Page 26 of Bourbon Girl: part 5 of 6
She disappeared before I could respond, leaving me gripping the sink and wondering if I'd imagined the kindness in her voice. Maybe she did have a heart beneath all that anger and resentment. Maybe our confrontation about the theft had cleared the air somehow.
She returned minutes later carrying a steaming mug. "Drink this. It's black cohosh tea that Teddy and I gathered from the woods. Works wonders for cramps and upset stomach."
I accepted the mug, touched by the gesture. "Thank you. Really."
"It's nothing." She leaned against the opposite sink. "I get bad periods too. This stuff helps."
The tea smelled earthy and slightly bitter, but I was desperate enough to try anything. I took a tentative sip, then another. It wasn't pleasant, but it was tolerable.
"Drink it all," Marilyn encouraged. "Works better if you get the full dose."
I drained the mug over the next few minutes, feeling the warmth spread through my stomach. Marilyn watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Then the pain hit.
The cramps intensified suddenly, viciously, like someone twisting a knife in my gut. I doubled over, gasping.
"Bernadette?" Marilyn's voice shifted to alarm. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't answer. My stomach churned violently and I barely made it to a toilet stall before vomiting. The retching was violent, uncontrollable. Between heaves, the cramping grew worse, spreading from my abdomen through my entire body.
"Oh God," I heard Marilyn say. "Oh no, oh no—"
"What did you—" I managed between convulsions. "What did you put—"
But the world was tilting, darkening at the edges. My legs gave out and I collapsed against the stall wall. Marilyn's face appeared above me, pale and frightened.
"Bernadette? Stay with me—"
But I couldn't.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed, an IV line snaking into my arm. Tracy Oney sat in a chair beside me, her face drawn with worry. Poppy stood near the window, hugging herself.
"Thank God," Tracy breathed when she saw my eyes open. "You're awake."
"What—" My throat felt raw. "What happened?"
"You were poisoned." Tracy took my hand gently. "They had to pump your stomach. Bernadette, you could've died."
The words didn't make sense. Poisoned?
"The tea," Poppy said, moving closer. "That tea Marilyn gave you—it wasn't black cohosh. It was doll's eye. It's poisonous."
Doll's eye. The name meant nothing to me.
"Marilyn feels absolutely terrible," Tracy continued. "She said she and Teddy gathered what they thought was black cohosh in the woods. The plants look similar, apparently. It was an honest mistake."
Was it? I closed my eyes, trying to remember Marilyn's expression when she'd handed me the mug. The way she'd watched me drink. The alarm in her voice when I'd started vomiting—had that been genuine surprise or guilty panic?
"How did I get here?" I asked.
"Marilyn called 911," Poppy said. "Stayed with you until the ambulance came."
But I couldn't shake the memory of our confrontation days earlier. The anger in Marilyn's eyes when I'd accused her of theft. The defiant middle finger.
"Where is she now?" I asked.
"At the campground, I think." Tracy squeezed my hand. "She wanted to come to the hospital, but the police needed to question her about where she got the plant."
