If Daisy was the killer, as Stephanie was wont to insist, she would have had to tamper with Archie’s goblet at the table in order to be sure someone else didn’t get it. How would she have pulled that off? It wasn’t like she could have come bearing a vase full of water to the dinner table. No, there had to have been something else—something to get the poison to the dining room and into Archie’s wine unnoticed. But what?
With her thoughts centered on Daisy, Araminta went back over the details of dinner that night with one concern front and center: where was the poison? All she could remember was hearing the clasp on Daisy’s purse clicking open and closed, open and closed, as if Daisy were nervously fiddling with the thing in her lap while the family conversed. A vase, even a low one, would not have fit in there.
Arun jumped up on her vanity, accidentally knocking over a couple of perfume vials in his attempt to admire himself in the mirror. As Araminta put them to rights, she realized either of them would have been the perfect size in which to store a little poison. And Daisy…
Araminta felt the same way she had the day she’d fallen from her pony because her father had decided it was time that she learned to ride the thing instead of talk to it all day—winded. With something as simple as an empty perfume vial at her disposal, Daisy could easily have transported the convallatoxin to the dining room in her purse. No one would have found it suspicious because Daisy had been bringing her purses with her to dinner forever.
Another terrible thought occurred to Araminta: had Daisy been planning to murder her husband right from the beginning of their relationship? Was that why she’d brought her purse to dinner every single time they’d come to sit down with the family?
She’d met with a man in the garden the night before Archie’s death, and she did have the most to gain from his death—the Moorecliff money and the motor company that had been in the family for multiple generations. She’d been given everything. And now…
Araminta felt nauseated. Was Stephanie right, after all? Araminta had wanted Archibald to find happiness so badly after his first wife had died. Despite the large age difference, she’d been thrilled when Daisy had come into the picture because her nephew had finally seemed happy again. But what if Daisy had been planning to murder him all along? Had Araminta’s judgment really been so clouded?
Heartbroken but sure now that she’d been looking in the wrong direction by suspecting Trinity and Harold of Archibald’s murder, Araminta rushed out to find Daisy and confront her about the purse, the poison, and her nephew’s death.
Downstairs, she saw Stephanie open the door instead of Harold to accept a delivery of condolence cards and flowers.
“News of Father’s death has already spread since the reading of the will this morning,” she told Araminta.
There were so many cards already that she had begun to place them in a box for Daisy to go through later. The flowers, she’d set around on various shelves and tables near the entryway and even in the parlor. There were so many that poor Harold couldn’t keep up by himself, so she had volunteered to help. And now almost every empty surface had been filled with a bowl or vase. If they kept coming, she would soon be forced to leave them on the floor.
“Where is Daisy?” Araminta asked.
Stephanie pointed toward Archibald’s study. Sasha and Arun were already there, prancing back and forth before the door. “In there. She went in right after we came home, remember? I suppose now we’ll hardly see her anymore. She’ll be so busy doing whatever she wants with the family’s company and money that we may never have to deal with her again.”
Araminta couldn’t help but hear the pain in Stephanie’s voice. She did believe Daisy was her father’s killer, after all. “Are you sure she’s still in there?”
Stephanie nodded. “I’ve been either here or in the parlor practically since we arrived back this morning. Both are close enough for me to know if she’d left the room. I’ve yet to see her crack open the door.”
Chapter Sixteen
Araminta wasted no more time. She marched over to Archibald’s study and rapped her knuckles against the door. From inside, Daisy called for her to enter. Araminta did so, the cats rushing in before her.
Sure now that she knew who Archie’s killer was, she placed both her fists on her hips and demanded, “Tell me where you kept the poison.”
“Poison?” Looking up from the stack of papers strewn over the desktop, Daisy seemed confused, but her expression immediately changed to disbelief then disappointment. “Oh, Araminta. Not you too. You’ve been speaking with Stephanie, I presume?”
Araminta shook her head. “No, I’m merely observant and obsessive about details. I know it was you who picked the flowers. You’ve denied it, of course, but my window looks down over the garden, and the night before Archie died, I saw you—both of you—out there. Who was the man you were meeting, Daisy? Are you hoping to marry him soon, now that you’ve offed my nephew?”
“What? No! No, of course not! Araminta, this is a very personal matter. One you don’t understand.” Daisy pushed back from the desk and walked to the filing cabinet to gather several folders.
“You’re right. I don’t understand. Why don’t you explain to me where you put the water from the vase and how you got it into the dining room?”
Sasha jumped onto the desk, and Araminta put her down again. It appeared Daisy had arranged the papers in some sort of order, and she didn’t want the cat to mess it up—though she wasn’t sure why she cared about Daisy’s papers when all evidence pointed at her as Archie’s killer. Still, Araminta had a seed of doubt in her heart. Because if Daisy was going to slip the poison into Archie’s wine at dinner, why would she need to go through the whole charade with the phone call to make sure Trinity didn’t serve it? But if not Daisy, then who?
Arun jumped up next, darting over papers and folders. Before she could catch him, he jumped to the credenza behind the desk and stood on his hind legs, pawing at the stained-glass door. Araminta sighed and slipped behind the desk to remove him. There was an expensive pair of marble bookends in the shape of owls’ faces on the credenza, and she didn’t want him to knock them over. Those things were heavy and could easily take a chunk out of the hardwood floor.
Sitting at the desk again, Daisy pushed her fingers against her temples. “Araminta, please. You’ve got it all wrong. It wasn’t… that night in the garden…”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and Daisy shook her head once before she squared her shoulders and looked straight at Araminta. “I suppose I can tell you, but you must swear not to mention a word.”
Araminta nodded. “If it proves you killed my nephew, I will, of course, tell the police.”
“I didn’t kill him. Reginald has a gambling problem. I’m not happy about it or proud to know it, but he owed a very large sum of money to some very bad people. The kind who resort to drastic measures if they don’t get repaid.”
Her shoulders drooped as if she were surrendering. “The man I met with in the garden that night—his name is Tony. Tony ‘the Fist’ Romano. Have you heard of him?”