Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Did the detective say what we should expect from the autopsy?” Opal asked as we passed through Masons Bay Village.
He had not, but I decided to answer anyway, relying on my extensive viewing of CSI: Wherever. “The autopsy will probably show evidence of a heart attack. And the toxicology report will show that he was taking methamphetamine, which brought on the heart attack.”
She frowned. “And if it was murder, what will it show?”
“There was no blood, so he wasn’t shot or stabbed. I suppose he could have been strangled. The autopsy might show that his throat was compressed, or his hy-hy-something bone was broken. If he was poisoned by something other than meth it will be in the toxicology report.”
We drove for a bit and she didn’t say anything.
“You knew where this was heading, it’s why you wanted me to find him.”
“Carl wanted to save him.”
“An addict can only save themselves.”
Guess who’s been paying attention at meetings? Me! Not that I really believe any of it. I’m sure there were lots of reasons to quit drugs that weren’t me. For example, I quit Oxy so I could take care of my sister.
I didn’t save myself; she saved me.
We turned into my grandmother’s driveway, and up by the house sat a recent model Honda Civic, silver, with a USC sticker on the back.
I had no idea who that was. The only person I knew in the area who’d gone to USC was Edward, and there was no reason for him to show up—and also no reason for him to drive a Honda Civic.
Seriously, why waste all that time becoming a doctor if you had to drive a Civic?
Before getting out, I waited a moment for some kind of thank-you. It didn’t come, so I said, “Bye,” and opened the door.
“Don’t forget the baby.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I flipped the seat forward, awkwardly leaned into the backseat, and undid the car seat. Emerald began to fuss. Pulling the car seat and the diaper bag out of the car, I nearly fell over. Opal was watching with a big smile. I slammed the door, which made my sister scream.
She was still screaming when we walked into the kitchen. At the table with Nana Cole was Edward. He wore green scrubs and a pair of leather clogs with blood on them. I got the feeling he’d come in a hurry, as soon as his shift ended.
“The doctor’s making a house call,” Nana Cole said.
I didn’t believe that for a minute. Something else was going on. Something he didn’t want to tell my grandmother.
“Emma’s recovering nicely from her fall.” Then he stood up, “Well, I should be going.”
I needed to figure out what was happening. Also, I didn’t mind getting away from a screaming baby for a moment, so I said, “I’ll walk you to your car.” To Nana Cole, I said, “I’ll only be a minute. I’ll take Emerald out of the car seat when I get back inside. Leave her in it.”
She gave me a dirty look as I set the car seat on the table and the diaper bag on the floor. Then I walked out the back door. Edward was only a few feet behind me. When we got to the Civic, I asked, “Why are you here?”
“It’s stupid. I was in the cafeteria earlier and I overheard some nurses talking. I heard the words ‘overdose’ and then your name and since you hadn’t come through the ER, I thought…”
“You thought I was dead?”
“I drove over hoping I was wrong.”
“It was Denny Hazzard. He overdosed. I found his body. It was nice of you to worry, though.”
“You know, overdosing isn’t the only bad thing that can happen to you when you take opioids.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that.”
“Brain damage, liver damage, kidney damage, depression, altered personality, low testosterone, osteoporosis…”
“Okay, okay. I get it.”
He really should have listed conversations like this one as a side effect. Then something hit me… He said osteoporosis. Was that why…
“Bobbie LaCross broke two bones in the last few years. That was because she was an addict, wasn’t it?”
“She was occasionally a patient, so… hypothetically, yes. And, hypothetically, it was three bones.”
“Three? She broke her arm, her wrist…. And?”
“Fibula,” he said reluctantly.
“What is that?”
“You have two bones in your lower leg. One in the front and another in the back. It helps keep you stable.”
“How might a person break that?”
“Slipping in the shower.”
“And when might a person have done that?”
“A month ago.”
“Really? No. I saw her body. There was no cast.”
“Casts aren’t used much anymore. They cause muscle atrophy and extend healing time. A fibula fracture requires an orthopedic boot. It can be taken off to shower and to sleep.”
“It was her left leg, wasn’t it?”
“It was. How did you figure that out?”
“She was still driving.”
What did this mean? Did it mean something?
She fell in the shower a month ago. So she’d have been living in the RV on the Campbell compound.
Buford seemed annoyed by her being there.
Was he annoyed enough to kill her? He said he saw Melanie bring her home, making her a suspect.
Did he realize that and then go over and…
“Um, excuse me,” Edward said.
“Oh, sorry.”
“I have to go now. I just want to say… I’m really glad you’re alive. And I’d really like it if you’d stay that way.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He started to walk away from me, then turned around and said, “Okay... yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“We could go out… again. As long as you’re not…”
“I’m not. Honest.”
“Okay then. I’ll give you a call. I find out my schedule in a couple of days.”
I stood in the driveway and watched him leave. As I waved, I kept thinking God, he’s so gorgeous. And he cares whether I’m alive or dead. Actually, I shouldn’t put too much stock in the that. It’s sort of baseline for a doctor.
God, he’s so gorgeous. And we’re going out on a date. Soon. And then he was out on M-22 driving away.
When I walked back into the kitchen, I was confronted with the image of my grandmother with her finger in Emerald’s mouth and a bottle of whiskey sitting on the table. I took off my boots, and asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“She’s teething. It helps with the pain.”
“It’s whiskey.”
“It’s medicinal.”
I took Emerald out of the car seat, which was probably the actual problem, and bounced her around until I got her smiling.
“See, it’s working,” Nana Cole said.
I just her gave a doubtful look and took Emerald upstairs.
I put my phone on the charger, finally, and then took the baby into her room and got her out of the snow suit.
She’d be growing out of it in a few weeks, which was fine because it really was a pretty pointless garment.
We’d basically spent the morning going from a warm car to warm rooms. You really only needed a snow suit if you were planning to take your baby hunting or ice skating or on an expedition to the north pole.
And since I was planning none of those, I’d probably never put it on her again.
She’d been sweating most of the time and was going to need a bath later.
In the meantime, I put her in a nice clean onesie.
Then brought her into my room, got onto the bed, and opened one of the books I’d bought her.
The Very Hungry Caterpillar. The nice thing about reading to a baby Emerald’s age is that you don’t have to pay a lot of attention.
Particular when her main interest in the book seemed to be chewing on it. Maybe she was teething.
Was it possible that Patty Gauthier confessed because she thought Brian Belcher did it? And then Brian confessed, not because he’d done it, but he thought Patty did it and wanted to get her out of trouble? Was it possible that neither of them had done it?
When I felt like I’d waited long enough, I took my phone off the charger and called Ham.
“Hwooo?”
I’d woken him up. What time was it? Crap, it was ten before nine and I’d already had a long day. I was nearly ready for a nap.
“I woke you up. I’m sorry, do you want me to call you back.”
“No, no… it’s okay. I was up late on a case. What’s going on?”
I caught him up on that morning’s events, and he said, “I’ll call Bernie. Sounds like we’re done. I just need to confirm it.”
“Actually…”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“You said Bobbie was litigious, right? Is there a way to find out if she was suing anyone else?”
“Uh… you didn’t read the whole file I sent you, did you?”
Oh crap.
“It was a lot of paper.”
“What brought this about?”
“I found out Bobbie fell in the shower of the RV she was living in. Broke her fibula. It occurred to me she might be suing over it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so. The suit against Three Friends is the only one that concerns a broken bone.”
“Right. Okay, well, I guess it’s nothing then.”
“Read the rest of the file.”
And then he hung up. I reached over onto my desk, grabbed the Three Friends file, settled in on the bed with my sister tucked onto my lap, and I began to read to her: “Once upon a time there was a horrible old lady who liked to sue people…”
Look, it’s not like she’s going to remember.
“State of Michigan, Wyandot County Municipal Court. Plaintiff, Roberta LaCross vs. Three Friends Winery. That one we know all about.” I shuffled more pages. “State of Michigan, Wyandot County Municipal Court. Plaintiff, Roberta LaCross vs. Windemere Apartments.”
I skimmed it. It seemed that Bobbie was suing her former landlord for not accepting a state subsidy plan she wanted to use to pay part of her rent.
I checked the date, which suggested this was why Bobbie moved out of her apartment while she was convalescing at Patty’s house.
She wasn’t saving money, she was homeless. I moved forward.
“State of Michigan, Wyandot County Municipal Court. Plaintiff, Roberta LaCross vs. Buford Campbell; Hal Buckwald, et. al.”
Okay this was interesting. I skimmed the suit and then summarized for my sister.
“Defendants, Buford Campbell and Hal Buckwald, pressured plaintiff into relinquishing her financial interest in the property at 165 Lakeview Terrace in Masons Bay. Defendants used knowledge of plaintiff’s struggle with controlled substances to coerce her into signing documents while plaintiff was under the influence of said substances.
Plaintiff demands return of her property. ”
I have to say I was a little bit impressed. Bobbie used her drug addiction to her advantage. Take it from me, opportunities like that don’t happen often.
Buford and Hal had a motive. Hal. It had to be Hal.
He hated his mother, that was obvious. That might not have been enough for him to kill her, but add the lawsuit and you’ve got murder.
How to prove it though? Obviously, I couldn’t pop over to the sheriff’s office and tell Detective Lehmann I had a new killer in mind.
Not twice in one day. He’d never believe me.
And… all I really had was the lawsuit. Which was a motive, but not as good a one as revenging a death caused by Bobbie. Maybe I was wrong, maybe Hal had nothing to do with it. I needed to find some actual evidence. Honestly, I had no idea what that might be.
I must have fallen asleep, because sounds downstairs woke me and I was suddenly terrified that I’d done something stupid and rolled over on the baby and suffocated her.
Or let her fall off the bed and end up with lifelong brain damage.
But no, she was sitting up straight—something she was getting good at—and chewing on Bobbie LaCross’ file.
I got out of bed, took the file away from her, and then went downstairs.
Happily, I’d managed, once again, to not kill my sister.