Chapter 39 #2
“Hi, Tinsley. I’m well, thank you. How are you, darling?
” Her British accent almost always makes me smile.
As I’ve gotten to know Pippa better over the last few weeks, I heard the stories of how she and the British expat met in college and have been best friends ever since.
But Daphne doesn’t come off stiff and cold, quite the opposite, actually.
I absolutely see how she and Pippa connected all those years ago.
“I’m good, just making some coffee, which makes everything better, but I doubt you’re calling just to chat with me on a Wednesday morning. Although that would be okay if you were!”
“That’s kind of you to say, and I will take you up on that some time, especially when I’m in Forrest Falls. I’m sure we will cross paths quite often once those sweet babies arrive.”
The thought makes me smile. Fiona’s babies will have an amazing extended family, and that is nothing short of what they deserve.
And it’s what Fiona would have wanted—especially with how abundantly clear Pippa and David have made it that they want Dahlia to be as involved as she wants to be in the babies’ lives.
They have already accepted her into their family and want it to look however she wants it too, which is really incredible considering the delicate situation.
I think having a plan for the babies has allowed both Dahlia and I to exhale in a way we haven’t been able to since the accident.
Of course, we still miss and are grieving Fiona, but the babies were coming regardless of if we had a plan in place, and we all feel more comfortable now that this specific unknown has an answer.
It was a massive weight looming over us that we didn’t know what to do with, and with it resolved, we can start to unpack the colossal tragedy of losing Fiona.
I hum in agreement. “Yes, that will be lovely.”
“Alas, that is not the purpose of my call this morning. Do you have a moment to chat with me?” I know enough to know that’s lawyer talk for is it okay to discuss sensitive information right now.
“Yeah, I’m alone in the penthouse.” I don’t want to call it Jack’s penthouse anymore because it feels more like my home than … well, anywhere else ever has before.
“Okay, darling. This may sound odd, but I would like for you to take a seat if you’re able. Can you do that for me?”
Well, fuckity fuck, this really isn’t going to be good.
I pick up my freshly made coffee and move around the island to take the seat Jack usually sits in at the head of the dining table off the kitchen, with my back to the butler’s pantry.
I usually sit to the left of this seat so I can look out the windows, but something tells me I’m going to want to be as close to Jack as I can be right now.
“Okay … you’re kind of freaking me out here, Daphne, but I’m sitting down now. ”
“I’m sorry, Tinsley. I want you to be safe though, and what I’m going to tell you will likely bring a shock, and I don’t want you to stumble or lose your footing.”
I close my eyes and brace myself. “Rip the band-aid off, please. Just tell me. What’s happened?”
“Right. I spoke to the detectives investigating your mother’s case this morning and you need to be aware there has been a significant update. The toxicology report has come back with some startling discoveries. Your mother didn’t have a history of diabetes, correct?”
“No, not to my knowledge. Why?”
“I didn’t think so, but I had to ask. The toxicology report found that she had high levels of insulin in her system at the time of her death, which is odd in itself.
But if her body had made that insulin naturally in her pancreas, she also would’ve produced something called C-peptide along with it.
However, the blood results did not show a presence of C-peptide, which means the insulin in her body was externally administered. ”
“Daphne, I have to be honest, I’m not following what you’re telling me here.” I open my eyes as I place an elbow on the table and lean my head in my hand.
So, my mom did have diabetes? She was on insulin? I shake my head at the concept of my mother being able to take care of herself well enough to manage diabetes. It would have been a death sentence to her. She would’ve failed marvelously at that, without a doubt.
“It’s possible the injection site bruise on the back of her neck that they found during the autopsy was the location where your mother was injected with insulin, dear.
The medical examiner did not find any other injection sites on her body, and the odds of your mother injecting herself on the back of her neck, especially with what her blood alcohol level came back at, is highly unlikely. ”
“How high was it?” In Tennessee, I know the limit for driving under the influence is point zero eight, but I doubt my mother’s blood was that sober in the last decade of her life—if not longer.
“Approximately point three percent, which is close to alcohol poisoning, but the report said it wasn’t a surprising level for someone with your mother’s history of drinking and the fact that her death was late in the evening, assuming she likely was drinking throughout the day.”
“So, she was three sheets to the wind and couldn’t have given herself a shot of insulin to the back of her neck of all places, but I still don’t understand why the insulin was in her system in the first place then.”
“The detectives contacted me to let me know about the toxicology report findings. They also wanted me to notify you and Wells that your mother’s death is no longer being investigated as an unattended death.”
“What are they investigating it as then?” I almost whisper.
“The toxicology reports led the medical examiner to file the cause of death as an intentional insulin overdose. I’m sorry, Tinsley, but the evidence has led the authorities to believe that your mother’s death was homicide.
” Daphne says some other things about procedures or next steps, I’m not exactly sure, it’s like I’ve gone under water.
Someone murdered my mother?
Who would do that—and why?
The ding of the residential elevator door snaps me out of it. I didn’t get a request from the front desk security, and Allie prefers to use the stairs that connect this floor with the lofts below us, so it would be amazing if it’s somehow Jack coming home early.
It would be perfect timing because I really need him right now.
“Thank you for letting me know, Daphne. I’ll be in touch,” I tell her as I push back from the table and walk around the kitchen counters to look down the foyer that leads to the residential elevator. And I freeze. I’m not even sure I can take a breath.
I can’t move.
I can’t talk.
I can’t do anything but stare at the three individuals stepping out of the elevators and into the penthouse—my sanctuary, my home.
“Of course, dear. Take care and let me know if you need anything. We’ll talk soon.” Daphne disconnects and I really wish I could’ve asked her for help or made a noise to let her know that I’m in trouble.
Because I am in serious trouble and desperately need help right now.