Chapter 40
Forty
DECK FLIPPED THROUGH yet another magazine, then stood. What was taking Harper so long in the lab? He grabbed his third cup of coffee in the cafeteria and sat back down in the space he’d carved out for himself.
His rear had barely touched the plastic bench when his cell phone rang.
Harper, finally. He lifted the phone and glanced at the screen. Make that Riley and, no doubt, Greyson. He had to admit they made an excellent pair, but he still had to razz them. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Deck.” She sighed.
“Sorry. Cool Whip. Is that better?” She couldn’t object to her nickname, could she?
“Better,” she said.
“Let’s get to it,” Greyson said, the tight edge of confidence in his voice combined with well-restrained anger meant he was sitting on something he needed to unload.
“What is it, Grey?”
“We got to thinking after we hung up if Nick got his life insurance policy in Switzerland—”
“Why not start a bank account there as well?”
“Exactly,” Greyson said.
“And the best part,” Riley added, “is that he’s already got money in it—a lot.”
“So where did he get that?” Deck crossed one booted foot over the opposite knee.
“We don’t know.”
“Taylor was the rich one. Way beaucoup bucks,” Deck mused.
“You think he was stealing from her?” Ri asked.
“Knowing the little I do of Nick . . . I’d say he’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“Maybe Taylor found out,” Riley said. “In addition to the cheating. Talk about adding insult to injury.”
“And she drew up divorce papers,” Grey nudged.
Deck smothered a laugh. Trying to keep his sister on track was like herding cats.
“She might have even threatened to sue over the stolen money,” Ri said, running with the theory.
“It’s worth digging deeper on,” Deck said. “It would provide motive upon motive. Good work, guys.”
“There’s one other thing,” Riley said before he could hang up.
“Don’t even ask how she managed to get this knowledge,” Grey said.
“I learned to stop asking years ago. What’d you learn, Ri?”
“Nick Jackson sent a wire transfer in the sum of two hundred thousand dollars several weeks before his wife died.”
“Do you know to who?”
“George Phillips.”
He gripped the phone tighter. “As in Nick’s college buddy?”
“Oh,” Riley squealed. “I didn’t know that. I ran the generals on him . . .”
“And we are wading our way through that to determine which areas to search more,” Grey said.
“I’d start with his connection to Nick. They both went to Northwestern and were in a frat together.”
“Do you know which frat?” Grey asked.
“No . . . wait. Harper said there was a banner in the background of the photo.”
“Can you describe it?”
“She said it was red and had some insignia on it, but most of it was blocked by the group in the photo.”
“No worries,” Ri said. “I’ll reach out to the university to track it down.”
“In the meantime, I think Harper and I better pay a visit to George.”
“We figured,” Grey said. “I emailed the basic info on him.”
“Thanks.” Hope garnered from a new lead wriggled its way through him. It was nearly impossible to wait and tell Harper in person, but he wanted to see the excitement on her face when he told her.
Deciding to head toward Harper’s lab, Deck made a quick call to Joel, who was in the middle of another crisis call. So he said he’d fill him in after they talked to George, and Joel could follow up if need be.
Re-entering the lab, he found Harper still hard at work, her beautiful face in a microscope.
“Hey,” he said from a good distance away so he wouldn’t startle her.
She turned with a smile. The smile that warmed him through and through.
“So?”
“Taylor’s hair had oleander in it.”
“So Nick poisoned her.”
“Yeah, but that’s not all.”
“No?” He arched his brows.
“No. An accelerant was added to the mixture.”
“What? To speed up the process?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“So to kill her off as fast as he could without it looking suspicious, you’re saying he added something to speed up the effects of the poison?”
“Exactly.”
“How would Nick know how to do that?”
“I don’t think he would. He’s not a scientist, let alone the brightest guy.”
“What about George? Would he know?”
She cocked her head. “He is in pharmaceuticals.”
“Finish up here, and I’ll explain in the car.”
A half hour later, they pulled up to George’s new home. Well, new to him. It had been a nice ranch-style at one time, but it looked like there had been a lack of attention for a while—cracking adobe, faded shutters, worn furniture on the porch.
Reaching the door, Deck knocked.
No answer.
He waited a moment, then knocked again.
“He’s gone,” a woman’s voice said.
They turned.
A woman with cleaning items piled in her hands moved toward the house. “He’s gone.”
“Do you know for how long?” Harper said.
“I mean he’s gone-gone. Took most of his stuff, shoved it into his car, and took off. Beats me. He just paid a month’s rent.”
Not good. “Did he say where he was going?”
“Back home.” The woman went inside.
He turned to Harper. “Looks like we’re headed to Chicago.”
She pulled out her phone. “There’s a flight this afternoon.”
“The sooner we get there, the better.”
She frowned. “You think he’s going to run again?”
“I sure hope not. He’s a big piece in this puzzle. We need him.”
She exhaled. “Then let’s pray we find him.”