by Rebecca Deel
He pulled out the next file. His eyebrows rose. Medical file. Remy flipped open the folder, scanned the top sheet. Blood drained from his face. “Lily.” His voice came out choked.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She hurried around the desk.
He couldn’t wrap his mind around what he was seeing, much less say it aloud. He handed the paper to her.
Lily read a moment. “Oh, Remy,” she whispered. She squeezed his shoulder. “James doesn’t know, does he?”
“I can’t believe he wouldn’t say something if he did.”
“With this diagnosis, is it possible Christine committed suicide?”
Pain lanced through Remy at the thought. “Twelve years ago, I would have said no way. Now?” He shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.”
James walked through the doorway, several pieces of paper in his hand. “Here’s the list and the combination to the safe.” He pulled up short. “Is something wrong?”
Remy exchanged glances with Lily before locking his gaze on James. “Sit down, James. We need to talk.”
“About what?” Christine’s husband dropped into the nearest chair.
Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a good way to tell his old friend his wife had cancer. “Christine’s sick.”
“What? How could you possibly know that? She was perfectly healthy when she left a week ago.”
Remy shook his head, handed James the paper with Christine’s diagnosis. He watched the shock settle on his face.
James looked up, his eyes glazed. “Endometrial cancer?” He scanned the page again, caught the date as Remy had. “She’s known for four months? Why didn’t she tell me?” His expression revealed the devastation he felt.
“Maybe she didn’t know how to tell you,” Lily said gently. “You mentioned wanting children. This kind of cancer probably means a hysterectomy.”
“I don’t care if we never have kids. I need her.”
“Then we need to find Christine so you can tell her.” Dread grew in Remy’s stomach. No ransom demand. A devastating medical diagnosis. An abandoned SUV and purse. He was very afraid his old girlfriend couldn’t face what was coming and decided to take matters into her own hands.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lily spotted the mini-fridge in the corner of Christine’s office. Remy and James both looked like they needed water or a soft drink. Sugar would be good to combat the shock. She crossed the room, opened the appliance. Perfect. She grabbed two soft drinks, broke the seal on each and gave one to each man. “Drink,” she ordered.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Remy’s mouth. “Never had a woman tell me that before.” But he lifted the bottle and obliged her by guzzling half the liquid.
Satisfied with him, she checked on James’ progress. Nothing. “James,” she said sharply, waited until his stunned gaze focused on her. “Drink the Coke. It will help.”
“Nothing will help,” he murmured.
“Do it. You’re no good to us like this. We need your brain in gear.”
Something she said must have finally gotten through because their client drank part of the soft drink.
He made a face. “I normally don’t drink these. I keep telling Christine they’re bad for her, but she loves them.”
“Drinking one won’t hurt you.”
Both men finished the drinks in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Lily picked up the jewelry list from where it had fallen on the floor, scanned, did a quick calculation. Her eyes widened. Christine Wilder had a king’s ransom in glitters.
Knowing about her diagnosis, Lily wondered if James’ wife had taken any of the jewelry with her when she left. Wouldn’t make sense if she committed suicide. What would be the point?
If she’d gone to consult with the unnamed doctor, she might have taken some with her. But why abandon her ride? How had she gotten to New Orleans without her SUV?
“What am I going to do?” James murmured.
“Exactly what you’ve been doing,” Remy said. “Lily and I will find Christine. You keep the company going and stay close to home on the off chance she comes back on her own. Keep your cell with you at all times in case she calls.”
Lily laid her hand on James’ shoulder. “The doctor that’s listed on the paper, is he your family physician?”
He shook his head. “That’s her gynecologist.”
“See if you can talk to him. Find out all the details about treatment options, what he advised her to do, if she mentioned getting a second opinion, and if so, the doctor’s name.”
James straightened. “I’ll take care of that right now.”
“We’ll continue searching here and in the bedroom.”
“What are you looking for?”
“We’ll know when we see it,” Remy said. “Go make your call.”
When the other man had left, Lily turned. “You okay?”
“We need to find Christine, fast.”
“Remy, it may already be too late.”
He stared. “What are you saying?”
“Some women can’t face that kind of health crisis.”
“She wouldn’t just give up without a fight.”
Lily crossed to stand in front of him. “You don’t know that. You don’t know who she’s become in the last twelve years. Endometrial cancer is not a death sentence if it’s caught early enough. It does mean a major life change.”
“How do you know so much about it?”
“One of my foster mother’s was diagnosed with it.” Sadness washed through her. “She and her husband were talking about adopting me. Once she started treatment, she and her husband gave me up. They felt they couldn’t take care of me properly with all the chaos going on in their lives.”
He studied her a moment. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“And you ran away at sixteen. What happened in those two years, sweetness?”
Nothing good. Rolling from one foster home to another, each one worse than the last. Remy, however, didn’t need to hear that right now. It surprised her she was even contemplating telling him of those last difficult years in the system. He’d wiggled his way even further under the barriers she’d erected. Not good. “A series of homes.”
“Must have been bad experiences.”
“The point is we don’t know what frame of mind she was in when she left. I’d like to think the best, but we have to consider the alternative.”
“Let’s eliminate every other possibility first before we try to convince the authorities to dredge Rosemont Bayou.”
“Agreed.” She held up the paper she’d been examining. “Christine had a lot of jewelry.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure, really. I just think it’s strange that she carried out two suitcases to supposedly go shopping, then her SUV is found abandoned in the swamp along with her purse. If she did go to New Orleans, how did she get there? And if she did commit suicide, wouldn’t she find a better way than drowning herself or maybe being eaten by an alligator?”
“Life is too precious to give up without a fight to the end,” Remy insisted.
“I agree. That doesn’t mean Christine felt the same way. There is, however, another possibility.”
“And that is?”
“It’s obvious your former girlfriend didn’t want her husband to know about her diagnosis. What are the chances she went into New Orleans to find another doctor, maybe try medical treatment that didn’t involve invasive surgery?”
Remy looked thoughtful. “Pretty good, I’d say.”
“We know she had $2,000 in cash on her. If she took the cash and suitcases with her, maybe she planned to pawn some of the jewelry to finance some treatment. If she used her insurance, I’d guess her husband would find out.” She frowned. “We need to get a look at her purse, Remy.”
“James could ask Mouton to see her car and her belongings. We can tag along.”
“Not as much fun as breaking into the station.”
He grinned. “Less chance of ending up a guest of the parish.”
“Keep searching for a calendar. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find the name of this doctor she was visiting in New Orleans. I’ll check the bedroom, see if she has an address book or something in there. Maybe a journal. She seems like the kind of woman to keep one of those things. Once I finish that, we should inventory the jewelry, see if she took any with her.”
“Sounds like a good plan. I’ll come to you in a few minutes.”
Lily walked across the hall and entered the large master bedroom. She stopped at the doorway, gaze scanning the interior of the room. Incredible. Sea green and cream dominated the space. High ceiling, a skylight, a king-sized bed decorated with pillows, a large fireplace, a couple of arm chairs. It was a beautiful space, open, airy, peaceful. One day, she’d like to redo her bedroom so it had the same open feel as this one.
Pushing that aside for the moment, she started a methodical search through the dresser drawers, moved to the closet. She whistled at the pristine interior. Shoes racks galore, clothes color-coordinated, multiple purses, belts, scarves, many carrying Christine’s signature initials. A whole section of the closet dedicated to formal attire.
Almost gave Lily hives just to look at them. She’d rather wear fatigues and combat boots any day of the week than have to yank on skyscraper shoes that killed her feet. She did it when the job called for it, but only under protest. Some man designed skyscraper shoes. If a woman had, the heels would at least be comfortable.
Finding nothing helpful, she turned her attention to the nightstands on either side of the bed. Nothing of interest in James’ area. On Christine’s side, though, Lily found a leather-bound journal. Satisfaction swept through her as she sat on the bed and opened the book.
The sound of fabric brushing against the door jamb alerted Lily to someone else’s presence in the room. She glanced up. Remy’s eyebrows rose. “What did you find?”
“Christine’s journal.”
“Why don’t you read it while I do the inventory.”
Lily rose, crossed to one of the arm chairs and settled down to read. “No calendar?”
“Nope. Can’t say I’m surprised. She always loved the newest technology.”
“Easier to carry all the information you need in your smart phone rather than tote around paper.” Lily scanned the first few pages of Christine’s journal. The date was six months before. As she read, the natural ebb and flow of Christine’s life became clear. Despite the impression she’d gotten from her friends, Remy former girlfriend was crazy about her husband and really cared about her community. Her worry for Wilder Industries came through on many pages.
The day her gynecologist had given her the bad news, Christine wrote very little, indicating a need to find another doctor for a second opinion.
Made sense. Lily would have done the same thing in her shoes. A month later, an entry indicated a second doctor had confirmed the diagnosis of her regular physician.
Lily sighed. Christine’s writing showcased her devastation, her desire to give her husband the one thing he’d asked for. Weeks followed with nothing more than a passing mention of not knowing what to do, but realizing time was short and James needed to know the truth.
She scanned another few entries, stopped to read one written eight weeks earlier. Brimming with excitement, Christine had heard from a friend in New Orleans about a doctor who specialized in treating cancer with a new experimental drug therapy.
To Lily, the phenomenal successful cure rate raised immediate red flags. If this treatment was so amazing, the news would be inundating the media airwaves. Even more frustrating, Christine didn’t mention the doctor’s name anywhere in the rest of the journal. The last entry was the day before she disappeared. No question, she planned to try this new treatment.
“Find anything?” Remy glanced over his shoulder at her.
“She consulted several doctors. All of them confirmed the cancer. One of them has an experimental treatment that was practically guaranteed to cure her.”
He swung around, his eyes narrowed. “Who is the doctor?”
“She never said. She did, however, mention she learned the doctor’s name from a friend in New Orleans.”
“If we find the doctor, we’ll find Christine.”
“That’s my take on it.” Lily closed the journal. “Remy, the cure rate is too high. If this doctor had found the miracle cure he claims, the medical community would be buzzing about it.”
“It’s a scam,” he said flatly. “He’s taking advantage of sick people desperate for a cure.”
“Wouldn’t he be found out?”
“Eventually. Maybe he pumps the patients up with vitamins or something to help them feel better in the short run. Plus, hope and positive thinking help. At some point, the sickness will progress. The doctor can recommend another round of treatments, at a premium price.”
“Of course.”
“When the treatment fails to work anymore, the doctor can claim the case was too advanced for his medicine to work or she’s had a relapse. Now the patient will have to undergo traditional treatment, but he’s sure the meds already taken will increase the cure rate.”
“How heartless can people be?”
“Scammers care only about themselves. It’s just money, after all.”
“His patients will die if they don’t get the proper treatment!”
“Not his problem, is it?”
“Is there any chance this treatment will work?”
“Almost none. I can’t say it’s worthless until we get a sample of the meds and have it tested.”
Lily lifted the journal. “James should read this. It will give him an idea of Christine’s state of mind and how much she loves him.”
A small smile settled on Remy’s lips. “Good to know that.”
“Did she take any jewelry with her?”
“Quite a bit. No family heirlooms, though. From the looks of the list, I’d say she took the expensive pieces James bought for her over the course of their marriage.”
Too much jewelry for a woman going to take medical treatments, she decided. “She sold them to pay for the treatments.”
“That’s my guess. We should be able to trace the jewelry. I doubt Christine would go to a pawn shop. That leaves us with the jewelry stores she usually frequented. Some of them might buy jewelry or could recommend a reputable dealer who would.”
“New Orleans next, then?”
“That’s the most logical step.” Remy frowned. “We have to find Christine soon. She’s already been gone a week. Who knows what’s been pumped into her system by now. It could be a vitamin cocktail or it could be something a whole lot more dangerous. We need to find her, fast.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Remy and Lily retraced their steps to the first floor and walked into James’ office. They found him sitting at his desk, cell phone clutched in his hand, staring out the window.
“James.” He studied his friend’s expression. “You talked to the doctor.”
A nod.
“Diagnosis confirmed?”
He sighed. “There’s no doubt. We have to find her. Dr. Grant said the cancer could spread to her lymph nodes if it’s not treated soon.”
A ball of ice settled in Remy’s stomach. “We’ll find her. In the meantime, get Mouton on the phone. Tell him you want to see Christine’s SUV and whatever she left in there.”
“What if he won’t let me have access to them?”
“He has to since he’s convinced there’s been no crime.”
“What good will that do?”
“We want a look in her purse,” Lily said. “If her cell’s in there, we can access her appointments. We might get lucky and find a doctor’s name.”
James straightened. “What are you talking about?”
She laid Christine’s journal on the desk in front of him. “In her journal, Christine talked about a friend giving her a doctor’s name, one who had an experim
ental cancer treatment with amazing results.”
He rose slowly. “Who is it? What treatment?”
“We don’t know yet,” Remy said. “We’re hoping for an easy answer in her phone if she left it behind. If not, we can ping her cell and track her that way. Failing that, we’ll head to New Orleans and start asking questions in the French Quarter.”
James pulled out his car keys. “Let’s go. Mouton better not stand in our way.”
Remy waved him off. “Ride with us. That way you can drive Christine’s Escalade back here.”
On the ride into town, Lily asked James, “Did Christine mention a friend by name in New Orleans, someone we could talk to about her?”
“Erin Hughes. Christine’s talked about her several times over the last few months.”
“Do you know where we can find her?” If not, Remy would set Z on her trail. The clock was ticking. He could feel it in his gut.
“She owns French Quarter Boutique on Chartres Street. Christine buys most of her clothes there these days.”
“Any one else she mentioned by name or a specific store, maybe a hotel?”
“Trina at the Grand Hotel.”
“What does Trina do?”
James shook his head. “Christine didn’t talk about Trina’s job, just the woman.”
“We’ll find her,” Lily said. “Your wife took a great deal of jewelry with her when she left.”
“Why would she do that?”
“We think she planned to sell it to pay for the treatments, but we have nothing to base that on yet.”
“I don’t understand any of this. Why didn’t she go through the insurance company?”
