Page 92 of Backwater Justice

“Of course! Where should we go?”

Annie looked over at Chris. “Tell them to meet us at The Grand Hotel. Give them my name, and call my room from the lobby phone. They should not tell anyone about this until we can all be in the same room. If we’re not back from Dr. Foster’s, someone will be there to meet them.”

Chris repeated what Annie had said. “Yes. The Grand Hotel. Annie De Silva.” A pause. “Right. I suggest you pack some fresh clothes for her.” Another pause. “Be careful on the road.” Chris knew the excitement of recovering their daughter could supersede following road safety precautions.

Annie pushed a button. “Phone Myra.” The mechanical voice repeated what Annie said. Myra answered after the first ring.

“We’ve got her. She’s okay.” Myra was overjoyed to hear the good news.

“Thank God,” Myra said. “Where are you now?”

“Taking Lori to Dr. Foster and then to the hotel. Her folks will be meeting us there. They’re on their way from Eugene.”

“Perfect.”

* * *

Charles surmised that if Patricia had had an affair, it would most likely have been with someone in government. Those types stuck together.

Fergus accessed the DHS database. After 9/11, members of Congress who served on certain committees were encouraged to give a DNA sample. Just in case. Just in case bodies had to be identified. It was creepy, but important.

It took about an hour before they got a hit. Oliver’s DNA matched that of Congressman Garret Lambeau, age seventy-two. A lifer inside the Beltway. “This is juicier than those telenovelas.” Fergus chortled.

Charles echoed Myra’s earlier words. “Poor Milton. Now we have to put the rest of the pieces together. Did we get a hit on the contents of the glass?”

Fergus checked his computer. “Just in.” He looked it over. “Digitalis from the foxglove plant.”

“Seriously? Isn’t that an Agatha Christie ploy?” Charles raised an eyebrow.

“I believe so. And my bet is on Patricia. Poison is a woman’s weapon,” Fergus said.

“But why would she want to kill Milton?” Charles ruminated.

“That’s a very good question,” Fergus answered.

“Right. Now we have two pieces of vital information. Oliver’s real father is a U.S. Congressman, and Milton was poisoned with foxglove.”

“We’ve seen worse. At least she didn’t succeed.”

“True. I’ll let Myra know what we found.” Just as he was about to call her, his phone rang. “Hello, love. I was just about to . . .”

Myra interrupted him. “They found Lori. She’s alive and okay, all but for the trauma.”

“What a relief,” Charles said. He conveyed the information to Fergus.

“Brilliant!” Fergus responded.

“Her parents are driving up from Eugene, Annie and Chris are taking her to the doctor, and then we are going to meet here, at the hotel.”

“Where was she?” Charles asked.

“Dickie Morton’s cabin. Thank goodness for Chandler. And Eileen. And Christopher. And Annie, who had to use one of her forbidden skills to open a few locks.”

“I have one more piece of information for you, love,” Charles said. “We found out what was in the beverage.”

“Foxglove!” they said in unison.

“How did you know?” Charles asked.