Was there nothing Rockwell wouldn’t try? I wondered. “I suppose Mr. Wyatt handled the more recent will?”
She arched her eyebrow. “Of course. And it left the whole farm and everything on it to Vance. Except for some photos and a bedroom set, Frank got nothing. His sister got the dining furniture and a few photos.” Her hands fisted and she rested them on the desk between us.
I tried to think what I might have done in this circumstance. “What about her lawyer? Did you and he contest the will?”
“We had no proof. The signature looked so genuine, but I know it wasn’t hers. We’d visited her only a few days before she died. She’d not been feeling well, and she mentioned what a relief it was to know Frank would carry out her wishes when she was gone.”
“Did Rockwell know you were visiting her?”
She looked up, and I saw the idea hit her. “Mother of God! He was by the day before we went. A Saturday, it was. We told him we were planning to visit Mama Jessup and asked if he’d like to come along. He said he had some important business to attend to.”
I was so mad at Vance Rockwell. I wanted to go spit on his grave. “Well, he certainly did. Did he know where your husband kept his copy of the will?”
“No, but it wouldn’t have been that hard to find. We aren’t complicated people with a lot of important papers at home. Those days, we usually didn’t even lock the back door until we went to bed. He knew that.”
“So, he knows you, your husband, and your children will be gone all day. He slips in, takes the will, traces his grandmother’s signature for later, then replaces it and slips out. If anyone saw him, he’d say he came by to see you, but you weren’t home. He waited, but when you didn’t come right away, he left.”
She sagged against the chair. “Just like with Frank’s death, Vance had everything planned out perfectly.”
“It’s hard to believe Frank loaned him money after that.”
“No, this was after. When his grandmother died and we knew what Vance had done, that’s when Frank asked for his money back. Demanded it, really. Said he’d contest the will and keep it tied up in court for years otherwise.”
“Instead, your husband died.”
“There’s nothing can be done about the farm now. But I want people to know Frank Ormond would never take the coward’s way out and kill himself. Never leave me and the kids without a dime. He would have thought of something, even if it meant starting business over again somewhere else.” She stood. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I just needed to tell someone the whole thing.”
“I’m glad you did. Thanks for trusting me, Millie.”
She took my hand in both of hers. “Thanks for believing in me. Even if your policeman can’t prove it, knowing you believed I told the truth helps.”
Another person talking about my policeman, and I hoped she was right. After Millie left, I thought about what she’d told me and wondered how many lives Vance Rockwell had altered—usually in a bad way. How did he lose his conscience? Did he ever have one to start with?
An hour later, Kurt called to shoot the breeze. “Thanks again for inviting me to dinner with your grandparents.”
I leaned my rear against the counter, pleased to hear his voice. “I’m glad you were able to come.”
“I enjoyed our time together. Especially after dinner. I’d still like us to be alone somewhere private.”
“Me, too.” As if, living over my grandparents’ garage next to the garden center, that was likely to happen. But Grandma always said where there was a will, there was a way. I definitely willed it to happen—and soon.
“Anything new with you today?” he asked.
How could I have forgotten? “Ohmygosh, yes. Sam Rockwell’s in the hospital. He was being taken away in an ambulance when I went by to check with Miguel this morning.”
“I’ve heard.” His voice sounded funny.
I grilled him, “Why do you know? Is there something wrong there?”
“Nothing I can talk about right now.” There was that odd tone again. The kind you hear at press conferences when someone says “No comment.”
I turned and rested my elbows on the counter. “Aha, so there is something fishy about his illness.”
He repeated, “Nothing I can talk about.”
Miffed, I said, “You might as well tell me. I’ll find out anyway.”
“Not from me. At least, not at this time.” Just like an official.
Though it annoyed me, I relented. “I get it. You can’t talk about whatever it is, but I’ll be a detective myself. When I learn new facts, you’ll want me to share them, but guess what? I’ll tell you I can’t talk about it at this time.”
His sigh was audible. “Heather, I really can’t. When I can, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“Okay. That’s fair. I know you have to follow the rules.” In the meantime, I’d do my own snooping.
I’d no sooner disconnected than I saw Sharee drive up and climb out of her car. She was dressed for her day job, and I thought again what a shame Rockwell had ruined her life and that of her mother and brothers. And her aunt, and who knew how many other people?
She stormed into the gift shop. “Did you hear what happened to Sam?”
I saw a customer edge our way, as if to eavesdrop on whatever Sharee had to say.
I’d already spent most of the day in my office, but I figured, why not again? “Why don’t we go into my office?” I touched Chelsea’s arm as we passed her. “Chelsea, maybe you’d like to ask Martha to watch this area so you can join us.”
When Sharee followed me into my private sanctum, I said, “I know Sam’s in the hospital. I went by this morning to check on Bootsy’s garden and arrived when the ambulance pulled away. Following that were Devlin and Bootsy, with Devlin driving.”
She dropped into the chair beside my desk. “So, you don’t know about the note?”
Chapter Twenty One
“Note?” I walked around behind my desk and faced Sharee.
Chelsea slipped in.
Sharee barely spared her a glance. “There was a suicide note by Sam’s bed. He OD’d on Bootsy’s sleeping pills.”
Chelsea gasped and I motioned her to my chair. She didn’t move.
Sharee frowned at her. “Who are you?”
“This is Chelsea Bedford. She’s been dating Sam.”
“Ooohhhh.” Sharee nodded. “Okay, the note said he was sorry for killing his dad, but it wasn’t planned. They argued and his temper took over and he used the shovel. He couldn’t live with himself, yada yada.”
“No!” Chelsea said. “That’s...that’s ridiculous. Sam would never have killed Mr. Rockwell. Or anyone else.”
I agreed. “I know Sam had a bad temper, but I can’t see him killing his own father.” And if someone tried to kill him and make it look as if Sam had killed his father, then that let Walter completely off the hook.
“You’re right.” Sharee fished around in her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Kid has a temper and he’s had his own way too much, but he’s grown up a lot lately. He wouldn’t kill Uncle Vance or himself. Someone is setting him up.”
“Any idea who?” I asked.
Sharee shook her head.
Chelsea kneaded her hands. “Do you know if he’s going to be okay? He’s not...
I walked over and tugged Chelsea to my desk chair and pushed her onto it. Wasn’t hard. She plopped like a stone.
Sharee shrugged. “No one knows how this will affect him. Bootsy had Devlin call Mama and me. Sam’s been moved to ICU, but he hasn’t regained consciousness. They think he may have had something besides the pills because they pumped his stomach, gave him whatever they use for an antidote, and he’s still not responding properly.”
I pulled a folding chair from behind the door, opened it, and sat down. “So that’s why Kurt was cagey. There’s an investigation in process.”
“Your cop? Yeah, probably.”
I didn�
�t say that he wasn’t my cop because I was starting to think, well, hope, maybe he might be. I also didn’t say anything when she lit up a cigarette.
Sharee took a drag and exhaled, then peered around. “No ashtrays. You one of those anti-smoking nuts?”
I don’t think I’m a nut, but I am anti-smoking. Grandma’s hostess training kicked in so I didn’t say so. Instead, I handed her the saucer from a broken pot to use as a makeshift ash catcher. “Attempted suicide’s a crime. So’s attempted murder. Either way, Kurt’s involved.”
Chelsea looked from me to Sharee. “There’s no way it was attempted suicide.”
Sharee exhaled again and pointed her smoking cigarette at me. “Which is why I came by. You’ve been trying to help Walter. You could do the same for Sam.”
Both women were staring at me.
I spread my arms. “Why me? Either of you could do the same.”
Chelsea shook her head.
“Who better than you?” Sharee said, “You’re already involved and know all the players. You have an in with the family and with the police.”
That reminded me. “I suppose the Rockwell dinner party for Friday will be cancelled now that Sam’s in the hospital.”
Chelsea looked close to tears. “Sam invited me so I could meet his family.”
Sharee said, “Even I was invited. Surprised the hell out of me, but my family and I were asked to come for the reading of the will and stay for dinner.” Her laugh held no mirth. “Maybe the sorry bastard left us something. Should have known that would get screwed up.” She checked her watch and stubbed out her cigarette. “Crap, I have to get to work.” She stood and walked into the gift shop.
“Sharee, you know more people in town than I do.” I trailed her through the store.
“Not more, but maybe different people. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know. Tell Walter I said hello.”
I stopped at the outside door and watched her climb into her car and drive away.
I hadn’t realized Chelsea followed me until she spoke. “You’ll do it, won’t you?”
“Whatever I can.” But what that would be, I had no clue. In the meantime, I called to tell my grandfather about Sam and the note. He was on his way to visit Walter with the news about the watch, so I passed on Sharee’s message to him.
I’d hoped for some word from Devlin, but no call came. I worked hard, but couldn’t keep my mind from straying to Sam and from there to Chelsea. How could I learn more about Sam’s possible suicide attempt? Nothing occurred to me.
Soon, it was five and Miguel brought the truck in. On site, Miguel starts at half past seven, so his day ends at five. Or it’s supposed to. One of the reasons he gets a percentage of the annual garden center profits is because he’s as dependable as anyone I’ve ever known. He puts in extra time to make sure things go well for all of us. I’d wager he’d be working until we closed at six. Or later.
I walked out to where he’d parked the truck. “How did it go today?”
“We make good progress. The maze, it takes shape.” He looked around as if to make certain we weren’t overheard. “The police, they come to the Rockwell house.”
I filled him in on the note and supposed suicide attempt.
He shook his head. “Much goes on at that place.”
“So what do you think?”
“I think someone has trouble. Glad it’s not me or our crew. The police, they leave us alone. That’s the way I like it.” He paused then said, “I go see Walter now.”
“He needs us to keep visiting and let him know we haven’t forgotten him.”
“Sí, Walter, he is a good man, but very sad. When he don’t drink, he knows plants better than anyone.”
“Grandpa was on his way there also. You might see him there. I think I’ll go to McKinney and see what I can learn.”
“Heather, be careful. Someone, he is not afraid to kill. Each time, the killing will be easier.”
“I’ll just be visiting a sick patient in the hospital. That shouldn’t be dangerous.”
“Maybe not, but it shows someone you watch what happens to this Rockwell family.”
“I’ll be careful. Please tell Walter I’ll come see him tomorrow.”
Shaking his head, Miguel walked away.
Back inside the center’s gift shop, I told Chelsea, “When we close today, I’m driving to McKinney and see if Sam’s any better. Would you like to come with me?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” She appeared relieved. “I was going on my own, but I’d rather go with you. I don’t know what I’ll say if I see his mom and brother.”
“We’ll wing it.” What would I say to Devlin? I couldn’t help remembering that Kurt labeled Devlin a person of interest. Being the one to benefit most by Sam’s death must have upped that interest considerably. I wondered, was it justified?
***
Chelsea and I arrived at the McKinney hospital around seven. Had Fate intervened in the choice of Chelsea’s clothes now that she was about to meet Bootsy and Devlin? Whatever, I was happy for her that she was dressed at her most conservative. We parked and walked toward the entrance. She’d been quiet on the drive and had sat kneading her hands. I was nervous too, but for a different reason. What would I say to Devlin?
I understood why Kurt labeled Devlin a primary suspect. Devlin definitely had opportunity. If he resented Sam, that would be motive. But I had the impression it was the other way around. It had seemed to me Sam resented Devlin, but Devlin had a fondness for his younger brother. Perhaps Devlin was just better at hiding his rancor.
I thought it odd the family wouldn’t hear the will read until day after tomorrow. Wyatt had to be the one who had drawn it up. He and most everyone involved had remained at the Rockwell house since Rockwell’s death. Friday would be one day over two weeks since the funeral. Why wait?
Chelsea and I entered the hospital lobby. I asked one of the pink-smocked, gray-haired volunteers for Sam Rockwell’s room. She informed us Sam was still in intensive care, and she directed us to an ICU waiting room on the third floor.
I hate the hospital smell. Sort of like a public school building, but with more antiseptics. Ugh.
When the elevator door opened at the ICU floor, Chelsea stepped backward. “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this. You go.”
From the elevator, only a small sitting area was visible, but I heard bells, monitors, and the low buzz of conversations. I punched the “open” button to keep the door from closing. “Of course you can. What you can’t do is expect me to do all the information trolling. I want the real Chelsea Bedford to return, and I want her here now.”
Other passengers waited to get in, staring from Chelsea to me. I grabbed her hand and yanked her out of the car.
She stopped at a chair in the seating area. “I’ll wait here. You can check on Sam and tell me how he’s doing.”
“No, you are not sitting there while I face his family for you. You’re a fearless modern woman, able to leap short men at a single bound. You’re coming with me.”
We reached the waiting room and I whispered, “Chin up, and lose the frightened look, would you? We’re supposed to offer comfort while we pry.”
Devlin stood when we entered. “Heather? What a surprise. Nice of you to come.”
“How thoughtful of you to drive over.” Bootsy hugged me then stepped back. “And who is this? No, don’t tell me. I’ll bet you’re Chelsea. Sam has mentioned you, and his description fits.”
Chelsea’s shoulders relaxed. “He’s mentioned me?”
Bootsy grabbed her hand. “Oh, yes. It’s good of you both to come.”
I said, “We wanted to tell you how sorry we are Sam is ill. I hope he’s better by now.”
“He’s still in a coma.” Devlin shook his head as if perplexed. “Doctors can’t figure out why he’s not responding. Poor guy’s had what seems like a gallon of blood taken for tests. Even the mess from the stomach pump’s been sent off for analysis.”
Boo
tsy sniffed. “It’s so hard, not knowing what happened.” She gestured with a flick of her hand. “Or if he’s going to be all right.”
Chelsea touched Bootsy’s arm. “He would never try to kill himself. I know that.”
Bootsy looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Thank you, dear. I agree. But the note...“ She shook her head. “Who would do such a terrible thing?”
“Why is the big question.” Devlin ran his fingers through his hair. “What could possibly be gained?”
Chelsea’s glance met mine. We knew the answer to his question, but I wasn’t going to say anything. Apparently, Chelsea wasn’t either.
Bitterly, Devlin said, “The police came to the house and took the note. Aunt Kay said they went through every room in the place as well.”
I shrugged, wanting to defend Kurt but avoid arguing with Devlin or his mom. “They have to do their job.”
Chelsea said, “The main thing is for Sam to get better, then it can all be sorted out.”
Bootsy’s voice trembled, “The fact remains that someone killed my husband. And now, presumably, the same person has tried to kill Sam.”
“Has to be someone inside the house.” Devlin paced the small waiting room. “Someone had access to Mom’s sleeping pills.”
So, the pills were Bootsy’s. I’d wondered. From what I’d heard, each of my male cousins Sam’s age slept like a stone. “Could something else have been administered? You know, something that would alter the pills’ effect?”
Devlin stopped and faced me. “That’s what the doctors wanted to know. Mom and I have gone over every minute we remember of yesterday.”
I asked, “What was he doing the last time you saw him awake?”
He dropped onto the sofa. “We’d had hot chocolate.” He held up a hand. “I know, I know, it’s not the weather for it, but Aunt Kay fixed it for us because we’ve both been having trouble sleeping. She’s done that all our lives when she was visiting. Then Sam went upstairs to bed.”
My dislike of Kay Douglas prompted me to ask, “And you both drank from the same pan of chocolate?”
Death In The Garden Page 20
