“It’s a machine,” explained Saga. “I realize that was a name probably reserved for a person in your time, but now it’s an appliance—like a teakettle.” She showed her the photograph. “See this tea set?” She tapped her finger against the bone china with the intricate design. “Odd that my grandmother put it in the dishwasher in the first place—itcango in there, but she preferred to wash it by hand just in case. This tea set was a wedding gift from the Goff family when Mamó got married. In all the time I knew her, she only used it on two occasions, even after Grandpa died: Her anniversary, and whenever Eira came to visit.” She peered at Avery expectantly, studying her features for that same look she’d entered with. Was this a breakthrough? Did it mean anything? It must.
“Perhaps Eira visited her before she passed,” Avery offered.
“Except Eira passed away eleven days ago, and, as you can see, these dishes are dirty. Furthermore, there are only three port glasses present, and I know for a fact that there wasn’t a night Saoirse O’Donnell didn’t have a glass of port before bed. These dishes are only three nights old. I met her early on the fourth day, which can only mean that at some point in the three days leading up to her death, my grandmother used that tea set, and her anniversary is in March.”
“It’s intriguing,” Avery hummed. “But unfortunately it’s purely circumstantial at this point. Her best friend had just passed, she might have brought it out for nostalgia’s sake.”
“Two cups?” Saga persisted.
Riddle hopped up onto the back of the chair, arching his back in a stretch before finding a comfortable seat on the arm, positioning himself like a sphinx.
“You’re a witch. Have you ever poured a beverage for the dead?” asked Avery.
Saga deflated. She had a point. She hated it, but she had a point. She slumped back and absently stroked along Riddle’s back with her fingertips. “Did we ever figure out what in the rubbish bin gave you the rash?”
“Foxglove.”
“Oh gods,” said Saga. “That could have killed him.”
“If he were actually a cat, it would have,” said Avery. She hadn’t looked up from the file she was reading.
“What else was in there?”
Avery flipped a few pages before reading, “Tea leaves, some food containers, goat milk, honey, a broken dish, paper towels—”
“Goatmilk?” Saga asked.
Riddle trilled and perked up.
Avery quirked an eyebrow. “Is that uncommon?”
“Mildly, it’s a kind of treat. Not for us, I mean, for Riddle.”
Riddle trilled again now that multiple words he rather enjoyed were being spoken.
“What sort of treat?”
“May I?” Saga asked, leaning forward and extending a hand for the file. “He usually only got it when Mamó had company over. The ceremony of it would help keep him calm. Which, now knowing he’s able to understand us, I have to wonder if he was acting out specifically to get goat milk.”
Riddle fixed an innocent, wide-eyed stare at her as if to say, “Who, me?”
Unconvinced, Saga studied the list again. Something clicked in her mind with the pieces she’d already been sifting through. “What if the poison wasn’t originally contaminating the tea? What if it was the goat milk that was poisoned and it only soakedintothe tea leaves after the fact? This broken dish—I bet it contained the goat milk. The honey might have successfully concealed the taste of the foxglove. If it caused Riddle to feel woozy or unwell, he might have accidentally knocked the dish over and broken it, and if it broke, it would have spilled the poisoned goat milk everywhere—that’s evidence. So they would have had to throw away the dish, and mop up the milk with the paper towels. They must have been sopping wet, it would have dripped and seeped into everything.” The conclusion these facts drew her to made her extremities feel cold and detached. “They weren’t trying to poison Mamó, they were trying to poisonRiddle.”
Riddle hissed quietly.
“Then the killer knew what he was and knew Riddle would have to be dealt with if they were going to perform the ritual. It would have had to be someone close, someone she trusted. Someone your grandmother would have invited in for tea.”
Saga’s heart plummeted. “God forgive me, what I wouldn’t do…”
“Pardon?”
Saga struggled to raise her voice above a hoarse whisper. “It was the last thing Elis said in his speech. I thought he was talking metaphorically, but maybe he was truly asking some higher power for forgiveness. If he went to see my grandmother under the guise of seeking comfort after Eira’s death… She’d have brought out that tea set. He would have brought goat milk becauseEiraalways brought goat milk. She wouldn’t have given a second thought before giving it to Riddle.”
“What about Valentina LaRosa? What was his connection there?”
“She worked in his mother’s house, he’d have extremely easy access to her.”
Avery clicked her tongue and rested an arm back on the chair behind her, still lounging on the floor as if posed. “Except she wasn’t living there when the ritual was performed. We know that happened in the apartment she used to share with Rachel.”
