Chapter 1

My oldest brother's rich fiancée — the one in the wheelchair — drank a cup of the calming herbal tea I'd brewed, then died in the guest room with blood seeping from her eyes, nose, and mouth.

The medical examiner found a high concentration of poison residue in the tea leaves, and the police pinned me down hard against the cold tile floor.

I thought my parents, who'd always doted on me, would fight to defend me.

Instead, my mom stared down at the body on the floor, let out a long breath, and burst into tears of joy. “Thank God! Officer, well done! Lock this lunatic up right now!”

My dad was even worse — shaking all over with excitement, his face wild with glee as he rushed over and screamed, “It was her! She did it! Take her away!”

Six feet away, Claire— my brother's bride-to-be — lay under a white sheet.

Black blood seeped out from the edges, mixing with the spilled calming tea, giving off a sharp, rotten stench.

A cop had my arms twisted behind my back, the side of my face pressed hard against the cold tile. I strained my neck, looking toward my parents standing a short distance away.

“Dad, Mom… have you lost your minds? What are you talking about?”

I twisted toward my mom. “Mom, explain it to the police! You mixed that herbal tea yourself. I was out in the yard chopping wood the whole time — I never even set foot in the kitchen!”

I thought she would clear my name.

Instead, she suddenly dropped to her knees with a thud, kneeling bolt upright in front of the officer in charge.

“Oh God, oh God! What a disgrace to this family, what a disgrace!”

My mom slapped both hands against her thighs, sobbing until her voice went hoarse, snot and tears running down her face. She beat her chest and clawed at the cop's pant leg. “Officer, it's my fault! Every bit of it is my fault, as her mother! Arrest me instead — I didn't keep an eye on this crazy girl, and now she's killed my poor daughter-in-law!”

I froze completely.

Before my brain could catch up, the woman who'd been wailing on the floor a second ago shot to her feet and crossed to me in two strides.

Crack!

A hard slap landed full across my face.

My head snapped sideways, the corner of my mouth split open, my whole mouth filling with the taste of iron.

“You little wretch! Still lying with death staring you in the face!” My mom jabbed a finger at my nose, spit flying across my face. “Yes, I brewed the tea — but I went out back to take in the laundry, and you took your chance to dump poison into the pot! Claire couldn't walk well, but she was always generous with you. No matter how sick in the head you are, how could you do something this vicious?”

My ears were ringing.

That tea had been simmering on the stove for two full hours. She'd been sitting on a little stool right in front of it the whole time, peeling garlic — she never moved an inch!

“Mom, why are you lying?” My voice was shaking, the tears breaking loose. “You poured that tea out yourself and handed it straight to me!”

“You dare talk back!”

My dad rushed over and kicked me hard in the shoulder.

I sucked in a sharp breath of pain and curled up on the floor, dry-heaving.

Before I could recover, my dad pulled a folded sheet of paper from an inner pocket against his chest and handed it respectfully to the officer in charge.

“Officer, don't listen to her nonsense. This girl had a breakdown when she was fifteen, and her head's been wrong ever since — severe mania and persecution delusions.”

He pointed at me, grinding his teeth, as if I weren't his daughter but some mortal enemy. “She's been off her meds for half a month. Almost thirty and no boyfriend, sitting at home all day glaring at everyone. Yesterday Claire just said the floor wasn't swept clean, and today the madness took her and she poisoned somebody!”

My mouth hung open. I forgot to argue back.

I'd worked an honest job at the packaging plant in this town for eight years, clocking out on time every day to go home, cook, and do the housework. When had I ever taken psychiatric medication?

“I'm not sick! I'm not sick at all!” I knelt on the floor, shouting at the police. “That paper is fake! Go ask the packaging plant — go check! I never touched any poison!”

The officer in charge ignored me. He took the paper from my dad, glanced at it, and his face darkened further.

“Jane Hayes, save your breath. We go by evidence.” He cut me off coldly.

He turned aside, and a younger officer behind him stepped forward holding a clear evidence bag. Inside was a torn-open pink packet.

“Five minutes ago, we found this empty packet in a shoebox under your bed.” The officer looked down at me. “Your fingerprints are the only ones on it.”

I stared at the bag, stunned. “Impossible… that's impossible…”

“And there's this.” The officer pointed at my right pocket. “Initial testing shows a high concentration of poison residue around the edge of your right jacket pocket. We have witnesses, we have evidence. Take her away.”

Two officers grabbed my arms and hauled me up off the floor.

I looked down at my pocket.

Around the edge of the right pocket, there really was a faint trace of pink.

An image suddenly flashed through my head. That morning, my mom had carried the steaming bowl of “medicine” toward me, and as she pressed it into my hands she stumbled, her whole body bumping into me, her hand clawing hard at my right pocket.

She'd said over and over it was nothing, then hurried me along. “Go on, take it to your sister-in-law while it's hot — the medicine won't work as well once it cools.”

Staring at that smear of pink, a wave of nausea rose in me.

Outside, tires screeched in the yard.

“What's going on? What happened to Claire?”

My oldest brother Leo's voice exploded from beyond the gate, and the yard door was shoved open. Leo, my aunt, my uncle, and my younger brother Max — a whole crowd of them, eyes red, came pouring into the yard.