Chapter 30 #2
Vera’s pulse was racing. Maybe this was nothing, but it sounded like a whole lot of something. She watched as he wrote something on a sticky note, then handed it to her.
“If I can help in any other way, please let me know. How is Mrs. Wilton?”
Now it was his turn to dig for info. Vera was happy to oblige. “She is stable but still in a coma. We hope she will fully recover. She’s the only witness to what happened in that cabin.”
“Good luck with the case, Ms. Boyett.”
That was her cue to go. Vera stood. “Thank you, Mr. Kilgore. We appreciate your assistance.” She stood but hesitated before leaving his office. “One last question. Were you aware Wilton intended to sell the property?”
The attorney considered the question for three or four seconds. “I was.”
A new urgency nudged Vera. “Under the circumstances, was he having an updated will prepared?” Stood to logic.
Kilgore nodded. “He was.”
Damn, was she going to have to pull it out of him like extracting teeth? “Any significant changes other than the real estate?”
He leaned back in his seat, eyed her cautiously. “Let’s just say, he was no longer feeling quite so generous anymore. But that will was still a work in progress, so the terms are irrelevant.”
Vera just couldn’t leave it at that. “Not so generous to charity?”
“Not so generous to anyone.” Kilgore stood. “Good day, Ms. Boyett.”
Vera’s heart pounded as she left the office.
She had to talk to Bent. Actually, she needed to be in three places at once.
Who the hell was behind Quantum Leap? She stared at the name of the LLC on the sticky note.
She would have to do some digging, it seemed, to find the answer.
Maybe Erwin had some idea. If not she would need to call Eric again. There was no time to beat the bushes.
This news—the dumping of Quantum Leap and the less generous new will—changed everything.
Vera climbed into her SUV and drew in a big, deep breath. Bent needed to hear this ASAP—no, that wasn’t possible, since he was in that damned press conference. Vera drew in another big breath and reviewed the long list ticking off in her brain. She had to talk to the ME. That one couldn’t wait.
Lincoln Medical Center
Medical Center Boulevard, 12:20 p.m.
“What an unexpected surprise.” Collins pushed a refrigerated drawer closed. “If you’re here about the autopsy reports on your homicide vics, I haven’t heard anything yet.”
Vera nodded. “There’s always a wait.”
“I did, however, get a look at the other autopsy reports you requested.”
“Lena Wilton and Nola Childers?”
Collins nodded. “Both were fairly cut and dried. Wilton’s death was caused by head trauma, specifically an epidural hematoma.
The report indicated there was an undiagnosed brain hemorrhage after a horse-riding accident.
It happens. Sometimes there are little or no symptoms and then suddenly it’s too late to save the patient. ”
“An accident then,” Vera confirmed.
“Sadly, yes. Unless, of course, you somehow discover that someone caused the horse to throw her off.” Collins sent her a challenging look. “Oh and Lena was pregnant. Ironic, don’t you think?”
Wow. Okay. Definitely, considering Wilton’s current wife was in a coma and also pregnant. “Ironic for sure. What about Childers?”
“Childers’s death was ruled accidental as well.
Her blood alcohol level was more than four times the legal limit.
There was also Xanax. Yet another sad statistic that occurs more often than most people realize.
Xanax and alcohol is a very bad combination.
Equally ill-advised is doing either and bathing. A recipe for disaster.”
No question about that. Xanax. Vera would need to check with the mother about that one. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I also wanted to ask you a question about Jackie Andrews.”
“Mrs. Andrews is a popular lady.” Collins cocked her head and studied Vera. “You aren’t the only one who’s keenly interested.”
“Oh really.” Vera was surprised, though clearly she shouldn’t have been.
“Mr. Hayworth, an attorney, is pestering the shit out of me. He claimed he was hired by Geneva Fanning to investigate the death.”
Vera laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “Yeah, well if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure dear old Geneva is giving him hell too.”
Collins leaned against the wall of drawers and crossed her arms over her chest. “So how can I help you, Vera?”
“That tibial fracture, how else might that have happened?” Vera leaned a hip against the empty and shiny stainless steel exam table.
Though her headaches had eased to primarily soreness, and she was no longer dizzy or weak from the concussion, she did tire more easily than usual.
She hoped that would pass soon. “I asked Luna about that spindle, and it was already damaged. So I’ve been trying to figure out how Jackie’s leg ended up fractured. ”
Collins thought about the question for a time.
“The placement and type of fracture—based on the X-ray—tells me that it was caused by pressure from some sort of momentum, which is why the damaged spindle made sense. Either she hit her leg in some odd manner on the way down, or she was standing still and some sort of momentum struck her shin and did the damage—perhaps propelling her forward.”
“They were moving furniture. Something could have fallen and hit her leg, is that what you mean?”
“That’s possible, but bear in mind that the concentration of impact required would need to be focused in such a small spot to cause the damage I saw.
” She held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
“A very hard blow to a very specific target area. Which is why hitting that spindle on the way down seemed consistent with the injury. Beyond that scenario, my best guess would be that someone or something struck her, causing the fracture.”
Considering where the fracture was . . . that would be a low blow, no pun intended. “Like a kick to the shin?”
“A really hard kick in the shin would do it. Which is why soccer players wear shin guards. A kick, particularly if the person doing the kicking wore sharp-toed or steel-toed boots, would do the trick. There was significant discoloration of the epidermis in the area, so that is quite possible.”
Vera tried to picture the type of footwear she had seen Geneva wearing, but she had no memory of her feet. She was always too busy glaring at her hateful face.
“Anything else that struck you as off? Beyond the scratch on her forearm?” Vera was suddenly ready to get out of here so she could call Luna and find out if Geneva wore boots of any sort.
“Nothing I noticed. Perhaps the autopsy will give us more.”
“If we’re lucky.” Vera straightened. “Thanks, Jenny. I appreciate your time and your insights.”
The ME walked toward the door with Vera. “We should have a girls’ night sometime. Share war stories.”
Vera wasn’t sure she was ready to share war stories with the woman, but she smiled anyway and lied. “Sounds great.”
Vera exited the building and climbed into her SUV.
As worrisome as the additional information about Jackie’s injury was, the business with the Xanax nagged at her.
She dug her phone from her bag and called Nola Childers’s mother.
The woman answered on the second ring. “Hey, Mrs. Childers, it’s Vera Boyett again. ”
“Hello, Vera. I hope you’re doing well.”
“I am. Thank you. I hope you don’t mind me asking another question about Nola.”
“Not at all. I love talking about Nola.”
Vera wasn’t so sure she would love this part. “Did Nola ever mention needing an anxiety medication like Xanax?”
“Let me think. No, I don’t think so. Wait, now.
” She hummed a note of uncertainty. “No, I’m wrong.
Well sort of. Nola told me that she went to the doctor and asked for a Xanax prescription because Valeri was having some terrible anxiety issues and, you know, the poor girl didn’t have any health insurance. So Nola got it for her.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Childers. That clears up a little mystery for me.” Vera hesitated but then decided to go for it. She needed to understand why the Xanax wasn’t mentioned in their previous conversation. “Mrs. Childers, did you or your husband view a copy of Nola’s autopsy report?”
The older woman sighed. “I suppose we should have, but the truth is neither of us could bear the idea of reading the details. We just couldn’t.”
“I understand, thank you again. I’ll call you when I have more news.”
“Looking forward to hearing from you, Vera.”
Vera shook her head as she ended the call. Every instinct she had was screaming at her. Valeri Erwin killed that poor girl.
Her cell vibrated, and Vera jumped, almost dropped it. She stared at the screen. A Louisiana area code. “Vera Boyett.”
“Vera, it’s Larry Parson. Look, I had this weird visitor waiting for me when I got back from lunch. I think we need to talk about it if you . . . if you’ve got a few minutes, I mean.”
“Sure. Who was this visitor?” Vera climbed into her SUV and prepared to back out of the parking slot.
“This woman. She wouldn’t give me her name. I met her before but . . . look, I . . . I’m not trying to be creepy or anything, but can we do this in person? You don’t have to come into my room. We can talk outside . . . you know.”
Vera frowned. Had he been drinking? “Be there in five minutes.”
Before leaving the town square, she shot off a text to Bent about the call from Parson. Bent was likely still in the press conference postmortem, but she had learned the hard way not to barrel into risky situations without telling anyone. It never ended well—for her.
“Been there, done that,” she muttered to herself. Hell, she’d bought the T-shirt.