your father.”
Landon and Gray traded unreadable looks. If it was true—and by now, Landon was convinced that it was—how heavily involved had his father been? Was he merely pushing the story, or was he creating it? Had he really gone so far as to have people poisoned to run the LeClarks out of town? His own wife? And what role had Martha played?
And most importantly, what role was she playing now?
After he dropped Gray off at the restaurant, he drove to the mansion he’d grown up in. Randolph’s twenty-thousand-foot kingdom. Martha’s fortress. His inheritance. It was a beautiful structure that swept along the bluff that overlooked the coastline, held up by weathered stone and billowing with white balconettes. He loved it, though he couldn’t wait to leave it every time he came back to it. And right now, he was particularly anxious to see it in his rearview mirror, because he was not looking forward to the mother-son chat he was about to have with Martha. She was still mad at him for running food in front of her friends, and even angrier that he wouldn’t pull out of his investment in LeClarks.
To his surprise, she met him at the front door with an ice cold martini and a frigid smile. For a moment, Landon wondered how she knew he was coming. Then he remembered the security system extended all the way to the edge of the property.
“What a lovely surprise,” she said, handing it to him.
Landon took a sip, even though he hated gin. Ice cold martinis had been Randolph’s drink of choice. “It’s nice to see you, mother.”
“Wonderful. Now if we’re both done saying things we don’t mean...” She gestured toward the formal sitting room that overlooked the bluff.
They settled into their respective places. She took the high backed chair, and he took his position on the long, low couch. Folding her hands gracefully in her lap, Martha inclined her head. An indication that he could begin.
Landon had considered a dozen different ways he could ask this question delicately. None were his style.
“Was Randolph behind the food poisonings at LeClarks fifteen years ago?” he asked bluntly. Predictably, Martha’s eyes widened and one graceful hand fluttered to her throat.
“That you could even ask—”
“I know he pushed the Canteen to make it a story,” Landon interrupted. “And we both know he was capable of anything.”
“Of course he pushed it to be a story,” Martha said, affronted. “He loved you. You were being brainwashed by those incompetent LeClarks. And even if you hadn’t been tangled up with them, people were getting sick from their food. ”
Landon watched her face flush as she mounted her defense of Randolph. Martha was no actress. Her lies were delivered as calmly as an order to a servant. Unless Simone had given her a few lessons, she was telling the truth. It answered one question and created more.
“If he hated the LeClarks so much,” he asked, changing course, “why did you eat there the night you got sick? Was it Randolph’s idea?”
“It wasn’t,” Martha said so positively that Landon raised his eyebrows.
“How can you be so sure after all this time?”
“Because,” she said, tightening her lips. “We fought about it all the way there. He didn’t want to go, and I did.”
“But why?” Landon watched curiously as an unusual expression disfigured Martha’s face. If it had been any other woman, he would have sworn it was emotion.
Then it disappeared as she sipped her drink, regained her composure, and said flatly, “Because you were there.”
Simone had called him while he was in Martha’s parlor, and Landon called her back as he drove to the Atlantia, his head filled with confusion.
“Your mother actually loves you?” Simone said dryly when he’d told her everything. “That’s quite the plot twist, Landon.”
“She loved me anyway,” Landon corrected. “Fifteen years ago. Today is still up for debate.”
“I’m telling you, that woman has a heart.”
“Just because she’s innocent herself doesn’t mean he wasn’t behind it,” Landon mused. “But if she wasn’t in on the scheme back then, she’s probably not the one behind it now.”
“No,” Simone agreed. “I can’t see Martha poisoning people. Having them beheaded, maybe. Drawn and quartered,
