My Husband Bought Me Flowers To Celebrate My Promotion. A Homeless Woman Just Warned Me That Smelling Them Will Kill Me. Should I Trust My Husband Of Five Years Or A Stranger?
“Okay,” Miller took the statement, read it. “Now we’ll send the flowers for forensic analysis. We’ll check if they really contain a dangerous substance. At the same time, we’ll check with insurance companies to see if there’s a policy in your name with your husband as the beneficiary. We’ll question your husband. We’ll question this woman, Cassie. Can you give us her contact information?”
“Yes.” Eleanor recited the phone number.
“Excellent. Where will you be now? I don’t advise you to go home if your husband finds out you filed a report.”
“I’ll go to my mother’s,” Eleanor said quickly. “She lives on the other side of the city.”
“Good. Leave your address and phone number. We’ll be in touch when we have results.”
Eleanor left all her information. She stood up, picked up her bag.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for believing me.”
“I don’t believe you yet,” Miller replied honestly. “I’m just doing my job. Checking the information. If it checks out, then I’ll believe you.”
Eleanor left the station feeling a strange sense of relief. She had done it. She had filed the report. Now it was in the hands of the police. Now all she could do was wait.
She called her mother.
“Mom, can I come over right now?”
“Of course, sweetie. Did something happen?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
The journey to her mom’s took 40 minutes. Her mom met her at the door, hugged her tightly.
“You’re so pale. What happened?”
Eleanor told her everything. Her mom listened, growing paler, clutching her heart.
“My God,” she whispered when Eleanor finished. “My God, how is that possible? That monster. I always felt something was off about him. Always.”
“Mom, don’t.” Eleanor hugged her. “The main thing is that I’m alive. And he’ll pay for this. He’ll definitely pay.”
The day dragged on painfully slowly. Eleanor sat at her mom’s house, drank tea, tried to distract herself with television, but her thoughts kept returning to one thing: what was happening now? Had they called Michael in for questioning? What was he saying? Denying everything or confessing?
At 6:00 p.m., Detective Miller called.
“Eleanor, we have news. The forensic analysis confirmed it. The flowers have a high concentration of an allergen specifically dangerous for asthmatics. A special treatment of the pollen. This couldn’t have happened by chance.”
Eleanor’s heart pounded. “And what happens now?”
“Next we check the insurance. We found the policy taken out in your name 9 days ago. The amount is $3 million. The beneficiary: your husband. In the event of your death by accident or illness, he gets the full amount.”
Silence. Eleanor could only hear her own heartbeat.
“We brought your husband in for questioning,” Miller continued. “At first he denied everything. Said he just wanted to make you happy, that he didn’t know about any allergens, that it was a coincidence. But then we asked him a few questions and he slipped up.”
“How?”
“He said he bought the bouquet in the morning before work. But we checked the surveillance camera footage from the flower shop. He bought the flowers in the afternoon at 3:00 p.m., right after leaving the insurance company’s office where he took out the policy. In other words, he lied. And when we showed him the footage, he fell apart, started contradicting himself.”
“So… So you believe me?”
“Yes,” Miller said firmly. “I believe you. It was premeditated attempted murder. Your husband took out the insurance, bought and specially treated the flowers knowing about your asthma, and calculated that you would inhale the allergen and die from an attack. It would have looked like an accident, the insurance would have paid out, and he would have been in the clear.”
Eleanor closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was crying not from grief, but from relief. They believed her. They didn’t think she was crazy. It was all confirmed.
“What will happen now?” she asked through her tears.
“We have arrested your husband. We’ve charged him with attempted murder. Tomorrow the court will set bail, but most likely he’ll be held in custody. He’s facing up to 15 years in prison. The insurance company has voided the policy and any payouts. You can file for divorce and request a protective order for your safety.”
“Thank you,” Eleanor whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“Thank the woman who warned you,” Miller said. “She saved your life. We’ll be calling her in to testify as a witness. Her testimony is very important.”
Eleanor hung up. Her mom hugged her, stroking her hair like she was a little girl.
“There, there, sweetie. It’s over. You’re safe.”
But Eleanor knew it wasn’t over yet. Ahead lay the trial, interrogations, divorce, the need to rebuild her life from scratch. But she was alive. She was breathing. She had survived because she hadn’t smelled the flowers. Thanks to Cassie.
Three weeks passed. Three weeks in which Eleanor’s life was turned completely and irrevocably upside down. She lived with her mother, sleeping in her old childhood bedroom.
She woke up at night from nightmares in which Michael stood over her with a bouquet saying, “Smell them, go on, smell them.”
