by M. S. Parker
“I brought lunch for Jasper.” I held up the bag.
“Dr. Whitehall has patients for the next half hour.” She gave me that smile I hated.
“Then I'll go wait in his office with it.” I opened the door to the lobby and headed down the hall before she could make some sort of protest or excuse as to why I shouldn't be there.
I stuck the bags in the refrigerator and sat down behind Jasper's desk. I pulled out my phone and started flipping through a Christmas cookbook I'd downloaded. Allen and I used to have ham for Christmas, but I'd never been overly fond of it. He'd been the one who liked it. Sort of like the whole wine versus beer thing. Now I was looking for something that would go well with beer. Maybe turkey or I could get ambitious and do a duck or goose. I wasn't even sure if I liked duck or goose, but I figured I could try before Christmas, and find out what Jasper and I liked.
“Hey, babe,” Jasper said as he walked in. He smiled at me. “I didn't know you were here.”
It didn't surprise me that Georgia hadn't told him. I stood and went to him, kissing his cheek. “I was going to go out and maybe pick up a couple things, and I realized I hadn't eaten lunch yet. I figured I'd bring you something and we could eat together.”
“Perfect.” He smiled and put his arms around my waist. “I was just going to order something anyway.”
He bent his head and kissed me soundly, heat spreading through me. It wasn't a long kiss, but it was a thorough one and my pulse was racing by the time he let me go.
Damn. I loved that he could do that.
“I got sandwiches,” I said as I walked back to the fridge. “Figured they could be either hot or cold since I didn't know when you were going to be free.”
When I turned back around, Jasper was sitting in his chair. I walked over to hand him a bag, and he took it with one hand, wrapping the other arm around my waist and pulling me down on his lap. I laughed, letting myself relax into him as we put our bags on the desk.
“Did you want the grilled chicken or the roast beef?” I asked.
“Surprise me.”
He wrapped his other arm around me and rested his chin against my shoulder. I opened one of the bags and pulled out a sandwich. He took it and I took the other one. We ate in comfortable silence.
“Did you have somewhere specific you wanted to go today?” Jasper asked as he finished his sandwich.
“Not really,” I said. “Why?”
“I was thinking you could stay and take a look through some old paperwork I haven't been able to go through yet.” He reached up and tucked some hair behind my ear. “I'm trying to find Allen's real test results.”
“I thought you had everything sorted already,” I said.
“Yes and no.” He brushed the back of his hand down my arm. “Everything's put away.” He gestured towards some filing cabinets standing against the far wall. “But I had Georgia doing a lot of that filing, and I didn't want to ask her to look through them for this.”
“What about doctor-patient confidentiality?” I asked.
“Oh, those aren't medical records. They're billing for medical equipment, stuff like that,” he explained. “I've looked through the medical records to see if Allen's tests had been misfiled there, but they weren't. Now I'm wondering if they accidentally got put in with all of that extra stuff.”
“And it'd be okay for me to go through them?”
He nodded. “Unless you had something you needed to do today.”
I shook my head. “Not particularly. I'd just figured I'd go out because it was going to drive me nuts sitting at home for the rest of the afternoon.” I smiled sadly. “I'm not used to not being busy.”
“You'll be back in school before you know it.” He wrapped his fingers around mine and squeezed. “You'll be grading papers and praying for summer.”
“I hope so.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “I miss the kids.”
“I know you do.” He brushed his lips across mine.
I sighed and rested my forehead against his for a moment. I knew he had to get back to work soon, but I was glad for the few moments here when I could feel like even the crazy problems we had were going to be okay.
After a minute or so, I climbed off his lap and headed over to the filing cabinets. He came over and kissed my cheek. “I'll stop in when I can.”
It wasn't the most thrilling work in the world. It wasn't even as exciting as grading spelling tests. In fact, it was mind-numbing, but at least it was keeping me busy. I didn't want to rush and possibly miss something, so I took my time, looking at each one until I was certain that I wasn't reading anything to do with Allen.
Every so often, Jasper would stop in, give me a quick kiss and ask if I was staying a bit longer. It was nice, knowing he was there.
I was halfway through the next to last drawer when I found it. Found them. The first one was an x-ray with Allen's name on it. The others were behind it, various tests and notes that I knew I wouldn't completely understand. I took the papers out and went over to Jasper's desk. I sat down and stacked them neatly in front of me. I looked up at the clock. It was nearly five-thirty. Jasper would be finishing up soon.
I looked down at the papers and began to flip through them. Most of the medical jargon I didn't understand, but there was enough I could. It didn't take long for me to know for certain that these were Allen's real records. And he really had been sick.
When I reached the last page, there was a sticky note on the top that told me everything I needed to know.
Creutzfeldt-Jakob. No cure. Fast.
That first letter I'd received had named the disease. That was it. Allen had been dying and there was no cure.
Whoever had written that first letter had known two things. Somehow they knew that Allen killed himself, but, just as confusing, they knew the name of the disease that had already been taking him from me.
Chapter 21
“Shae?” Jasper sounded concerned as he entered his office and saw me sitting there.
“I found them.” I gestured to the papers. “Allen's real test results.”
He leaned against the desk. “Are you okay?”
I pushed aside the top ones and tapped the sticky note. “Allen had Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.”
“I know,” Jasper said, a puzzled expression on his face as he glanced down at the tests. “I've seen these reports before.”
“So did the person who wrote the first letter.”
His eyes widened and he looked back down at the papers, finally seeing where I was pointing.
“Whoever wrote that first letter knew the exact name of the disease that Allen had. Neither of us thought anything of it when we first heard it because we assumed Allen had written it. Of course he'd know what he had.”
“But Allen didn't write that letter,” Jasper said slowly.
“I know.” My mind was spinning. “We know that now.”
“But whoever did...” Jasper's voice trailed off. “Fuck.”
“We need to find out who else had access to these tests,” I said. “Or who they could've told–”
“I know who did it.” His voice was quiet, but it stopped my sentence cold.
I looked up at him. His skin was pale, a stricken expression on his face. “Who?”
“Georgia.”
I stared at him. Was he serious?
“That's her handwriting.” He tapped the note my finger was resting on. “Look at what it says, Shae. 'Creutzfeldt-Jakob. No cure. Fast.'”
The words echoed in my head. They'd sounded familiar before, but I still couldn't figure out why.
“That's what the letter said,” Jasper said quietly. “Those exact words. I'd thought before that the style of the letter sounded familiar, and now I know why. It was Georgia. She wrote that letter, but I don't know why.”
I shook my head. “She's in love with you.” His head jerked up and I chuckled at the expression on his face. “Or she's at least infatuated with you.”
“Shit,” he muttere
d. Color flooded his face. “I went out with her...or, well, we hooked up.”
“What?” I had to have heard him wrong. There was no way he'd just said that he'd slept with Georgia Overstreet.
“When I first started working with my dad, I asked her out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She was cute and liked me. That was pretty much all I needed at the time.” He gave me a rueful look. “It was hell trying to get you out of my head.”
Dammit. “Did she know that's why you went out with her?”
He paused for a moment and then shrugged. “I didn't think so, but now I think she might have.”
I let out a breath. “So what do we do now?”
He looked down at me. “I have an idea.”
“This is where Georgia lives?” I looked at the house and rubbed my hands together. I'd worn my coat, but I hadn't realized it'd be cold enough for gloves this early in the morning.
“It's the address on her application,” Jasper said.
By the time the two of us had decided exactly how we would handle the situation, Georgia had already left for the night. Since there were some other things that we had to work out, we decided to wait until the next morning to confront her.
Now it was early Saturday morning and the two of us were standing in front of a little cottage-type house painted the ugliest shade of green I'd ever seen. The front lawn was neatly trimmed and dotted with garden gnomes. There must've been at least fifty, and each one had that creepy smile that those sorts of decorations always seemed to have.
“Are you sure you're okay doing this?” Jasper asked as he reached over and took my hand.
“I just want to get to the bottom of all of this so we can get on with our lives.” I returned the comforting squeeze of his fingers.
“All right.” He released my hand and started up the narrow walkway that led to the front steps.
I fell in step behind him and resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. We'd both agreed that if Georgia really had done this, and she had a thing for Jasper, it would be better if she didn't see us being physically affectionate with each other. It would be bad enough that we were there together. Jasper had wanted to go in alone, but I'd been adamant that I go with him. I hadn't told him my suspicion that Georgia had cut her hand on purpose to get his attention, but it was starting to feel a lot less like petty jealousy on my part, and more like pieces were falling into place.
He rang the doorbell, and less than a minute later, the door opened. Georgia was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a flimsy camisole top that looked like it had seen better days. Her short hair stood up in weird clumps all over her head. As soon as she saw Jasper, her face flushed red and I almost felt bad for her. If we were wrong about her, then I would feel bad. At the moment, though, I was thinking more about everything she'd put us through and sympathy wasn't exactly high on my priority list.
“Jasper! I mean, Dr. Whitehall...” Her hand went to her hair. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting company so early in the morning.” Her eyes darted over to me and her mouth flattened. “Mrs. Lockwood.”
“Miss Overstreet.” I nodded at her, but didn't smile.
“I have a couple things I'd like to talk to you about.” Jasper drew her attention back to him with a charming smile. “May we come in?”
Her eyes darted to me and I knew she was torn. She wanted Jasper to come inside, but she didn't want me, and there wasn't any way to give him permission and exclude me without looking bad.
“Of course.” She stepped aside and motioned for us to come in. “Please excuse the mess. I didn't have a chance to tidy up.”
As I followed Jasper inside, I had to admit that I had no idea what mess she was talking about. The place was spotless. Judging by the smell of bleach lingering in the air, she'd made sure it was germ-free as well. That, at least, was a pleasant surprise. I'd been expecting her to live in piles of filth, with thirty cats and the permeating smell of urine and feces. The lack of these things wasn't proof that she wasn't crazy or obsessed, but I did feel bad that I'd come up with such a stereotypical image.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked as we sat down on the couch. She didn't specifically address Jasper, but her body language made it quite clear that he was the one she was talking to.
“No, thank you,” he said politely. He gestured towards the chair next to where he was sitting.
She sat down, crossing her legs as she leaned towards Jasper. “You said you needed to talk to me about something?”
I tried not to hold my breath. This was where things would get tricky. If Jasper came out and accused her, there was a good chance she'd clam up and not say anything. We'd carefully worked out the wording, but all of it depended on how desperate she was to believe whatever Jasper told her.
“I'm in a bit of trouble,” he began. “The police think that Shae and I killed Allen because we were having and affair and wanted his money.”
“But that's not true!” Georgia exclaimed. “You'd never do anything like that.”
“Thank you. I'm glad you see that,” he continued. “But earlier this week, they arrested Shae and searched the house.”
The look she gave me clearly said that she had no problem with this particular part of the story.
“They found some things that implicate me in Allen's death. A letter that Shae had gotten from Allen after he died. It says that I'd helped him lie to the insurance company so he could get a big insurance policy. Then they got onto Allen's laptop, and there was an email from me to him that made it sound like I encouraged him to get the policy. The same policy that helped me get the clinic up and running. And then they found medical records that show Allen was perfectly healthy.” Jasper made a frustrated sound. “I told them that none of those were real, but no one believes me.” He gestured towards me. “Not even her.”
“I believe you,” she said. She reached out and put her hand on Jasper's knee. “You were always such a good friend to Mr. Lockwood. I'm sure the police will realize that you never would have hurt him.”
“That's the thing.” Jasper didn't push her hand away. “The letter named the disease that Allen had, and the healthy medical records either prove that I lied to the insurance company or that I lied to Allen. Either way, I'm screwed. The email just makes it that much worse.”
“What do you need me to do?” Georgia asked. “I can tell the cops that Mr. Lockwood had Creutzfeldt-Jakob and that I heard you tell him that.”
“But that just proves I lied to the insurance company.”
“Not if you have Mr. Lockwood's real results,” she countered. “I know where they are. I'll tell the police that the ones they have are old, or that I accidentally misfiled the new ones.”
“Thank you, Georgia.” Jasper smiled at her. “But the letter and the email both say that I knew Allen was sick and that I'd encouraged him to get the million dollar insurance policy. The real records will only support the cops' claims that I wanted Allen's money.”
“Just tell them you didn't write the email or the letter.”
I could see her body tensing with anxiety. This was what we'd wanted. To get her to admit what she'd done and why she'd done it.
“I told them that, but they have all this evidence that I did it. The fact that the letter names the disease when only a couple of people knew about it. The email was from my email address.” He turned so that his back was to me. “They're going to arrest me, and I'm going to go to jail for something I didn't do.”
“No you won't.” She was clearly focused all on him. “I'll tell them that I did it.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I can't let you lie for me. It wouldn't be right.”
“But it's not a lie,” she said earnestly, her fingers clutching his knee now. “I wrote and sent that letter. I paid Allyson Neely fifty dollars to post-date it and say that it had gotten lost in the mail.”
“Why would you do that?” Jasper asked. “It got me in a lot of trouble.”
/> She sighed and dropped her face in her hands. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “That wasn't what I meant to happen. I'd heard you and Mr. Lockwood talking about him being sick and what you did to help him. When he died, I didn't want you to get in trouble, so I hid his real records.”
“But you wrote a letter to Shae telling her what I did.”
Georgia's cheeks flushed red. “I wanted her to get mad at you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She doesn't deserve you.”
My nails bit into my palms, but I forced myself to stay still and quiet. She'd all but forgotten I was there. We needed her to keep talking.
“And I knew if I put in the letter what you'd done, she'd be upset, but she wouldn't go to the cops because she'd lose the insurance money if it came out that Mr. Lockwood had committed suicide.”
“The cops aren't going to believe that you wrote that letter,” Jasper said, pressing for more information. “They'll say you're just trying to protect me because I'm your boss.”
“I can show them the original. It's still on my computer,” she said. “I can't get arrested for writing a letter.”
“They still have my email.”
She shook her head. “I wrote it.”
“How?” Jasper's voice was gentle rather than accusatory.
“You use the same password for your work email as you do for your personal one.” She looked pleased with herself. “I just accessed your personal account, sent the email and then deleted it from your sent messages.”
“But it was sent before Allen died.”
She smiled. “No, it wasn't. When you didn't leave her, I knew I had to make you see that she didn't trust you. I called my nephew in Montana. He knows a lot about computers, and he told me how to make the date on the email different.”
We had her. Everything that the police had to 'prove' that Jasper and I had conspired to kill Allen, she'd confessed to. The only thing the cops could arrest Jasper for was what had happened with the insurance company, but we'd worry about that later. Jasper had said he was willing to take his punishment for what he'd actually done. It was more important that neither of us were being charged with murder.
