“What are you going to do?” Vivian asked. They both spoke in whispers, still staring through the door at the examination happening there. Dr. Harris made another note.
“That depends on what you found out,” Bea said, turning away abruptly. She glanced down at her hands, as if wondering what to do with them, before giving herself a shake and going quickly to the basin in the kitchen. It was full of dirty dishes, and she threw herself into washing them as she spoke. “Tell me quick, the kids’ll be home soon. Bad enough if they find out about the baby tonight, they don’t need to overhear us talking about… about Pearlie.”
Vivian picked up a towel and began drying the dishes as Bea handed them to her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and she found herself staring at the dish she was holding, wiping it over and over, to avoid looking her friend in the eye.
Bea’s hands moved into her line of sight, taking the dish away. “Just tell me,” she said quietly. “It’s bad news whether I was right or wrong. And I can’t stand wondering any longer.”
“You were right,” Vivian whispered, her voice catching in her throat. Bea sucked in a sharp breath. When Vivian looked up at last, Bea’s eyes were dry, but her jaw was tense with misery. “Leo took that brandy bottle we found to be tested. Turns out it was chock-full of arsenic.”
Bea took a slower breath this time, shuddering as she let it out. “So someone did want him dead. Did your Mr. Green tell the coroner who was on the receiving end of the poison?”
Vivian shook her head. “No, but that doesn’t mean he won’t figure it out. So we have to decide what we’re doing, and fast.” The dishes forgotten in front of them, she told Bea what the coroner had said about slow poisoners compared to fast ones. “And your uncle did say that he had been working for some mob fella. If that was who did the poison, it makes things… tricky.”
Bea snorted. “That’s one way to put it. As much as I want to find out who did it, there’s no chance I’m putting my family in the way of some mobster with a grudge. Not even because Pearlie was murdered. But maybe we could—”
“What the hell do you girls think you’re doing with that sort of talk?”
They both jumped, and Vivian held back a shriek. Whirling around, the dish towel clutched in her hands like the most useless sort of weapon, she found herself face-to-face with Dr. Harris, who stood behind them, his black exam bag in one hand and the other planted firmly on his hip.
“God almighty, Doc, my heart just about gave out,” Bea gasped, one hand pressed against her chest. “Don’t sneak up on a girl like that.”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” he said, a sardonic lift to his eyebrow.
He was a young man still—and he hadn’t been born to this part of town, so he looked younger still, his face free of lines carved by worry and poverty and too much cheap moonshine. And he’d never look like he belonged, too polished and polite, without the swagger and grit that men like Leo or Danny wore as armor against the world. But he could walk down the street and not a single person would hassle him, expensive suit or not. He had moved to the poor, mixed little neighborhood west and south of Central Park three years before, wanting to serve as a local doctor to people who would otherwise never be able to afford to see one.
Three years of broken bones and midnight fevers. Vivian didn’t know him well; she and Florence weren’t often sick. But she knew more than one child that Dr. Harris had nursed through croup, more than one young fella he had patched up after a night at a bar turned into a brawl, treating them all whether they could pay or not.
Now, though, he did not look pleased with them. “If you hadn’t been so busy whispering like children, you’d have heard me coming.” His arms were crossed against his chest, and his voice dropped as his head tilted forward. “Tell me I didn’t just hear what I thought I heard.”
Vivian glanced at Bea. “I guess it depends on what you think you heard.”
Dr. Harris scowled at her. “Don’t play coy with me, young lady. I’vegot a patient in there pregnant with a baby whose father just killed himself. She’s on the verge of a nervous collapse, which would be dangerous for her and the baby. And apparently that’s becauseyougot her all riled up with some wild ideas about murder. I can’t allow that to happen. She needscalm.”
“They’re not wild ideas,” Bea snapped, but she said it quietly, glancing once more toward the bedroom door, which was now closed.
Dr. Harris’s scowl grew, but Vivian spoke up before he could say anything else. An argument was the last thing Bea needed after getting such awful news.
“We won’t say anything to Alba,” Vivian said quickly. “But Bea’s right. Pearlie was poisoned.”
Dr. Harris shook his head, his expression softening. “He took arsenic, Beatrice. The police found it under his sink.”
“Rat poison,” Bea pointed out.
“Which is full of arsenic,” Dr. Harris said. He wasn’t a good-looking man, but his face was kind as he laid a hand on Bea’s shoulder. Vivian saw her friend stiffen, but the doctor didn’t notice. He spoke quietly, still using the calm voice that could soothe upset or scared patients. “I know your family is hurting. But I saw the symptoms myself, and the coroner confirmed it.”
“That’s not all he confirmed,” Vivian said quietly. “I just came from Bellevue. We found a bottle of brandy at Pearlie’s place, and when the coroner tested it, he found that it was full of arsenic.”
The black bag dropped from the doctor’s hand, and he took a step backward as if trying to distance himself from her words. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, he would have looked almost comically stunned, like an actor in the moment before a dialogue card appeared. He stared first at Vivian, then at Bea. “He what?”
“Pearlie was poisoned,” Vivian repeated. “We just don’t know who did it.”
“What…?” Dr. Harris swallowed visibly, glancing at the bedroomdoor once more before lowering his voice. “What are the police going to do?”
“Nothing,” Bea said quietly. “Viv didn’t tell them who the brandy bottle had belonged to.”
“Are you going to tell them?” he asked. He added quickly, “You still can’t let Alba know.”
“You don’t think she deserves to know the truth?” Vivian demanded.
