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There came a male shriek from the crowd ahead, following by a chorus of laughter. One of the brusque guests had been spooked by the appearance of a juggler. The other entertainers came ambling and aerobating out from behind the trees. They passed through the group, capering on the lit path, before slipping back into the darkness.
Arriving at the beach before everyone else, I trailed over to the pergola where the bar was fully stocked and waitstaff stationed in attendance. Guards prowled in the background, but their ever-watchful presence was more of a nuisance than an actual interruption. I would be able to work without attracting their attention. Behind me, down toward the water, was a makeshift stage designed by a local university’s theater department. The acrobats were already waiting in the wings for their cue. Their performances would go in such a way that our guests could sit and enjoy at their leisure, but they could also go and lounge around bonfires and chat or sit up at the bistro tables under the twinkling lights of the pergola. But right now, before the acrobats ambled onto the stage, the university actors began a poignant scene from Shakespeare’s Henry V to greet our guests. They filed down to listen, drawn in by the powerful energy of the oration. It was such a damn personal touch, even I stole a moment to be impressed with myself.
But as the guests drew close to the stage, I held back, my reflexes heightened. This was it. It was time to arrange the final details of my husband’s demise. My target listened, enraptured as the rest, to the timeless beauty of the Bard.
With a nod from me, the waitstaff brought around trays of drinks. I took a deep breath, willing this first step to work. As the waiter in mottled forest green approached the butcher, my heart rate sped up. Without looking away from the stage, my husband took a scotch. It was his first drink of the night. I let out a breath of relief. It hadn’t seemed like Drakos was going to consume alcohol tonight. He’d carefully stuck to water all throughout dinner, but I needed him to drink something else if he wasn’t going to notice the slight tang of the poison. The fact that he was drinking now made me hope that he was more relaxed, that he was enjoying himself.
I wasted no time stepping to the bar to order two beverages. As King Henry exhorted his men to fight to the last and the stage went dark, a cheer rang out from our guests. I took the drinks and crossed the shadowy area to the group. My hands didn’t shake as I slipped the liquid from my pendant into the tumbler. At one of the bonfires, I stopped near Jason.
The real estate agent looked up. The flames were reflected in his blurred eyes. “No hard feelings, Mrs. Drakos?”
“Absolutely none,” I said cheerfully. “My husband is slightly possessive, that’s all.”
Jason nodded and trained his gaze back to the flames.
“Here, why don’t you take my drink and this second one down to Constantine. My husband’s glass is almost empty, and you can mend bridges.” I offered him the untainted one first. “Seriously, drink this. You’ll feel better.”
He took the tumbler and sipped. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” I breathed as our hands met and the poisoned Scotch changed hands.
Jason turned and wandered toward Drakos. The pig who’d insulted my father was stinking drunk; he wavered on his feet but managed to cross the distance. I lingered to watch him make contact, but before the real estate agent could hand over the poisoned glass, I turned sharply. My stomach was churning, and the little dinner I’d managed to consume was threatening to come back up. I stumbled toward the sea, the sand bogging me down.
I moved far enough away that retching into the waves wasn’t visible from where the guests all mingled. The foul acid burned my throat, but the contents of my stomach spewed into the waves. I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth after I was done and stared out to sea.
It was done. I had to face the consequences.This is what I want.
Gathering my courage, I turned to watch the final moments of my action unfold. This was the culmination of all my work. As a hardened weapon, I should be able to soak in the victory of my laborious efforts.
My heart lurched and an odd emotion flickered in my chest as I looked at my husband. Except—Drakos didn’t have a glass. And Jason, who’d finished the first glass, was now drinking the second. Horror quickly replaced that first emotion, which I didn’t spend any time trying to analyze.
At that moment, the sky lit up behind me and the thunderous percussion of rockets flew off their platform. The fireworks were my own trumpeted fanfare. This was supposed to be my moment of victory. Instead, failure seeped from every pore.
Jason slung back the last drops of the poisoned glass. No.No!
I panicked. We couldn’t kill a guest. It was supposed to be a guest who poisoned my husband. That was why I’d plied Jason with booze all night and provoked an altercation. “Shit!”
Drakos chose that moment to slide his gaze to mine. He couldn’t hear me, and I was surprised he knew I’d come down to the water’s edge. I offered him a weak smile and gestured to the sky. The corner of that sensual mouth quirked up, and he made to leave the conversation with his real estate agent.
Instead, Jason vomited all over the sand at Drakos’s feet, before dropping on all fours and shaking violently.
