“That’s right.” Thomas tried and failed to catch Vivienne’s attention. She stared dead ahead, her hands fisted in her skirts, her knuckles white.
“So how does this work?” pressed Shaw. “I ask you a question, and you feed it to her?”
“You can ask Miss Farrow directly.” It came out with more vehemence than he’d meant for it to. Vivienne’s eyes flicked to his. He cleared his throat and added, “I’ll translate her responses.”
“Sounds straightforward enough.” Shaw reached into his pocket and pried loose a thin metal device, setting it on the mantel. “She doesn’t mind if I record, does she?”
On the couch, Vivienne touched a thumb to her chest.
“That’s fine,” said Thomas.
“Great.” A red light blinked up at them like an eye. “Miss Farrow, before we begin, I’d like to start by saying how sincerely sorry I am for your loss. Your father implied you and Bryce Donahue had grown somewhat close.Courtingwas the word he used—though that’s a bit archaic, isn’t it?”
The pinch of jealousy in Thomas’s chest was tight enough to steal his breath. He knew he had no right to it. Donahue wasdead. On the couch, Vivienne held herself with a preternatural stillness. Except for the slight rise and fall of her chest, she might have been a statue. Just another part of the library’s gleaming relics.
“Right,” said Shaw. “Let’s dive in. I don’t want to keep you from your party. You were on the boat, is that correct? The day of Donahue’s passing?”
Vivienne gave a single curt nod.
Shaw frowned but kept going, tugging a notepad from his pocket and jotting down several notations. Tucking his pencil behind his ear, he asked, “Are you aware of the fact that your father recently had a public falling-out with the senior Donahue during a lunch meeting at Higashi’s?”
This time, Vivienne’s response came in a near-indiscernible shake of her head.
With a sigh, Shaw set his notepad onto the mantel. “I understand how upsetting this must be for you, Miss Farrow. It would really help if I could get a quote. Something I can put in print, you know?”
Vivienne pinched her fingers in front of her mouth and then brought her fists together in a delicate circle.
Thomas interpreted: “ ‘I didn’t know they had lunch together.’ ”
“Perfect,” said Shaw, reclaiming his notepad. “Thank you—that’s all I need. Now, I imagine this will be something of a sensitive topic, but has anyone talked to you abouthowBryce Donahue died?”
“ ‘He had a heart attack,’” translated Thomas.
Shaw’s smile was sympathetic. “That’s certainly the formal consensus. The coroner’s report says otherwise.”
Rain hissed against the roof. Outside in the hall, laughter trickled past. A door thudded closed. On the chaise, all the blood had drained from Vivienne’s face.
“It was a beast to track down,” said Shaw, “but thankfully I’ve got a buddy at the county office who owes me a favor. As it turns out, there were several toxins present in Bryce Donahue’s blood when he died.”
Vivienne sat as still as a doll. She didn’t blink.
“Where’s the—” Shaw patted at his pockets until he found what he was looking for, prying loose a torn sheet of legal paper. “I have a list. Hold on—let’s see if I can pronounce these correctly. Hyaluronidase. Phospholipase. Histamine. Neurotoxic peptides. Talk about a mouthful. Does any of it mean anything to you?”
Vivienne clipped her fingers together.
“ ‘No,’ ” said Thomas.
“Me either,” admitted Shaw, tucking the list back into his pocket. “Between you and me, I barely made it through high school chemistry. But I did some research. And do you know what I found? That’s almost the same exact chemical makeup found in scorpion venom.”
On the couch, Vivienne began to count. The way Thomas taught her.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. One. Two. Three …
“A scorpion’s sting isn’t deadly to most adult humans,” added Shaw. “But in greater concentrations it can lead to bradycardia, paralysis, and even death. Don’t you find that just a little bit odd?”
Vivienne continued to count, now in erratic threes.
Onetwothree. Onetwothree.
