Chapter 4 - The Detective’s Notebook
Detective Miller flicked open his leather-bound notebook, his sharp eyes darting between Clara and Eleanor. The tension in the hallway was thick enough to cut with a scalpel. Clara slowly lowered her hand, holding the amber Digoxin bottle out flat on her palm so the officers could see it clearly without misinterpreting her movements as hostile.
"Sir, don't arrest her," Arthur managed to force out, his voice straining against his paralyzed vocal cords. "She didn't steal that. It was in my wife's possession. My daughter saw her putting it into my juice."
Detective Miller didn't look at Arthur immediately. Instead, he stepped closer to Clara, carefully lifting the small amber bottle off her palm using a latex-gloved hand he had slipped on with practiced speed. He inspected the label, then sniffed the opening of the cap. A grim frown settled across his weathered face.
"Digoxin," Detective Miller read aloud, his eyes shifting toward Eleanor. "A potent cardiac glycoside. Ingesting this in an unprescribed dose mimics a severe stroke or fatal heart attack. Quite a sophisticated choice for a domestic dispute, Mrs. Vance."
Eleanor crossed her arms, letting out a short, mocking laugh. "Detective, please. Look at the company you're keeping. That nurse has a stack of unresolved disciplinary complaints from her previous hospital. And the child is throwing a typical temperamental fit because I took away her tablet. As for my husband, his cognitive faculties have been declining for months due to his neurological condition. He hallucinates."
"I am not hallucinating!" Lily screamed from Arthur's lap, pointing a tiny finger right at Eleanor’s face. "I saw her use the dropper! She wears rubber gloves when she does it so her hands don't smell like chemicals!"
Detective Miller looked down at the little girl, his professional demeanor softening just a fraction. He knelt down to eye level, ignoring Eleanor’s sharp intake of breath. "Is that true, sweetie? Did you see her wear gloves?"
"Yes!" Lily nodded vigorously, her blonde ponytail swinging back and forth. "In the kitchen, right before she brought Daddy his breakfast tray this morning. She hid the gloves in the trash can under the sink!"
Eleanor’s face instantly drained of all color. The cool, collected mask she wore cracked, revealing a frantic pulse beating wildly in the hollow of her throat. She took a sharp step backward, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she eyed the open front door behind the officers.
Detective Miller stood up slowly, never breaking eye contact with Eleanor. He signaled the two uniform officers with a subtle nod of his chin. "Officer Davis, check the kitchen trash under the sink. Let's see what Mrs. Vance threw away this morning."
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As Officer Davis jogged toward the kitchen, Eleanor’s hand slipped slowly behind her back, her fingers curling around a heavy crystal paperweight resting on the entryway console table.
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