MY HUSBAND'S MISTRESS SECRETLY DROPPED AN ILLEGAL DRUG INTO MY WINE, AND I CAUGHT HER IN THE ACT. SHE EVEN LAUGHED, "RELAX, SIS YOU CAN'T DRINK!" I GRABBED HER HAIR AND FORCED HER TO FINISH IT ALL, LEAVING MY HUSBAND FROZEN IN SHOCK.

The grandfather clock in the foyer ticked with heavy, measured strokes. The sound was deafening against the sudden, brittle silence of the dining room.

On the floor, Vanessa was on her knees, clutching her throat. Her designer dress was soaked in deep red wine, clinging to her chest like fresh blood. Her breath hitched in ragged, wet gasps. Whatever she had tipped into that crystal glass was already burning through her system.

"You're crazy," Daniel stammered, stepping backward instead of forward. His eyes darted between me, the shattered glass, and his wheezing mistress. "Claire, you... you just assaulted her. That’s assault. Do you realize what you’ve done?"

"I know the penal code better than you know your own balance sheets, Daniel," I said evenly.

My voice didn’t tremble. It was the same ice-cold cadence I had used for seven years inside courtroom 402 of the County Superior Court, tearing through defense witnesses who thought charm could hide perjury.

I did not touch the shattered crystal. I did not touch the silver spoon resting on the mahogany table.

Instead, I reached into my purse, pulled out a pair of latex gloves I kept in my emergency kit, and snapped them onto my hands.

Daniel stared at my hands as if they were weapons. "What are you doing? Call an ambulance! Look at her!"

"An ambulance is already required by protocol," I said, pulling my phone out with gloved fingers. But I didn't dial 911 through the standard dispatch queue. I dialed an unlisted direct line.

"Miller," a voice answered after two rings.

"Detective Miller. It’s Claire Holloway."

A pause on the line. Marcus Miller had worked thirty homicide and felony narcotics cases with me before I retired to play the dutiful suburban wife. "Claire? Everything alright?"

"I have an attempted poisoning in progress at my residence. Perpetrators are present. Evidence is uncompromised on the dining room table: residue packet, mixing utensil, and broken stemware. The suspect consumed a small portion of the contaminated liquid herself. Dispatch an ambulance and a narcotics forensics unit immediately. Log it as an active crime scene."

"On our way. Ten minutes."

I clicked off the call and set the phone down on speaker, screen up.

Vanessa lifted her head. Her pupils were dilated to the edges of her irises, and beads of cold sweat covered her forehead. "You... you bitch," she slurred, her tongue already thickening. "Daniel... tell her... tell her to help me..."

Daniel’s face had drained of every drop of color. "Claire, stop this. We can handle this privately. She made a mistake—it was a joke! A prank!"

"A prank?" I walked slowly around the dining table, stopping inches from the tiny, discarded plastic glassine envelope sitting beside the vintage Cabernet. The edge was stamped with a faint, blue insignia—a skull and crossbones commonly used by underground distributors of synthetic GHB and fentanyl derivatives. "You don't buy pharmaceutical-grade depressants off the street for a prank, Daniel."

"Claire, listen to me," Daniel pleaded, stepping toward me with his palms raised. "If the police come here, my promotion at Sterling & Croft is dead. The partners are already reviewing my background check tonight. This will ruin me!"