Page 68 of The Billionaire's Wedding

Everyone in the room but Bert murmured or gasped.

Connor stared at him. “You’re saying he was poisoned?”

“Yup. And they’re saying you did it.” Bert rifled through some papers he pulled from his briefcase. “The report says his stomach contents had traces, and his blood had lethal levels.”

Connor’s face contorted first in pain, then rage. “Somebody murdered him.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“But why do they think Connor poisoned him?!” I blurted. “And how?!”

“At this point they’re not speculating on motive. But they think he poisoned him at dinner the other night. They examined your kitchen and found traces of cyanide in the garbage disposal and the trap in the dishwasher.”

“That’s impossible!” I cried out.

“It’s not just possible – it happened,” the lawyer said.

“If they’re saying he did it, why aren’t they charging me, too?” I asked.

“Don’t give ‘em any ideas.”

“Out of curiosity, when did they find those traces of cyanide?” Connor asked darkly.

“They served the warrant and conducted the search during the funeral, while you were all at the church. Did a field test onsite. As soon as they found the traces, they went forward with the arrest.”

“Of course.” Connor laughed bitterly. “Of course.”

Bert frowned. “Why ‘of course’?”

“She had it all planned out like clockwork. And of course she timed it so that I would be arrested and humiliated, to boot. She had the press waiting outside – probably had a photographer somewhere in the church, too. I’ll bet you ten million dollars there will be a shot on the front page of the New York Times tomorrow morning of the cops slapping cuffs on me.”

My heart sank. As soon as Connor said it, I knew he was right.

“I’m a little slow on the uptake here,” Bert said. “Who’s this ‘she’ you keep referring to?”

“Miranda Lockwood. My ex-fiancée, and now my sister-in-law.”

“Oh my God,” Sebastian whispered, and buried his head in his hands.

Johnny looked like he wanted to kill somebody.

“Huh,” Bert said. “Sounds like the sister-in-law from hell.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Connor said.

“If she supposedly killed your father at your place, and she hates you so much, why didn’t she just off you, too?”

Connor and I exchanged glances.

It was a good question.

“If I had to guess, it’s because she was afraid that killing me might cast suspicion on her. After all, I’ve been accusing her of the attempt on my life last year.” Connor grimaced. “Not to mention that if I’m dead, I can’t suffer. She wants me to know that she beat me. She wants to grind me into the ground, then make me have to live with it.”

“You got any proof for this wild theory?”

Connor shook his head. “Not at the moment, no.”

“We didn’t poison the food!” I protested. “The only people who could have were Marta or Vincenzo!”

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