Page 67 of One of Us Is Guilty

‘How’re you feeling?’ he asked.

‘I’m pretty mad and I think I might have had a mild heart attack,’ I said.

He looked at me.

Amy smiled, and laughed for the first time that night. I felt better as soon as I heard that laughter. It was one of the best sounds in the world.

‘Actually, I was asking your daughter,’ said the doc.

‘He knew that. He was just trying to make me laugh,’ said Amy. ‘I feel a lot better, thank you.’

‘Good, well, your vital signs are all improving. Heart rate is way down, your temperature returning to normal. How’s the stomach?’ he asked, and took a pen flashlight from his pocket. He checked Amy’s eyes.

‘Feels weird, and sore, but not like I want to be sick.’

‘Good,’ said the doc.

‘Was it the food?’ asked Amy.

The doc looked at me. I nodded.

‘Amy, do you know what a roofie is?’ asked the doc.

‘What? Rohypnol?’

‘Not exactly in this case. But something similar. Thankfully, your body rejected the drugs quickly. If you hadn’t vomited so quickly after drinking it, things might have been a lot worse. You’ll have a headache soon, but we’re flushing your system and giving you everything that you need to make a full recovery. By tomorrow morning you’ll be feeling a lot—’

‘What the fuck is going on?’ shouted Christine as she burst through the curtain. I stepped aside and she grabbed Amy in a hug. She had been crying on the way here, I could tell.

The doc said, ‘Your daughter had her drink spiked. She’s well on her way to recovery. Your husband did everything right and she—’

‘He’s not my husband,’ said Christine.

Right on cue, Kevin came by the bed, out of breath and flushed from running.

‘She’s going to be fine,’ I said, and patted his shoulder.

‘Thank you, Eddie,’ said Kevin, and joined Christine and Amy in a hug.

I looked up at the ceiling, blew out a breath. I had been panicking too. I had tried not to show it, for Amy’s sake, but now that the emergency had passed I felt my heart rate beginning to drop.

My phone buzzed.

Text from Denise.

What’s going on? Is Amy okay?

I hadn’t had time to talk to Denise. Neither, I thought, had Harry.

Another text. This time she had sent me a link.

I clicked on it.

The link took me to X.

A photo of Amy, lying on the sidewalk outside the hotel, vomiting. And me kneeling beside her. But this wasn’t just a photo.

It was the picture from an article. I read the headline.