Oysters, gathered fresh that morning, Lizzy had said, but to make them special she’d topped them with grilled, melted cheese and slivers of bacon. Hot from Lizzy’s oven. They’d been eaten in a flash and Lizzy had smiled sweetly and said, ‘See you in church.’

And Lizzy’s triumphant smile as she’d slipped out of the church.

‘It’ll be the oysters,’ Fern whispered. ‘I’ll bet…’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Fern took a deep breath. She found that she was trembling. Poor Sam. He hadn’t wanted to come home for fear of Lizzy’s reaction and he’d been almost pathetically grateful when she’d seemed gracious. And now…

She glanced over at Sam’s still-heaving shoulders. Their wedding was in ruins. Because of one malicious stunt.

‘We had oysters as hors d’oeuvres,’ Fern said unsteadily. ‘I think…I guess they’ll have been made with oysters that were off. They had garlic and herbs and bacon and cheese grilled on top. That would have disguised the fact that they were bad. A lot of people were commenting that there was so much stuff on them that you could hardly taste the oysters.’

Quinn’s brows snapped together. ‘Where did they come from?’

‘From Lizzy Hurst,’ Fern whispered miserably. ‘She’s…she’s a local fisherman.’

‘But if she’s a fisherman she’ll know not to serve bad oysters. She’ll have known…’

‘Yes.’

Quinn’s face grew more and more incredulous. ‘Are you saying this could be deliberate?’

Fern nodded. She felt like weeping. ‘I’m almost sure it is.’

‘But…’ Quinn’s mind was racing and it showed. ‘If it’s deliberate…If you believe that’s possible then how do you know she didn’t just add poison? Dr Rycroft, we could have a major emergency here…’