9
My heart is beating out of my chest. When Adam came home from the hospital, we’d heard that his hand was beyond repair. That Dr. Russo had done everything in his power to help Adam, and the best they could hope for was regaining more feeling in his fingers.
But among all the comments from Adam’s haters, there are several football fanatics and medical professionals claiming that Dr. Russo failed his patient. And a handful of comments have tagged Adam; there’s no way he hasn’t seen this.
Maybe none of it’s true. Maybe Dr. Russo gave Adam the very best treatment possible. But if Adam saw this post, he may have started to think otherwise. He may have grown resentful.
As I look at the photos and the label in the caption, homicide suspect, I remember how the doctor sided against the brothers after Mariana’s accident.
Why would he have done that, going so far as to try and get them expelled?
Was it really mob mentality—the town’s collective fears—that caused the doctor to turn against his own patient?
Or did Adam say something in those early days, maybe under sedation?
Something that would cause Dr. Russo to not only spread the word that Adam had committed the crime but maybe even sabotage his healing?
I call Henry, who picks up on the second ring.
“Hey,” he says, but it sounds like a question.
I grab a pen off the desk and search through the drawer for a scrap of paper, tearing a page from an old notebook. “Henry, did Adam ever mention his experience with Dr. Russo in the hospital? Or his treatment plans?”
There’s a pause, and I can’t blame him for being confused. “A little,” he finally says, sounding tired. “The guy has a terrible bedside manner. Adam even asked to move hospitals. Said the guy had it out for him.”
“And what did you think?” I ask, jotting down some notes.
“I thought Adam was going through a lot, and he was on a ton of meds. I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s not exactly an easy guy to get along with under normal circumstances. Bram and I figured he was overreacting. Plus, Russo said transferring him was too big a risk.”
“What did your parents say?”
“I mean, they didn’t have much choice,” Henry says, voice taut now.
“They had to make all the early decisions over the phone because they were in Paris. They basically put Bram and me in charge. And by the time they got here, Dr. Russo said further surgery was pointless. The burns on Adam’s hand were too severe.
Something about tissue and muscle damage.
He told Adam there was nothing else he could do for him and to try physical therapy.
Didn’t even bother giving him a referral.
Look, Hayden, I appreciate all you’re doing. But like I said earlier, I’ve got to—”
“I know,” I say quickly, staring down at the question I scribbled on my scrap paper and underlined three times.
“I just keep thinking about the school board stuff and what made Dr. Russo turn on the three of you. You don’t…
” I hesitate, knowing that once this is out, I can’t take it back.
“You don’t think maybe Adam said something…
incriminating? Like while he was on all those meds.
Or maybe during the surgery, Russo found—”
“No,” Henry cuts in sharply. But a moment later, he sighs. “Sorry, I guess I’m angry at myself. Dr. Russo did turn out to be an arrogant jerk, didn’t he? We should’ve listened to Adam.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Henry,” I say. “You and Bram were put in an impossible situation.”
“Yeah,” he says grimly. “Look, I still haven’t gotten ahold of Mr. Swanson. Talk later?”
“Okay,” I start to say, but he’s already hung up.
Setting my phone and pen down, I take a deep, calming breath. My stomach starts to grumble. It’s past two p.m. and I never paused my research to eat lunch.
I grab my phone and descend the stairs. In the kitchen, I find my dad rooting around in the pantry.
“Hey,” I say, opting for something from the fridge.
“Hey, kiddo.” He emerges with a box of crackers. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing much.” I grab last night’s leftovers as Dad settles down at the table.
Once the rotini is in the microwave, I pour myself a glass of water and take a seat across from him.
I’m still thinking about that question Henry answered all too quickly about the doctor.
“Hey, Dad, remember back when those parents were trying to get signatures to keep the Abbott boys out of school?”
He nods, his mouth full.
“Dr. Russo supposedly spearheaded the whole thing. But what exactly did you hear? Did Dr. Russo ever make any actual accusations about Adam or his brothers?”
He swallows, shaking his head. “You know I didn’t want anything to do with that school board agenda. I stayed far away.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, my heart swelling. “You trust the boys.”
“Well, that,” he says, “and I know Arnold Russo has been bitter toward their family since long before Mariana was killed.”
My heart jolts. “Bitter…how?”
He stops himself from stuffing another cracker into his mouth.
“Probably shouldn’t be sharing this.” He shuts one eye and tilts his head.
“Then again, neither should’ve Russo’s accountant.
But a couple years back, Dr. Russo claimed Jonathan Abbott stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from him.
” At the look of shock on my face, my dad waves a hand.
“The doctor invested in the auto shop. Apparently, Jonathan told him business was booming and that soon, there would be Abbott Auto Repair shops all over the country. Well, Russo, seeing dollar signs, jumped at the opportunity. Only the investment flopped, as they sometimes do.”
The microwave beeps, but I ignore it. “I didn’t know those two even spoke. I’ve never seen them in the same room together.”
“Well, this may be the reason. If memory serves, the families were never close, but they weren’t enemies.
They grew up side by side, the sons of the two wealthiest families in town.
” Dad went to Silver Springs High around the same time as Dr. Russo and Mr. Abbott.
“Your mother used to talk about the fancy parties Mrs. Russo would host up at her place. She was never invited, of course, but Mrs. Abbott always was.”
“Up until this investment went sour?” I ask, reaching for my water glass.
Dad nods. “It sounded like Dr. Russo lost every penny he put into the shop. The accountant said Russo suspected the shop was actually in trouble and that Abbott never invested the money. That he’d stolen it to attempt to curb the damage and lied about everything.”
I think of that article and the anonymous source who claimed the auto shop had been bleeding money for years.
If Russo believed he’d been lied to, did he speak to the press, not as a doctor, but as a businessman who felt he’d been scammed?
“So,” I say, trying to connect the dots, “you think the whole school board thing was because of the money? Not because the doctor actually suspected one of the Abbott brothers?” Did Dr. Russo want revenge on the Abbotts in whatever way he could get it?
Seeing the family name demolished, one of them locked up—was it all the same to him?
Dad clears his throat. “Look, Hayden, is there something you’re worried about? Maybe you shouldn’t be spending so much time over at the Abbott place. Not if you’re…unsettled.”
“I’m not unsettled,” I say, though it’s a lie. “Dad, did Dr. Russo ever try to take legal action?”
“That was part of the reason this accountant wanted my opinion.” Dad shrugs.
“But there was nothing illegal about the transaction. An investment’s a risk.
This one may’ve had more to do with dollar signs than good judgment.
And I guess, if not for the accident, he still could’ve made a return on that investment, eventually. ”
“Do you think Russo told anyone else?” I ask, still thinking of that online article. “That Abbott Auto Repair had been in financial trouble?” I wonder if the boys know the extent of the shop’s struggles. They’ve never mentioned anything to me.
“No idea, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”
So even if Russo wasn’t that anonymous source, he wanted this story out there. He hated Jonathan Abbott, and he’d been biding his time, waiting for some way to ruin him. But as much as he’d been wronged, I don’t see how he could extend his hatred to Mr. Abbott’s children.
Then I remember the rest of that anonymous source’s statement: It’s no surprise the boys would cut corners. Probably learned it from their father. And now, a young girl is dead.
Another question needles its sharp point into my mind.
Could Dr. Russo have believed that Adam knowingly endangered a life?
If the anonymous source was the doctor, maybe, at least in his mind, there was more than revenge motivating him.
And maybe, when the press failed to blow up the story the way he’d hoped, Dr. Russo decided to leak those medical photos and rumors about Adam as a murder suspect.
Would Mr. Abbott have asked his sons to take shortcuts in order to save money on jobs? For all the time I’ve spent in that house, the man remains an enigma. Sort of like Bram, in a way.
“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Dad asks abruptly, causing me to lose my nerve.
Besides, even if Mr. Abbott asked, the boys never would have complied.
“Why are you asking about the doctor?” he presses.
“Is this about Kennedy’s murder? Do you need to speak to someone?
Like”—his eyes veer to the table—“a professional?”
“No, Dad. I was just curious.” Smiling, I get up to remove my food from the microwave. It’s barely warm now. Still, I sit down and start to eat. When my dad says he’s going to start watching “the game”—whatever that means—I set down my fork and grab my phone.
Navigating back to the social media post, I force myself to look at the photos again, at the raw flesh.
I never personally witnessed Adam in this state.
By the time he’d returned home and had his bandages removed, the wounds were much improved.
I don’t need the IV tube dangling in the corner of these photographs to tell me these photos aren’t the same kind that Mrs. Abbott’s home staff leaked.
No, these were taken in the hospital, which means someone who worked there could have leaked them.
Regardless of whether it was Dr. Russo himself, it happened on his watch.
He was the surgeon in charge of the case.
Dr. Russo, who seems to hold a grudge against the Abbotts, stemming from what went down between him and Mr. Abbott.
The doctor attempted to turn the press, the school board, and the entirety of Silver Creek against Adam Abbott.
He’s been accused online of making questionable medical decisions—ones that could keep Adam from ever playing football again.
And if Adam found out—which would’ve only required clicking on his social media notifications—what would he have done about it? I think back to Adam’s icy comment this morning about the doctor and Kennedy. I’m not sorry that man lost a daughter.
Adam claims no one has wanted to date him since the accident. Maybe he lied. Maybe he knew Kennedy liked him, so he drew her in and lured her into the woods—a way to punish her father.
I banish the thought. Just because Adam made one cruel remark in his anger, doesn’t mean he’s capable of murder. I may not know Adam as well as I know Henry or Bram, but we grew up together. The whole reason I agreed to help was because I trust all three of them.
So why am I having these doubts?
Henry will talk me through it. He’ll know what to do. I need to see him, face-to-face. After hurrying through the rest of my lunch, I grab my phone and book it down the road to the Abbott mansion.