“She had her own blood tested secretly at a private lab in the city.”

“She hid these results where only someone who knew her habits could find them.”

Celeste took a slow step backward, her hand drifting toward her coat pocket.

“This is absurd,” Celeste scoffed, though her voice had lost its smooth, confident rhythm.

“A paranoid woman’s old medical charts prove nothing.”

“They prove she was murdered,” Alexander said, his voice shaking with a mixture of grief and sudden rage.

He looked at Celeste as if seeing her clearly for the very first time.

“And the person who poisoned her had access to our private medical cabinet.”

“We all had access,” Vivian chimed in, crossing her arms defensively. “This is ridiculous. I want to go back inside.”

“The house is on fire, Vivian,” Alexander snapped, not looking at her.

He turned back to the sergeant.

“I want a full investigation into these records immediately.”

“We will take them into evidence, Mr. Hawthorne,” the sergeant said, reaching for the folder.

“But we will need more than just an old lab report to connect it to anyone here.”