The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(39)

My throat went dry. I tried to swallow but it didn't help. "I'm so glad I'm not entirely predictable and dull," I quipped, hoping he couldn't see the heat in my cheeks and the desire in my eyes.

One side of his mouth kicked up. "You are anything but dull. I find you utterly fascinating."

Oh my. I tried to think of something witty to say but my mind went completely blank.

He opened the door, bringing his face even closer to mine. His breath ruffled my hair. "Goodnight, India."

"Goodnight, Matt. Sleep well."



Dr. Ritter refused to see us until Matt told him that his journalist friend would write a negative piece on the hospital's negligence in their treatment of Mrs. Oakshot.

"The power of the newspapers," Matt whispered to me as a nurse led us through to Dr. Ritter's office.

The office was twice the size of Dr. Hale's. His bookshelves were covered with books and journals, rather than medicine bottles, and a portrait of the queen looked down upon his bald head as he sat behind his desk.

He did not shake Matt's hand or welcome us, but he stood to greet us with his knuckles pressed to the desk surface. "Mrs. Oakshot's death was an unfortunate mistake committed by Dr. Hale," he said in a loud voice. "It's not the hospital's fault, and your friend should not report otherwise. Do you hear?"

"We only want to ask questions," Matt said. "If you agreed to see us we wouldn't have needed to resort to desperate measures."

"Is it that Barratt fellow from The Weekly Gazette? It wouldn't surprise me. He writes some liberal nonsense."

"Why did you tell Mr. Oakshot that Dr. Hale gave Mrs. Oakshot the incorrect dose of morphine?"

Dr. Ritter straightened slowly, the bluster gone from his manner. "I didn't tell him anything."

"You implied, so Mr. Oakshot claims."

"That discussion was private and none of your affair." He sat and studied the papers laid out on his desk. "Please leave. I'm busy."

"You had no right to tell him that," I said. "He was a grieving man, looking for someone to blame."

"And he found someone. No harm was done, Miss Steele."

"No harm! He is a suspect in the murder of Dr. Hale, and if he is found guilty, it is your fault. Can you live with yourself if his children become orphans?"

"Get out," he snarled.

Matt caught my elbow. Perhaps he was afraid I would leap across the desk and slap Dr. Ritter, or perhaps he simply didn't want to leave yet. "The thing is, Dr. Ritter, you are a suspect too."

"I beg your pardon!" he spluttered.

"You had access to Dr. Hale's bottle of Cure-All, you're a doctor so have knowledge of medicines and poisons, and you argued with Dr. Hale before his death."

"I did not argue with him, I dismissed him from his position. He accepted my decision."

"Did he?" Matt said. "Or did he threaten you, and you realized you needed to silence him?"

"Threaten me with what?"

Matt shrugged. "I'm sure he could find something that the newspapers would be interested to report on."

Dr. Ritter's lips pressed together so hard they turned white. "Get. Out!"

Matt steered me toward the door and we exited in a hurry.

"We didn't learn anything," I said, "but I do feel better. He ought to know the damage he has potentially caused by telling Mr. Oakshot about Dr. Hale's incompetence."

"I agree," Matt said. "Dr. Wiley!" he called as the doctor entered the corridor ahead. "May we have a word?"

Dr. Wiley glanced past us, then behind him. He looked as if he wanted to turn and walk off, but he remained. He even managed a tentative smile.

"It's Miss Steele and Mr. Glass, isn't it?" he said. "Are you here for medical reasons?"

"Nothing like that," Matt said. "We're helping the police with their investigation into Dr. Hale's death." Matt made it sound as if we were doing it officially. The changed tactic worked better than the previous one. Dr. Wiley didn't argue and nor did he try to escape.

"You want to question me further?" He grasped his clipboard to his chest. "Detective Inspector Brockwell has already questioned me thoroughly. I don't have anything more to add." A nurse bustled past and he watched her until she was out of earshot then he leaned toward us. "I had nothing to do with Hale's death. I'm not even convinced it was murder. He probably did it to himself."

"Why would he do that?" Matt asked.

"Out of guilt for his part in a patient's death, or shame for losing his job here. Or, if you are looking for someone else to blame, you should investigate the widower of that patient, a Mr. Oakshot. He was extremely aggressive toward Dr. Hale after his wife's death." He held up a finger. "I've just thought of another who was angry with Hale."

"Who?" I asked.

"A fellow by the name of Clark from the Apothecary's Guild."

I sucked in a breath. Murder and magic seemed to always lead to the guilds. "But Dr. Hale was no longer a part of that guild," I said. "He wasn't a practicing apothecary anymore."

"Nevertheless, Mr. Clark was here not long after you that day, as it happens. He spoke to Hale in his office and did not look at all happy when he came out. One of the nurses heard raised voices but couldn't hear the actual exchange."