Sandy lay on the tile, breathing hard. “I… Yes. How about you?”
“I’m fine. I wish I could say the same for my clothes.” At the sink, I unplugged the vacuum and hit the GFI reset button. Vivien had recommended a hand vac with a cord because it’s more powerful than the battery type, but from now on, it was banned from the bathroom. “I have to change. Take the rest of the afternoon off, with full pay. Honestly, I don’t know how that happened.”
“Tubs are slippery.” After stashing the cleaning supplies in a plastic carrier, Sandy hurried out.
We could both have been electrocuted, I reflected as I put on dry clothes. But why had an experienced housekeeper placed a plugged-in appliance close to a water source?
My cell rang, interrupting my train of thought. “Tory?”
“I’m at the hospital.” She sounded breathless.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rafe. One minute he was sitting up, talking to us. And then… ” She stopped.
Hell, no. “He can’t be dead.”
“They tried to save him.” Tory was crying. “They rushed him into surgery but he died in the operating room. The doctor said it was a blood clot.”
He’d been on the road to recovery. When Dr. Berman cited the risk of a pulmonary embolism, I’d discounted it.
“How’s Billie?” I asked.
“That’s the funny thing, Eric.” Tory cleared her throat. “She’s disappeared.”
Chapter Nineteen
Billie hadn’t exactly vanished, I learned from Tory. She’d packed up her car and lit out for places unknown.
Billie had been with her brother all morning. If anyone could have messed with his IV, it seemed likely to be her, Tory said. Despite no immediate indication of foul play, the autopsy might reveal more.
I didn’t believe Billie had harmed Rafe. Why would she? But then, what was the motive for any of the murders?
Before Tory clicked off, I explained what I’d learned about Malerie’s having delivered a previous child. While she didn’t seem impressed by the relevance, my sister-in-law promised to share that fact with Keith.
As for the file on Rafe’s laptop, Tory said, the police were looking into that now that a court order was no longer required. If the notes belonged to Dee Marie, perhaps they contained references to Malerie’s earlier pregnancy.
My mind returned to the question of why Billie had fled and what could have caused her to harm her brother, if she had. What did Malerie’s shameful secret, the out-of-wedlock baby apparently abandoned to Winston for disposal, have to do with her?
Billie had told me she was adopted. But she was in her early twenties, younger than the triplets. Malerie’s first baby would be in her early thirties.
About the same age as Rafe. And he’d been adopted too.
On the short drive to my office, I conjectured like mad. Assembling puzzle pieces, or ramming square pegs into round holes. Hard to tell which.
Temporarily disregarding the redhead Malerie and I had seen, suppose the baby in question was Rafe? According to his sister, he’d suffered from a birth defect, so that part fit.
From Dee Marie’s delving into her mother’s papers, he might have begun to suspect his origins. Along with the stunning possibility that he’d married his own sister.
This struck me as straight out of a telenovela. Still, stranger things have happened.
He could hardly have hidden the truth from Dee Marie for long. Then what? Should they reveal what had happened? Divorce? Or carry on and hope nobody found out?
If they’d had a child, there’d have been an elevated risk of birth defects. Everyone carries defective genes, most of which cause no problems because a paired healthy gene compensates. However, receiving such genes from both parents—a risk that increases with a close genetic relationship—can doom a baby to major deformities.
Perhaps they’d argued and it had turned violent. Or Rafe had chosen to escape via a means that preserved his reputation and avoided an expensive divorce, hoping to disguise his wife’s murder as an asthma attack.
He’d supposedly been at work when she died. Since his office was within a few miles of home, that didn’t preclude his sneaking out. When Malerie summoned her surviving daughters to reveal a big secret, Rafe might have feared it was his birth origin, and killed her.
He might also have roped Billie into the plot. She’d have gone to great lengths to protect her brother. Yet that didn’t explain the attack on him.
More speculation: Possibly they’d arranged it to divert suspicion. He’d ingested the allergen on purpose and alerted Billie to run back and administer medication. Impossible to foresee that he’d hit his head with lethal consequences.
Why mention his wife’s file to Tory and me, though, if it contained material he’d killed to keep secret? Also, this scenario failed to account for the redhead at the harbor.
My fertile imagination coughed up an answer. Since Malerie had conceived triplets without fertility treatments, she might have had a genetic tendency toward twinning. Rafe and the mystery woman could be siblings.
I’d stumbled upon a theory, however bizarre, that fit. In the parking garage, I called Keith.
Yes, he confirmed, Tory had told him about Mrs. Abernathy’s prior pregnancy. So what?
I unloaded my speculation on him. Speaking it aloud, I realized how preposterous it sounded, and braced for a major squelching.
Instead, Keith said, “We’ll test Rafe’s DNA to see if he was related to Mrs. Abernathy.”
“Great.” Leaving matters in his hands, I hurried into the office, where my harassed nurse regarded me with exasperation.
I was an hour late. A peek into the waiting room showed it packed with people, some of them pacing.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “It was a matter of life or death.”
“I understand.” Farrah knew about the murders of Malerie and Dee Marie. Not only had both been patients, but last night the TV news had trumpeted the mother-daughter murders.
Since it seemed unfair for her to continue facing the wrath of our clients, I went out and apologized directly. Anger mutated to irritation and, in a few cases, disbelief as patients and their husbands listened to a doctor humbling himself.
“Are you a hologram?” one woman asked.
I assured her I was not. For those who preferred to reschedule, I promised to work them in soon. Afterwards, Glenda coordinated by phone with patients who hadn’t yet arrived, alerting them to the delay and offering to change their appointments.
“You see why I love you?” Farrah murmured as she handed over a face sheet.
“Same here. I’d be lost without you.” She’s what I’ve heard described as an office wife. Lydia didn’t mind our mutual admiration society, because she knew I never felt any sparks for my nurse. Just great appreciation.
My determination to focus on patients pushed other considerations to the back of my mind. The hours flew by until I received a call from Tory.
“Doreen and Heather are hosting a memorial gathering for Rafe tonight at their condo,” she told me. “They believe the family needs to come together. You’ll be there, right?”
“What time?”
“Six o’clock,” she said. “Dad’s catering sandwiches.”
I decided against sharing my ideas about Rafe. Until and unless Keith found proof, the man deserved to be mourned. “Have you told your client about her mother’s previous pregnancy?”
“Yes, and she’s flummoxed.” The unevenness in her tone indicated my sister-in-law was walking as she spoke. “It’s hard for them to take all this in, as you can imagine.”
These days, I could imagine almost anything, I mused. “What about Heather? I doubt she wished Rafe dead, but she was far from his biggest fan.”
“According to Doreen, that’s changed,” Tory said. “When Heather confessed to him about the investment, Rafe accepted her apology and offered to work out some form of reparation to the family.”
“That was
decent of him,” I said.
“Danielle and Fred will be there,” Tory added.
“Any others?”
“You and me. I’m not sure who else.”
We were all gathering. Unreasoning dread lumped in my stomach. We’d be easy prey, and the killer was still on the loose.
“Keep your guard up,” I said. “I have a premonition we’ll be in danger.”
“Getting superstitious in your old age?”
“Aren’t cops supposed to trust their guts?”
“You’re not a cop.”
“Speaking of police, will Keith be there?” I’d find his presence reassuring.
“It’s strictly private, and I doubt Doreen invited him. Anyway, he has more important stuff to do.”
Good point. “See you there.”
We clicked off. I decided to bring a syringe with a sedative in case anyone went ballistic. Not very practical, since the dose might be inadequate and my chances of getting close enough to jab someone were small, but I needed to feel prepared.
Despite the reshuffling of appointments, I was still seeing patients at six o’clock. My uneasiness mounted. I ought to be at Doreen’s.
While I didn’t doubt Tory’s ability to defend herself, she’d said she didn’t carry a gun. Speaking of guns, what had happened to Rafe’s? I didn’t recall Keith saying he’d recovered it.
It was another quarter of an hour before I finished. After a round of apologies to the staff, I departed at a rapid clip, the syringe tucked into my tote bag.
And ran right into Jeremiah, waiting by the elevator. He greeted me with, “Eric. I did not see you at lunch.”
“I ate at home.” I peered at the position indicator over the doors. One car was on the ground floor, the other a couple of stories above us on the sixth.
“I owe you my thanks.”
“For what?” Neither elevator moved.
“Your advice.” Jeremiah shifted his lanky frame. I had the impression that towering over me bothered him. “I am grateful that I did not fire my nurse for arguing with her mother.”
Why bring this up now? “Glad she worked out.”
“She is excellent,” he announced. “Did you not find it difficult to secure a top-quality nurse?”
“I more or less inherited Farrah. Her aunt used to work for Dad.” The indicator showed the upper car descending toward us. Hurry up.
“I searched for many months,” Jeremiah intoned. “How strange that, despite living in such a populous state as California, I had to hire someone from Idaho.”
“Idaho?” The elevator whispered to a halt and the doors slid open, revealing an orthopedist whose name I’d forgotten.
“Boise. The name is a corruption of the French word for trees. Did you know that?”
With one foot in the elevator, I halted. Yes, I did, because Sandy had told me.
Sandy, who came from Boise. Sandy, whose involvement with Malerie dated back for decades. Was this a coincidence?
As Keith had said about my missing file, there were way too many coincidences in this case.
“Has your nurse left for the day?” I kept blocking the door. The orthopedist could damn well wait.
“Celia always stays to organize tomorrow’s roster.” Jeremiah frowned. “Do you not wish to descend?”
At Doreen’s condo, the Abernathy clan was gathering. I sensed malevolent forces closing in on them. And on Tory.
Was I yielding to the ridiculous again? A woman who looked just like the triplets, a long-ago baby who might or might not have died, a new nurse from Boise, and a housekeeper also from Boise who’d nearly electrocuted us both only hours ago.
Or rather, who’d nearly electrocuted me.
Abandoning the elevator, I grabbed Jeremiah’s arm. “Where’s your office?”
“This way.” To his credit, he didn’t object. He’s always accepted my actions as meaningful, even when they aren’t.
His office lay near the opposite end of the hall from mine. Luckily, no patients lingered in the waiting room to witness me bursting in like a maniac.
Behind the admitting window, a young woman raised her head. Disappointment flooded through me. With long dark hair and Hispanic features, this woman bore zero resemblance to the woman at the harbor.
Making a fool of myself was bad enough, but I’d delayed joining Tory. I also owed Jeremiah an explanation.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“For what?”
The inner door opened. My breath stuck in my lungs as a second woman appeared. “Dr. Schwartz?” said the red-haired nurse. “I thought you’d left.”
An off-center smile lit her face. Height, coloring, stance—she could have passed for Danielle or the late Dee Marie.
I’d found the mystery woman. Who the hell was she?
Chapter Twenty
The name tag identified her as Celia Miller. “Is Sandy Miller your mother?” my voice boomed.
A pucker formed between her eyebrows. “Yes. Who’re you?”
“This is obstetrician Eric Darcy.” Jeremiah radiated pride. “My friend.”
“I see.” Clearly, she didn’t.
For a tangled moment, I had no idea where to begin. Are you aware your mother is killing people? Not a brilliant start, especially if Celia was involved. She might whip out a gun, probably Rafe’s, and commit an act of workplace violence.
“Were you adopted?” I received quizzical looks from Jeremiah and the receptionist.
“No.” After a flicker of hesitation, Celia added, “I don’t believe so.”
“Were you born with a heart defect?”
“Yes,” she said. “What’s this about?”
My mother used to say a picture is worth a thousand words. On my phone, I accessed Malerie’s Facebook page, where a photo showed her with the triplets.
When I handed it to Celia, she gasped. “Is this Photoshopped?”
“No. That’s your birth mother, Malerie Abernathy,” I said. “And those are your younger sisters. They’re triplets.”
She studied it in amazement. “Do they know about me?”
“The girls don’t,” I said. “And I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Abernathy and one of the triplets have been murdered.”
“What?” Pain glimmered in Celia’s wide gray eyes. “Who would do that?”
“Your adoptive mother,” I said. “Sandy.”
Jeremiah brightened. “I saw it on the news last night. The mother-daughter slayings. And that son-in-law is in the hospital.”
“He’s dead, too.”
“I never follow the news,” Celia said dully. “I can’t believe Mom killed them.”
“You’d better start believing it, because if we don’t stop her, she’ll keep doing it.” Or she already was. “Oh, my God.”
I fumbled for my phone. After a split second that crawled for an eternity, I pressed my sister-in-law’s number. Pick up pick up pick up.
“Hey, Eric,” said that wonderful voice so much like Lydia’s.
“Sandy’s the killer,” I said. “Has the food arrived? Has anyone eaten?”
“She just dropped it off.” At foghorn decibels, Tory yelled, “Don’t touch the food! It’s poisoned!” Chaos and questions ensued on her end before she addressed me again. “We’re okay. You were in the nick of time. What’s the deal?”
“I found Malerie’s other child,” I said. “She’s Sandy’s adopted daughter and a dead ringer for the triplets. Beyond that, I’m not sure of the story.” Or whether Rafe had anything to do with it, and the reason Billie had fled. Even whether the food really had been poisoned, although that was a safe guess. “Did Sandy say where she was headed?”
“No.”
“Did your father show up?”
“He was in the van with her but he didn’t come in.” Behind Tory, Fred’s voice demanded an explanation. “I should have listened to you about that quadruplet business. I have to go.”
“I’ll notify Keith.”
“I’ll warn Dad
,” she said. “Stay in touch.”
“You bet.” The call ended and I pressed my best friend’s number. When he answered, I said, “The murderer is Sandy.” I told him about Celia.
“That’s alarming,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t prove Mrs. Miller’s our suspect.”
“She tried to electrocute me today,” I said.
“What?”
“Initially, I took it for an accident,” I said. “Hand vac in the bathtub. Details later.”
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“Where’s Tory? Have you talked to her?”
“She’s fine.” I described the situation at Doreen’s. Then I read him the contents of a text that popped up: Dad’s not answering.
“Did you lock your house?” Keith asked.
Odd question. “Yes.”
“And set the alarm?”
“Of course.”
“Did you give Sandy a key or the code?”
“No.” Morris had let her in earlier to clean, and she’d left before I did.
“Go home and stay there. Or book a room at a hotel. You’re obviously in her sights,” he said. “We’ll check Morris’s premises and her residence.”
I didn’t recall where Sandy lived. “She has an apartment?”
“Li Tran, the guy from the flower shop, provides a free room in exchange for cleaning his house. Keep me informed.”
“Will do.” As I clicked off, points of illumination crackled across my brain. As Malerie’s nurse/housekeeper, Sandy could have devised a way to copy Dee Marie’s and Rafe’s key and learn their security code. Also, right after the funeral, she’d overheard him mention the unidentified file. Aware that he had an appointment with her landlord, she’d have felt free to sneak into Rafe’s house to contaminate the oil.
“Is Mom okay?” Celia asked.
“Try her number,” I said. “We need to bring her in safely.” For everyone’s sake.
On her phone, the nurse tapped the readout and listened before speaking. “Mom? It’s me. I’m worried about you. Please call back.”
She might have been any daughter concerned about her mother. Based on the alleged quadruplet sighting, I’d been chasing a phantom capable of unlimited evil. Now here she stood, pleasant and normal.
The Case of the Questionable Quadruplet Page 17
