Chapter 32

"Oh, absolutely, Doc," Jenson says, organizing silverware and napkins on a tray as I lean on the table across from him, twirling my pen in my hand and trying to look casual.

"I'm extra careful with the Alpha's trays – I know how important it is to keep his food separate from the others. Some of these new kitchen boys…" he trails off, shaking his head. "So, Mrs. Potts put me in charge of the Alpha's food. I work overtime, even, on banquet days."

"I know how much Mrs. Potts relies on you," I say. "It's admirable how dedicated you are to your job, too."

Jenson, a trim, neatly handsome man of about 50, swells a little with pride at this. "Well, it's my life's work," he says. "I know humans don't always understand that, but in the werewolf community, serving your Alpha is a great honor. I'm lucky to be able to do so much for my leader."

"I really respect that," I say. "And of course I don't think any mistakes are coming from you. In fact, I'm not even sure there are any mistakes. I'm just so puzzled at the Alpha's test results, and I have to start at the very beginning in trying to sort this out."

Jenson looks up at that, looking concerned.

"What kind of test results, doc?" he asks, frowning.

"It's his heart and blood pressure, mainly," I say. "The combination of his medication and his new diet should be easing the strain on his heart, but it's not. I need to figure out why."

"And you think it must be a mistake in his food?" Jenson asks, looking somewhat affronted.

"Not at all," I rush to reassure him. "It's just that, in medicine, I have to start at the bottom and work my way up. Now, the simplest explanation is that either the Alpha's medication or his food is getting mixed up somehow.

"I have to eliminate that possibility for sure before I can move on to more complicated tests, to investigating rarer conditions or problems. It's just the process of elimination, you see."

"Like Sherlock Holmes," Jenson says with a smile, looking mollified.

"Exactly," I say. "Just like Sherlock Holmes. Now, the most basic and likely explanation is that something is happening to the Alpha's food or medicine before it gets to him. I'm not calling your dedication or skill into question, Jenson, not at all.

"But this is a busy place, with lots of people running around at all hours, especially during big events. And there have been a lot of big events recently, too," I add. "I just need to eliminate the possibility that there's some kind of mixup going on, before I can go to the next step.

"So, have there ever been any times recently where you did not personally hand the Alpha's food over to him?"

"Well," Jenson says, pausing in his work again and tapping a butter knife against the tray. "Now that you mention it, Doc, there have been a couple of times that I didn't deliver the trays to the Alpha directly."

"Really?" I ask, writing that down. "And when was this?"

"Oh, just a few times here and there," Jenson says. "Mostly during meetings – you know he's been having all those big meetings lately, since he announced his retirement. I'll sometimes bring his lunch tray in, but one of Charles's men takes it over at the door.

"But I didn't think anything of that, because there's no way there could be any mixups at that stage. The Alpha eats lunch earlier than the rest of his staff, who all usually go out or have their own trays sent up later.

"The Alpha is the only one who gets his meals delivered during meetings, so no other trays were going up at that time. It's virtually impossible that one of those staff members could have confused it with another tray, because there aren't any other trays to confuse it with.

"When it comes to any time that the Alpha is getting food served alongside other people's meals, I always serve his food to him personally. So, I just don't think it's possible that there could be any mistakes with the food, you see."

"I do see," I say. "Thank you, Jenson; this has been really helpful."

"Any time, Doc," Jenson says, lifting up the tray and nodding at me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get these out to the dining room."

Back in my office, I drop my notebook on my desk and pace the floor, staring out the window as I think.

No, there's no reason that anyone should have been suspicious about the Alpha's food, not with everything running the way that Mrs. Potts and Jenson have it organized. Because no one else has considered that there might be foul play going on.

It's virtually impossible that the food was accidentally mixed up. Jenson is right about that.

But it's very, very possible – in fact, I'd say it's probable – that the food is being deliberately tampered with. And Charles is behind it.

I still don't have proof, but I do now know exactly when the food tampering must be taking place. And I need to find a way to warn the Alpha, to stop it from happening again.

"Come in, my dear," the Alpha calls out when I knock on his door later that day. I've arranged a meeting with him, and I've told him that it must be 100% private.

I open the door and enter the room. The Alpha looks more careworn than ever behind his massive desk, and I'm instantly at his side, taking his pulse. I shake my head in worry.

"After this meeting, you're going back to your private quarters to rest," I say. "No arguments, Emmett."

The Alpha smiles at me, but it looks forced. "I am feeling rather tired, my dear," he says. "I'll be happy to follow the doctor's orders today."

"Good," I say. "Now, Emmett, there's something I must speak to you about, but I first want to check something. Hold out your arm so I can take your blood pressure."

The Alpha obeys, but I don't move to put the blood pressure cuff on his arm. Instead, I lift my finger to my lips in a "shh" motion. He looks confused, but nods.

I flip off the overhead light and pull out my phone camera, shining it around the room. Nothing comes up at first, but then – there! A flash in the corner of a bookshelf right above the Alpha's desk.

I make the shushing motion again and point to the bookcase. I reach over and pull out a tiny microphone.

The Alpha's eyes widen in shock, and then his face creases into an expression of fury. He moves to speak, but I frantically wave my arms and silence him again. I drop the microphone on the floor and crush it beneath my heel.

I motion for him to hand me a piece of paper, on which I write: "I'M GOING TO CHECK THE REST OF THE ROOM. SAY NOTHING UNTIL WE KNOW IT'S CLEAR."

He nods in understanding.

After a thorough search of the room, we decide that we've destroyed the only hidden microphone and can finally speak freely.

"Evelyn, what the hell is going on?" the Alpha asks. His voice is measured but cut through with steel, though I know it's not directed at me.

"Emmett, I have some bad news," I say. "I'm almost positive that someone is tampering with your food, and possibly your medication as well. That's why your health isn't improving. I've done some investigating, and I can't prove anything, but it's the only possible explanation."

"And someone has bugged my office!" The Alpha keeps his voice low, but it crackles with lightning rage. "In all my years, I never thought anyone would be so bold or devious, someone in my own household, clearly…"

"Let me tell you what I've found," I say, pulling out my notebook.

In the end, I decide not to mention Charles's name. I still don't have any proof, for one thing, and for another, I can't afford to let Charles get thrown out of the mansion. Not yet. If he leaves, I won't be able to investigate anything else he's doing.

And while I think the Alpha would believe me if I told him the whole story, I don't know for sure. Too much is at stake for me to take that risk yet. And if Charles is thrown out before I can resolve everything else going on, it might only lead to more harm to Emmett – and Marcus, and the gang – later.

I'll have to trust that the Alpha will forgive me in the end, and trust that everything I've done is for the good of his family and community.

Instead, the Alpha and I work together to formulate a plan to protect his health in the interim, while we both do more investigation on our own. Only Jenson will be allowed to serve the Alpha's meals now, taking them straight from Mrs. Potts to the Alpha.

And only I will administer his medication. I will personally obtain the medicine from the pharmacy, keep it in a locked box that only I have access to or knowledge of, and I will put his pills in his hand myself and watch him take them.

It's not perfect, but it's the best we can do.

For now.