Chapter 16 · Poison in His Case

The ambulance came in nine minutes. Felt like nine hours.

Vivian knelt beside Father on the study floor, his head in her lap. His breathing was shallow and fast. His lips had gone gray. She kept her hand on his chest, counting the beats, feeling them skip and stutter.

Philip stood by the window. He'd called the hospital himself. His voice had been calm. Concerned. Perfect.

"They're coming up the drive now," he said.

She didn't look at him. Couldn't. If she did, she'd scream.

Silas was across the room, back against the bookshelves. His face was white. He hadn't said a word since Father collapsed. Just stood there, staring at the empty glass on the desk.

The one Philip had poured.

The paramedics came in fast. Two men in dark uniforms, carrying a stretcher and a canvas bag. They moved her aside, checked Father's pulse, his eyes, his airway. One of them pulled out a stethoscope. The other started asking questions.

"What happened?"

"He had a drink," Vivian said. Her voice sounded far away. "His evening tonic. Then he just—collapsed."

"Any history of heart trouble?"

"No. I mean, yes. He's been ill. But not like this.