Eli Kane stepped out into the glow from one of the parking lot lights, holding a box and a takeout bag. He lifted it up like a white flag. "Pizza and knots," he said.

We met out here, close to my home, in order not to attract unwanted attention. For what he was about to share with me, we needed absolute privacy. He was wearing flared tartan pants and a bright purple sweater with little green-and-yellow dinosaurs marching across his chest. Only Eli could rock such an outfit.

I tightened the scarf around my neck. The Gaffney summer evening air was notoriously chill, despite the warm days. "What are the pizza and the knots for?"

He smiled with only half his mouth. "I think you know."

"Still would be nice to hear you say it."

"I'm sorry." He scratched his neck, inside his own scarf. "I should have told you I was planning to buy a ticket to Montreal, to visit. Also, I've never been good at saying I'm sorry. To anyone."

"That's one of the many things we have in common." I gulped. "I'm sorry about snapping at you last night. And... about not trusting you."

Not trusting you about the tox screen, I thought, and about everything else. Even if the sting of the cold lingered in my bones, I still felt a ghost of Eli's mouth, warm on mine. I couldn't believe I thought he killed Victor. I had known Eli for my entire life and he just wouldn't be capable of murder.

"So should we shake on it?" He smiled.

I accepted his outstretched hand. Mine was lily white, blue veins peeking through the skin. His was tanned and calloused from his guitar. "Eli..."

I was not sure what to say. The emotional connection between us was not gone, despite the fact so many years had passed. It flared up in unexpected moments—a shared glance, a familiar laugh—reminding us of the warmth that still resided beneath the surface. We felt love, as any human did. But we were afraid of it. Or, better yet, I was afraid of it, because I associated powerful emotions with him.

This fragile connection, this... hesitant step toward something more with Eli, felt terrifyingly like a trust fall. I was standing on the edge, my back to him, the chasm of the unknown yawning beneath. There was a part of me that desperately wanted to lean back, to believe he would catch me. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to lean back, to believe that I would catch him. That this time, the fall wouldn't end in pain for either of us. The years had softened some of the sharp edges of the past, and there was a tantalizing possibility of a different outcome. But the ingrained fear was a powerful deterrent. Leaning back required a leap of faith I was not sure I was ready for. What if Eli was not strong enough to hold me? What if my own baggage, my ingrained fear of intimacy, made me too heavy to bear? No one could promise a tomorrow to anyone. No one could promise a forever.

"We'll work it out," he said, simply. "Even when there had been conflict between us, it was like this... tangled knot of anger that we would always eventually solve. Because we knew, Rhi, that anger festers on the inside. It scares away the beautiful feelings and leaves only the destructive ones."

"Look," I said. "If you do come to Montreal... you can stay as long as you want. You can have the spare room. It's not much, but it's a place to land. And if you're serious about looking for work... I can put in a good word for you at some of the labs. It might not be glamorous, but it's a start. And if... if things don't work out between us, Eli, you can always come back to Gaffney. You have a life here, a home. It won't hurt to try, will it?" The words felt like a small, fragile offering.

He reached for my hand, his touch warm and familiar. "No," he said, his thumb stroking my knuckles gently. "It won't." A sliver of the tension in my chest eased. Maybe... just maybe, this leap of faith wouldn't end up in a fall after all.

"So," I said, needing to shift the conversation to something more concrete, something that felt less like teetering on the edge of a cliff. "The tox screen. What did it say?"

His grip on my hand tightened. "You were right, Rhiannon. You were right all along. The lab results came back positive. There was a powerful toxin detected in the hair sample. Your father was poisoned."

I knew it! I had overheard enough of Mom's crappy true-crime podcasts to know to ask all the right questions. The gears in my brain were turning a mile a minute. Was it something subtle? Something easily disguised? Was it a one-time massive dose or something administered over time?

I took a generous bite of my yummy pizza. "Was it a very high concentration?"

"Yeah." He nodded, and I could see his brain working too. "What are you thinking? A large, recent dose? Just hours before he died?"

I still remembered the piercing sound of the house phone waking me up. When I rolled over and looked at the time on my cable box, it was 3:15 AM.

"It was almost dawn when Mom called to tell me Victor had passed. It seemed really sudden to them, and the doctor said it was liver failure. So, it had to be the toxin that caused it!"

"Our lab used some pretty advanced techniques," Eli said, handing me the paper. "LC-MS/MS."

Liquid chromatography-mass spectrometry? That was advanced.

"What specific chemical compounds did the tox screen find?" I eagerly scanned the results, and my eyes landed on two in particular. "Alpha-amanitin and beta-amanitin?"

"Oh?" Eli leaned over my shoulder, peeking into the report.

"I mean, they are amatoxins, aren't they? Found in certain species of..."

"Poisonous mushrooms!" we yelled at the same time.

"It makes sense." Eli paced around the parking lot. "Amatoxin poisoning typically has a delayed onset of severe symptoms. They would appear around six to twenty-four hours after ingestion."

"So, it's safe to say he ate something with mushrooms in it? Maybe for lunch, or dinner last Thursday?"

"Definitely." He nodded. "Then the delayed effect set in some hours later while he was in his study, having a drink. The toxin caused his liver failure and no one suspected foul play. I mean, everyone who knew your father knew he suffered from liver problems. It was only a matter of time before that did him in."

"But then..." I couldn't help the disbelief that crept into my voice, because the idea was so out of pocket: the person who killed my father not only knew about his liver problems, but also about the delayed onset of symptoms from amatoxin. "The killer knew."

Eli looked up at me, a question forming on his brow.

"They knew exactly how to poison Victor without raising the slightest suspicion he died of natural causes."

His forehead scrunched. "So, it's someone with a medical background?"

"You think so?"

Eli hesitated, then looked away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. "It's just... the precision of it. Knowing the delayed effects, the specific toxin... it suggests a certain level of knowledge."

I studied him. I recalled the "trust fall" mental conversation I just had with myself. The leap of faith I had taken. "We're past that, Eli. Remember? We're partners in this. I trust you. I know it wasn't you."

He visibly relaxed, a weight lifting off his shoulders. He offered a grateful nod. "Thanks, Rhiannon. I just... this whole thing is messing with my head."

"Mine too. But we'll figure it out. Together."

"So, not necessarily a medical background?"

"Well, you know, not necessarily. Maybe they just Googled..." I paused mid-sentence.

"What is it?"

"Medical knowledge isn't the only kind of knowledge. Plant knowledge could be enough. My mother... she has been a passionate gardener for decades. She even grows some of the mushrooms in our garden." A shiver ran down my spine as a new, unsettling thought took root.

I inputted my passcode, swiped up to show Eli the Google page I had opened: Which poisonous mushrooms can cause liver failure?

"Listen to this: The Death Cap mushroom (Amanita phalloides) is the most common and deadliest cause of liver failure from mushroom poisoning, as well as Funeral Bell (Galerina marginata). The first one, after ingestion, can cause gastrointestinal symptoms, followed by a seeming recovery period before liver failure develops."

"And the second one?" Eli was all ears.

"The second one... can cause severe liver damage and failure in a matter of hours, especially in people with liver problems." I stared at the bolded words on my cell screen, Galerina marginata, for a long time, before I realized I was gnawing on my thumbnail, a nasty old habit I had ditched years ago.

"Holy shit, Rhi."

"Yeah."

I didn't say anything else. I couldn't. I was hit with a swell of nausea so overwhelming I had to put my elbows on my knees, cradling my head in my hands.

"Should we call the cops?" Eli prompted me.

"I..."

"Rhi. You promised." His eyes were puppy-like, pleading. "You told me as soon as the tox screen results came back, you'd inform the police. Let them continue the investigation."

"Just... give me a little time, Eli," I said. "I need to go home. I need to talk to my mom."

Eli's eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Talk to your mom?" he asked. "About this? Are you sure that's wise? What if she..."

I shook my head, not wanting to speak the unspeakable. "I don't know what to think," I admitted. "But something about this... it feels too close. I need to see her, to hear her voice. I need... some kind of confirmation."

"Okay," Eli said. "I get it. But, Rhi, be careful. If what we suspect is true... you might be in danger too. Call me as soon as you know something for sure."

I managed a weak smile. Then Eli turned, and I crashed into him, a grunt of surprise escaping him. My eyes found his, his lips found mine. My hand went through his scruffy hair, pulling him in deeper, making it count. His fingers brushed my neck, moving up. "Please be careful," he repeated.

When I entered the mansion, Mom was preheating the oven, pulling up the recipe for brown butter shortbread cookies. I tried not to think about everything that the tox screen had just revealed to me.

"Hi, hon," she offered me a tender kiss on the cheek. "How was Eli?"

"How do you know I was with him?"

"Oh, Tom might have mentioned a little something." Mom gave me a mischievous wink.

Ugh, I would kill my nosy big brother if it was the last thing I did.

"I'm making your favorite dessert, hon." She grinned. "Oh no! We're all out of butter. And it's late in the evening. All the household staff has gone home. I don't have anyone to send to the store."

"Maybe you should go," I suggested, playing my own game, a plan forming in my head. "If you're lucky, you might meet Mrs. Robinson on the way there."

"I hope not," Mom let out a heartfelt chuckle. "Last time I met her, she informed me the heatwave had reached a point where we've got people keeling over from heart attacks left and right on their driveways."

We laughed in unison.

"That's too bad. I really missed your homemade brown butter shortbread cookies."

Mom dropped her gaze, fiddling with the fabric lines in her jeans, pushing denim mountains into valleys, popping down and up. "I know, sweetie," she said. "I'm sorry."

Sorry for what, I wanted to say, but it would be a mistake. Mom couldn't know I was doubting her. Slowly, as if there were a grenade taped to the bottom, I lowered myself into the chair next to her. "I could get started on the dough if you pop to the store real quick to buy the butter?" I tested the waters.

She beamed, unsuspecting. A fly about to walk into a spider web. "Would you?" Mom was already halfway out the door, looking for her gray Nikes. I guessed she was really looking forward to this mother-daughter time I had just suggested.

I calculated I had about ten minutes before she came back. My mother's iPhone was on the kitchen stand, hooked up to its charger where she always left it. I swiped a finger across the screen. It tried Face ID first, the screen juddering when it didn't recognize me, prompting for the passkey instead, bringing up the keypad. I entered her password—Tom's birthday. It was the same as the security code to open the garage door. Welp, at least I knew where I stood with my family.

I tapped the phone screen. The background lights up—it was an old photo we had in a frame: Mom with baby Tom balanced on her hip, looking at each other, a smile creeping across Mom's younger face. It was that woman's secrets I wanted, pre-disappointment Lorraine. My thumb moved across, pressing the photo gallery. Mom stared at Victor adoringly in the latest takes as he gazed into the distance. He looked disinterested, as if bored with all that attention. Sweet, human, golden retriever mom, is what Aubrey would say. Ew.

I scrolled up. At first, the images were what I expected: vibrant azaleas, delicate orchids, and the orderly rows of veggies from Mom's meticulously kept garden. But then, the photos shifted. Mixed in with the familiar flora were images I didn't quite recognize. Close-ups of various mushrooms began to appear, their forms alien and unsettling. Some were small and brown, clustered in damp patches of earth. Others were larger, with strange, fleshy caps and vivid, almost lurid colors.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. It was Mom, it was Mom, it was all Mom, and I was the only one who could see it.

My mother's head popped back into the kitchen. "Silly me, I forgot my wallet." When she saw me with her phone, she blinked. "Rhi, what's—"

"You're lying to me! You've been lying since I returned!" I yelled at her.

Mom's mouth fell open. "Rhi, I—"

I cut her off, storming forward. I slammed the phone down on the table. "These mushrooms from your garden, in the photos." I pointed. "They're what killed Victor!"

Mom's eyes hooked onto mine, steady, taking aim.

"What have you done to him, Mom?"

She staggered back, staring down at the phone between us. "Rhi," she said calmly, though her eyes betrayed her. "I can explain."

"No!" I shouted. "No more lies!"

"I don't want to lie to you," Mom said, hands up, unarmed.

"Then don't. What have you done to Victor? Why? Was it because of his affair?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mom said, but I knew that trick all too well, blowing up Mom's wall so there was nothing for her to hide behind.

"I saw his tox screen. His liver failure was induced by poisoning. Did you do it? Mom, did you kill him?"

Mom didn't say anything, unable to lie quick enough.

"I thought he was the only one who would never leave me." My voice was scratchy and raw as tears finally broke, my rib cage empty, Mom's heart dropping all the way—she might never get it back. "So this was... what? Your way to keep him with you forever?" I couldn't believe her. What the actual fuck? Am I supposed to call the cops on my own mother?

"No, I... I didn't. It wasn't me. I didn't make dinner that night. Beverly did."