At the Table

Lana played for the entire concert hall, not missing a note, and leaving the audience captivated. She touched each ivory key with dexterity and grace. Hank watched from backstage behind the curtain; he was reveling in his wife’s piano playing.

“Beautiful,” Hank thought. “Her piano playing is a gift from God.” A very jealous Beatrice, who is Lana’s sister, also looked on as well. Beatrice did her best to hide her contempt for her sister’s piano mastery. However, the rigidity of her body gave her away. Hank eyed Beatrice and decided to ignore her.

“She’s not ruining this night for Lana,” Hank thought. She played the final note and took her bow. The crowd erupted into applause. Hank met his wife with a kiss as they met backstage.

“You were magnificent my dear,” Hank said.

“You’re making me blush,” Lana admitted. Then Lana turned to her sister.

“What did you think,” Lana asked.

“You missed several notes,” Beatrice said curtly.

“You’re a damn liar,” Hank said.

“You have to have an ear for music,” Beatrice said.

“An auditorium full of people gave her a standing ovation. You’re the only one that found fault with Lana’s playing,” Hank countered.

“Please don’t start arguing,” Lana said. “You’re still joining us for dinner, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Beatrice answered.

Rain began to fall as Hank and Lana were driving home.

“I wish your sister would cut you some slack,” Hank said. “She’s overly critical of you.”

“It’s just her way,” Lana said.

“It’s just her way,” Hank grunted. “If you say so. The windshield wipers swayed back and forth. Rain pelted the car. Then Lana yawned.

“The rain makes me sleepy,” Lana said.

“Rain has a way of doing that,” Hank added. Lana’s eyes drooped and then she fell asleep. Hank turned on some music to try and stay awake. Big band music from the 1940s played over the radio. Hank imagined himself as a conductor of an old-timey big band. He was an optometrist and not musically inclined in the slightest. He wished he had some kind of musical talent like Lana, but he did not. He loved her all the more, for her sensitive nature and talent. Beatrice was a piano teacher. She was obviously quite talented herself; she just wasn’t at the level of her sister. Hank admitted to Lana often that he would take even a sliver of Lana or Beatrice’s musical talent.

At home, Beatrice sat down, and played for the next three hours, until she fell asleep sitting up at her piano. The next night Beatrice slipped some poison into Lana’s wine while Hank and Lana were out of the room. Hank came back first and asked Beatrice to help Lana with the lamb in the kitchen. Hank noticed the coloring was off with Lana’s drink. So, he switched Beatrice’s glass with Lana’s. Beatrice drank the poisoned wine and soon she fell over dead. The paramedics arrived quickly but Beatrice could not be revived.

“You say she died after drinking this wine?” the blonde male paramedic said.

“Yes,” Hank said.

“Which glass was hers?” the paramedic asked.

“That one,” Lana said, pointing to the wine glass Beatrice had drunk from. The paramedic went over and smelled the wine.

“Rat poisoning,” the paramedic said. “My wife’s an exterminator. No mistaking that smell. Notice how much darker it is than the rest of the wine.”

“I noticed that” Hank said.” I thought Beatrice had tampered with your wine. Only I guessed Beatrice had slipped you some sort of laxative. I never figured she would try to poison you.” Lana did not speak, or move, or even blink. She just stared at the lump under the sheet…