child. Are you feeling all right?â
Faith wasnât feeling all right. She was feeling extremely ill. And if she didnât make it to the adjoining powder room, she was going to be ill all over Poppyâs Aubusson carpet. She clapped a hand over her mouth and stood up, swaying slightly.
The voices in the room mounted to a crescendo of sound, sentences bouncing out at herââToo much to drink?â âYou donât think sheâs, well, you know?â âCold feet?â âShe looks like sheâs got a feverâthat bug thatâs been going around?â
As Hope steered her through the door just in time, Faith heard her great-aunt Tammyâs voice above the rest.
âThe brideâs been poisoned.â
Chapter 3
G reat-aunt Tammy, a voluptuous, big-hair brunette from Louisiana, had been coyly admitting to being thirty-five for the ten years sheâd been married to Faithâs great-uncle Schuyler Wayfort, known to all as Sky. Heâd been twenty-six years her senior when they met.
Her dramatic pronouncement at the shower produced instant silence in the room until her sister-in-law said, âDonât be absurd, TamoraââEleanor Wayfort Lennox never employed nicknamesââmy granddaughter is merely indisposed.â
Since the sounds of Faithâs indisposition were penetrating the door, everyone hurriedly resumed talking again. Her mother got up to join Hope. Meanwhile, Poppy Morris had followed Faith immediately, always levelheaded in a crisisâred wine spilled on Princess Diâs snowy white Versace; no Coca-Cola, only Pepsi, in the kitchen for Joan Crawford (hangers not a problem, Poppy never had wire ones). She returned a few seconds later to call 911 and her private physician, in that order. Poppy knew her number by heart âjust in case,â as she had memorized those of certain lawyers over the years for the same reason. The next thing she did was usher everyone down to the living room.
The doctor arrived before the EMTs.
âHer pulse is more rapid than normal, but sheâs not running a fever. Yet itâs clear that her system is experiencing a shock and Iâd like to admit her if the vomiting doesnât stop soon. Sheâll need an IV to prevent dehydration.â
Faith shook her head violently and managed to say, âNo hospital.â
âDoes she have any food allergies?â Dr. Ginsburg asked.
âNone that I know of, and I should know. Iâm her mother,â Jane Sibley said.
At this point the EMTs stepped into the Garden Room with what seemed like enough equipment for a four-alarm fire. Poppyâs powder room was the size of a master bath, but it was getting crowded. Hope and Jane moved out. Poppy stayed.
Faith was sitting on the floor, leaning against the commode she had been hugging. Her throat felt as if someone had taken sandpaper to it.
âIâm fine,â she croaked, wishing everyone would leave so she could take a nap on the floor. The tile felt cool to her touch and she closed her eyes in preparation. Maybe when she opened them the room would be empty and, just as in the movies, it would all have been a horrible dream.
One of the EMTs was conferring with the doctor while the other was asking what the victim had eaten recently. Poppy listed the menu.
âWe all ate from the same buffet, though, and served ourselves. Itâs been cleared away, but everything was in a large bowl or basket or on a platter.â
The Payard chocolates and pastries were still in mouthwatering view.
âWhat about these?â He picked up a plate.
âFaith hadnât eaten any dessert yet. She was opening her presents,â Poppy said.
âAnd theyâre from Payard, â she added, popping a truffle in her mouth to settle the subject.
Dr. Ginsburg came out to speak to Jane Sibley. âMy best guess is food poisoning of some sort, but quite puzzling as you all ingested
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