Chapter 22
Abby knocked on Victor’s cabin door but didn’t wait for permission to go in. The empty smell of peppermint saturated the air, probably from a mug on the table next to him. He sat in an easy chair with a traditional plaid blanket over his lap.
Victor pushed to his feet faster than she imagined he could move. He bumped into the table, sending tea sloshing from the mug, but ignored it in favor of picking up his cane.
He hobbled over to Abby and grabbed her arm, clutching so tightly it hurt. “Please tell me you didn’t find my sweet Estelle.”
“We didn’t.” Abby gently loosened his fingers.
Victor sagged, looking weak and fragile. Burke rushed over to take the older man’s elbow before he collapsed and helped him back to the chair.
Abby dragged a dining chair to sit next to him. Burke stepped back and leaned against the wall, his feet crossed at the ankle. His typical casual pose, but his expression was anything but casual. She raised a finger to tell him to hold off questioning. He arched a brow, but gave a subtle nod.
“I’ve been so worried and conflicted.” Victor spread the blanket over his legs again. “I want an answer to what happened to my sweet wife, but I sure didn’t want you to find her in a grave. That would mean someone had killed her.”
Abby gave him a compassionate smile. “I can see how you would feel that way.”
“But now…” He picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “Now I’m right back where I started. Unanswered questions.”
Time to give him additional information.
Abby laced her tone with sympathy. “I can understand how you must feel, but we’re not actually back where we started. Before we get into that, did you keep your old financial records from when you and Estelle first married?”
One hand hovered near his mouth, fingers twitching like he might speak—but didn’t for a long moment.
“I’m not sure how that’s relevant, but I don’t know a thing about my finances other than the monthly report Ugo gives me.
Money is his domain. He’s extremely efficient and organized, so I would assume he kept records needed for taxes and discarded the rest.”
“Then you don’t know where he stores the records?” Burke clarified.
“He has his own office. Back of the first floor. I assume records are kept there, but you really need to ask him.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Enough of this busy talk. Did you find something on the property? Something to tell us where Estelle is?”
“Unfortunately,” Abby said, “the forensic anthropologist located a clandestine grave in the clearing on the cliff side. She recovered a man’s skeletal remains.”
“On my property? I can hardly believe it.” Suddenly red-faced, Victor clutched at his chest and struggled to breathe.
Abby held his free hand. “Look at me, Victor. Breathe with me.” She took slow, measured breaths in and out.
He seemed unable to calm down and follow her. She continued to breathe in this pattern, but exaggerated it even more. He closed his eyes. Opened them. Looked around, appearing confused.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, his speech slurred. He lifted his left hand an inch. It dropped to the arm rest. “My arm. It’s wrong. Help.”
He relaxed back, his eyes closed, and his mouth drooped on one side.
“He’s having a stroke. I’m calling 911.” Burke already had his phone in his hand. “Let Gage know to get the gate open.”
She dug out her phone and dialed Gage. Before she could connect, Victor’s eyes flashed open, his gaze vacant and unfocused.
“The crown is not the treasure,” he said his words slurred.
Baffled, she leaned closer to him. “What do you mean?”
His eyes closed.
Gage answered, and she brought him up to speed then turned her attention back to Victor.
“Victor,” she said softly, looking to make sure he was still breathing.
He was, but he didn’t stir. She offered a heartfelt prayer for him.
“Doesn’t look good.” Burke came to her side.
“We have to believe God will get help here in time.” She sat back in the chair and rested her hand on Victor’s arm. She wanted him to recover for so many reasons, and she wasn’t proud to admit one of them was so he could explain his cryptic comment.
Burke paced the floor in the emergency room waiting area.
He and Abby had followed the ambulance and had been waiting for news for almost an hour.
Victor hadn’t regained consciousness, and his medics agreed his symptoms suggested a stroke.
How severe, they didn’t know, but remaining unconscious wasn’t a good sign.
Burke ran a hand over his head. He hated hospitals.
Hated the medicinal smell of cleaning chemicals.
Of potential death lingering in the air.
He’d only been to hospitals when a crime victim needed attention or was clinging to life.
Never for any wonderful reason like a baby’s birth.
No. This was just another incident of a crime victim needing help.
The double door swung open, and a female dressed in blue scrubs stepped through. She glanced around the waiting room. “Family of Victor Lemoine?”
Burke and Abby shot to their feet to race over to her.
“How is he?” Burke asked, before the woman could introduce herself.
She cleared her throat. “He has indeed suffered an ischemic stroke caused by a blood clot. We were able to successfully remove the clot, and his prognosis is good.”
Thankfully the woman whose hospital badge identified her as a doctor didn’t ask their relationship to Victor or she might not be willing to share confidential information with them.
“Is he awake?” Abby asked.
She shook her head. “He still has altered levels of consciousness without resulting in a full coma. This isn’t uncommon for elderly patients.
They can be drowsy or confused shortly after a stroke.
They’ll drift in and out of consciousness, especially if there’s brain swelling or metabolic imbalance, which he suffered.
But he’ll have brief moments of lucidity. ”
“And long-term?” Abby asked.
The doctor’s mouth tightened. “The stroke could affect the right hemisphere, causing left-side weakness. His speech should be spared. He’s right-handed and it’s typically left-brain controlled.
Once the inflammation has receded, he should regain full use of his left side.
” She tilted her head just a bit. “In fact, he woke several times and kept saying, ‘The crown is not the treasure.’ I imagine you know what he means.”
Burke nodded even though after a lengthy discussion with Abby on the ride over here neither had a clue. “Can we see him?”
“He’s being transferred to a room. We’ll get the number to you as soon as we have it, and you can meet him there.”
“Thank you,” Abby said.
“He’s lucky you recognized stroke signs and got immediate care. You certainly minimized the ongoing damage by getting him here so quickly.”
“One question,” Abby said. “Could sharing upsetting news with him have caused the stroke?”
“Short answer is yes. A physiological response to acute emotional stress can trigger the fight or flight response and cause a surge of stress hormones. That can increase heart rate and blood pressure, putting a strain on blood vessels. It can also increase blood clotting, affecting platelet function and making blood more susceptible to clotting.”
Abby frowned. “If we were to share additional troubling news with him, could it cause another stroke?”
“It’s hard to say, but we didn’t find any evidence of additional blood clots. So he might be fine, or another clot could form.” The doctor nodded her goodbye and used a key card to return through the same door.
Abby let out a long breath. “Thank goodness he’s going to be okay, but I feel like we’re the reason he’s here.”
“You can’t think that way. The doctor said it could’ve happened at any point. You were sympathetic when you broke the news to him, and as the homeowner, he needed to know what happened on his property.”
“I guess.” She chewed on her cheek. “But I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either, but the best thing we can do now is let it go and update his son.”
“And stay with him until his family arrives.” Staring out the window, Abby got out her phone and updated Vidal on his father’s condition.
She’d just completed her call, and a nurse approached. “Mr. Lemoine is in room 321. You’re welcome to visit him there.”
“Thank you,” Abby smiled, but she weaved like she might fall down.
Burke looked her in the face. “You okay to go up there now?”
“Fine.” She started for the elevator.
She still seemed unsteady. No way he’d risk her falling.
He took her arm and got her aboard the elevator.
She didn’t argue. Surprising. Even more surprising, she leaned on him, reinforcing his impression of her state of being.
He continued holding her arm until he settled her in a chair in Victor’s room and sat next to her.
Victor looked pale and vulnerable in the bed. Wires and tubes led from his body to various machines. The constant beep reflected his heartbeat, straining the silence.
“I don’t know why I felt so woozy.” Abby gave Burke a wobbly smile. “Doesn’t make sense. Hospitals don’t bother me. Sick people don’t bother me. I’ve even seen terrible accident victims on the job. This has never happened.”
“Maybe you’ve come to care for him and this has become personal for you.”
“You could be right, even though I try to be sure that doesn’t happen on the job.” Frowning, she sat in silence for a long moment before her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “It’s Kelsey.”
She answered and greeted Kelsey, then listened intently, her foot tapping urgently on the floor.
“Okay, thanks for letting me know,” she said, then listened again.
“Thank you so very much, Kelsey. I’d like to come by and thank you in person, but Victor had a stroke, and we’re at the hospital with him.”
As she listened this time, she nodded. “I will, and thank you again.”