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

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, after a second night of sleeping like the dead for almost nine hours, Mia felt restored.

“What’s on the agenda today?” she asked Roman over breakfast.

“Lots of things. I figure I need to dig into the details on all the deaths in the Wentworth family. I’m going to request police reports from Walkerton PD and, if I can, talk to the investigating officers. I also want to hit Tracey Millar again. Find out if she knows what happened to the vial of peanut oil or anything about where Eliza might have bought it.”

“I can help.”

“It’s just basic grunt work. You stay on top of your jewelry orders for now. I’ll call you in if something more nuanced comes up.”

“I guess I’ll take the dogs for a walk, then get to work. I’m here if or when you need me.”

He smiled over the rim of his coffee mug. “I always need you, babes. But like I said, for right now, I’m good.”

She picked up her cereal bowl and walked over to place it in the dishwasher. The dogs followed her to the French doors in a rush of happy yips and clicking toenails on hardwood then threw themselves outside the second she opened the screen. Roman watched while the four canines frolicked around their mistress and smiled hearing her non-stop stream of chit-chat.

Now there’s a perfect memory, he thought. Mia, young and breathtakingly beautiful and surrounded by dogs in the morning sunlight.

An hour later, Roman unlocked the door to his office in Dalton and immediately opened both windows overlooking Main Street. The day was already plenty warm but there was a decent breeze, enough that he could put off closing himself in with the air conditioner, at least for the immediate future.

His first call was to his contact, Joe Kozinski, at the Walkerton police department. He requested the files on both the Wentworth parents’ vehicular accident and Maryanne’s suicide.

“You know it’s gonna cost you a hundred bucks a pop,” Frank said.

“I thought it was fifty. You guys are a bunch of money-grabbing criminals,” Roman said.

“Hey, it ain’t me. This came from the chief. He figured it’d cut down on most of the busybody citizens poking their noses in where they don’t belong and costing us a bunch of useless manhours every year. FYI, as of last month, we went all high tech and now take e-transfer. Don’t forget to add the tax, too. As soon as I get the funds, I’ll have it emailed over.”

“I guess I’m just a busybody citizen to you now?”

“You’re one notch above. I’ll give you that. Why are you so interested in the Wentworths? Has something come up we should know about?”

“Maybe. I don’t have anything concrete yet.”

“You’d better loop us in when you do. You may be private now, but you’re still one of us—sort of.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. How’re things there, by the way?”

“Same old same old. We’ve had some trouble with kids vandalizing town property. A few break-ins and domestics. You know how it goes.” He paused and Roman could hear the snap of chewing gum. “You’re really not going back to the Dalton PD? I kinda thought you would by now.”

“Gonna stick with private for a bit longer and see how it goes. Say, you wouldn’t happen to remember who investigated those Wentworth cases?”

“I remember well, ’cause it was me. At least, I was primary on the parents’ car crash. When the daughter checked out, they eventually pulled me in there, too.”

“What can you tell me about the accident? Was there anything hinky with the car?”

“Nope. They went over that Pathfinder top to bottom after the wreck and there didn’t seem to be any mechanical issues. But I’ve gotta tell you—there wasn’t much left to investigate. It was an older model and that thing crumpled like an accordion. After seeing the car, I wasn’t surprised they both died.”

“I read that the wife was driving, and she crossed the line and hit the truck head on. Is that what it looked like to you?”

“Pretty much. It was on Galen Street where it opens up just after that bend by the UPS building. Looks like she was speeding, got distracted, and zipped across the lane. Didn’t brake until close to impact. I’m not saying it was suicide or anything,” Frank said hurriedly. “But her reaction time was definitely off. The driver of the truck was on his game, though. He braked hard way out and tried to swerve, but there was no place to go on account of the little stone wall beyond the sidewalk. He was sober too, and real shook up. Poor guy will be having nightmares about that for the rest of his life. Fun fact, Stephanie Wentworth had been drinking. Coroner said about two glasses of wine. Her blood was 0.05 so not over the limit, but it likely impaired her some.”

“Did she have a history?” Roman asked.

“She wasn’t a drunk. At least not from what I found out. But she did habitually drink one or so at night and might get crazy enough to have up to three glasses at a barbeque or social thing. Between the two of them, Phillip typically did most of the driving. Plus, she obviously hadn’t planned on going out the night she died so likely poured herself the usual glug of wine while making dinner or whatever.”

“Interesting. What I can’t figure is why Stephanie didn’t just call an ambulance. Why drive Phillip herself?”

“That I don’t know. We checked with EMT dispatch, and no call came through. The only reason we even know Phillip had a reaction is because Stephanie called her friend Rita all panicked. She was pretty hysterical and said Phillip couldn’t breathe. Then she hung up and Rita couldn’t get her to pick up again.”

“What about the daughter, Eliza? You talk to her? Anything interesting there?”

Joe sighed. “Not really, beyond a kid in deep shock and covered with a healthy dose of guilt. Apparently, she’d been a bit of a brat the day her parents died. Fighting about money and plastic surgery or some such nonsense. They wanted her to stay home for dinner that night, talk it over more, but she stormed out. She kept saying how it all might’ve been different if she’d been there.”

“What did the Wentworths eat for dinner?”

There was a long pause and more gum snapping. “I don’t remember off the top. But it was something they made at home, not takeout. It’ll be in my report.”

“Any chance Eliza might’ve been able to doctor the food before she took off?”

Joe pushed out a breath. “Geez, I don’t know. I guess, depending on what was made, she could’ve slipped something in at some point earlier that day. And she obviously knew about the peanut allergy. It was apparently a big thing in their lives growing up. I never twigged to her, though. I’ll go over the report again myself with Eliza in mind and see if it looks different.”

“Did you check Eliza’s alibi that night?”

“Sure. Briefly. Like I said, she wasn’t on the radar, but I did stick with routine and talked to some guy who had a party in Nashville. She was definitely there, just like she said. I also found her tagged in a bunch of socials, both there and at a coffee shop beforehand. Again, I’d have to check but I think it was in the six p.m. range. Stephanie’s call to Rita was later than that so the daughter definitely wasn’t home at dinner or right before.”

“Good to know. What about the suicide? Any evidence of Eliza being around?”

“Not that I recall. Keep in mind, I wasn’t pulled in right away—it was maybe forty-eight hours after the fact. Plus, I was on the side. It was Finlay’s case.”

“I don’t know him. Do you think he’d talk to me?”

Joe chuckled. “He’s a she. Andrea Finlay. If I vouch for you, I’m pretty sure she’ll share. She’s not at her desk right now. Must be out on a case. I’ll have her call you.”

“That’d be great. Appreciate it. I’ll transfer the money as soon as I get off the phone.”

“And I’ll see what I can do about getting the reports released to you today. If you find anything to tie the daughter to the deaths, I want to know.”

“Of course.”

When Roman ended the call, he quickly jotted down notes on everything Joe had said, then pulled up his banking app and sent the Walkerton PD the payment to release the reports.

His next call was to Tracey Millar.

“Has there been a breakthrough in Maryanne’s case?” she immediately asked.

Roman chuckled. “We only talked the day before yesterday. Cut me some slack. This is real life, not a TV show where they wrap everything up in less than an hour.”

“Oh. Okay.” She sighed. “So, what’s up?”

“I have more questions. Can you talk?”

“Um … give me a sec.” Roman heard the background hum of conversation and keyboards clacking along with Tracey’s breathing. “Okay. I’m out in the stairwell. I can give you five minutes or so right now.”

“Five minutes should be fine. That vial of peanut oil Maryanne found in the Wentworth house, did you ever see it?”

“Yeah, sure. She kept it in her dorm. After she … well, after, I kind of stole it. That time I went to the police station to tell them about Maryanne’s suspicions and how I thought her death wasn’t suicide, I showed it to the detective.”

“Did he keep it?”

“Nope. He barely looked at it. He said even if Eliza’s prints were on it, that was a pretty big jump to murder. Plus, there’d be no way to prove intent or something.”

Roman held his breath. “Do you still have it?”