Tony listened in disbelief to Catherine justifying her actions. Had Brent been forgetful? Or was he just walking an invisible tight rope when with Catherine, keeping his knowledge hidden? Tony wanted her to stop. He wanted to release the crimson that wouldn’t go away. Without thinking, Tony slapped her cheek. “Shut up! There’s no justification for what you’ve done.”
The action was supposed to help him; however, instead of making him feel better, memories of slapping Claire came rushing back. The crimson continued to infiltrate. Turning toward the desk, he saw the vase of flowers. In one swift movement, he hurled it against the wall. Shards of crystal, water, and flowers littered the carpet as the vase shattered.
“You will never be the man your grandfather was!” Catherine screamed. “He never would’ve struck someone he loved.”
Tony turned maliciously, his eyes meeting hers. “If you’re referring to me—at this moment—neither did I! And as for my grandfather—he did. I saw him!”
“You’re lying.”
Tony’s face burned as he remembered the scene. “I watched from the doorway”—he pointed toward the doors—“He slapped my father.”
Catherine shrugged. “He probably deserved it.”
“So do you! You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies! Brent had a wife and kids!”
“I loved your grandfather, but even I realized that I couldn’t watch him take the same path as Sharron.”
Tony tried to process her words. Same path?
“With each visit to the prison, he became more and more forgetful. He’d ask me the same questions over and over. Some days, he’d talk about someone, and then tell me the same story again. Mostly, he’d talk about the past.”
Tony seized her shoulders. “My grandfather had a vitamin deficiency. That, combined with the anti-depressants the prison prescribed can create dementia-like side effects. I found documentation that the prison contacted my father about it. My father refused to allow them to take him off the medication. I assumed it was to help his case—giving him validation to void your marriage.”
Catherine’s eyes blazed. “No! He was losing it. I was there—not you. He trusted me—I had to take care of him.”
“Take care of him?”
“It was very simple. My mother believed in herbal cures. When I was a teenager, she thought she could cure my uncle’s drug use with herbs and plant extracts. She taught me about plants—those that heal—and those that kill. It’s actually very ingenious. The natural extracts don’t register on normal toxicology screens. Oh, it can be found, but only with specific tests.”
Tony collapsed onto the leather sofa and studied the woman he’d known most of his life. He could scarcely form the words to his question, “You poisoned my grandfather?”
Catherine stood taller and shook her head. “Don’t you dare make it sound bad! I did—what I did—to save him, from himself. You know, like how you planned to have Claire take the insanity plea—to save her from you.”
His volume rose with each word. Tony suddenly feared the reason the Vandersols hadn’t heard their argument or exited the suite. “Who else? Who else have you poisoned?”
She shrugged. “Well, after I knew it worked, I tried it with Sherman Nichols.”
Tony couldn’t believe his ears. “No! He died of natural causes, years before we started any plans.”
“Years before you started any plans. I was tired of waiting. His death sustained me until you were man enough to get involved.”
“But I paid for accidents.”
Smiling, she beamed. “And quite a bit too. It’s made a wonderful nest egg, thank you very much. The poisoning resembles a heart attack, as you probably remember from Nathaniel’s cause of death; therefore, the only difficulty is determining the perfect time of ingestion, for example, before someone gets into their car to drive, or goes on a dangerous hike—it works amazingly well and is rarely questioned. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to administer it, just a little in a drink or on their food. Finding a willing executioner wasn’t difficult. It also wasn’t as expensive as accidents.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I deserve recognition—everyone thought you were so wonderful, and I was just the stupid housekeeper. None of what I’m saying can be proven. Months ago, I had the cameras in this office turned off, and after I took Sophia upstairs, I called the police. They should be here any minute. I told them that you just arrived and how afraid I was of what you might do. No one will believe your story. I’m just the quiet housekeeper. I wasn’t even in California when your parents died”—her eyes lit up—“You know the best part?”—She didn’t wait for him to answer—“I poisoned you with the same plant extract. Oh, I debated about the amount. I knew our plan was for you to only go unconscious. At first, I planned to use sleeping pills, but the irony was too beautiful to pass up.”