"Let me through," I begged the people I was elbowing past, darting my head all around to find Arch. The first thing I saw was the jar of Postum on the coffee table. Let him not be hurt. Let him not be in pain. The guttural groan of agony did not quit. It was too deep for a child.

I gasped and pleaded to be let through, then at the front of the crowd asked, "What is it?"

Fritz Korman was on the floor. His large frame was writhing on the blue rug. He was holding his stomach. Horror and distress surged through me - Fritz was family, or had been. And he was in terrible agony.

"Get back, get back!" my ex-husband was yelling above the general buzz and the groaning from Fritz, which continued unabated. John Richard was waving his hands to move people away from around Fritz, who was now curled up on his side like a fetus. Arch was tugging on my apron. I clutched him to me.

"What is going on?" I asked into the general melee. John Richard started screaming as soon as he saw me.

"You did this, you bitch! You poisoned my father! Did you mean it for me and then do him by mistake?"

I could feel my mouth come open, my head shake from side to side.

John Richard shrieked, "You did it, and I'm going to have you nailed!"

-4-

At first, I thought some kind of shock had made John Richard accuse me. But after his outburst, he turned his back and refused even to acknowledge my presence. What was worse, debonair, ever-in-control Fritz was not getting any better. All around, people were turning their heads away and murmuring. Someone was phoning for help; others were applying damp cloths and asking questions. Was it the mayonnaise, the cream, the fish? There was nothing for me to do. That was a good thing, since I couldn't have done anything anyway. I felt terrible, and dizzy with a vague sense of guilt... Did Fritz have a food allergy, too?

I herded Arch back to the kitchen, found the pack of Kools, and smoked one after another until Patty Sue came out and said Fritz was on his way to the hospital. She added, hesitantly, that John Richard had called the police and they were coming over. Now that my ex-husband had left, I went into the other room. That he would call the police was incredible. What could he possibly have told them? Was he even remotely convincing? Would they believe that I was trying to poison anyone? I, who had, earlier in the afternoon, tried to keep an abusive ex-husband from suffering an allergic reaction to tomatoes? Would they believe-me, a caterer? Or would they believe him; a doctor?

I wondered what the food would be like in jail.