by Ellen Crosby
“I’m not returning it, Mac,” I said, and watched him relax. “I’m just wondering if the reason Ross returned it was because of the pages that had been cut out of it.”
“Oh, so he told you he had it on trial?” Mac said. “And, sugar, no pages were cut out of it. I checked it over myself. That book is in absolutely pristine condition.” He held out his hand. “May I?”
I clutched it to my heart. “No, that’s okay. I’m going to take it apart anyway, for the wine labels. Thanks so much. Sorry to bother you. I’ve got to go.” I was babbling, but I didn’t want to hand the book over, now that he’d confirmed my suspicions.
“Something wrong, Lucie?” He straightened a lace doily on a small oak table. “I know you’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
“Yes,” I said, “it’s been rough. Thanks, Mac. See you later.”
Then I drove to Leesburg.
If Ross was the forger, then this wasn’t the only document he’d faked. What about his collection of Civil War papers? Were they all phony, or just some of them? Lord, he’d sold dozens of items he’d turned up over the past few years, earning himself a respected reputation among historians. Had he duped everyone?
And if he could fake Jefferson Davis’s signature well enough to fool the experts, then how hard would it have been to fake someone else’s handwriting, who was less well known?
Randy.
What about that note that supposedly came back with Georgia’s dry cleaning? And the suicide note? Dear God.
I went to the clinic. They didn’t have visiting hours until the afternoon. Hopefully no one would be there except Ross, and maybe Siri. What was I going to do or say when I saw him? Accuse him of forgery…and murder? Two deaths? I’d helped him get off, hadn’t I? He had relied on my loyalty, my faith in him, my devotion—and I’d delivered.
I parked by the side entrance next to the black Explorer. The only other car in the lot. He was alone.
I tried the door, though I knew it would be locked. Then I banged on it until finally he opened it. He seemed surprised to see me.
Bobby told me once that the hardest thing about being a cop was seeing the look of betrayal flash in the eyes of a criminal when you slap handcuffs on them because they really believed you meant it when you said, “If you put down that gun nothing’s going to happen.”
“They give you this big, dumb look,” he’d said. “Like cows. And they say, ‘You promised.’”
I held up the book of prints. Ross’s eyes met mine—which I know were filled with fury—and that look of betrayal came into his.
“You want to tell me about this?” I asked.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you are,” I said. “Where’s the letter Jefferson Davis wrote to Judah Benjamin, Ross? Can I see it again?”
“I don’t have it anymore,” he said. “I dropped it off at the auction house yesterday.”
“Well, I guess there’s hope that one of their experts will figure out it’s a forgery before they sell it,” I said. “If I can do it, it can’t be too hard. Though I wonder how you fooled whoever vetted it for you.”
His eyes grew dark and hard then, and I knew. “Oh,” I said. “Your expert gets a share of what you sell it for, is that it?”
Ross took my arm. “Let’s go to my office, shall we?”
I shook my arm free. “Don’t touch me. I can walk fine by myself.”
“No,” he said, still my doctor. “You can’t. You need a brace for that leg and you’re in denial about it.” He shoved me into his office and closed the door. I heard the sound of a deadbolt. “I need you to be reasonable, Lucie. The money is going for the clinic.”
He walked around to his desk and indicated that I should sit down in one of the two chairs facing him, just like we were going to have a little chat about my blood pressure. He sat. I did not.
He straightened up some papers and, though I’m not good at reading upside down, I know a prescription pad when I see one. It looked like he’d been busy writing prescriptions, too. I felt sick. Where did it stop?
My voice shook. “You forged those notes from Randy, didn’t you?”
“He wrote that note that came back with her dry cleaning,” he said calmly. “But I knew he was screwing Georgia before I saw it.”
“So you killed her.”
“You can’t prove that.”
God, I was right. “You killed her because she was having an affair?” I was incredulous. “Wouldn’t a divorce have been less messy? You won’t go to jail for that.”
“I won’t go to jail for anything,” he said in that same even voice. “I had no choice. She knew too much.”
Now I was confused. “About what? The historical forgeries?”
If his eyes hadn’t strayed to the prescription pad before meeting mine, it would have taken me longer to work it out.
“All those pills,” I said. “They’re not all from dead people, are they?”
“Lucie.” He stood up and put his hands on his desk, leaning toward me. “Don’t screw up something you don’t understand. I am trying to help these people. And I will do whatever it takes to circumvent the system. The people who come to this clinic are the poorest of the poor. They have nothing! Do you understand that?”
“So you forge prescriptions for drugs? Someone still has to pay for them,” I said. “Don’t they?”
He cleared his throat. “They are paid for by the generosity of other patients, who can afford them.”
“In return for what?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Certain controlled medications are just that—controlled. I can help someone who’s suffering unnecessarily get around those limitations. It’s about helping, Lucie. It’s always been about helping.”
“Hugo Lang is one of your suppliers?”
That caught him off guard. “No.”
“You’re lying, Ross. He’s on some kind of medication, isn’t he? And he doesn’t want anyone to know about it. He never did get over his wife’s death. What is it? Antidepressants?”
“None of your damn business.”
“So Georgia found out about the fake prescriptions? What was she going to do, turn you in? Though that doesn’t sound like Georgia. No offense, but she didn’t have much of a conscience.”
“She was a lying, scheming little bitch,” he said, and this time the calm façade cracked, and I saw contempt and hatred. “She was going to blackmail everyone. I couldn’t let it happen.”
“That’s why Hugo endorsed her, isn’t it? Because she knew about the drugs.”
“The man is grieving, Lucie. After all these years. Georgia had no right to do what she did.”
“So you killed her and then you killed Randy. And you got Emilio and Marta to lie for you. Those babies weren’t born that night, were they? Emilio called his son a little bull. Angelina, too. At first I thought he was talking about how strong they were, but he was referring to their zodiac sign. Taurus. I just read my horoscope last night and that’s when I saw the dates. They couldn’t have been born May twenty-first because they’d be Geminis. The twins.”
“Aren’t you clever?” he said sarcastically, but I could tell he was unnerved by how I was piecing things together.
“Did you kill them both the same night?” I persisted. “Why did Randy have to die, too?”
“I didn’t kill anybody. You helped prove my innocence, remember? You’re in it with me.” His eyes glittered like a madman’s. I’d once trusted him with my life.
“Not anymore,” I shouted. “Don’t you dare say that! Now I know why you got so quickly to the place where Georgia was killed, but the sheriff and fire trucks got lost. Because you knew where to go.”
He said nothing, just kept staring at me.
I held the book up. “One of the missing pages in this book is the paper you wrote that letter on,” I said. “If I show this to the sheriff and he starts investigating, how short a straight line does he need to
draw to connect two dots?”
“You won’t do that, Lucie,” he said coolly, “because I have something you want more than anything else in the world.”
I wanted to scream at him that there was nothing he could possibly have that I wanted, after what he had just taken from me. Trust. Loyalty. Devotion.
He waited.
“What is it?”
“Your sister’s life.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.”
He smiled and laid down a winning hand of cards. “She didn’t kill that boy.”
My voice shook. “How do you know?”
“That is what it will cost you to not turn me in to the police. And believe me,” he added, “I know what I’m talking about.”
I felt sick. “I can’t.”
“Then she’ll go to jail,” he said. “Guaranteed. Her BAC will be well over the legal limit when that tox test comes back. She’s going to hang for this. Unless you save her.”
“How do you know I won’t agree to your terms, then turn you in anyway?”
“Because I know you, Lucie. And because I’m going to set this up so that if you ever do renege on your promise, you’ll feel the pain.”
“If you know something,” I said desperately, “then the police will find it out, too.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Want to bet on that? You want to gamble on that beautiful, fragile angel surviving and going on to live a normal life after she’s done time behind bars?”
“No.” I gripped the book so hard my knuckles turned white. I felt like I was going to pass out. “Ross, you’re a doctor, for God’s sake. Do no harm. How can you do this?”
“You know,” he said, “it’s really true what they say. The first time’s hard, but it gets easier. Now, do we have a deal or don’t we?”
“You can go to hell! It’s where you belong.” I picked up my cane and started for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
My hands shook so badly it took me a few seconds to unlock the deadbolt. “The sheriff’s office. Thank God it’s only a few blocks away.” I reached for the doorknob.
“You’re not going anywhere. Turn around, Lucie, and move away from the door. Or I’ll pull the trigger and kill you now. I swear to God I will.” The gun was pointed at my heart.
“Since when do you own a gun?”
His expression changed into a sneer. “It’s easy enough to get one in Virginia. Now shut up. You think you’re so clever. I’m going to get away with it, Lucie. Marty told me the ME’s about ready to rule Randy’s death a suicide. Don’t forget it’s an election year and the sheriff’s running again. They could close the case once and for all, if they decide Randy killed Georgia, then took his own life. Tie it up with a bow and no one will remember, come November.”
“What about me? What are you going to do with me?” My voice sounded far away. Would he really kill me in cold blood? If he did, it wouldn’t be here. He couldn’t afford to. There’d be blood everywhere.
“Let’s go,” he said, reading my mind. “This can’t be messy. And I need to get back here before the clinic opens at two.”
“Of course. God forbid shooting me should keep the good doctor from opening ten minutes late.”
“Don’t goad me. It’s not a good idea.”
Outside his office, I heard the outside door open and bang shut. Then someone—it sounded like a woman wearing high heels—came toward us.
Ross drew a finger across his lips. No talking.
What the hell? What did I have to lose? At least if he shot me he’d be caught.
The doorknob rattled and Siri’s clear musical voice said happily, “Ross? You in there? Can I come in? I’ve got coffee and muffins.”
It was over before it started. As she opened the door, I turned and threw the book in his face. He moved instinctively to deflect it and I raised my cane, bringing it down like a sword on the arm that held the gun. As it flew out of his hand, I yelled to Siri, “Get his gun! Now, or he’ll kill us both!”
“What?” She stood there, dazed and stunned, holding a paper bag from the bakery and a cardboard holder with two large coffees in it.
“The gun!” I screamed. “Get it! Siri, now! He killed Georgia and Randy! He’ll shoot us, too!”
Her hesitation gave Ross enough time to dive for the gun, which was under his desk. When he stood up this time, I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. He didn’t. I had no idea what kind of shot he was, but at this close range, he couldn’t miss. He pointed the gun at me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Siri hurl one of the coffees as the gun went off. Someone screamed. Later I realized it had been Ross, scalded by the blistering liquid.
I swung my cane and he gave up the gun more easily this time. No one noticed the blood seeping through my shirt until the police showed up.
Chapter 26
I had to stay overnight at Catoctin General. The bullet had grazed my ribs, a minor miracle. I think Ross had been aiming for my heart.
Bobby Noland came to the hospital while they were fixing me up. I told him everything, including what Ross had said about knowing what really happened the night of Mia’s accident. Turned out she’d been right. She hadn’t even been driving. Abby had been behind the wheel, on her way to see the promiscuous Brad, who had decided he wanted to kiss and make up. With her car in the shop for a previous fender-bender, Abby took Mia’s keys and managed to pour Mia into the backseat, where she passed out. When Abby hit the Jeep, she panicked and called Brad. Their lucky night, to have no witnesses—especially among the passengers in the other car—so they moved Mia to make it look like she’d been driving, wiped Abby’s fingerprints off the steering wheel, then took off.
When they got back to Abby’s place, Brad called Ross, who made another late-night house call, putting two and two together the next day when he read the morning papers.
Bobby told me later the CSI team lifted a nice set of Abby’s prints off the back of the rearview mirror of Mia’s car.
“Happens almost every time,” he said. “As many cop shows as there are on TV, you’d think enough people would remember to wipe the mirrors for prints. Every day I get on my knees and thank God for stupid criminals.”
I did not see Ross again. There would be no reason for me to testify at his trial. Like he’d told me, he knew about the affair and knew Randy and Georgia were meeting that night. He faked the call from Emilio and Marta and got Georgia to agree to switch cars—he’d already delivered the children the night before. Then he waited until he saw the Explorer head over to the barn. He slipped inside and heard them and that’s when he found the flashlight. Furious, he hid Georgia’s Roadster in the bushes off Atoka Road and jogged back to the vineyard, collecting a canister of methyl bromide. And waited. After he knocked her out, he made sure that his beautiful wife would be so disfigured no man would ever want to look at her again.
After that he needed to set up Randy, making it look like he killed Georgia, then himself. He returned to the barn, pretending to be an intruder. When Randy investigated, Ross’s judo skills trumped Randy’s size. The rest was improvised, but easier than he’d expected. Randy’s car keys were on the lanyard on his belt. Ross put him in his own car and drove to White’s Ferry, where he shot Randy and dumped him in the Potomac.
The trek back to Middleburg was a terrific trial run for someone training for a marathon, though Ross barely managed to get home, shower, and change when my call came in. It wasn’t in the plans for Georgia to be found so quickly. Randy, on the other hand, took far too long floating down the Potomac until he washed up on T. R. Island. And Emilio and Marta screwed things up by disappearing, too.
Now they were going to disappear for good. In return for Emilio testifying against Ross, he would not do jail time, but he and his family were being deported back to El Salvador.
“You know, if Jen had shown up at the wrong time, or even waited around for Randy, she would have seen Ross,” I
said to Quinn. “He might not have killed Georgia that night, or Randy, either.”
We were sitting on the terrace at the villa at the end of the day. I’d just returned from the hospital, where my bullet wound had been cleaned and dressed again. Quinn had brought out a bottle of Chilean Chardonnay. “Thought we’d try this. Jen would have been in the way. No telling what Ross might have done.”
“More Chardonnay?” I asked. “Ross managed to get away with two murders. He never could have talked his way out of three.”
“Nearly managed, you mean,” Quinn said. “Bobby never bought that murder-suicide story. Then you figured out about the forgery. And yes, more Chardonnay. Tasting for next year’s vintage. Never too early to start.”
“So you’re staying here, then?”
He uncorked the wine. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you need me more than Mick does.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Take it any way you like.” He smiled. “There’s something else.”
“Yes?”
“Bonita’s moving in with me. I hope you’re going to let Hector and Sera stay at their place for a while, even if he’s retired. Bonita loves her folks, but they drive her nuts, and vice versa. So this seems like a good solution.” He handed me a glass of wine. “Okay?”
I stared into my wine. “Okay,” I said. “How did Mick take it when you turned down his job offer?”
Quinn seemed surprised. “Haven’t you spoken to him?”
“Once, after Ross was arrested,” I said. “He was pretty devastated by the whole thing. Said he had no clue what was coming.”
“I thought you two were…” Quinn didn’t finish.
“Were what?”
“Together.”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He clinked his glass against mine. “There’s a Spanish proverb that goes, ‘With wine and hope, anything is possible.’”
“One out of two isn’t bad.”
“No hope?”
I wrinkled my nose. “No wine. This stuff’s corked. How about another bottle?”
“All right,” he said. “Let’s start over.”
