No Happily Every After (Mia and Roman Psychic Suspense #4)

Chapter Seven

Roman glanced back and forth between Brad and Rita, smiling easily and spreading his hands wide. “Sure, I understand. You want to protect Eliza. She doesn’t really have anyone else looking out for her, does she?” Roman said.

When they remained mute, he sighed and continued on. “Okay, here’s the thing. I can’t tell you folks much because I have the confidentiality of my client to consider, but we’ve been hired to assess Eliza’s character and look into her tragic family situation.”

“It’s the fiancé’s family, right? They’ve got themselves all in a twist about their son marrying Eliza,” Rita said with a nod.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement but—hypothetically speaking—should Scott Lamb be worried about her? Eliza’s parents died under very strange circumstances, then her sister is gone less than a year later. Is she dangerous or does she simply have an unusual and tragic backstory?” Roman asked.

Mia watched Brad and Rita do that silent husband-wife check-in thing, and the gaze they shared seemed weighted. Her muscles tensed. Beside her, Roman remained still, his entire being focused on the couple opposite them.

Time stretched out. Overhead, she became aware of the lightest sound of music, something upbeat. The house creaked. A chickadee tapped against the window where it was feeding from a container fixed against the glass.

Finally, Rita exhaled in a loud whoosh and shook her head slowly back and forth for so long Mia became convinced she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

“Maryanne came to me. It was a month or so before she died.” Rita blinked rapidly and Brad reached over and patted her arm. “She’d found something at the house when they were packing up.”

Rita rubbed away a tear from her cheek and shook her head but didn’t continue.

Roman cleared his throat. “Can’t you tell me what she found?”

Now the woman pressed a hand over her mouth and rocked gently forward and back but remained mute. Brad put a hand on her shoulder, stilling her, then pursed his lips as though also unable to speak.

“Look, if you have any suspicions … anything that Scott should be aware of … it’s important you tell us,” Mia said, working to keep the impatience from her voice.

“Okay. Fine.” Brad shook his head. “It’s not proof, okay? It doesn’t mean Eliza did anything. I guess when they were going through the house getting it ready to be sold, Maryanne found a vial of peanut oil in the bathroom that she and Eliza shared. It was right at the back of the vanity.”

“The rule had always been no nut products in the house. It was only peanuts Phillip was allergic to, but Stephanie was convinced other nuts could potentially be processed in the same plant and might contain trace amounts. So, no nuts, nut butter, nut oil. Ever. And they were careful with the girls when they were little and going to school in case their friends ate peanut butter. There was a ritual where they always washed their hands and brushed their teeth when they came home before spending time with daddy.”

“Do you think Eliza dosed Phillip?” Roman asked.

Again, the couple did a quick and silent check-in before Brad shrugged. “We don’t know what to think. Eliza and Phillip’s relationship wasn’t all smooth sailing. He couldn’t get his head around all the social media stuff. Or how focused she was on the ‘luxury lifestyle’ and spending money on things like monthly spray tans, hair extensions, and face creams that cost two hundred and fifty dollars an ounce. He wanted her to get a real education and have a proper career so she’d be able to take care of herself. They fought about it a lot, and I know he was worried.”

“But even if she did try to make him sick, we can’t believe she meant to kill him. And what actually happened was so far from expected she surely can’t be held accountable,” Rita said.”

“Did you happen to mention this to the police?” Mia asked.

“What? No, of course not.” Rita leaned back in her chair. “When Maryanne came to me, it was ages after they died. And it wasn’t proof of anything, was it?”

“What exactly did Maryanne think?” Roman asked. “If she brought it up with you, she must have had her doubts about Eliza.”

“She was angry. And scared.”

Brad nodded. “We all talked it over. Decided there was no reason to dredge things up. Eliza clearly isn’t a murderer. Even if she did cause Phillip’s allergic reaction, she could never have set the chain of events in place to kill both of them.”

“But there was no EpiPen in the house? What if Eliza made sure of that before she doctored his food. Maybe she only wanted to kill him and not Stephanie,” Mia said.

Brad immediately shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s not … I mean … she’s so young … barely into her twenties when her parents died. It just isn’t possible,” Rita said.

“Maryanne died only a month or so after finding the peanut oil. That seems … curious to me,” Roman said.

Both of the Drapers looked blank for several beats, then Brad surged to his feet. “You’d better not be implying Eliza killed her own sister. She didn’t. It was a clear suicide. Nothing suspicious about it.”

“Okay. I understand. But you can’t deny the timeline is … again, curious is the word that comes to mind,” Roman said.

“Honey, sit down.” Rita patted the arm of Brad’s chair and waited until he slowly lowered down again before turning to Roman and Mia. “I know you have to ask these questions. It’s your job. But you’re way off base here. Eliza would never have done anything to harm Maryanne. I honestly think poor Maryanne was just overcome with losing her parents, and when the idea Eliza might have been at the root of it came out, it pushed her over the edge.”

“Or Eliza realized Maryanne was talking about the peanut oil and knew she had to shut her down,” Mia said softly.

Rita’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No. I don’t believe it. I know Eliza can come across as self-centered sometimes, but deep down, I think she's a good person. It’s only because she’s lost so much and she's trying to find her way."

“Okay. Well, thanks for your time. We surely appreciate it,” Roman said, pushing to his feet. “One last thing, where was Eliza when Maryanne died?”

Brad shrugged. “On the day she died? I mean, I don’t know. Maryanne was obviously at college, and I guess Eliza was in Nashville. She called us the morning after … sobbing … said she’d been up all night crying. We invited her to stay with us for a few days, but she wouldn’t come. Wanted to get through it on her own.”

Mia walked over and stood beside Roman. “When did you see her next?”

“A couple of weeks later. Just before the funeral. We couldn’t do it right away because they held Maryanne’s body for a bit. But Eliza asked us to help plan the service and we obviously did everything we could to make it easier for her,” Rita said.

“If any more questions come up, would it be okay to contact you again?” Roman asked.

“I guess so,” Brad said slowly. He and Rita stood and walked over to the front door. “We’ve got to get on. It’s almost suppertime for the girls.”

“Of course. Thanks so much,” Mia said. She noticed neither of the Drapers made eye contact with her.

Outside, her shoulders slumped, and she stared down at her feet as they walked back to the car.

“Tell me you got something?” Roman said before clicking the locks open on the Escape.

“I got precisely zero. At least for helping with our case.” She slid onto the passenger seat. “I felt their deep grief and pain. There were some visions of them together with the Wentworths. You know, barbeques and movie nights. Stuff like that. There was a flash—very brief—of Maryanne showing them the container of peanut oil, but that was about it.”

“I think we shook them when we suggested Eliza might be behind the demise of her entire family. They maybe wondered about the peanut oil, but when we brought up the missing EpiPen and talked about the timing of Maryanne’s suicide, I could see some doubt in their eyes.”

“Yeah. Me too. And for all of Rita’s protests about Eliza being a good person, deep down, I’m not convinced she fully believes it.”

Roman exhaled in a long, steady stream then started the engine. “Okay. Not the best, but not the worst either in terms of getting proof. Let’s call it a good starting point. Onwards.”