“How dare you! No one in this family murdered my mother. I'm sure there was a mix-up with her medication. As for the drug overdose, I can't explain it. Call the pharmacist! As I told the sheriff, leave this family alone to grieve. If you insist there was something shady, perhaps you should focus on that interfering nurse and that repugnant theater director who's had it in for my mother for over a decade.” Ophelia shook her finger in my face but kept her voice low not wanting to create a disturbance.
“I'm looking at those angles. If you're so certain your family is innocent, why did Lilly say she thought you might have killed your mother? Your daughter doesn't seem focused on protecting you.”
Ophelia pulled back, then guffawed at me. “Lilly is angry because I won't give her any money to open that confounded business she wants to start up. There's room for her in any one of the family's corporations, she doesn't need to look elsewhere.” Ophelia promptly turned in the opposite direction looking for anyone else she knew and stomped away from me.
Well, that was fun. It was as if I'd been tag-teamed by a mother and daughter looking to take their anger and vengeance out on anyone nearby. Rather than try to engage with Dana, Jennifer, or Sam, I gave up and left the funeral parlor after stopping by Gwendolyn's closed casket to say my own goodbye. When I got into the car, my phone indicated I had a message. Please don't let this be another Paddington or Taft screeching at me.
Nana D: Looked like you had fun. Learn anything?
Me: Not really. We need to find out if there is another will. If not, my money's on Jennifer or Ophelia being the killer. They stood to collect the most.
Nana D: You're in luck. I spoke with Bertha. She never saw the details, but she was one of the two people who signed it. It definitely exists.
Me: That's great news. Who was the other witness? And where is the will now?
Nana D: She could only answer one of those questions.
Me: Which one? Out with it, Nana D. I'm tired of being dragged around and kept at bay today.
Nana D: You're the most impatient imp I've ever known. Brad was the second witness. Bertha wasn't sure where the new will ended up.
Me: Brad??? Where'd Bertha last see it?
Nana D: In the mailbox. Gwendolyn sent it to herself. Clever girl.
Me: It's been a week. It should've arrived already.
Nana D: Unless someone found it and destroyed it so they wouldn't lose out on the inheritance.
Chapter 15
Classes resumed on Monday morning. After dropping Emma off at school, I drove to campus and held my first lecture for the day. While the students talked in groups, the pregnant maid who disappeared from the Paddington estate years earlier flashed front and center in my mind. If Brad were Hannah's child, had the discovery of his father been why Gwendolyn had died? I needed to convince Eustacia that we had to tell Millard what we'd learned, even if it caused him any heartache. While I didn't think he could've killed his own sister-in-law, maybe it was time for the truth to come out about Hannah giving birth to his child.
Once my second course was finished, I followed the students out of the classroom to grab another cup of coffee. I'd woken up too late and needed extra caffeine to push through the rest of the day. While I stood in line, Connor and Sheriff Montague stepped into The Big Beanery. I paid for my coffee and snatched a corner table, then waved them over once they'd finished collecting their orders.
“Kellan, good to see you,” Connor said while sitting across from me. “The sheriff and I only have a minute, but we didn't want to be rude.”
“I appreciate it. I'm sure you two have a lot to discuss about Gwendolyn's death. I understand you've located Timothy finally,” I offered up as a way to focus the conversation. “I wanted to speak with him myself, but as far as I understood, he was refusing visitors at the rehabilitation facility.”
“Yes, he's trying to get clean and fight his gambling addiction. Although I commend him for fighting his demons, it's certainly a convenient time to hide out,” Sheriff Montague growled while stirring milk into her cup. When I handed her the tray of sugar packets, she raised the palm of her hand at me. “Connor's shown me the light about staying away from that stuff.”
In the four or five times I'd see the two of them together, I'd picked up on a growing crush. I don't think Connor was fully aware how often she stared at him or tried to casually flirt. I'd mentioned it once, but Connor, who's built like a brick wall, bluntly told me to keep my mouth shut. Not one to risk any unintended consequences, I'd heeded his advice and observed from afar April's behavior around him. There were at least two furtive glances and a clandestine brush against his arm when she sat at the table with us.
“What makes you think Timothy's decision to quit drugs and gambling is convenient?” I said.
“While his mother has a heart attack and drops dead in the middle of a theater performance from a cocaine overdose, he suddenly sees the light and checks himself into rehab? You don't see anything coincidental about that, Little Ayrwick?” She cracked her knuckles causing me to flinch when each successive pop reached my eardrums.
“I didn't see him at the funeral. You haven't arrested him, have you?” I asked mostly believing the sheriff wouldn't have kept a son from visiting his mother one last time before the burial.
“Timothy has not been arrested. We've questioned him hoping to understand more about his drug choices. It appears cocaine was also his downfall,” Sheriff Montague said with a tone so shallow I could practically see what she was thinking. She thought Timothy had killed his own mother.
“Timothy was free to leave the rehab facility but apparently chose not to show up at the funeral parlor,” Connor added. He placed both hands together on the table in front of him and began tapping. “Seems he didn't need to say a final goodbye.”
“Maybe he found religion and made his peace with her death. Not everyone enjoys a funeral service.” Personally, I found them tedious and frustrating. Most people showed up because they felt compelled to say goodbye to a body. While I had no clue where the spirit or the soul went after you died, I was much more comfortable talking to somebody I'd lost from the comfort of my own home or a quiet bench in the sanctity of the park. “Did he explain what they fought about at the theater during the intermission?” I still didn't know why Timothy had chosen not to attend yet showed up anyway.
“If you're so curious, why don't you go to the Second Chance Reflections rehabilitation facility yourself to ask him?” the sheriff directed.
I was glad she did since I hadn't known which one he'd checked himself into. Cha ching! “Just curious. There are a lot of people who thought they'd benefit from Gwendolyn's death.”
Sheriff Montague said, “Well one of them went to a great length to swap just one dosage of pills with huge amounts of cocaine to kill her. There was no trace of any additional cocaine anywhere other than those pills Gwendolyn took at the theater. None of the rest we found in her house were contaminated either.”
At least now I had confirmation the tainted pills were specifically swapped for that afternoon's dosage. “I guess until someone finds the new missing will, we can't determine who might be the culprit. I don't particularly like or trust anyone in that family.”
“Excuse me, did you say a new will?” the sheriff said while her eyes brightened and a sour expression developed on her face. “I'm not aware of anyone searching for a missing will.”
“Yes, Gwendolyn signed a new one the night before she died. No one's been able to locate it, but as I understand there were two witnesses who signed it. I'm sure they can vouch for its existence, as can Finnigan Masters, Gwendolyn's attorney.” I smiled as I responded to the sheriff feeling smug that I'd known something she hadn't. It wasn't mature of me, but I accepted little wins from time to time.
“Okay, Little Ayrwick… let's backtrack a bit. Please explain whatever it is you know. I can tell by the nauseating grin on your face you like having your ego stroked. Please share your investigative prowess
with the poor, unfortunate sheriff who seems to be one step behind you this time.” She cupped her hands together in prayer mode and faked as though she were begging me to assist.
Was she really admitting that I'd been able to find out more than she had? “What's in it for me?” I stared directly into her eyes as I replied. “I mean, it sounds like you're looking to work together on solving this peculiar puzzle.”
“In exchange for you telling me what you know, I will happily not cart your pathetic rump to the county jail for withholding evidence and disrespecting law enforcement.” As she stood, one hand reached for her hip where a gun had been safely locked in its holster. Was she trying to intimidate me?
“I'm trying to find a way to partner with you, April, but you block me at every turn. I think you need to be more open-minded and flexible. At the risk of annoying you any further, what's the harm in a little pro quo if it helps find a criminal? It's not like I'm broadcasting what you say on the news. I haven't once done anything on this case to get in your way, have I?”
Connor's shock and trepidation clearly told me to back down. “Kellan, I'm sure the sheriff appreciates your help, but why is this so important to you?”
“Honestly, at first it was because Nana D asked me to figure out if someone was trying to hurt Gwendolyn, but less than twenty-four hours later, the woman was murdered. Every single time I talk to someone in the Paddington family, they berate me or treat me like I'm not worth the dirt they step on. I want to see whomever killed the woman go to prison.”
“You're beginning to annoy me even more than usual, but obviously, once again, you have an ability to get close to all the key players in this murder investigation. I'm not going to pretend having you on the inside isn't a benefit, but we need to establish some ground rules. I'd rather not have to put you in prison while that crazy grandmother of yours is in the lead to become the next mayor.”
“I can respect rules if they're fair and mutually beneficial,” I added. There had to be a way I could stay clear of causing any additional friction with the sheriff yet also still help Eustacia learn who killed her sister-in-law.
After explaining everything I knew, the sheriff asked me to give her twenty-four hours to process the updates. “Don't give any information away to anyone in that family right now!” she bellowed before walking out the door.
“You need to tread a little more lightly, Kellan,” Connor noted after she left. “You've always been nosy, but you seem to be getting a lot more confident and pushier than I remember.”
I hadn't thought of it that way. I saw myself as capable of getting answers, and my intellect and curiosity were intrigued by investigating real life crimes. I'd always wanted my own show focused on historical cases, but the adrenaline rush over something current or connected to people I knew was exciting me. “I don't mean to act cocky. I just think I have natural talents in this area. Why should I let them go to waste if I can find the right balance between observing the laws and discovering the truth?”
“Until you get killed because the murderer is smarter and more prepared than you. Have you thought about how Emma would feel losing both parents at such a young age?” Connor sniped.
I closed my eyes to prevent myself from saying something I knew I couldn't. Or shouldn't. When I felt relieved enough to respond, I said, “I know you're right. I promise to be more careful.”
“If you're committed to staying Braxton, I'd like to suggest maybe we could re-build our friendship. Get back to college days,” Connor replied punching me in the arm. “I've been on my own for too long and miss having a best friend.”
“I do, too,” I said pushing down the emotional ball of stress trying to project itself from my gut. As much as Eleanor was helping me try to understand what I should do about Francesca, talking to Connor about it had been something I desperately wanted to do for days.
“Let's get back to having drinks and dinner more often. Maybe we could go for a few runs together?” Connor stood and slapped my shoulder twice. “You've got a little catching up to do, buddy.”
I laughed knowing I could use the motivation. “Speaking of dinner, Eleanor mentioned you guys were going out tomorrow to talk about whatever happened between you last Christmas.”
“Yep. I'm not saying it's gonna work out between her and I, and I'm still interested in Maggie, but I promised you I'd talk to Eleanor. She's an amazing woman. Who wouldn't want to date her?”
Although I knew he was right, she was my sister and I still hadn't asked her about why she was at the fertility clinic. After Connor and I made plans to go running that weekend and said our goodbyes, I taught my three-hour lecture and reviewed my upcoming lesson plans. The sun was beginning to set and although I wanted to get in a workout, I needed to find out from Brad what he knew about signing Gwendolyn's will. When I pulled out my phone to find the number for the Paddington estate, I noticed several missed messages from Eleanor.
I had forgotten today was the final meeting with the inspector to see if she could open for dinner service. I quickly checked in with her and learned she'd passed with flying colors. Eleanor was thrilled to finally have everything fall into place. I told her I would stop by in a couple of hours with Emma for a late dinner. My grandmother had also left a text message for me.
Nana D: Emma is here with me. We're baking dessert since you had a rough weekend.
Me: You're the best. I'll be by at seven so we can go to the Pick-Me-Up Diner's opening.
Nana D: Did you speak with Brad?
Me: On my way now, that's why I'm running late.
Nana D: Then stop bothering me and go accomplish something for a change.
Me: Speaking of getting things done, do you have the plan ready for Friday's debate?
Nana D: Did anyone ever tell you that you're a smug little devil?
Me: Yep. A crotchety woman I rather like being around even if I don't admit it often enough. It goes to her head too easily. And we've all had enough of that experience for a lifetime.
Nana D: Does that mean you'll be moving in with me? Your parents need their privacy. They need to be empty nesters so they have some space to get their groove on. You're cramping their style. I imagine they haven't made whoopie since you returned.
Me: We're done. Thanks for giving me an image I'll never erase from memory. If you understood emojis, I'd share a picture of a frog throwing up. Since you don't, I'll settle for saying BARF!
Nana D: You're so immature. I didn't raise you to be so weak.
I shook my head to detach any images the conversation had conjured up. When I called the Paddington estate, Bertha informed me that Brad had left for an interview at the hospital. I ran through a list of contacts who might know where his interview was being held, then settled on a former high school classmate who worked in the Human Resources department at the Wharton County General Hospital. Ten minutes later, including a promise to take Lydia Nutberry's daughter, Tiffany, for coffee the next week, I knew the time, location, and contact Brad would be meeting with. I'm sure her revealing the information was a violation of some law, but it was likely nothing Sheriff Montague could arrest me for. I promised the sheriff I'd stand down for twenty-four hours. Having an itty-bitty conversation with my new friend, Brad, about my old friend's will couldn't possibly lead to trouble.
I unfortunately hit a bunch of traffic while driving downtown during rush hour. By the time I arrived, I had three minutes to catch Brad before his interview started. I left my car on the third floor of the parking garage and took the elevator to the administrative wing. Wharton Country General Hospital had been built twenty years earlier in the center of the county so it was easily accessible from all four towns. With generous donations from the Grey family, it served the needs for most illnesses and injuries, but any major surgeries or risky procedures were transferred to Philadelphia. Located near the sheriff's office and court buildings, the hospital stretched two blocks wide and two blocks long.
I rushed out of the stairwell—the ele
vator was taking too long—hoping the interview would start late and jogged down the final hall to the place Brad was supposed to be. I stopped outside the frosted glass door to catch my breath. Despite running several times per week, I must not have been used to racing up and down stairs as I thought I was having my own heart attack. When I entered the room, my throat seized up for an entirely different reason. Brad wasn't in the room. The sheriff was.
“Little Ayrwick, are you here to interview for a role as a nurse? I'd pay top dollar to see you in a pair of scrubs,” she said with a large grin. “Surely, you couldn't be here to try and track down a potential person of interest in one of my murder investigations…”
I could have lied. I could have said I was there for any other reason. Except nothing came to mind. Instead, my mouth hung open and a drop of drool oozed out of the corner of my lips. I took a deep breath, then said, “I'm awful. I don't know how to listen. I was trying to make your job easier. I thought if I could find out what Brad knew about the will, it would be one less person you had to find time to deal with. Is there any chance of me getting out of here with my…”?
“Outside, now!” she shouted. As I slithered through the door, Tiffany whispered 'sorry' at me. I shrugged my shoulders preparing to accept whatever punishment would be thrown in my direction.
“Can you just overlook this one time? You don't even know exactly what…”
“Shut. Your. Mouth. Before. I. Shut. It. For. You,” Sheriff Montague said with a distinct pause between each word. Is that how it sounded when I taught Emma how to pronounce big words? I waited in silence until we got to the end of the hall and sat in a small waiting area. If she was going to arrest me, she would've done it in public, not a room where we were alone.
“Brad Shope signed the will at the same time as Bertha Crawford. Neither one of them were shown the specifics of who inherited anything upon Gwendolyn Paddington's death. He was under the impression Gwendolyn planned to give the will to her lawyer the following week. He assured me he didn't kill her, not that I'm inclined to believe him yet.”
Broken Heart Attack Page 17
