Page 108 of A Taste like Sin
“Your father is in serious condition,” the officer says. “It seems as if there may have been foul play
involved—”
“Foul play?” Panic sends sweat drenching my palms. “Like how?”
The man frowns and fishes something from his pocket. A notebook. Flipping it open to the first page,
he says, “Have you ever heard of a shrub called oleander? Do you know anyone who might keep it
potted or grow it?”
Grow…
It’s like my brain disconnects from my body. I can see the world drift in and out of focus, but I have
no control over my limbs. Trembling legs rob me of balance, and the man has to grab my arm, grunting
in concern.
“Ms. Thorne?” When I don’t answer, he adds, “We have reason to believe your father may have been
poisoned. If you have any information, we request that you make a formal statement…”
He says something else, but the words meld into a frantic hum, drowned out by my heartbeat. I can’t
even see him anymore, just white flowers tucked carefully within a small pot, proudly displayed on
my kitchen counter.
God, it’s like I can hear him.
Dulce niña,did you really believe I wanted more than the obvious?
You meant nothing to me…
Just a means to an end.
And I always get what I want from those with something I desire.
“JULIANA?”
I groan at the insistent voice—so distant yet so close, murmured inches from my ear. At least I think
so…
My brain is a sluggish collection of thoughts, barely discernible. Groaning again, I try to make sense
of anything. My body. My sanity. Gradually, I remember how to force my eyes open and the world
comes into focus via blurred, broken snippets glimpsed from behind heavy eyelids.
A room. White walls. A haggard, worried face wearing an expression so pained that it makes my
heart throb.
“Juliana,” the woman says, her blond hair framing her angular face and her sunken cheeks. Diane.
“Darling, can you hear me?”
