Page 89 of Backwater Justice

Charles grunted. “It would appear that Milton is not related to the other two people who handled the glass. I need to check with Myra. See if she got anywhere with Milton.” He checked his watch. It was six o’clock Eastern time. Myra should be on her way back to the hotel. He decided to phone instead of text.

“Hello, love,” Charles greeted his wife.

“Oh, Charles, I was just about to call you. I have so much to tell you.”

“As do I. But you go first.”

Myra explained the course of events the night Milton had his heart attack. People entering, leaving, serving drinks. “Well, Milton suspected there was some monkey business going on with the invoices and payments.” She went on to explain the higher bills for three of the inns, and the bulletproof doors. Then she described the issue with the certificates. “Milton thinks Oliver may have a drug problem.”

“I have rather stunning news. The lab results we requested regarding the DNA. Milton has no familial DNA markings.”

“What do you mean?” Myra was baffled.

“It means that Oliver is not related to Milton,” Charles said grimly.

Myra was speechless. “What are you talking about?”

“If two of the DNA samples are related and one is not, the first two subjects have no biological connection to the third.”

Myra was clinging to her pearls as if they were attached to a lifeline. “Charles, are you positive?”

“Unless the lab results are wrong, then yes, I am positive.”

“So, then, who is Oliver’s father?” Myra was beyond flabbergasted.

“We can check the national database. See if anyone comes up as a match,” Charles suggested.

“So this means that Patricia had an affair with someone.” Myra was thinking out loud.

“Would appear so.” Charles could only imagine the shock Myra was experiencing about her friend and the betrayal. “Listen, love, I’ll check further. Meanwhile, tell Annie.”

Myra spoke slowly and deliberately. “I will. She is on her way to the airport now.”

“You alright?” Charles asked sweetly.

“Not really.” Tears were running down Myra’s cheeks. “Poor Milton.”

“I know, love. I’ll ring you in a few. We’re waiting for the results from the rug sample and the contents of the glass.”

“Okay.” Myra ended the call, sat, and stared blankly at the wall. She wasn’t going to say anything to Milton until the other issues were handled. Her reverie was disrupted by the sing-song melody coming from her laptop. It was Yoko. Myra opened the camera and greeted her friend. “Yoko! Nice to see your face. You got my photos?”

“Yes. That is why I am calling. Did you know there was a row of foxglove running in front of the privet?”

“Foxglove? No. I thought it was part of the hedge.”

“No. And it is the deadliest plant in North America,” Yoko explained. It’s lovely, but ingesting any of it can cause seizures, even death.”

Again, the news stunned Myra. “Why would someone grow something like that in their garden?”

“The foxglove looks like it may have been planted recently. They’re young plants.”

“I see. Well, we will absolutely have no foxglove on our property.”

“And the privet?” Yoko asked. “It’s harmless and grows well.”

“Yes. Thanks, Yoko. I owe you big time,” Myra said.

“I didn’t do anything special.”