Page 71 of A Fabulously Unfabulous Summer for Henry Milch

“Henry, you didn’t eat any of the lasagna, did you?”

“God no. I don’t care what Popeye says, spinach is the work of the devil.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, so I asked, “You think it’s food poisoning?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Oh.”

That was odd. Why did he ask if I’d had some of the lasagna if he didn’t think it was food poisoning?

He turned to Nana Cole and smiled. “Well, you’re dehydrated, certainly. But the IV should take care of that fairly quickly. Your liver panel is slightly elevated.”

“There’s something wrong with my liver?”

Edward flipped through my grandmother’s file, which obviously included her most recent stay since it was pretty thick. After a moment he said, “I’m not seeing a chronic problem with your liver. I think the elevation may be temporary. I’m afraid you may have been exposed to a toxin.”

“So, it is food poisoning,” I said.

“No. I don’t think so. Emma, what else did you have to eat or drink today?”

“Oatmeal,” she said, obviously hoping that was the culprit. “Banana. Tea.”

“We should take a look at the lasagna. It could contain some kind of toxin.”

I asked, “When you say toxin, you mean…”

“Poison.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Standing in the parking lot outside the ER—cell service inside the hospital sucked—I called Bev. After I explained a little about the situation, I asked her to go to the house and pick up the lasagna. Then I went back into the hospital, to find that Edward had wandered off to take care of his other patients. Looking confused, Nana Cole asked, “Who would want to poison me? People like me.”

“It’s probably just a misunderstanding,” I said, lamely. I knew it wasn’t. There’s nothing to misunderstand about poison.

“You think it was meant for someone else?”

“You think it was left at the wrong house?” I asked. “That’s very unlikely.”

“No, I mean… Was it meant for you?”

Oh God, she was still delusional. Well maybe not that delusional. But I’d stopped asking questions about Reverend Hessel. It was over. There was no reason to think anyone had a reason to poison me. Of course, it’s not like I’d taken out an ad in theEagle. People didn’t necessarilyknowI’d stopped asking questions.

“You have been asking a lot of questions about Reverend Hessel,” she noted.

“You asked me to!”

“Well, I didn’t think someone would try to kill you.”

I suppose she had a point. I might have gotten too close to Reverend Hessel’s killer. And whoever that was didn’t know I’d stopped asking questions, so they decided to, you know, get rid of me. Or at the very least slow me down. They just hadn’t considered the fact that I really couldn’t stand spinach.

Sitting in a plastic chair next to my grandmother’s bed, I tried to work out who might have baked the deadly casserole—but I didn’t get very far since Bev walked in holding the lasagna. A moment later, Edward was back.

“I took a fork and peeked at it. It’s not spinach,” Bev said.

“Really?” I said. “What is it?”

“I think it might be Solomon’s seal or, possibly, baneberry leaves. Of course, it’s the berries that are most poisonous. They may have been mixed into the sauce.”