20 The Delicate Art of Poisoning

Lily’s breath came out sharp and fast as she finished her story. She could still feel the belladonna wrapped around her fingers, leaving little lines of red after she’d yanked it out of the ground. Petals had stained her skin. Juice from the berries had slid under her fingernails, making her terrified of biting her nails in the days to come. She’d washed her hands over and over.

But the fear had remained.

Now, as she looked up to find Raven gaping at her, she tucked those hands into her lap. She was wearing her gloves. She’d been wearing them for days, so no one would notice that she’d scrubbed her hands raw. She should’ve worn gloves the night of the murder, but she’d never intended for her mother to get hurt.

“I got to the house around ten o’clock,” Lily explained, and Raven’s brow furrowed. Jack cautiously joined them on the bed. “I sat in a chair and dropped the belladonna on the kitchen table. She found me like that on the way to her nighttime shower. Her hair was pinned in curls and she was wearing her white silk robe. Everything was exactly like it had been three years earlier, including the teakettle on the stove. I could’ve stuffed the flowers into it while the water was coming to a boil.”

Raven winced, and Jack reached for his hand. But neither of them spoke, because they’d waited too long to hear this story.

“She almost screamed when she saw me,” Lily confessed, and it had hurt to see her mother react like that. As if Lily were a ghost risen from the grave. Or a killer, broken free from an asylum. “She went for the phone immediately, and she’d dialed the facility’s number by the time I spoke. I only said two words: I wouldn’t.…”

“Did she hang up the phone?” Raven asked in a whisper-soft voice.

“She put it back in the cradle,” Lily said, remembering the sound of the click. Her mother had listened to her. Her mother had been scared. “She came and sat at the table, glaring at the flowers like I’d brought her a clump of weeds. But that disgust turned into horror when I told her about our plan to murder her. I described the blossoms we were going to weave into our garlands. The kitchen table, strewn with petals. By the time I’d finished, my mother was white as her roses. That’s when I plucked a berry from the belladonna and dropped it into her empty cup. I told her that I was going to move in with my dad, and if she tried to stop me—”

“You’d poison her,” Jack said, and Lily nodded.