TIL DEATH

by Annette Dashofy

  Zoe pondered her options. She wanted to see what was in that report. Davis probably felt—and rightfully so—that if she had time to think about his proposition, she’d reject it. Hence the carrot and stick. But in truth, even without the bait, he was right about her needing help. Franklin had been mentoring her but had died before his work was complete. She still had to take the rest of the training course required by the state. Franklin—and now she—employed other deputies but none of them had as much training as she. Franklin’s death had left the Monongahela County Coroner’s Office in the lurch.

  As for the stress, she’d already been yearning to return to the long hours on duty but equally long hours off duty that she’d had with EMS.

  Zoe reached across the desk. “Deal.”

  Beaming, Davis clasped her hand. “You’re smarter than I thought.”

  At least she’d still be the boss in this office and could fire his ass. “Now tell me what you found.”

  He slid the report toward her and removed his hand from it. “Ordinarily, tox screens only test for certain, routine substances. I went above and beyond and discovered arsenic in the hair sample.”

  She lifted her gaze from the report to look at him. “Arsenic?”

  “Elizabeth Landis was poisoned.”

  “She died of a gunshot wound to the head.”

  “Ultimately, yes. But she was also being poisoned.”

  Zoe lowered into her chair.

  “Arsenic is slow acting. Readily available at any farm supply store or greenhouse. It could easily have been added to a saltshaker or sugar bowl, allowing Mrs. Landis to unwittingly poison herself little by little.”

  Zoe thought about what Wayne had said yesterday while in Abby’s hospital room. He’d been bothered by the idea of one killer using two different methods of homicide—Elizabeth having been shot and the others poisoned. But if the killer had poisoned her as well…

  Zoe looked up at Davis. “You said arsenic is slow acting. How slow?”

  “It can be very slow.”

  “What if someone was trying to kill Elizabeth by poisoning her and got tired of waiting?”

  Just like Loretta had gotten tired of waiting for Franklin to die of natural causes.

  Pete had almost ignored the call from Zoe and was glad he didn’t. He stuck his head back into the interview room. “Detective? Could you step out here for a moment?”

  Once Baronick joined him in the hall, Pete showed him his notebook. The detective read about the arsenic and raised his eyes to Pete’s. “What the hell?”

  “That’s my reaction too.”

  Baronick read the note a second time. “Someone was poisoning Elizabeth Landis,” he said. “And then someone else shot her before she succumbed to the arsenic? Two different killers?”

  “Or the same one. The poison wasn’t working fast enough so he—or she—changed methods.”

  “If at first you don’t succeed…” Baronick didn’t complete the cliché and didn’t need to. He returned the notebook. “Our killer started with a poison. Arsenic. Didn’t have the desired effect and switched to a firearm to finish the job. Years later, more people need to be killed so they revert to their preferred manner of murder. Poison. Only they’ve learned from past mistakes and switch to a substance that gives faster and deadlier results.”

  Pete couldn’t fault the logic, but the puzzle pieces still weren’t falling into place. “We’re still missing something.”

  “Let’s find out what that is.” Baronick opened the door and led the way back into the interview room.

  Pete reclaimed his chair and flipped to a new page in his notebook. “Let’s move on from Gina Wagner for now.”

  “Thank you.” Downey’s voice oozed sarcasm.

  Pete met Loretta’s dark eyes. “Let’s discuss your late husband.”

  “What about him?” Downey asked. Once again, Pete imagined Loretta as a ventriloquist, working the attorney’s mouth.

  “You’ve lived out of the area for a number of years,” Pete said. “When did you return?”

  Downey leaned over and whispered into Loretta’s ear. The widow responded by whispering back. Downey nodded.

  “Three weeks ago,” Loretta said.

  “What brought you back?”

  “My husband was ill and needed me.”

  “How long had it been since you’d last seen or talked to him?”

  “I moved away about eight years ago. He called to tell me about his health last month.” Loretta lifted her chin. “I came as soon as I could.”

  Pete suspected Marshall’s health wasn’t all they’d discussed. “Why?”

  “I already told you. He needed me to care for him.”

  “In what way did you provide care?”

  Downey rapped the table with her pen. “Stop wasting our time, Chief Adams. Do you really want to discuss the intricacies of caring for a sick man?”

  “No, because I don’t believe Mrs. Marshall provided any assistance to her husband.” Pete stared hard at Loretta and noticed a subtle shift in her dark eyes. “I think her husband told her he’d written her out of his will, and she returned to convince him to reconsider. When he didn’t, she decided to locate and destroy the new will to ensure she’d inherit his entire estate when he died.”

  “I don’t hear any question there,” Downey said. She glanced at her client. “Don’t say a word.”

  Loretta’s eyes hardened and remained locked on Pete. “There was no revised will. I’m Frank’s sole beneficiary.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’ve looked for it.” She must’ve realized what she’d said and immediately clamped her mouth shut.

  “Not another word,” Downey said. “This interview is over.”

  Pete ignored the attorney. “You didn’t look in the right place.”

  Downey closed her briefcase and stood. “We’re done here.” She looked down at Loretta. “Let’s go.”

  But Loretta didn’t budge. And didn’t look away from Pete.

  “Mr. Marshall’s secretary found it. And, as I’m sure you know, you no longer stand to inherit one cent.”

  “Enough,” Downey said, placing both hands on the table and leaning toward Pete.

  He kept his gaze on the widow. The news had rocked her. Taking advantage of her vulnerability, he shifted forward in his chair. “That’s right, Loretta. You killed your husband for nothing.”

  Thirty-Two

  Zoe stood at the grimy window in her office, taking in the view of the city through the rivulets of cold rain. The pigeon was back, looking up at her from its perch on the ledge, unafraid and defiant, as if Zoe was the interloper.

  Or she was projecting her current emotional state onto the bird.

  Davis’ visit had stirred up her feelings of inadequacy, reminding her of how much experience she didn’t have. She wished she felt confident enough to tell him to go pound salt, but the sad fact was—he was right. She needed him. And if there was ever a human being she didn’t want to need, it was Dr. Charles Davis.

  “I was going to ask if you were busy, but clearly you aren’t.”

  Zoe whirled to find Lauren standing in the office doorway. “I’m always busy, but my brain needed a break,” Zoe said. She weaved her way through the stacks of boxes to her desk. “What can I do for you?”

  Lauren entered and held up four fingers. “Four days until your wedding. I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re holding up.”

  Zoe planted her elbows on her desk, buried her face in her palms, and groaned.

  “That good, huh?”

  “I’m seriously considering eloping.”

  “Your mother would kill you.”

  “My mother is why I’m considering eloping.”

  Lauren snickered. She set her leather satchel on the floor
and planted one hip on the edge of the desk. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Zoe looked toward the window again. The pigeon continued to watch her. “Not unless you can find someone to walk me down the aisle.”

  “I already told you. Talk to your stepdad.”

  “I tried. He won’t talk to me.”

  Lauren blew a puff of air. “You’re both a pair of stubborn jackasses.”

  “Now you sound like my mother.”

  “She’s right in this case. Ask him.”

  Zoe dismissed the suggestion. “My brother isn’t coming to the wedding either. That leaves Harry. If he’s able.”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “I was going to wait until right before the wedding. With his Alzheimer’s, he won’t remember.”

  “I still say you should ask Tom. He’d do it. I know he would.”

  “You don’t know my stepdad like I do.”

  Lauren glowered at her.

  Zoe rubbed her face. One thing Lauren had said was spot-on. She should talk to Harry. He might remember the conversation. He might not. But hanging out with her future father-in-law always cheered her up. Besides, she could go for one of those milkshakes they made at Golden Oaks. Harry said they were the best around, and he was right.

  “Is there anything new about the Landis case?” Lauren asked, snapping Zoe out of her wedding plan blues.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “Oh?” Lauren hoisted her bag onto Zoe’s desk and dug out her notepad and pen.

  The line between Lauren-the-friend and Lauren-the-reporter frequently blurred. How much of Zoe’s conversation with Davis should be shared with the media?

  Probably none.

  Lauren recognized her hesitation. “Oh, come on. Don’t make me beg.”

  “Ask Pete.” When Lauren rolled her eyes, Zoe reconsidered. “Ask Wayne.”

  The reporter aimed her pen at Zoe. “You’re the coroner now. You need to get used to making statements to the press.”

  “That’s one of the tasks I can assign to Dr. Davis,” Zoe said more to herself than to Lauren.

  But Lauren heard. “What?”

  Zoe told her about the meeting with Davis, leaving out the part about Elizabeth and the arsenic.

  “You’ve made a deal with the Devil Davis?” Lauren shook her head. “You have lost your mind.”

  How well she knew.

  “Is there anything new with Loretta Marshall?” Lauren asked.

  Another subject Zoe wasn’t sure she wanted to—or should—talk about with a reporter.

  “There is,” Lauren said, correctly interpreting Zoe’s reaction. “Tell me.”

  Zoe mulled over the latest developments. The divorce that wasn’t. The new will that was.

  Lauren jabbed one finger down on the desk between them. “I’m the one who found out about her working in the same office as Dustin.”

  “I know. Pete told me.”

  “Tit for tat. I shared what I learned. Now it’s your turn.”

  Zoe considered pointing out that it was Pete who owed her, but Lauren wasn’t about to give up. “Loretta is currently being questioned at County Police Headquarters.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s something else you should ask Wayne.”

  “Is she a suspect in Elizabeth’s homicide?”

  “She’s tall…athletic. Dressed in a black hoodie? I can picture her being mistaken for a man running from Elizabeth’s car that night. And I’ve seen her wrath up close and personal. Yeah, I definitely think she’s capable of murder.”

  Lauren scribbled a note, paused, and looked up at Zoe. “Do you think she might’ve been one of Dustin’s mistresses?”

  “It’s a strong possibility.” Zoe realized she was spouting mere assumptions at a member of the news media. “Look, I really don’t know anything for sure. You once told me to give you a crumb. Well, I just gave you a whole handful. You’ll have to get your confirmation from another source.”

  Lauren clicked her pen and closed the notebook. “Maybe I’d have better luck getting information from Dr. Davis. As I recall, he loves to talk.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  After Lauren left, Zoe attempted to do some paperwork with little success. Franklin’s death, Loretta’s probable guilt, an unexpected inheritance, the wedding four days from now, all played on a repeating loop in her head. She finally gave up, transferred all office calls to her cell, and locked the door.

  She needed that milkshake.

  As she pulled into the parking lot at Golden Oaks, Zoe spotted a small gray sedan leaving via the rear exit. The car looked like Lauren’s, but so did a dozen others within the county. The spots nearest the doors were filled, but the rest of the lot was empty. No one wanted to walk any distance in this icy drizzle.

  Zoe found Harry, an open book about to fall from his lap, dozing in the public gathering area near his room. She approached quietly, pinched the book’s cover, and tried to rescue it without waking him. But his grip on the novel was firmer than she thought. He jerked awake.

  “Oh. Hello, Sunshine,” he said with the weak smile she recognized as the one he used when he had no idea to whom he was speaking.

  “Hello, handsome.” She planted a kiss on his forehead.

  The smile widened. “Don’t be letting my boy see you doing that. You’ll make him jealous.”

  Okay, she was wrong. He did know who she was. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” She pulled another chair closer to his.

  Harry placed the book on the table where he’d been playing checkers a few days earlier. “What have you been up to lately?”

  He might know who she was, but Zoe couldn’t be certain how much he remembered. “Pete and I are getting married.”

  Harry clapped his hands in delight. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in ages. My boy finally wised up, ay?”

  She nodded, not mentioning the proposal had happened six months ago.

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “This Saturday.”

  He clapped again. “Wonderful. I never was fond of those long engagements.”

  “I was hoping you might consider giving away the bride.”

  Harry swiped a grizzled hand across his mouth. His pale blue eyes—a match to his son’s—gleamed. When he lowered his hand, he was smiling. “My dear, I would be honored.”

  A lump of happy tears rose into Zoe’s throat. She half stood, leaning over to give him a hug. “Thank you.”

  As Zoe sat back down, Harry’s gaze shifted over her shoulder, and he waved. “Hey, Sunshine,” he called.

  Zoe turned to see Jenna with an armload of towels. She headed their way.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked.

  “My future daughter-in-law just asked me to give her away to my son at their wedding,” Harry said, squeezing Zoe’s hand.

  “That’s awesome,” Jenna replied with a weak smile.

  “Would you be a dear and fetch us a couple of celebratory milkshakes?” he asked.

  “I can go get them,” Zoe protested. “Jenna’s busy.”

  “It’s no trouble.” Jenna shifted the load of towels in her arms. “I can drop these off in Miss Lila’s room on the way. I’ll be right back.”

  Zoe excused herself from Harry, rose, and jogged after the young woman. “Jenna,” she called.

  She turned.

  “Are you okay?”

  Jenna gave her the same weak smile. “The baby was fussy and kept me up all last night. I’m tired is all.”

  “Let me go get those milkshakes.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’ll give me an excuse to drop these towels off and go. Otherwise, I’ll have to look at Miss Lila’s family photo album for the gazillionth time.”

  “I d
id not kill my husband. I loved him.”

  But there was no warmth, no heartache in Loretta’s voice.

  “I understand you vehemently objected to his autopsy” Pete said. “Why?”

  Loretta folded her hands on the table. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘vehemently.’ But yes, I objected. I didn’t see the need for desecrating his body. It was obvious that he died of kidney failure.”

  “Or you feared the autopsy would show that his death was hastened along.”

  The flush in Downey’s cheeks had deepened to crimson. “This interview is over. You have no grounds to hold my client.”

  Pete ignored the attorney. “You were at the hospital with your husband Wednesday morning before he died.”

  “I’m his wife. Of course, I was at his bedside.”

  “You gave him insulin.”

  “Frank was a grown man. He was perfectly capable of giving himself his shots.”

  “I’m not talking about his shots. I’m talking about a dose of your drug company’s new oral insulin. A dose he wasn’t aware of.”

  “What are you talking about?” Loretta asked.

  The attorney slapped the table. “What part of no more questions don’t you understand, Chief Adams?”

  Baronick came forward in his chair. “I haven’t heard the chief ask a question. Your client, on the other hand, just asked for clarification.”

  Downey glared at Loretta. “You’re paying me for my legal expertise. I’m telling you don’t say another word.”

  Loretta, however, held Pete’s gaze. “I want to know what he’s getting at.”

  He restrained a triumphant smile. “Someone slipped insulin into your husband’s food or drink. You were there that morning. You work for the pharmaceutical company that’s doing test studies on this new oral version of the drug. And you stood to inherit your husband’s entire estate. Provided he died before anyone located the new will.”

  Baronick counted off on his fingers. “Means. Motive. Opportunity.”

  Loretta’s face whitened.

  “Mrs. Marshall, I must insist,” Downey said through clenched teeth. “Do not say another word.”

  “No.” Loretta’s voice had dropped to a raspy whisper. “I admit I was there with Frank that morning. But I did not give him anything to eat or drink. And I most definitely did not give him insulin, orally or by injection. You’re saying that’s what caused his heart attack?”