“Even when the patient is dead?”
Maggie looked at Scott.
“A legally appointed representative of the family can make that request,” Scott said. “Especially if another family member’s health is implicated.”
“Claire can request it on Eugene’s behalf,” Maggie told Hannah.
“I’m on it,” Hannah said, and hung up.
“I think I’m going to have to deputize you three,” Scott said.
“You’d be lucky to have us,” Maggie said.
“Okay,” Scott said. “Who had access to Gigi’s medical information?”
“Chip might have known, having lived with her,” Maggie said. “Jillian had access, too, from working at the hospital.”
“Hospitals are really careful about who has access to medical records,” Scott said. “Only medical personnel treating that patient are allowed to access the records.”
“But who polices that?”
“The Health Information Systems Department.”
“Bingo.”
“So, Jillian or Amber could find that out what she was allergic to by talking to Chip, and then what? One of them put something in her perfume, her food, her drink?”
“Possibly.”
“She couldn’t know it wouldn’t immediately put her in anaphylactic shock.”
“Maybe she experimented. Maybe she gave her small bits over a long period of time, and watched what happened, practiced for the main event.”
“That’s pretty evil.”
“And premeditated.”
“What was Candace doing up there, and why hide it?” Maggie asked.
“Sarah will find out,” Scott said.
“Unless she’s already lost interest in the case.”
“That’s entirely possible,” he said. “She didn’t sound very impressed.”
“So, flirt with her, keep her interested.”
“Who are you?”
“Listen, I don’t like Sarah, but she’s got a weakness for you, so let’s exploit that.”
“You’re a stranger to me in so many ways. It’s kind of frightening.”
“Listen,” Maggie said. “You knew I was nosy when you married me.”
“I feel like piece of meat being dangled in front of a pack of wild dogs.”
“Just one wild cat,” Maggie said. “And now you know what it feels like to be a stripper.”
Maggie waited until they were back home, and Scott was in the shower, to call Chloe.
“Did you and Amber bring any food the first time you went in?”
“No,” Chloe said. “We were just setting up the equipment. The food came with the van.”
“At any time while you and Amber were there the first time, did Amber leave the kitchen?”
“Sure,” Chloe said. “She was setting up the dining room.”
“Was she gone for a while?”
“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “I can’t remember. I was listening to the fight out back. Amber listened to part of it, but she had to get the room set up before the van arrived.”
“Did she get in the refrigerator at all?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she prepare any food or drinks?”
“No,” Chloe said. “All that came with the van.”
“Okay, Chloe,” Maggie said. “Sorry to call so late.”
“Hey, the other lady came and brought chicken salad,” Chloe said. “I forgot about that.”
“What other lady?”
“The big lady, the one who was running for mayor.”
“Marigold Lawson?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Chloe said. “She said she couldn’t come to the luncheon, but she knew Mrs. O’Hare liked her chicken salad so she wanted to bring it.”
“That was so helpful,” Maggie said. “Thank you, Chloe.”
After Maggie ended the call, she turned around to find Scott, with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hands on his hips.
“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes,” he said.
“Listen to this,” Maggie said, and filled him in.
“Marigold?” he said, when she had finished. “Why would Marigold want to kill Gigi?”
“I don’t think she would,” Maggie said. “But I think Amber might have put penicillin in the chicken salad Marigold said Gigi loved.”
“I’ll call Sarah.”
“Tell her I said, hi,” Maggie said.
Scott made a rude noise and went to the kitchen to get his phone.
Maggie called Hannah to fill her in.
“Can’t talk now,” Hannah said. “The motion detectors just went off; someone’s trying to get to Eugene.”
Maggie interrupted Scott’s call to tell him what was going on, and he relayed the new information to Sarah.
“I’ll go right now,” he told her.
He ended the call and dropped his towel as he ran down the hall to the bedroom to get dressed.
“Nice ass!” Maggie called after him.
Out at Hannah’s farm, everything was lit up like daylight. In strategic locations, Sam had rigged up powerful klieg lights that flipped on when the motion detector went off. He and Hannah were in the kitchen playing back the video that started recording as soon as the lights came on.
“Hey,” Hannah said as Scott came in.
“Look at this,” Sam said.
He backed it up to the beginning and Scott watched as the lights came on, illuminating someone dressed in black pants and a black hoodie sweatshirt, holding a flashlight, walking toward the barn. The person stopped, frozen in surprise by the lights, and then took off running back through the entrance to the farm.
“Not a lost hiker,” Hannah said. “Not in that get-up.”
“I didn’t see anybody on the road as I came up,” Scott said.
“Probably hid in the woods when they saw the car coming,” Hannah said.
“What do you think?” Scott asked Sam. “Man or woman?”
Sam studied the playback twice more before he spoke.
“Woman or young man,” Sam said.
“Jillian’s son?” Scott asked.
“Or Jillian,” Hannah said. “I’m going to go check on Eugene.”
Claire was lying in bed, looking through her open bedroom window at the moon. A cool breeze blew the curtains this way and that, and although she was cold, she couldn’t muster up the energy to do anything about it.
She could easily cry but she was tired of crying.
Now that Laurie wasn’t keeping her company in her head, there was more room for her own self-critical thoughts. It was like her brain had been busy gathering evidence against her all day, and now that she was a captive audience in a quiet room, the trial had begun.
‘You’ve wasted your life.’
‘You’re shallow and petty.’
‘You’re too old to have a child.’
‘You’re going to be old and all alone; everyone you love will die, and you will have no one.’
‘You’re going to lose all your money, or spend it all on shoes, and it will be your own fault.’
‘No one will hire you. You are unemployable.’
‘Once Ed really gets to know you, he won’t want to be with you.’
‘Ed probably wants his own child, and he will leave you for a younger woman who can give him one.’
‘Instead of being a help, you’re a burden to your mother.’
‘You’re going to lose your mind like your father, but there will be no one to take care of you.’
‘Maggie and Hannah tolerate you, but they don’t really like you.’
‘You don’t belong here in Rose Hill, and there’s nowhere else you can belong.’
Claire missed Laurie’s voice in her head. At least he was nice to her.
There was a tap on the window and there stood Ed.
She sat up and scooted over to the window.
“Hey,” he said. “Can you sneak out?”
“I’m so tir
ed,” she said. “Can you sneak in?”
“For a little while,” he said. “I can’t leave Tommy alone overnight.”
Claire pushed the windowsill up as far as it would go and Ed climbed in. He lay next to her, and took her in his arms, her head on his shoulder.
“How was school?” she asked him.
“I like it,” Ed said. “I make them put their cell phones in my desk drawer at the beginning of class, and they don’t get them back until class is over.”
“They must hate you.”
“I don’t think they do,” Ed said. “I think they like me.”
“They should,” Claire said. “You’re good at what you do.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” Claire said.
“Don’t lie,” Ed said. “It doesn’t do us any good.”
“I’m struggling,” Claire said. “But it will pass.”
“It’s hard to compete with a dead man.”
“There is no competition,” she said. “There was never anything between me and Laurie but friendship; I just hate the way he died.”
“The meth cookers are being charged with his murder,” Ed said. “At least there’s some justice being served.”
Claire thought about this, but decided nothing that happened mattered in the context of Laurie’s death if it couldn’t undo it.
“Are you writing about Gigi’s death?”
“I’ll have a piece in the next paper about her,” he said. “It’s more of a tribute than an investigative report. The coroner’s report is not back.”
“Maggie, Hannah, and I think she was murdered.”
“Tell me about that.”
Claire told Ed about everything that had happened, and all the information they had gathered.
“What do you think?” she asked him when she was finished.
“I think she died from an allergic reaction, but unless the police can prove beyond a reasonable doubt that someone dosed her with whatever killed her, the rest is just gossip and circumstantial evidence.”
“Do you mean they could prove that Jillian or Amber had motive, means, and opportunity, but couldn’t prosecute either of them unless someone witnessed one of them committing the actual crime?”
“People have been convicted on circumstantial evidence alone, but nothing beats a good witness.”
“So, they’re going to get away with it.”
“Sometimes that happens,” Ed said.
He kissed the side of her forehead.
“I have to go,” he said. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”
“I wish you didn’t have to,” Claire said.
“Then let’s do something about it,” Ed said. “Come live with me and Tommy.”
“I need to work some things out first,” Claire said. “Is that okay?”
“If that’s what you need to do, then, of course, it’s okay,” he said. “I have faith in you, and I have faith in us. Take all the time you need.”
After Ed left, Claire was more wide awake than before. She sat up and put her iPad on her lap. She may as well do some research rather than listen to the mean girl in her head.
She started by doing searches on Candy. She looked through her social media sites, saw photographs depicting every event in her family’s life: vacations, birthdays, and school events. So much of their private life was on display for anyone who wanted to see it.
Claire wondered about the things that were private, and not on display. Were Candy and Bill happy? There was one picture taken when they were on vacation where the kids looked happy but Candy and Bill were obviously faking their smiles.
Did he cheat on her? There was one photo taken at a party they hosted where Bill had another woman sitting on his lap and they were pretending to kiss for the camera. Bill looked kind of into it.
Were her kids really as perfect as she made them out to be online? One of Candy’s posts mentioned their son was having some “behavioral challenges,” and she was asking for prayers.
Claire found lots of evidence online of Candy’s committee work. Several of the committees also featured Jillian, but they never stood together for the photos. If they were close friends, you would think there would be lots of pictures of Jillian on Candy’s social media, but there were none.
In contrast, Jillian’s social media site had several mentions of a “shout out to my old friend Candy” and some snaps from events where Jillian had her arm around Candy and was taking the photo while Candy looked strained and irritated.
Jillian had several photos of her family, but in none of them did Chip and his son show any sign of affection between them. They didn’t touch at all, and in every photo of the three of them it was Jillian in the middle with an arm slung around each of them. She always had a huge smile plastered on her face, while they looked like they couldn’t wait for it to be over. It was plainly evident from her posts that, despite all the chipper quotes on the importance of family, their family togetherness was forced at best.
Claire wondered if people who went overboard posting cheerful quotes and smug advice about being married or parenting children were compensating for something. If you were that happy and well-adjusted, why would it matter what anyone else thought about it?
Sophie Dean’s site focused on Trashy Treasures, and there was nothing personal mentioned. There weren’t any photos of the daughter away at college or any sentimental posts about the joys of being a mother or what having a daughter so perfect meant to her.
Because of a contract she’d had with her employer, Claire hadn’t been allowed to have a social media presence. Now that she could, she had no inclination.
What could she write or post?
“So blessed to have known Laurie Purcell, alcoholic, policeman, piano player, and smart ass extraordinaire. R.I.P.”
She couldn’t post photos of her cousins, who would make fun of her if she did, or of her father and mother, who were struggling so hard right now. Ed would probably love it if she posted a photo of the two of them, along with the status “in a relationship” front and center in her profile. It would be the only positive thing she could post.
She had nothing else to brag about, humble or otherwise.
Amber’s social media site consisted of shot after shot of her in heavy make-up and skimpy clothing, partying with older men and other similarly dressed young women. Even in the shots where she smiled rather than smoldered, her eyes stayed hard and challenging. It was sad to see, and Claire wondered what had happened with her family that she was on her own so young.
Throughout her professional career, Claire had watched several young women just like Amber being used and discarded by the predators who infiltrated the entertainment industry. The ones who broke through and achieved an actual career were ambitious and ruthless like Amber and Claire’s former employer, or were extremely lucky, which was rare.
Claire wondered if it was too late for Amber to change her life, or if she even wanted to. Maybe she was happy, and felt a sense of accomplishment at what she’d achieved at such a young age. She had money, a little power, and a man who was willing to throw everything away in order to be with her.
But from experience and observation, Claire knew it wouldn’t last; not the youthful beauty, the passionate sex, the power, or the money.
If you built anything on how you look: a relationship, a career, or a business; it would only last as long as your looks did. At the rate Amber was partying, she probably only had a few years left to look like she did now.
Then what would happen to her?
Chapter Eight
Claire was cleaning up the spa room at Pineville Hospice when the door opened and a tiny older woman walked in. She was dressed in a pink polyester dress suit and a white blouse with a bow at the neck. Her thin legs were covered in dark tan, sagging pantyhose, and her shoes were taupe-colored orthopedic Mary Janes.
“Are you Claire?” she asked.
“I am,” Claire said. “How may I help you?”
Claire was used to her customers coming in on gurneys and in wheelchairs.
“I’m Garnet Pouderscheldt,” she said. “My sister, Gladys, is in here, dying of the cancer. You did her hair earlier this week.”
“I remember,” Claire said. “She has the prettiest white hair.”
The woman patted her own hair.
“Gladdie got the good hair from Mama,” she said. “I got this frog fur from Papa.”
“How’s your sister doing?” Claire asked.
“We’ve been here five days,” she said. “I’ve been afraid to leave her side for fear she’ll slip away without me holding her hand. I don’t want her to feel like I’ve abandoned her. They made me leave her room just now so they could do something to make her more comfortable, so I thought I’d see if you were in.”
“I’m so sorry about your sister,” Claire said. “What can I do for you?”
“There’s a full bathroom in her room, so I’ve been able to bathe and keep tidy,” she said. “But I have never done my own hair, you see, and it’s getting kind of ratty.”
“Let’s take care of that,” Claire said.
She unfolded a cape and gestured to the woman to sit in the shampoo chair. As was often the case, the woman’s scalp was tight with tension, but pretty soon after Claire gently but firmly massaged it, she could feel the tension release. Claire thought that she might have fallen asleep, but the woman surprised her by speaking.
“I don’t know what I’ll do without Gladdie,” she said. “She’s 88 and I’m 86. We never married, you see. It’s just been her and me since our mother died, back in 1970.”
“How wonderful to have a sister you’re close to.”
“We neither one of us expected to end up this way,” Garnet said. “I was always a romantic, but Gladdie’s a realist. Once I turned forty, she said that’s it, it’s never going to happen, and it’s been the two of us together ever since.”
“They say it’s never too late,” Claire said.
“My fella died in World War II. His division was crossing a bridge over the Rhine River in Germany. He was shot off that bridge and drowned,” Garnet said. “I was sixteen and he was seventeen.”
Sunflower Street (Rose Hill Mysteries Book 8) Page 17
