Chapter 3 - THE BLUE BOTTLE
“Tell me exactly what your sister meant.”
Adrian had risen from his chair before Maren finished reading the message.
“I don't know.”
“Then why would she write it?”
“Because something frightened her enough to leave a warning where someone might eventually find it.”
Adrian took the photograph.
For eight months, he had accepted every medical explanation placed before him.
His daughter's silence.
Her exhaustion.
The evenings when she seemed too tired to recognize the music she once loved.
Doctors called it trauma.
Others called it adjustment.
He had called it grief.
Now a dead woman's handwriting was asking him to reconsider.
Adrian pressed the intercom.
“Mrs. Pike. Bring Iris's medication records to my study.”
Maren stopped him.
“Please don't accuse anyone yet.”
“Why?”
“Because if my sister was right, whoever ignored her may still be close to Iris.”
Adrian lowered his hand.
He understood.
Unfortunately, so did someone standing outside the study.
Celia Ward entered without knocking.
At twenty-nine, Adrian's fiancée had the practiced elegance of a woman raised among important families.
She wore the champagne-colored dress from the ballroom.
“I heard you asking for medication records,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
Adrian held up the photograph.
“Do you remember Tess Ashby?”
Celia's expression remained composed.
“The rehabilitation aide?”
“Yes.”
“Of course. Terrible situation.”
Maren looked directly at her.
“What situation?”
Celia's eyes moved to the bracelet on Maren's wrist.
Recognition flashed across her face.
Then something colder.
“Tess was dismissed after medication disappeared from the clinic,” Celia explained. “Adrian, we discussed this.”
“You told me she resigned.”
“I was trying to spare you another unpleasant detail.”
Maren stepped forward.
“My sister died with that accusation hanging over her.”
Celia's expression softened.
“I am sorry for your loss.”
But she did not ask another question about Tess.
Instead, she turned to Adrian.
“Are we seriously reopening an old personnel dispute because the maid entertained Iris for five minutes?”
“She made Iris laugh,” Adrian said.
“And I'm grateful. But that doesn't make her a medical expert.”
Maren swallowed her anger.
“No, ma'am. It doesn't.”
Mrs. Pike arrived carrying a leather medication binder.
Celia reached for it.
Adrian took it first.
He examined the latest instructions.
“Why does Iris receive something every evening at six?”
Celia folded her hands.
“Her neurologist recommended medication to manage her discomfort and anxiety.”
“Which neurologist?”
“Dr. Voss.”
Adrian looked at the paperwork.
“I want to speak to him.”
Celia's smile tightened.
“Certainly. Tomorrow.”
After she left, Adrian turned toward Maren.
“You have twenty-four hours to decide whether you want the job.”
Maren shook her head.
“I already know.”
“And?”
“I want to ask Iris.”
The following morning, Maren entered the sunroom.
Iris sat beside the windows, wearing a lavender sweater and her silver leg brace.
A yellow ribbon was tied around the armrest of her wheelchair.
“Princess,” Maren said, kneeling. “Would you like some company?”
Iris smiled.
“Can we do the fingers?”
“Of course.”
They danced with their hands.
The pinky bowed.
The pointing finger spun.
The thumb became a terribly serious prince.
Then Iris stopped.
“Tess did that.”
Maren froze.
“What did you say, sweetheart?”
“The yellow dress.”
Iris pointed toward the ribbon.
“Tess made up stories. She tied this here.”
Maren swallowed.
“Do you remember Tess?”
“She had pretty bracelets.”
Iris studied Maren's wrist.
“Like yours.”
Maren felt tears pressing behind her eyes.
“Yes, honey. Exactly like mine.”
Iris reached for her hand.
“Tess said I could still have happy days.”
Maren squeezed her fingers.
“She was right.”
Iris lowered her voice.
“But sometimes my medicine makes the happy days sleepy.”
Maren kept her face calm.
“Does it make you uncomfortable?”
Iris nodded.
“My head gets fuzzy.”
“Have you told your daddy?”
“Aunt Celia says it's helping.”
Maren did not criticize Celia.
Instead, she asked permission to write down what Iris had said, so her father and doctor could understand.
Iris agreed.
At six that evening, Maren accompanied Mrs. Pike to the upstairs medication room.
The housekeeper opened a cabinet.
Inside stood several prescription bottles.
And in the center, beneath a handwritten dosing chart, was a small blue bottle.
Maren read the pharmacy label.
Then she read the chart beside it.
The instructions did not match.
The bottle called for one evening dose.
The household chart instructed staff to administer another dose later.
Maren pointed.
“Mrs. Pike, who changed this?”
The older woman's face drained of color.
“I was told the doctor approved it.”
“Who told you?”
Mrs. Pike looked toward the corridor.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“Miss Ward brought the new instructions herself.”
