My breath stumbled. My hands shook so violently that the posters rattled as if caught in a breeze. I knelt and picked up a smaller envelope tucked between the stacks. Inside it lay a printed medical statement from a private clinic in Lakeshore District. At the bottom were the doctor’s signature and seal.
The cause of death was listed as cardiac arrest from foodborne toxins. The time of death noted on the page read 9:45 PM.
I glanced at the clock on my phone. It was just after four.
Pieces fell into place so sharply that I felt my stomach twist. I remembered the “special dish” Brandt had insisted on preparing himself. I remembered how he had told the head chef, “This part is only for my wife. No one else should touch it.” I remembered the way he had smiled at me last night. Something like triumph flickered in that smile. I had dismissed it as affection.
It was not affection.