Brody is doing the jaw-clenching thing again. “You don’t even know why Catherine Richmond’s files were in Lydia Thomas’s office. If that’s the only thing tying the two of them together, this is all just speculation.”
“It’s called investigating. You should try it sometime, detective.” He frowns at me, and I continue. “Also, Dr. Catherine Richmond seems to have disappeared into thin air. Her office phone is disconnected, and there’s no trace of where she might be currently. On a related note, Blake did some research on Lydia and couldn’t find any former listings for her. I mean, anyone who has moved in the last year, especially someone who owns a business, should have some kind of out-of-date contact information listed in the Internet, right?”
He nods absently, seeming to be lost in thought. After a moment, he asks, “Where are you supposed to meet this reporter?”
“At her house.”
Another jaw clench. “That’s really safe—going to a perfect stranger’s house.”
I tease, “I have big strong you to protect me.”
“I was going to drop you off. I want to go check out Catherine Richmond’s office address. I also thought I might reach out to local law enforcement and see if there’s any actual evidence to support your harebrained theories.”
My mouth drops open. “Did you say ‘harebrained theories’? Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on the side of truth.”
I roll my eyes. “You sound like a superhero. I know—you could be called The Baconator.”
“You’re infuriating, you know that?”
I wisely keep my mouth shut and don’t reply.
***
After a lengthy and uncomfortable silence, Brody drops me off at Megan Boyd’s home in Hawthorne Grove. She lives in an adorable Cape Cod style house on a tree-lined street. Hawthorne Grove reminds me a lot of Liberty, actually.
A pretty brunette a few years older than I am answers the door. “You must be Lizzie,” she says warmly. “I’m Megan. Come on in.”
“Thanks for seeing me on a weekend. It’s really nice of you.”
“No problem. Work was nuts this week with so many people out of town. I’m glad it’s over. So you work for a small-time newspaper, too?” She sits down on an overstuffed chair and motions for me to do the same.
“Yes. I’ve worked at the Liberty Chronicle for a few years now. I’m the copy editor, but I’m helping out one of the reporters on this story.” Technically true, because I have sort of discussed it with Blake.
She looks at me knowingly. “I Googled Liberty. It’s over two hours away! You came all this way on your own time, just to help out a reporter? My copy editor certainly wouldn’t do that for me.”
I downplay her accusation. “You got me—I have an ulterior motive. My little brother goes to Vanderbilt. I haven’t visited him in a while, and I thought I could swing by and see you on the way.”
Megan smiles. “That’s more like it.” She grabs a stack of papers off her coffee table. “I dug up some of my old notes from last year on the names you emailed me. We spoke about James Singer briefly over the phone. Like I said, he was drinking and driving and had a fatal accident. Nothing really out of the ordinary, except it wasn’t like him to go out and get tanked. I thought he would have had more sense than to get behind the wheel drunk, but I guess you never really know, right? He had a nice family, and they’ve had an extremely hard time dealing with his death. Why are you interested in James Singer’s accident?”
“There was a drunk driving accident in Liberty recently, and I thought there were some similarities—upstanding guy, husband and father, no evidence of chronic alcohol abuse. That’s why I asked if there was foul play. I think the accident in Liberty doesn’t quite feel right.” Plus the fact that I saw the guy with Lydia not twenty minutes before he died, and he wasn’t drunk at all.
Megan furrows her brow. “That’s kind of how I felt about James’s accident. I was friends with him, and I honestly can’t see him being so careless.”
“Do you know a lot of the people in town?”
“Yes, it’s a small place, and I grew up here.”
Now we’re talking. I can play another “chummy” card with her and hopefully get her to talk openly. “We sound a lot alike. Liberty is tiny, too, and I grew up there as well. There aren’t a lot of people in my town I don’t know.” I smile at her, encouraging her to get her gossip on.
“Everyone is in each other’s business around here, that’s for sure.”
“That’s what you do in a small town,” I chuckle, getting ready to dive into the real reason I’m here. “So, how about Lucas Ford? Did you find any information on him?”
“Yes, he passed away last year, too. He had a heart attack.” She pulls a face. “He was in his twenties, so it was quite a tragedy.”
“Yes, that would be. Did he leave behind any family?”
“He was married. No kids.”
“So sad…and kind of out of the ordinary, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, perhaps. I think he had some sort of heart condition, so it wasn’t a complete shock that he could have had a heart attack.” Hmm. If Lucas Ford had a heart condition, then maybe his death could be a coincidence, but he still has some type of connection to Lydia since his file was in her desk.
“Did James Singer and Lucas Ford know each other, or have any similarities that you can recall?”
Megan thinks for a moment and slowly shakes her head. “I didn’t know Lucas that well. The two of them didn’t work together, and I don’t think they were related.”
I nod my head, kind of bummed that there isn’t an easy way to link the two of them besides their patient files. I press, “And Dr. Catherine Richmond?”
She puts her notes down. “Catherine and I have known each other since grade school. She lived here most of her life as well, but she moved away last fall.”
JACKPOT! I have to work to keep my voice calm as I ask, “Do you know where she went?”
Frowning, Megan replies, “Come to think of it, no. I don’t know where she went, and I haven’t heard from her. Not even a Christmas card.”
So Dr. Catherine Richmond actually did disappear off the face of the earth. Something clicks inside my brain, and my insides get all jittery.
“Could you describe Catherine?” I ask nervously.
“Redhead. Fairly tall. Very beautiful.”
I think I’m going to hyperventilate. I take a couple of deep breaths, scrambling for my phone to get the picture I took of the framed photo in Lydia’s desk. I find it and enlarge Lydia’s face to show to Megan. “Is this Catherine Richmond?”
“Yes.” Hallelujah! I can’t wait to see the look on Brody’s face when I tell him Catherine Richmond and Lydia Thomas are the same person!
“Do you know if she was…involved with either Lucas Ford or James Singer?”
“Do you mean in a relationship?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, no. She was completely in love with her husband, Tom.”
Tom… Thomas?
Megan continues, “Catherine was devastated when he died. It was last summer. She just couldn’t seem to get her act together afterward. I think that’s why she moved away.”
Lydia/Catherine’s husband is dead, too?!? Holy crap! There is no way in hell it’s a coincidence that her husband, two of the men in the locked up files in her office, and two of her dates from the last week are dead. No. Freaking. Way!
“How did he die?” I ask, struggling to seem calm.
“Tom had a severe nut allergy. They went to dinner one night, and I guess the restaurant screwed up his order. There were nuts in his salad, and he didn’t realize it. He died right there in the restaurant. Catherine blamed herself because she chose the place.” No, she blamed herself because she slipped the nuts into his food!
During Megan’s story, I pull the photo back up, only this time I zoom in on the man’s face. “Was this her husband?” I ask.
“Yes, that’s
Tom Richmond.”
This is getting better by the second! “One more thing. How about Dr. Lydia Thomas? Does that name ring a bell?”
“No,” Megan says, but then her face becomes thoughtful. “This sound silly, but it’s kind of a coincidence…no…it’s just silly.” She shakes her head, looking confused.
“Tell me,” I say encouragingly. “Sometimes strange coincidences mean something.”
She hesitates. “I was just thinking that Catherine’s middle name is Lydia, and her husband’s name was Thomas, that’s all.”
And there you have it, folks. Catherine Lydia Richmond changed her name to Lydia Thomas, in memory of her dead husband, who she possibly (probably) murdered. Creeeee-pyyyy!
Trying desperately not to jump up and down with glee, I reply, “Wow, that is a weird coincidence. So does Catherine have any family around here?”
“Yes, her dad and half-sister live east of town.”
“Do you know their names or address?”
Megan’s eyes grow big. “Oh, Lizzie, you don’t want to pay them a visit. Catherine’s dad is a little off his rocker. Plus, I don’t think you’d get any information from them, anyway. Catherine and her family have been estranged for years. I think her dad threw her out when she was in college. He acts like she doesn’t exist.”
“I see. I’d really like to talk to him, though. Would you give me his name?”
Eyeing me skeptically, she asks, “Why are you so interested in Catherine? I’m getting a bad feeling about this. Is she in some kind of trouble?”
I say matter-of-factly, “Yes, I think she’s in danger.” In danger of being fingered for murder, that is. “I think I may be able to help her…” Yeah, I’ll help her quit killing people by getting her ass thrown in jail. “…but only if you help me.”
Megan fidgets, hesitating for a few moments and seeming apprehensive. Finally she says, “Catherine’s father’s name is Ned Butler. He lives in a trailer out on Highway Fifty.”
As she’s speaking, I receive a text from Brody: I’m back.
I smile at her. “Thank you so much for your help, Megan. I really appreciate it. My ride is here, so I’ll let you get back to your day.”
She reaches for my arm as I move to leave. Her face is lined with concern. “Is Catherine going to be all right?”
Answering truthfully, I reply, “I don’t know.”
Megan nods uncertainly.
“Can I ask you another favor?”
She says, “I guess, if it will help Catherine.” It might help her get arrested.
“Can you try to find a newspaper photo of Catherine with her name listed? And could you find out if there were any other deaths around the time of Lucas Ford and James Singer’s—specifically younger men, maybe married, who died suddenly?”
She sighs. “It might take me a few days. The office will probably be a little crazy at the beginning of the week while everyone settles back into the groove. I’ll do what I can as my time permits.”
“Thank you again, Megan. You have been a tremendous help,” I say, barely being able to refrain from skipping all the way down the sidewalk to Brody’s waiting car.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You’re never going to believe what I found out!” I exclaim, bouncing up and down on the passenger seat in excitement.
Brody is regarding me with a bemused expression. “Spill it, or you’re going to burst.”
“Lydia Thomas and Catherine Richmond are…wait for it…”
He jumps in and reveals, “…the same person.”
My entire body feels like I’m deflating, and my shoulders slump. I pout, “That was my earth-shattering news, and you stole it, you big meanie! How did you know?”
Grabbing my chin and giving it a playful pinch, he says, “I’m a detective, and a damn good one.”
Still peeved, I retort, “Answer the question.”
“I told you I was going to the police station.”
“Well, did you know that Lydia was married…and that her husband mysteriously died?” I ask, hoping there’s something I know that he doesn’t.
“Yes, but I don’t know if ‘mysteriously’ is the right word. It was an allergic reaction.”
“To some nuts that she probably slipped into his salad.”
He’s giving me a slight “you’re an idiot” look. He continues, “Anyway, they let me look at the police report on her husband, Thomas, and it had Catherine’s name listed as ‘Catherine Lydia Richmond’. Take her middle name and her husband’s first name and you get ‘Lydia Thomas’.”
I huff, “I figured that out, too, you know.”
Grinning at me, he asks, “Are you done with the gumshoeing for today so I can take you to lunch?”
“Hell, no! We’re going to go pay a visit to her dear old dad.”
“I heard he’s a nut.”
“I’ve totally got this,” I say, stripping off the cropped jean jacket I’m wearing over my cotton print dress. I pop my top two buttons and muss my hair a little and say, “There. If you were a crazy old man, would you tell me all of your daughter’s deep, dark secrets?”
Staring with his mouth slightly agape, Brody doesn’t say a word.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now drive.”
***
Megan’s statement that Lydia’s family lives “in a trailer out on Highway Fifty” doesn’t even begin to describe the Deliverance-esque quality their home embodies. Yes, the property is on Highway Fifty, but the trailer is a few hundred feet off the road, down a rutted dirt lane. The front “yard” is littered with old cars, old tires, old oil drums, old furniture, and old trash. The trees are hung with newly gutted deer, rabbits, and eww—I think the other critter swinging in the wind is what’s known around these parts as a ‘possum. I thought it was only a joke that people ate those.
As we approach the dilapidated trailer, Brody asks, “Are you sure you want to go in there? Because you look like you’re going to throw up.”
“I’m totally fine,” I reply, catching a whiff of rotting trash mixed with…yep, that’s cat piss. I gag and cough, trying to keep my breakfast down.
Brody chuckles. “Breathe through your mouth, princess. Trust me, it helps.”
I am so not a princess. I’m just not used to…squalor. I actually feel kind of bad for Lydia, if this is where she grew up.
Breathing through my mouth really does help, but I can’t shake the feeling that sooner or later I’m going to end up tasting that smell from keeping my mouth open for so long. I shake off my judgmental attitude and try to get into character. Brody and I had decided that we (or more specifically, I, because he said he’s just here for security purposes) would tell Lydia’s dad that we’re on her high school reunion committee and are here trying to get some information about her to do a tribute to successful female graduates. Personally, I think Brody’s not participating because he wants deniability.
Finally in a zone, I knock purposefully on the door. After a moment, a teenage girl answers the door. I begin, “Hi there. I’m Amy, and this is John, and we’re friends of Catherine’s from high school. We’re on the reunion committee, and we’d like to feature her at our next reunion as one of our most successful female graduates. Is your dad around?”
“No,” the girl says, eyeing me suspiciously. “And he probably wouldn’t want me talking to you, neither.” Ugh. She said “neither” instead of “either”. The copy editor part of my brain shudders at one of my pet grammar peeves. She looks past me to Brody, and her face softens a bit.
Brody evidently notices, pushing past me and extending his hand to the girl. “I’m John,” he says with a smile, his voice low and sexy. The girl shakes his hand, and he puts his other hand over hers. “I didn’t know Catherine’s little sister had grown up to be so beautiful.” Go, Brody! I didn’t see him going for the flirting approach, but it’s working.
The girl blushes. “Thanks.” She looks around nervously. “I…guess y’all could come in, but just for a min
ute. Daddy’ll be back soon.”
We enter the trailer, and the stench in here is just as vomit-inducing as outside, only totally different. In here it smells like stale cigarettes, bacon grease, and BO. We’re going to have to be quick about this.
Switching back to mouth breathing, I ask, “So, you’re Catherine’s little sister?”
She looks up at Brody and smiles shyly. “Yeah. I’m Coralee—but y’all can call me Cori.”
“Cori, would you fill us in on Catherine’s life after high school? We want to be able to tell her story,” I say.
Cori shrugs. “She went off to college, and after that we didn’t see her too much. Daddy…Daddy and her had a big fight after my Mama died, and she ain’t been back to the house since. She lived here in Hawthorne Grove and never once came over, not that Daddy wanted her to. She would meet me on my way home from school sometimes, and give me money or take me for ice cream, but I couldn’t tell Daddy.”
Poor girl. Brody interjects, “That must have been tough on you. I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Thanks,” she sniffs, a little smile playing on her lips. Someone’s got a crush on Brody.
I press, “You’re her half-sister, right?” She nods. “Do you and Catherine have the same mother or father?”
“Father. Catherine and Dale’s mom died when they were little. Then Daddy married my Mama, and they had me.”
“Who’s Dale?” I ask.
“My brother.”
“Does he live near here?”
Cori looks thoughtful. “I’m not really sure. Him and Daddy never got along too good after Daddy threw Catherine out. He moved away, and he don’t visit us much neither.” Either!
“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mother?”
Frowning, she replies, “Heart attack.”
I glance at Brody uneasily, but he’s busy studying Cori’s expression.
“Did you know your sister’s husband, Tom?” I ask.
She wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, I met him a few times. I didn’t like him so much.”
Bad Medicine Page 10
