“Estimated time of death?”
“Between six and seven hours ago.”
“So that puts us at what? Midnight? One o’clock in the morning?”
“Yea. That’s about right. I can let you know more after I get him back to the lab and perform the autopsy.”
“Okay great. Let me know as soon as you find out anything. Something about this seems odd to me.”
Sergeant Cinthia Williams of the Albuquerque Police Department glanced at her watch as she spoke with Dr. Marcia McKalister, APD’s medical examiner and pathologist. At 7AM on that crisp January Tuesday morning Williams already had several ongoing investigations awaiting her at the department, and no amount of mystery surrounding the death of Kirk Manfrey would materialize the case into a criminal investigation until the autopsy reports returned. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs and regain her focus, Williams left the Manfrey home and drove to the APD headquarters in downtown Albuquerque.
While she drove, memories of Kirk Manfrey flitted in and out of her mind like birds in the early morning light. Cinthia and Kirk attended high school together and, although they graduated in the same class, moved in very different circles. Kirk was a jock, a football player, but he went against the stereotype by excelling academically. In fact, he received a full ride to Vanderbilt University—half of which was to play football, and the other half because of his high ACT scores and high school 3.9 GPA. While Kirk Manfrey stood out on paper, his personal integrity fell far below the mark as he bullied both his friends and foes, and earned a scarlet A for his animal-wild party habits. Cinthia, on the other hand, while also excelling in school was involved in less than popular and “cool” extracurricular activities such as the high school newspaper, ROTC, and the young law enforcers club. She also worked part time at the local library. She had attended the police academy in New Mexico rather than attending a four-year college, although she had been offered a significant scholarship to the University of New Mexico. Kirk’s type made fun of Cinthia’s type, while hers avoided his like the plague. Until this morning, Cinthia had made no contact with Kirk nor had she heard any news about his accomplishments, or perhaps lack thereof, since high school graduation. There had, as yet, been no reunions, although they were due for their ten-year reunion in the spring. What had happened to him in the last nine and a half years? What sort of person was he now? Why had he died so suddenly at barely twenty-eight years of age?
As thoughts and questions filled her head, Cinthia decided to make a pit stop to grab some coffee to help her focus before she began her work.
By noon, Cinthia had made little headway on the files of cases stacked on her desk. She was preoccupied, curious. Even her partner noticed, though he refrained from commenting. Something was up, but Ben Michelson knew that Cinthia would talk only when and if she wanted to share her thoughts. At three o’clock she let him in on her private musings.
“It’s so weird that Kirk Manfrey just up and died out of the blue. It doesn’t make sense. Something doesn’t add up,” Cinthia blurted without introduction.
“Yea?” Ben coaxed. “Did the autopsy reports come back already?”
“No, not yet…but still…there’s something rotten in Denmark…”
“Well there’s nothing we can do about it till the official report comes back and confirms that something is awry,” he laughed. She frowned back. “Say, didn’t you graduate from high school with that guy?”
“Yea, in 2000.”
“Were you guys friends?”
“Not exactly…”
“Lovers? Now, don’t tell me you lost your virginity to this guy in the backseat of his mom’s minivan after your senior prom!” Ben joked. Cinthia punched him in the arm as he ducked and tried to block the blow.
“What is wrong with you? No! Of course, not! You’re crazy!” she defended herself.
“But no, seriously, we moved in very different circles. I don’t have very good memories of this guy.”
“Care to share?”
“Not really. But I will anyway. See, in middle school I had a lot of acne. You know, angry red bumps like fire-ant bites all over my face?”
“You? No way! You’ve got to be kidding me! A beauty like you with acne?” Ben teased.
“Would you be serious for once? I really did have terrible acne then. I was super self-conscious about it, and some days I’d try to find ways to stay home from school rather than allow the light of day to shine on my pimply face. Anyway, one day in seventh grade Kirk Manfrey told me that my face had so many zits on it I looked like I had a thousand Mount Vesuvius’ erupting on my face. You may think it’s funny now, but I never forgot it. Now, keep in mind though, that this guy wasn’t some ugly turd with nothing better to do. He was the athletic stud of our school from elementary school on up. “
“Gee. I didn’t think you cared so much about what other people think.”
“I don’t now. I did then. Jerks like Kirk Manfrey have taught me not to care about what others think, only to care about the opinions of those who truly love you.”
“Well it’s nice to know that something nice came out of his bullying.”
“Yea, really. I’m not plotting his murder to get revenge for things said or done to me fifteen years ago. I could’ve become a mass murderer you know. Brought a gun to school and shot all those jerks like Kirk,” Cinthia somberly joked.
“Yea, you’ve got a point there. Now you’re trying to solve a mystery behind his death that’s not even really there yet. Kind of ironic, huh? Say, you’re not trying to confess something to me here are you?”
“Huh? What are you talking about Michelson?”
“You didn’t do it, did you? If you confess now I can try to work out a deal for you.
Maybe you can plead insanity brought on by childhood abuse.”
“Knock it off will you Ben? You’re crazy! You know I didn’t do it. I’m a trained police officer and detective, and when I smell a skunk, it’s my job to tree him.”
“I know, Cinthia, I know. I’m just giving you a hard time. It’s funny when you get so riled up at my attempts at humor.”
“Yea, you can say attempts again, but this time add the word lame in front of it.”
“Easy there killer! But seriously, don’t you think you’re barking up a tree that hasn’t even been planted at a skunk that’s really just a cute, harmless kitten?”
“Who said kittens were harmless?”
“Okay, okay. I’m just saying…”
“Well, let me bark, okay?”
“Okay, fine. I’ll leave you alone. Just don’t pull out your rifle to shoot the skunk until you get back an autopsy report that reveals foul play.”
“Okay. It’s a deal.”
As Cinthia prepared to leave her office that evening around 5:30, the phone rang.
Although she debated ignoring the call, she decided to answer under the slim chance that maybe it would be Marcia calling with the autopsy report.
“Hello? This is Sgt. Cinthia Williams speaking. How may I serve you?”
“Cinthia! I’m glad you answered. I was afraid I’d missed you and you had already left for home,” Dr. Marcia McKalister said excitedly into the phone.
“Nope. I’m still here, unfortunately. It’s been a long day. I was just heading out the door.”
“Oh, I’m sorry dear. I apologize for bothering you, but is there any way you can drop by my lab on your way home? I’ve got something I think you ought to see.”
“What is it Marcia? Does this have to do with Kirk Manfrey?”
“I can’t talk about this over the phone, dear. You just need to come down here and see for yourself. But to answer your second question: yes, it does relate to Kirk Manfrey.”
“Ok. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes tops.”
“I’m not going anywhere, so do me a favor and don’t wreck on your way over here. I’ve done enough autopsies for the day.”
“Yea, yea. I’ll be careful. See you in a few.”
As Cinthia parked her car in the parking lot and raced towards the double automatic doors of the building beside the hospital in downtown Albuquerque that housed Dr. Marcia McKalister’s pathology lab, her heart beat wildly as she wondered what on earth was so important that she needed to present herself in person. Marcia hardly ever called her down to the lab. It was sacred territory to the pathologist. She didn’t want just anyone gaping and gagging at the dead bodies and human remains that she tested and searched, trying to reveal the secrets their breathless bodies could no longer tell. Something was definitely out of the ordinary. Ben must certainly have been mistaken that she was barking up an invisible tree at an imaginary skunk.
Marcia greeted her as she stepped off the elevator and onto the second floor. Cinthia followed her down the hallway to the door of the lab and, as she swiped her keycard through the sensor by the door, Marcia exclaimed, “You’re not going to believe this Cindi.”
“What? What did you find? Was I right about Kirk’s death being no accident?”
“Well, actually, I found nothing wrong, nothing out of the ordinary, which is what gave me a red flag that something was amiss. I obtained access to Manfrey’s health records—he had an annual physical just two weeks ago, and he was perfectly healthy. No high cholesterol, no heart problems or high blood pressure. Nothing that could’ve, or perhaps should’ve, caused death at such a young age. He was only barely twenty-eight, you know?”
“Yes, I know. I went to high school with him, remember?”
“Oh, yes. Now I do remember you mentioning that this morning.”
“Well? So what did you do? Is that all?”
“I’m getting there, dear. Just give me a moment.”
“I’m sorry, Marcia. I’m just eager to know what truly happened to Kirk.”
“It’s okay. Anyway, nothing showed in the preliminary tox screening I sent out, so I ordered a secondary panel that is, um, how should I say it? More extensive? It screens for more than the usual sorts of toxins we see everyday in Albuquerque.”
“I see. Have you gotten that back yet?”
“Yes. It came just half an hour ago, which is why I called you.”
“Well?”
“The results showed trace amounts of aconite, an herb that is very rarely seen in the US, but is one of the most formidable natural poisons that can be found in the world today. It’s also known as ‘Monk’s Hood’ or ‘Wolfs bane.’ ”
“You mean like Wolfs bane from Harry Potter?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“But I thought that was imaginary, made up.”
“Well, J.K. Rowling’s books are fiction, my dear, but certain aspects are not purely fictional. Wolfs bane is real and, unfortunately, usually fatal.”
“You’re funny Marcia. But really, how did it kill Manfrey?”
“That part I’m not sure about. See, aconite is a plant, a flower really. It is native to England, but also can be found in South Wales and other surrounding areas, but not the US. I’m not sure how he came into contact with it. That’s what you have to find out. However, I am sending the contents of his stomach and intestines to be tested. Certain foods, such as curry, disguise the flavor of the aconite herb, so if we can find out what he ate and who served it to him, you might have a lead.”
“Excellent. Marcia, you’re great.”
“Yea, yea. Great…and underappreciated and overworked.”
“Now, that’s not entirely true. What would we do without you?”
“You’d get nowhere fast, that’s for sure. Now wait a minute, don’t go running out that door. There’s more you should know.”
“Yea?”
“If you’re going to start asking questions, you should know some of the symptoms of aconite poisoning. It might help you get somewhere; get a better idea of when exactly Kirk was poisoned. After all, it can take several days or just a few hours for the herb to be fatal after ingestion if left untreated.”
“Right. So what should I know?”
“Symptoms include numbness and tingling in the mouth, cold, pale, and clammy skin, irregular pulse, weakness, nausea and vomiting, as well as difficulty breathing. Victim may feel like ants are crawling all over his body. Often, victim will act giddy while at the same time staggering about; however, the mind remains clear till nearly the end.”
“Wow, that sounds like fun. Seems like he would’ve complained to someone about those symptoms at some point.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Thanks Marcia. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it. Now get out of here and solve this mystery. I’ll let you know when I hear anything more.”
Before she even reached the elevator, Cinthia had her phone in her hand and was dialing her partner’s number. He picked up on the first ring.
“Found your skunk?” Ben Michelson asked sarcastically.
“Yea, actually. I did. Can you meet me back at the office for a quick briefing? We may have a long night ahead of us.”
“Yea, I’ll be there in fifteen. And you can leave off the ‘I told you so.’”
“I never even thought about it. See you in a few.” As she hung up the phone and climbed in her car, Cinthia mentally made a list of all the people they should interview before calling her boss to let him in on the situation. An hour later Cinthia and Ben left the office to return to Kirk Manfrey’s home.
The Manfrey home was an impressive mansion in a nice, safe neighborhood. But was any neighborhood really safe these days? Cinthia noted the elaborate landscaping around the house and sophisticated decorations inside that she had ignored during her visit that morning. Now every little detail might hold important evidence. Mrs. Angela Manfrey answered the door with a surprised look on her face.
“Why, hello, I didn’t expect to see the police back so soon. What can I do for you?” she asked politely.
“Mrs. Manfrey, I was here this morning, but I am Sgt. Cinthia Williams and this is my partner Ben Michelson.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Please, call me Angela. Won’t you come in and sit down.” Did she really just bat her eyelashes at Ben? Her husband had only died just this morning!
“As a matter of fact, that would excellent. We need to ask you a few questions, Angela,” Ben said.
“Can I get you a cup of chai tea?” Angela asked without taking her eyes off Ben as they sat on a plush couch in a fancy parlor directly to the right of the front door.
“No thank you,” Ben said quickly. “Angela, when was the last time your saw your husband alive?”
“Well, he didn’t come home until close to ten o’clock on Monday night, and I was already in bed. I heard him come in, but then I was fast asleep.”
“Did your husband wake you up during the night?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. He was tossing and turning non-stop. It was irritating. He said something to me at one point about feeling nauseous, but I figured he was a big boy and could take care of himself.”
“Did he actually vomit? Or did he tell you about feeling oddly in any other way?”
“Like I said, my husband was a big boy. I don’t know if he vomited or not. I wasn’t going to lose a night’s sleep over it. If he needed me, he would’ve gotten me up to help him. I slept, thought not well, till I early Tuesday morning, when I found Kirk dead. Why are you asking all these questions, anyway?”
“I’m afraid we have some bad news,” Ben said, nodding for Cinthia to take over.
“How bad could it be? My husband is dead. It can’t get much worse than that.”
“Mrs. Manfrey,” Cinthia replied, “Your husband’s autopsy report revealed that his death was no accident. He was poisoned.”
“Oh dear me, no! You don’t think I did it, do you?”
“We don’t know who did it. Maybe it was you, you’re certainly a prime suspect; but then again, maybe not. We’d like to ask you some more questions.”
“I can assure you, I did not kill my husband. I would be more than happy to help you in your investigation in any way possible. What would you like to know?”
“Well, for starters, how was your marriage with your husband?”
“You know, it had its ups and downs, but we pull through the downs. My husband liked to look around at other women a lot, so we had a bit of a rocky spell for a while. Nothing that love and devotion to keeping a family together couldn’t fix.” As she spoke she seemed to look at Ben for a reaction.
“I’m glad to hear you’re dedicated to preserving family, Mrs. Manfrey. I understand that you and your husband have a daughter?”
“Yes, Lydia. My pride and joy. She’s upstairs if you’d like to meet her.”
“In a few minutes that would be nice, but we have a few more questions for you first. What was your husband’s job like? Did he work long hours?”
“Kirk worked as an associate in a law firm. He’d been there for three years and was hoping to make partner before too long. He graduated from Vanderbilt University undergraduate and law school, you know. And yes, he worked long hours quite frequently. Most Saturdays he spent in the office, and many nights he didn’t get home till well after dinner—say, 8 or 9 o’clock.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that your husband went anywhere besides the law office when he worked late?”
“No, not really. He was dedicated to his job. I think he went out to eat a lot, but mostly with clients.”
“Did he have any enemies? Anyone who would want him dead?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Perhaps you should talk to the law firm about that. I know that he worked some criminal cases last year.”
“Alright, thank you, Mrs. Manfrey.” After interviewing Lydia Manfrey, who was only seven years old, and gleaning very little helpful information, Cinthia and her partner left the Manfrey mansion without much to go on.
The next morning Cinthia and Ben were at the door of the law firm before opening. Stenciled into the glass door panels in black and gold lettering Cinthia read Schwinn & Jacobs, Partners at Law. She vaguely remembered seeing an ad on television advertising that these brilliant lawyers were the ones for you. Not anymore for one of your associates, she thought. After waiting an interminably long time in the reception area till the lawyers got there, Cinthia and Ben were impatient and frustrated by the time they were ushered into an opulent conference room where head partners Joseph Schwinn and Eleazar Jacobs awaited them. Once they went through formal introductions and explained Kirk Manfrey’s death to his bosses, Cinthia cut right to the chase.
“Did Mr. Manfrey have any enemies in your firm?”
“None that would kill him,” Schwinn took the lead, “ I can assure you of that. There are other associates that are, or should I say were, competing with him for a spot as partner, but all hostilities between the competitors were quite civil, really.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit contradictory, Mr. Schwinn?”
“Miss, uh, what did you say your name was?”
“Sgt. Williams.”
“Sgt Williams, the legal world is extremely competitive. Whoever doesn’t make partner will be forced back out into the job market and, quite frankly, there are very few prospects these days. Each man must do what he must to be the best. Nothing violent, just hard work, you see.”
“I understand. All the same, we will need to interview Mr. Manfrey’s ‘competitors.’”
“Alright. That can be arranged. Is there anything else you would like to know, or may we return to our busy schedules?”
“Did Mr. Manfrey have an clients who might be upset with him? Or what about the opposing side in one of his cases?”
“Mr. Manfrey has not been assigned to any big-time criminal cases. Those are saved for partners. Perhaps he made someone mad, but I doubt that any of his clients or opponents would be so angered as to murder him. His specialty was civil cases; property disputes, estate folds, etc. Nothing to kill someone over, really.”
“Thank you. That’s all for now, but we may be back for more.”
Cinthia and Ben spent the entire morning and the larger part of the afternoon interviewing lower-ranked partners, associates, secretaries, errand boys, anyone at the firm who might know anything valuable at all. Finally, they met someone who knew something that might prove to be a lead—Kirk Manfrey’s co-associate Fred Snyder, who shared a small office space with him.
“How would your describe your relationship to Kirk Manfrey?” Ben asked Snyder methodically.
“Well, we shared this office space, so we saw a lot of each other. We both, of course, aspired to becoming partners, but we really didn’t consider one another competitors. We were best friends. We roomed together in law school at Vanderbilt and than somehow both landed jobs at this firm right after graduation.”
“Did anyone else from you class at Vanderbilt work here?”
“No, and I don’t think that anyone else applied to be honest. I mean, who wants to practice law in New Mexico after getting a degree in Tennessee? We weren’t exactly the top of our class, you see.”
“Okay. Did anything unusual happen in the last several days? Like did Manfrey act strangely or receive a threat or anything?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, he received an unusual phone call on Monday morning. He told me about it over lunch. A guy that graduated from high school with him called him up, said he’d moved to the area and seen his name in some Schwinn & Jacobs ad, and wanted to reconnect. Kirk said he couldn’t quite put a face with the guy, but he remembered the name in connection to high school, so he agreed to meet the guy for dinner. He thought he was one of his former football buddies or something.”
“What was the guy’s name? Do you remember? Did he tell you?”
“Let’s see, he did. Something Vaughn… started with an ‘r’…Russell I think? Yeah, that’s right. Russell Vaughan.”
“Great. You’re doing just fine Mr. Snyder, just a few more questions and we’ll be through. Did he say when and where he agreed to meet Russell Vaughan?”
“Monday night. He finished up his work early that night, well, at least, early for him. Usually he leaves for home around 8 o’clock, but he was out of here by 6:15 PM Monday night. He said he was going to some Indian restaurant. I can’t remember the name of it. I’m not a big fan of Indian cuisine myself.”
“Alright. Thank you Mr. Snyder, you’ve given us something to go on.”
Back at the Albuquerque police department Cinthia ran Russell Vaughan’s name through the system while Ben searched for Indian restaurants in Albuquerque. Nothing much turned up on Vaughan. He had been charged with a minor in possession of alcohol at age sixteen, but his record had later been expunged. Other than that he had a few speeding tickets, but no criminal activity. Even after seeing his photograph in the system, Cinthia only vaguely remembered seeing the guy in the hallway a few times at their high school. Maybe they’d had a few classes together, but she couldn’t be sure. Ben discovered two Indian restaurants on opposite sides of town. Two wasn’t so bad; they’d expected to find at least ten.
At the first restaurant, Taj Mahal Indian Cuisine, Cinthia and Ben flashed around photos of both Manfrey and Vaughan, but none of the wait staff had seen either of them. No one had any useful information, so they drove across town to the only other avenue left in this lead. As they entered Royal India Cuisine, they began the same procedure they had implemented in the other restaurant of flashing the photos and questioning the wait staff. This time, they got a response on the first try.
“This man is my boss, the owner of Royal India Cuisine,” said the maitre’ d, tapping a long, painted-red fingernail on the photo of Russell Vaughan. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“We just need to ask him a few questions,” Cinthia reassured the girl. “Where might we find him?”
“Well, you actually came at a good time because he’s in his office still. It’s right around the corner there,” she said pointing down a hallway in that back that led to the kitchen and bathrooms. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”
“Mr. Vaughan, there’s some police officers here to see you,” the girl said as she ushered them into his small managerial office and then quickly headed back to her station by the front door. As they entered, Cinthia saw a startled look on Vaughan’s face that he quickly smoothed into a smile. After introducing themselves, they began questioning him.
“Did you have dinner with this man, Kirk Manfrey, on Monday night?” Cinthia asked, showing Vaughan the photo.
“Yes, I did. Is that a problem?”
“Well, it all depends. Could be. How did you know Manfrey?”
“From high school. I moved to the area a few months ago and I found out that he lives here as well, so I contacted him. You know, new place, new faces; it’s nice to have a face that you recognize.”
“Were you and Manfrey close friends in high school?”
“No, not really.”
“Are you aware that Kirk Manfrey was found dead on Tuesday morning in his home?”
“No, I was not. How awful! What happened?”
“We thought you might know something about that, Mr. Vaughan.”
“You don’t think I killed him do you? He left here around 8:45 PM on Monday night after we ate dinner and he seemed quite alright then.”
“What did Manfrey have to eat for dinner?”
“Let me see, I’m not sure if I can remember.”
“It was only a day ago, Mr. Vaughan. I’m sure you can remember. You work in the food business; food is your livelihood. I’m sure you remember what he ate. I remember what I ate Monday night—a grilled cheese sandwich, a can of Campbell’s tomato soup, a glass of ice water…”
“Alright, alright. I get your point. I believe he had two of our house specialties—Spinach Curry and Lamb Bhuna. They are quite delicious, a real taste of India.”
“Did you, Mr. Vaughan, poison Mr. Manfrey?”
“What? Are you serious? That’s preposterous! Why would I do a thing like that?”
“That’s what we’d like to know, Mr. Vaughan. May we search the premises?”
“Can I see a search warrant, please?”
“We don’t have one, but don’t worry, we’ll get one.”
As Cinthia and Ben stepped outside the restaurant at the demand of the angry proprietor, they discussed the case.
“I think he did it, or at least knows something about it,” Cinthia said. “Did you see how defensive he got?”
“Yea, I do too. Let’s get that search warrant.”
Within an hour they miraculously had the warrant in their hands, and forensics was combing the place. Vaughan sat on a barstool, visibly nervous and angry while they searched his office. In a discreet corner of the pantry in the kitchen Ben found an unfamiliar purplish flower. As he brought it out to ask Cinthia about it, Vaughan’s eyes grew wide and he bolted for the door. He didn’t get far because Cinthia side tackled him, pinning him to the floor and cuffing him quickly before he could get away. With her knee on Vaughan’s back riveting him firmly to the ground, Cinthia looked up at her partner breathlessly and said, “Ben, that’s it! That’s aconite! It looks just like the pictures Marcia showed me at the lab. I think we’ve got our killer!”
Ben smiled and stepped forward to help Cinthia up and read Russell Vaughan his Miranda rights. “You are under arrest for the murder of Kirk Manfrey. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you…” When he finished, Vaughan was laughing.
“I’m surprised your stupid police department even figured out that Manfrey was murdered, but you know what, I don’t care. You’re right, I did it! I killed the bastard. It was all too easy, but I got justice. I got revenge.”
“Why did you do it?” Cinthia asked.
“You don’t know? I’m surprised you didn’t do it before me. Do you not remember that son of a bitch from high school? He beat me up in the locker room more than once. When they said I got a broken nose in practice and couldn’t play any more football my senior year, it ruined my chances of going to college. But I didn’t break it in practice—Manfrey did it to me in the locker room.”
“Why didn’t you just turn him in?”
“I couldn’t. He blackmailed me! Said if I ever told on him marijuana would mysteriously appear in my belongings and an anonymous tip would set the school officials on me immediately. I didn’t have a chance. No one would’ve believed me, a third string running back, over the star football player, especially after I’d already been arrested for a minor in possession of alcohol, which was also his doing, mind you. But that’s not all, oh no, not at all. He cheated off me on every test, from sixth till twelfth grade. He stole my lunch money. Knocked up my girlfriend. Worst of all he had his dad fire my mom from her job. We were dirt poor trying to live off her measly secretarial wages as it was, but that just completely ruined us. That bully, he not only manhandled me during school but he immobilized me so that when my mom developed cancer, we had no way to pay for treatment. She died within three months. It was all that bastard’s fault. He got what he deserved.”
Later, when Russell Vaughan was behind bars and Cinthia and Ben were back in their office finishing up paperwork before calling it a night, Ben said, “You know, our conversation yesterday sure is ironic. You really could’ve been the killer, Mt. Vesuvius.”
Half-heartedly throwing a punch his way, Cinthia replied, “I know. I was thinking about that too. I guess hate, not just aconite, is the queen of all poisons.”
No comments:
Post a Comment