A Merry Arsenic Christmas

Poisoning someone on Christmas was not easy. But, as always, Rose stubbornly stuck to her plan instead of listening to me. She hastily placed the arsenic bottle into my hands, brushing her arm across the mistletoe.

“Listen,” she said nervously. “You won’t tell anyone, right? What I said about the-”

She stopped suddenly, freezing. I knew she had heard it too. Footsteps thumped down the staircase. Rose squeaked, hands flying to her mouth.

“Miss Miller,” said the officer’s gruff voice. “Come with me.”

My heart was as heavy as the bottle in my pocket. I knew we were in trouble.