Chapter 28 #2
Charline wasn’t sure what he was doing there either.
She was torn about it. He was being helpful and deferential on one hand, but on the other hand he was suspicious and dangerously close to discovering her motive for stealing the serum, the missing connection that would make sense of the theft—her family’s disease.
“The police didn’t find a suicide note in her immediate surroundings.” Warnecki said, “but they strongly suspect suicide. Any idea where else we might look? Did she have a computer or a tablet?”
Charline shook her head. She sat on the arm of the nearby couch because she couldn’t stand any longer. Warnecki looked down at her as though he was sizing her up and taking pity.
“You should call your fiancé. He should be here.”
She heard the judgmental note in his words.
She would have agreed. If Trent really was her fiancé.
But he’d proved beyond a shadow of a doubt, when he told Ralph to take her home, that there was nothing real about their relationship.
From the very beginning it had been built on lies and pretense, so she shouldn’t be surprised.
Except there was also that dangerously powerful sexual attraction that had drawn her into thinking there was more.
And now she was numb. Her emotions had exploded when the news of her mother’s death sparked and blew up the tremendous pile of pent-up conflict, guilt, confusion, anxiety, and everything else inside her until there was nothing left but cinders, the gray shadowy ash of feelings.
Warnecki talked to the two Melrose police officers who were still there and then accompanied them out the back door with a promise to Charline to return the next day.
And a warning to be prepared to answer questions.
After two cups of strong French roast at the kitchen table, Charline felt functional by nine o’clock the next morning. Suzette was on her third cup, feeling the after-effects of the sedative.
“Are you ready to talk about it? We don’t have much time before the police will be back to get our official statements and question us.”
Suzette looked at her with fresh tears in her eyes.
Charline held strong, still feeling blessedly numb.
She didn’t know how healthy it was to keep her emotions on hold, not that she had a choice, but she suspected it was self-preservation at work.
She reached out and covered Suzette’s trembling hand.
Charline was dressed in one of her new smart suits for work, but Suzette looked haphazard in a mismatched sweater and pants and a big old cardigan with giant patch pockets thrown over the outfit to hide it.
“I feel so guilty,” Suzette finally said.
“I told her all about the police investigating the theft of the serum and how Hogarth was setting you up. I had to tell her something when she asked me about it the day after the police showed up. She felt so bad, like a burden, getting you in trouble, making you steal serum—”
“She didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to do it.”
“You should have told her that—I mean I wish she knew that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“There’s no need for you to feel guilty, Suzette. We don’t know that’s what happened.”
“Yes we do.” She nodded her head violently. Then she yanked her hand from the table, from underneath Charline’s hand, and shoved it into her pocket. She pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper.
Charline recognized the paper. It was her mother’s prized stationery, the paper on which she wrote her thank-you notes, her notes of congratulations, of condolences, of well wishes, to all the people she knew, even to them. Suzette thrust the paper at Charline now.
“Mother left this note.”
The calm numbness that had shrouded her dissipated and Charline’s heart sped up. She didn’t want to read this note, but her shaking fingers unfolded the paper, held it in front of her eyes, and she read it anyway.
Dear Charline and Suzette,
A mother couldn’t have more wonderful, loving, giving daughters and I want you to know how grateful I am and how much I love you.
But I’m nothing but a burden to you now and I know it will only get worse, so it’s time for me to go. Wish me well in the afterlife. I look forward to seeing your father again, to being held by him again.
I wish you both utter happiness with your loves and lives.
Goodbye until you join me, many, many years in the future.
Your loving and adoring mother,
Marie Morneau
Tears streamed down Charline’s face as she put the paper down on the table and smoothed it. Charline forced herself to push past the growing pit of sadness, made herself sit up straight. She cleared her throat and told herself to act like a professional. The police would be there soon.
“Why didn’t you give this to the police when they asked?”
Suzette looked down and spoke quietly. “I thought suicide would look suspicious—because of the investigation about the drug theft and I didn’t want them to find out.
I thought the police, everyone would assume she died of .
. .” She waved her hand, referring to her mother’s condition. She let out a shaky sigh.
“They’ll find out that she overdosed on drugs when they do the autopsy. We’ll give them this note when they come back today.”
Charline hoped this would allay the police’s suspicions that she had something to do with her mother’s death, because she’d sensed they’d harbored those suspicions as soon as they found out she was the physician who’d prescribed the meds.
They would want samples of her mother’s handwriting to compare and verify. She had plenty of those.
Sadness welled up in her, along with too many other emotions to count, swirling back to life in a tide too powerful to stop. Either her self-preservation instincts were failing her, or her instincts felt she was strong enough to handle the seemingly overwhelming emotions now. Charline wasn’t sure.
She was only sure that she wished Trent was there, wished she was being held by him, wished she could lean on him now.
Trent had called to see how she was and asked if she wanted him to come over. It was late. After the police came and went, she’d gone to her research lab to work until late. She had too much data piled up and couldn’t put off the analysis. Buck had come over to stay with Suzette.
“It’s eleven p.m., Trent.”
“These are the hours I keep during playoffs.” He paused. “Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you home yesterday. This practice is important. The coaches would have—”
“Understood. Your coaches would have understood, Trent. Because they are under the illusion that our engagement is real.” That you care. She should have said the words aloud, should have accused him of being callous, but she had no right. He didn’t owe her anything.
“Damn it.” There was a tense pause. She had no idea what he meant, if he was really trying to apologize, if he was really sorry, or if he only felt guilty and was going through the motions to appease her, to keep her on board until the end of the season.
“Come over tomorrow night.” He didn’t ask.
It wasn’t exactly a command, more like a plea.
She thought of all the reasons she shouldn’t go.
Then she thought of the reasons she should go.
She wanted to be with him. No matter how weak it made her feel, it was nothing compared to the loneliness of not being there with him.
She stretched to find more palatable reasons to go.
It didn’t take much thought before her mind returned to the investigation and Hogarth and the inevitability of the police searching Trent’s place.
“I’ll come over. I can collect all my things, the serum, the files while I’m at it. No sense leaving them for the police to find.”
“I’m not worried about that. Warnecki called to let you know when he was coming. He hasn’t made any more calls, has he?”
“No.”
Trent grunted then she heard him take a deep breath. “I want to see you, Charlie. I miss you.”
She didn’t know what to think or say. Was it the sex he missed?
Did she dare tell him that she missed him too?
But how could she when she missed so much more than the sex?
How could she admit to anything when she had no idea where she stood with him?
She wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the emotional devastation of unreciprocated feelings right now.
“I’ll come over at eleven. Tomorrow night.” They ended the call and she collapsed, literally into bed and emotionally into a restless sleep.
January 11th
There’d been no call this time. No warning from Warnecki that they would be coming to do a search. They must have been watching and waiting for Trent to show up. It just so happened that Charline showed up at the same time. Eleven p.m.
She’d barely had a chance to take her coat off when there was a rap at his door.
“That’s odd. I didn’t hear a call from the doorman, did you?” Trent said as he walked to the door to his unit. It was one of only two on the penthouse floor. “Maybe it’s my neighbor.” He looked through the peephole then backed away and flung the door open.
Charline was shocked to see the three men standing there.
Warnecki, the city detective whose name she couldn’t remember, and Hogarth.
Instead of letting them in, Trent said, “What do you want?”
The city detective took a second, fumbling inside his oversized coat, and Charlie’s heart raced with anticipation as she stood behind Trent.
The man pulled a folded sheaf of papers from inside his coat and handed it to Trent. “Search Warrant.”
Trent still didn’t step back, didn’t look at the papers.
Charlie moved closer to him, touched his arm, wanted to scream.
If she was completely honest, she wanted to slap the smug look off Hogarth’s face.
At least the two police detectives maintained looks of professional detachment.
They were very serious. This was very serious.
“Explain,” Trent said.
Everything inside her tumbled. She gripped Trent’s arm.