by Paula Boyd
Thoughts and emotions zipped and bounced around in my head like wild ping pong balls. “Do you have any idea how bizarre all of this is to me?”
“As hard as it may be to believe, Jolene, Bob never got over losing the love of his life—or you. Once he came up with this idea, he was like a whole new man. He’d thrown himself in to his businesses and that had kept him going. But this, this gave him purpose. It also gave him peace. He was finally going to give you the home he’d built for his family—for you. And he wanted you to feel at home.”
Oddly, it did feel like home to me, although I couldn’t tell you why. I hated to admit it for about a thousand reasons, but the second I walked in the door I’d felt it—felt something—like coming in out of the snow and being wrapped in a cozy blanket and handed a cup of cocoa. I’d promptly squashed that feeling and stuffed it away, but I’d felt it—and still did. Why? And why did I also feel the other creepy stuff?
I looked around the room, trying to see if there were any physical things that were familiar that might be triggering it. The kitchen did have a similar feel to mine, except it was much bigger, newer and more elegant. The furniture wasn’t like mine. I didn’t have a leather sofa like the one I was curled up. I had, however, lusted after one very similar to it for a very long time, the five thousand dollars needed to bring it home never quite materializing. The chairs across from me were similar in style to one I had at home, but mine didn’t rock or recline.
My gaze move on to the huge wall of built-in cabinetry with TV and assorted techno things as well as decorative items and books. Definitely didn’t have anything like that. Then, I noticed a big blown-glass fish on a shelf next to the fireplace. It was almost identical to one I’d bought several months ago. I even had a photo of it on my phone because I’d send it to my mother. Huh.
Then, I noticed a huge amethyst geode on another shelf. Definitely not like the one I had at home since this one looked to be museum quality, but the tall blue and green glass vase nearby was exactly like mine. I looked down at the handcrafted pottery tea mug on the table in front of me, the kind I am always on the lookout for. Oh, I smelled a rat. A big two-legged lying one with pink hair. “So that explains my mother’s sudden interest in my home décor purchases—and how they fit in with what I already had in my house.”
Grant nodded. “He had to include her, of course, and it was fine for a while.”
“Then she became Lucille again.”
He shrugged. “She was worried once you found out you wouldn’t want to be around her anymore. She panicked, became determined you not find out, and well, you know the rest of that story.”
“Yes, as much as I would like to forget what happened a few weeks ago, it remains freshly etched in my mind, which is why none of this makes sense.”
“It was all done with the best of intentions, I assure you.”
“Yeah, and that’s exactly what they told the Stepford Wives too. Since I prefer to decide what’s good for me, I’ll also be stocking up on bottled water or maybe get a filter system and some kind of drug testing kit.”
Granted ignored my attempt at humor—and reflection of my not-so-latent hostility—and pulled a file from the stack. “Well water is used outside on the grounds and for livestock. None of those wells are showing any signs of impact from the contamination. Those wells are being tested now along with samples from monitoring wells.”
“Waverman.”
Grant nodded. “You have city water in the house, but it goes through its own sophisticated filtration and purification system, which includes a solid block carbon filtration component and…” He paused and looked up. “You have good water.”
“Wow. That’s pretty sophisticated for a home system.”
“Yes, it is. Bob found all kinds of things to occupy himself with. The water system was one of them. It’s designed specifically for this site and is continuously calibrated so it’s better than anything you can buy.”
Now that sounded good. My well water in the mountains was the best water I’d ever had and one of the reasons I’d stayed living where I did. So, hearing the water here was good actually helped. Helped what, I wasn’t sure, but it did seem to help something.
Grant shuffled through the papers, pulled out two identical forms, signed both and slid one across the table to me. “That’s verification of your occupation of the property and fulfillment of the initial trust requirements.”
“This is just weird. On the one hand, everything’s so official. On the other it’s overly personal. I really don’t get it. Dare I ask what my next hoop to jump through will be?”
Grant shrugged. “Bob had specific reasons for arranging things as he did. It may seem a bit odd, but it was all designed for your protection.”
I don’t know why I had the next thought, but there it was so I put it out on the table. “So in these trust papers that we both know I haven’t read,” I said, reaching for my mug of tea, “is there anything I need to know about having someone move in with me on a permanent basis?”
“You mean the sheriff,” Grant said.
Of course I meant the sheriff. “Or my mother, children, whatever.”
“Relatives are not an issue. As for the sheriff, it depends on whether you’re married or not.”
“What!” I narrowed my eyes. “You better not be saying that Jerry can’t stay here unless we’re married or you and I are going to have to problems—big ones.”
Grant laughed. “Are we still talking about the trust?”
I frowned.
“I just wanted to be sure that you were aware of the laws governing informal marriage, usually called common law marriage. There’s no time threshold of living together that creates a marriage contract as most people think. However, if you live together and present yourself as husband and wife, things have the potential to become complicated and a legal divorce could come into play.”
Jerry and I hadn’t discussed much about marriage much less divorce. After the financial fallout from detaching myself from my lying cheating ex-husband, I’d vowed to not get myself back into a situation that required the government’s permission to get out of. “So, if I did lose my mind and choose to get married, does it complicate things with the trust?”
“The trust is structured to protect you, but a pre-nup would be advisable.” Grant smiled. “Once you decide what you want to do, we’ll handle the legal side of things accordingly.”
“One crisis at a time, that’s my motto, or at least I wish it could be.”
Grant smiled then gathered up selected files and papers, put them back in his briefcase and stood. “There are a few more things to talk about, but since you’re already on overload, they can wait a day or two.”
I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Melody walking out of the hallway from the bedroom. “By the way, Grant, did I mention that there was a little misunderstanding at the rehab center involving my mother and her friend Doris and that we’re sorting it out here?” I didn’t let him respond. “This is Doris’ daughter Melody. They just got here.”
“My mother and I will only be here a couple of days,” Melody said, stopping in front of us. “Just until she’s rested enough to make the drive home to Dallas with me.”
Grant gave me a questioning look. And it wasn’t about what Melody had said. That was no big deal. The big deal was that I’d mentioned my mother.
“Yes, Lucille will be arriving this afternoon as well.”
He frowned. “Is she able? It seems awfully soon.”
“Oh, it seems a lot of things. But, amazingly, she is well enough to leave. Whether or not she actually will remains to be seen. The self-appointed undercover mole is on a mission.” Seeing Grant’s quizzical look, I realized I’d said too much. “Oh, you know how Lucille is,” I said, chuckling a little to downplay the situation. “She’s always up to something, even if it’s just in her own head.” Ha ha. Ha ha.
Yeah, he didn’t buy it either and just stared at me with his penetr
ating lawyer gaze. The exploits of The Jackson Gang were well documented, and since he was now responsible for damage control, he had good reason to worry about what might be going on. He took a deep breath and sighed. “As your attorney”
“I know, I know, you’d advise me to do this, that and the other thing, which we both know I’m not going to do. So, it will save us both a whole lot of time and trouble—and mitigate your potential for professional suicide—if you’ll just embrace the ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy right off the bat. Really, Grant, it’s the best way, plausible deniability and all that.”
He groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”
I shrugged. “My mini-meltdown notwithstanding, I know how these things go. You may be new here, but this is not my first rodeo in Crazytown.”
“Wow,” he said, a bit of awe in his voice. “It’s really true. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s really true.”
I didn’t know what he was referring to specifically, but for once the unflattering implications didn’t bother me. Facts were facts, and I could no longer deny my exalted status as shit-storm attractant of the two-county area. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
Chapter 17
After Grant left, I turned back toward Melody, who was still standing exactly where she had been. The frown on her face indicated she hadn’t fully understood the exchange, but her mouth hung open as if she had.
By this point, I was used to that sort of thing. However, I still hadn’t developed a great way of responding to it, so we’d just have to cut to the chase. “So here’s the deal. I took a vial of your mother’s blood and some pills from the lab last night. Tests are being run and we should have some results this afternoon.”
Melody just stared for a few seconds, blinked then shook her head and walked over to a chair and sat down.
I wasn’t sure what was going on. Was she angry? Scared? Had she even heard what I’d said? First things first. “How about a cup of tea?”
“Yes,” she said absently. “Tea would be good.”
I didn’t see Emmajean around, so there was no time like the present to start learning the lay of the land—or at least the kitchen. I grabbed my mug and headed toward the expansive granite-topped area. I noticed a clear glass tea pot with a blooming flower thing in it sitting beside the sink. It was the jasmine tea Emmajean had made for me. I hoped Melody liked it, because unless something else magically appeared, that’s what we were having.
The hot water dispenser was right next to the faucet, so that part was easy. The first cabinet I opened was stocked with beautiful handcrafted mugs, no two the same, so I grabbed one and filled it. Within seconds, I was back on sofa, sipping tea and chatting with Melody, all cozy and calm, as if I hadn’t just admitted committing what was probably some kind of multi-level crime spree.
Melody seemed a little distracted. Couldn’t blame her. Given the circus she’d walked into, she was probably wondering if she’d actually improved her situation by coming here. “I really appreciate your allowing us to come here. It was a huge relief to not be in this alone. Still, you have so much going on that it feels like we’re just adding to your burdens.”
“No, actually, it’s really nice having you here if you’re okay with it.” Oddly, it was true. I’d lived alone for a long time and I like it that way. So for me to want people—any people—in my private space was very strange. Very. Then again, what part of this whole situation wasn’t? “I’m really glad you’re here,” I said. “However, you may not be, especially in a few hours.”
“You mean because of your mother?
Of course because of my mother. “I’m not sure you really understand the full experience of the joy that is Lucille.”
Melody smiled. “I’m happy to help keep your mother occupied. It will help my mother too. We’ll have fun.”
Doubtful. And odds were good that she’d be fully cured of that fantasy before sunset.
Melody’s face became serious. “Are you doing okay now?”
That was definitely the question of the hour. “I’m better,” I said automatically, then realized it might actually be true. My brain and body had taken a much needed break, but now they were back up and ready to run with the bulls once again. Not the best analogy, but sadly accurate. “I’m meeting Jerry at three to see what lab results have come in. I’m hoping there will be something definitive that will tell us what’s going on.”
“Lab results?” Melody said, a confused look on her face.
She really hadn’t heard me. I know that strategy—the one where you just check out and shut off your eyes and ears and hope it will all go away. It never does, as she was about to discover. “Well, remember when we found your mom last night in the lab?” I waited for her to nod that she understood. “The nurse had already taken blood samples and there were several vials there. I borrowed one.”
Melody’s eyes widened. “You took it?”
“Took…borrowed…whatever. It seemed like the thing to do. So did taking the little pill cup with the two pills in it.” As her face registered that understanding, I added another piece to the puzzle. “They would have given those pills to your mother if we hadn’t walked in when we did. I figured we might want to know what was in them.”
“I didn’t see that,” Melody said, taking a shaky breath. “She wasn’t to have any medications of any kind. They were giving her drugs and I didn’t even know it.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “This is most distressing.”
I admired her control and serenity as she processed her emotions. I find ranting and raving and cussing far more productive, but that’s just me. And, no, we do not need to compare and contrast the methods or the resulting blood pressures. The mental and chemical motivations of being irrationally mad have saved me on more than one occasion around here, so it was just as well I hadn’t been on the enlightened master track.
“I wondered why you weren’t right behind us,” she said, opening her eyes. “I would have never guessed what you were doing, and I certainly wouldn’t have ever thought of it myself.”
I wouldn’t have either a year ago. However, I have been a quick study at the Kickapoo Crime Scene Academy, and I have learned that it is better to beg forgiveness later rather than have nothing at all to support your wild-ass accusations. “It just seemed like the thing to do.”
“I’m really glad you did,” she said, clasping her hands around the mug and staring down into the steam. “I hope it gives us some answers, because Mother isn’t doing well. She’s worse today than yesterday, weak, confused and just not herself. I could just kick myself for not doing something sooner. I noticed changes, but I thought it was just because she was excited about going home and wasn’t sleeping much. But it was more than just being tired and disoriented. It’s almost like she developed chronic fatigue and dementia overnight.”
Doris was a few years older than Lucille, and age definitely can be a factor, especially with the mental and physical aspects of recovering from a broken hip. Still, I knew that wasn’t what was going on and so did Melody. “I didn’t want to believe my mother’s crazy claims, but circumstantial evidence is definitely on her side. Something’s not right.”
“No, it isn’t,” Melody agreed. “And the more I think back, the more wrong it all becomes.”
“Let’s think this through,” I said. “Was yesterday a typical day for you with your mom? Did you come at the usual time—or do you have a usual time? Did you do anything differently? Just start talking and see what pops up.”
“I stopped by in the morning as I usually do, then I came back again later in the afternoon,” Melody said. “I have a consulting business, most of which I do by phone, so I arrange my schedule around her physical therapy or exercise sessions.”
“So, nothing different yesterday?”
“No,” she said, then stopped. “Well, I was running a little late in the afternoon. Not a lot, and I didn’t worry about it because I didn’t have a client call
last night that I had to get back for. I stayed longer than usual.”
“And you were in Lucille’s room talking to me.”
“Yes,” Melody said, nodding. “Otherwise, I would have already left the building.”
“Just as you are every other night at that time.”
The realization hit her full force and she pressed her hands to her cheeks. “What have they done to her?” she said, said, worry and fear rippling in her voice. “And how long have they been doing it?”
As calm and collected as Melody might be, she was still human, and the implications and possibilities for her mother were terrifying. “Technically, we really don’t know they’ve done anything harmful.” It was true—technically—but she didn’t believe it any more than I did. “Even if they did give her something, once it gets out of her system, she’ll be back to herself.” Maybe. But true or not, it was what we were going with. “She’s going to be okay.”
“I know,” Melody said, although her voice still belied her fear. “It just makes me angry that with all I know, and after all I did, I still couldn’t protect her.”
“It makes me angry that she needed protecting.”
Chapter 18
After a trip back to Mother’s to get the suitcases and gear left behind in the explosion crisis response, I dutifully located the built-in safe and used the handy operating instructions provided by Grant to open the monstrosity. I’d escaped a major catastrophe only by the skin of my teeth. If I’d left the envelopes, cards, cash and prizes the attorneys had given me in the car, they’d be in ashes now too
The situation had been a wakeup call and I wasn’t taking any more chances. That didn’t mean I was going to do anything with the stuff—I wasn’t ready for that. So, I just took the whole mess out of my bag and stashed everything in the safe without looking at it.
A lovely lunch provided by Emmajean had me feeling almost human again. It didn’t make me forget about the Tahoe, but it did help me focus enough so I could d hopped in the Buick and zipped into town, arriving at the morgue around two-thirty.
