Marion Lennox: Prescription-One Husband

‘I…I need to go to Sam,’ she said unsteadily, lifting her veil back from her face and gathering her train over her arm.

‘I don’t think your beloved wants you.’ Quinn grimaced. He motioned to Sam’s heaving back in the distance. ‘I think he wants a little privacy at the moment. You might come in useful later but it’s too soon for your Sam to need more than someone to hold a basin. And you don’t have a basin,’ he added helpfully.

‘But what…?’

What was causing it?

‘I have no idea,’ Quinn said slowly, reading her thoughts. ‘But we should find out. Let’s assume we’re not dealing with some deadly strain of the dreaded Bridal Fever-or Wedding Day Plague-and take the most obvious plot. We assume these people have eaten something bad. The normal onset of symptoms after bad food is four hours. What were they eating four hours ago? What were half your wedding guests eating four hours ago, Dr Rycroft?’

‘L-lunch, I guess…’ Fern frowned, deep in thought. She and Quinn Gallagher were standing on the top church step, and they were alone. The photographer employed to take pictures of the newly married Fern and Sam was wandering from one group of distressed people to another. The photographer had the look of a man who’d been slapped over the head with a wet fish. He looked how Fern felt.

Uncle Al was hovering anxiously over Aunt Maud by the car. Maudie was bent double.

‘Lunch,’ Quinn Gallagher repeated slowly. ‘You’ll have to be more specific than that.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s five o’clock now. Did you have lunch at one?’

‘Y-yes.’

‘Then that’s four hours ago. The right amount of time for-the standard reaction to dubious food. Did people eat lunch together?’

Fern made her bewildered mind concentrate. ‘I…Yes. Aunt Maudie put on lunch. It was supposed to be for a few relatives from the mainland but it turned out huge. Most of the island was there.’

‘And what did you have?’

‘I…’ Fern shook her head. ‘I can’t remember. For heaven’s sake, I was so darned nervous I couldn’t eat a thing.’

‘Lucky you,’ Quinn said drily. ‘That’s why you’re not getting rid of it like your Sam. But I’m not asking what you had for lunch, Dr Rycroft. I’m asking what these people had. Let’s stop playing the nervous bride for a moment, shall we, and start acting like the doctor you’re supposed to be.’

The voice was suddenly hard and businesslike-all trace of laughter gone. It was like a douche of cold water and it had its effect.

Fern’s mind stopped turning in meaningless circles and concentrated. Absently she pulled the net veil from her head and ran her hand through her close-cropped curls as she thought.

Medicine first. Her training slid back into its rightful niche and took over.

‘Sandwiches,’ she said firmly. ‘My aunt and I and a couple of neighbours made them this morning. And a huge vat of vegetable soup.’

‘What was in the sandwiches?’

It was a crazy conversation. To be standing on the step of the church, still dressed in bridal white, with the wrong man standing by her side demanding to know what was in sandwiches! Fern blinked.

‘Ordinary. Ham, egg, salad, Vegemite…Different fillings.’

‘Sounds like gastronomic heaven,’ Quinn said drily, the smile lurking once again. ‘But hardly dangerous. And the vegetable soup?’

‘Aunt and I made it last night. Everything was fresh. It can’t have made people ill.’

‘Well, something did.’ The smile faded and Quinn’s eyes snapped into demanding professionalism. ‘Come on, lady. You were there and I wasn’t. If this isn’t food poisoning then we have something potentially more serious on our hands and we may need reinforcements. Can you assure me that was all that was eaten?’

‘Yes!’ Fern’s voice was practically a wail. ‘There was nothing…’

And then she stopped dead.

Lizzy…

Lizzy Hurst arriving just as the soup was being served. Apologising for being late. Kissing Sam’s crimson cheek and wishing him all the best. Saying that she hadn’t been able to afford a gift but she’d made something special for lunch-just to help in her small way to make Sam’s wedding day truly memorable. And carrying in her arms loaded trays of hors d’oeuvres.

Oysters, gathered fresh that morning, Lizzy had said, but to make them special she’d topped them with grilled, melted cheese and slivers of bacon. Hot from Lizzy’s oven. They’d been eaten in a flash and Lizzy had smiled sweetly and said, ‘See you in church.’

And Lizzy’s triumphant smile as she’d slipped out of the church.

‘It’ll be the oysters,’ Fern whispered. ‘I’ll bet…’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Fern took a deep breath. She found that she was trembling. Poor Sam. He hadn’t wanted to come home for fear of Lizzy’s reaction and he’d been almost pathetically grateful when she’d seemed gracious. And now…

She glanced over at Sam’s still-heaving shoulders. Their wedding was in ruins. Because of one malicious stunt.

‘We had oysters as hors d’oeuvres,’ Fern said unsteadily. ‘I think…I guess they’ll have been made with oysters that were off. They had garlic and herbs and bacon and cheese grilled on top. That would have disguised the fact that they were bad. A lot of people were commenting that there was so much stuff on them that you could hardly taste the oysters.’

Quinn’s brows snapped together. ‘Where did they come from?’

‘From Lizzy Hurst,’ Fern whispered miserably. ‘She’s…she’s a local fisherman.’

‘But if she’s a fisherman she’ll know not to serve bad oysters. She’ll have known…’

‘Yes.’

Quinn’s face grew more and more incredulous. ‘Are you saying this could be deliberate?’

Fern nodded. She felt like weeping. ‘I’m almost sure it is.’

‘But…’ Quinn’s mind was racing and it showed. ‘If it’s deliberate…If you believe that’s possible then how do you know she didn’t just add poison? Dr Rycroft, we could have a major emergency here…’

‘Lizzy’s not that stupid-or that bad.’ Fern put her hand to her cheeks in a gesture of distress. ‘Look, I know this sounds dreadful and I probably can’t prove a thing. But Sam-my fiané-lived next door to Lizzy Hurst all the time he and Lizzy were kids. Lizzy adored him. She always assumed they’d marry.

‘Well, at seventeen, Sam decided he wanted to leave the island and be a lawyer. He didn’t want Lizzy. Lizzy hit the roof. She did all sorts of crazy things. Every time he’s come back she’s made his visits miserable-even though he’s been gone now for over ten years.’

‘So you believe…’ Quinn Gallagher let out his breath on a long, slow whistle. ‘You believe this is a deliberate attempt at sabotage?’

‘Lizzy has an oyster lease south of the island. She knows everything there is to know about oysters. She’ll know just when they start to turn-and she’ll know we won’t be able to prove a thing.’

Quinn gazed round.

‘The photographer’s not ill,’ he said. ‘Was he…?’

‘He wasn’t at lunch.’

‘Your uncle?’

‘He hates oysters.’

‘And you?’

‘I was too nervous to eat anything.’

‘OK, it fits,’ Quinn said decisively, and Fern had a sudden image of him in Casualty Department, complete with white coat and stethoscope. She found the image strong, competent and strangely comforting. ‘But we need to find Lizzy and confirm it.’

‘I guess…’ Fern looked doubtfully over the scattering groups of guests. They were nearly all gone now-taken to their cars and bolting like rabbits to the privacy of their own homes.