Fatal Hearts

by Norah Wilson

  Mrs. Garner plunked the spice bottles down on the counter and rushed to his side. “Oh, dear. The doll is mine. I bought it for my goddaughter’s little girl, but I have no idea how it came to be in your parking spot. I left it locked in my car, on the backseat.” She took the doll from him. “I am so sorry. That must have been unsettling.”

  “No biggie.” Except that he’d had to peel himself off the steering wheel. “Someone probably grabbed whatever was in there and dumped the doll when they realized what it was. Although usually they like to get a little farther away before they sort through the booty and decide what to keep and what to jettison.” He raked a hand through his hair. “They must have felt pretty comfortable back there. Dr. Stratton might want to check to make sure the sentinel light is coming on at an appropriate time and staying on until full light.”

  “Of course. I’ll see that it gets checked.”

  “Have you got time to come outside with me now? Maybe with a flashlight, we can see if there’s any evidence of a break-in. And you can check if anything else is missing.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” She disappeared into the pantry and came back with a flashlight, which she handed to him. “I did have some other things in the car, including a new MP3 player in there. Just a cheap one.”

  “Now that I’m betting they didn’t dump.”

  He was right. The other purchases were gone. They didn’t find any evidence of a break-in, but, then again, the thief hadn’t had to. The car was unlocked.

  “Oh, dear. I always lock it.”

  “Maybe your remote is acting up,” he said. “The alarm did go off the other day for no apparent reason.”

  “You’re right!”

  “If I were you, I’d take it to the car dealer or to an electronics dealer and get them to replace the battery. That could be all that’s wrong.”

  “I’ll do that tomorrow,” she said.

  “In the meantime, you might want to call the police to report the theft.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that I should do that. It’s hardly worth an officer’s time. And what are the chances they’ll recover anything? The MP3 player wasn’t expensive, and it would be indistinguishable from thousands of others.”

  “You’re right that it’s highly unlikely anything will be recovered, but your report helps the police track where this activity is happening. They can put out a public bulletin if there’s a rash of car break-ins in a particular area.”

  “Of course. I’ll do it.”

  They headed back inside. Boyd planned to go up to his room, but Mrs. Garner offered him a drink.

  “Pardon me for saying, Mr. McBride, but you look a little pale,” she said before he could decline. “And no wonder.”

  He grinned. “Well, after thinking I’d run over a baby, I guess I can use it.”

  He followed her back to the kitchen. She went to a different area of the cupboards and opened a door to reveal an array of bottles of hard liquor. “What would you like?”

  “Any whiskey there?”

  “Eighteen-year-old Scotch?”

  “Perfect.”

  She poured him a few fingers in a glass and left the bottle on the counter. “I’ll just go make that call to the police now.”

  He sipped the neat Scotch. Damn, it was good stuff. He lifted the glass again, this time just to smell it. There was that citrusy element he’d tasted. Man, Sylvia would probably have a bird if she knew Mrs. Garner was dispensing the stuff for medicinal purposes.

  He took another swallow. Better. With one ear listening for Mrs. Garner, he leaned back in the chair, trying to persuade his tight muscles to relax. To think that an hour ago, he’d been so relaxed and replete, he’d felt almost boneless. Just like that, he flashed back to Hayden’s place. Hayden under him, not being able to get close enough, deep enough. The two of them entwined on her bed, skin to skin—

  “There you are!”

  Dr. Stratton’s imperious words from the distance of about a foot away jolted Boyd, making him almost slosh the precious Scotch.

  “Here I am,” he said, trying to cover his startle. “Although I’d almost drifted off there.”

  She looked at the cut crystal glass he held in his hand. “Mrs. Garner thought I needed a stiff drink after I just had the crap scared out of me,” he offered.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “How so?”

  He explained about the doll in his parking space, dropped there no doubt by a thief who decided he didn’t want it, that had looked for all the world like a real baby, at least at a quick glimpse.

  “How harrowing.” She went to the cupboard, took down a matching cut crystal glass, and poured herself a whiskey. “After ten minutes with David Bradley, I think I rather deserve a restorative too.”

  Okay, that answered that. Bradley must have been here to press her for more details about Dr. Gunn.

  She came to stand over him. He thought about standing himself but decided against it. She was making a point with her superior position. And because he knew what she was doing, it robbed her of the intended effect. From the way her lips tightened, he figured she’d just come to the same conclusion. Nevertheless, she held her position.

  “I heard about your late-night visit with the Senator.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just that I heard him coughing, and no one seemed to be going to his aid. I couldn’t leave the poor guy like that with a tickle in his throat, so I went in and fed him some ice chips.”

  “I know,” she acknowledged. “And thank you for thinking of his comfort. But henceforth, if you are ever in that situation again, please find the caregiver or myself and we will see to him. There will always be someone on duty, and we will never be farther than the kitchen or the bathroom.”

  “It was no trouble.”

  “But it was, Detective. Any disruption to the Senator’s schedule, to his routines, is most distressing for him. I’m sure you witnessed him beginning to get agitated?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “But nothing, Detective. The Senator is my responsibility. I will brook no interference in his treatment. Just so you know, my husband had a very difficult night and a worse day, and is only now attaining some semblance of peacefulness.”

  Boyd was stricken. He thought he’d been helping the guy. “I didn’t know. I thought he might appreciate a visitor now and again.”

  She held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t permit it. Please know that I don’t make these rules lightly. It’s just the way it has to be. It’s better for the Senator and for all of us. And it’s not as though he lacks for stimulation. I read to him every night.”

  “I was thinking he might enjoy some male bonding,” he said, not ready to relinquish the man with the desperate eyes to his peaceful all-female existence. “We could watch a ball game on TV. Or if TV is out, we could listen to it on the radio. Baseball is great to listen to. Or you know, maybe I could just read him the game summaries or something.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” she said, “but I think we’d best proceed as we mean to go on. I’m thinking you won’t be here much longer.”

  He blinked.

  “It’s true, is it not?” She took a sip of her whiskey. “You’ve solved the mystery of your mother’s identity, and the cause of your brother’s death seems much clearer, if there was ever any doubt. Given what will probably be a short stay from this point on, I really can’t permit you to befriend the Senator. Much as I’m sure he’d enjoy your company, he’d only suffer the more when you leave.”

  And wasn’t that the truth?

  Mrs. Garner chose that moment to make her reappearance. “Well, that’s done. The police have been notified.” She drew up short when she saw Dr. Stratton standing by the table with a glass of whiskey in her hand.

  She blanched, but Dr. Stratton just laid a hand on her arm. “I hear
d someone took property from your vehicle and left some of it as an unpleasant surprise for Detective McBride.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what happened. The gifts I bought this afternoon are gone, although the doll obviously was recovered.” She sent an anxious glance toward the bottle of Scotch. “I thought after the scare he had, Detective McBride could use something to put the color back in his cheeks.”

  She nodded. “You did well, Mrs. Garner. I’d have extended the same offer in your place.”

  The older woman seemed to relax. “Thank you, ma’am.” She turned to Boyd. “And I’m so sorry about the doll. I thought I’d locked the car. I’ll get the battery changed in the remote, as you suggested, and hopefully that will do the trick.”

  Sylvia tipped up her glass and downed the rest of the Scotch. “I don’t know about you two, but I feel I’ve endured enough trials for one day. I’m off to read to the Senator for a while before I retire.”

  As soon as Dr. Stratton left, Boyd made his own escape to his room. But Sylvia’s words followed him. She was righter than she knew. If the forensics lab bumped Josh’s file to the top, or even close to the top of the list, the case could all but be put to bed. It seemed like the genetics report could be more of a formality now, something that would confirm the clear familial issue. If there was anything valuable to learn, it would be from the forensic toxicology.

  What if it showed nothing at all?

  Boyd compressed his lips, cursing that voice in his head. Because if that happened, he’d have to accept that Josh had just . . . died.

  If that happened, he’d have to go home.

  The thought filled him with a dark dread, but he didn’t know if that black feeling was for his failure to find some kind of justice for Josh, or whether it was the thought of leaving Hayden.

  Man, he needed to crash and let sleep push his brain’s “Reset” button. But first he needed to text Hayden to let her know he was in for the night. He did it quickly, before he was tempted to dial her number. Given his strange mood tonight, he should not be talking to Hayden. Her immediate thanks told him that consciously or unconsciously, she’d been waiting for it. Just like she’d done with Josh. Thank God his scare in the parking lot hadn’t made him forget. He hated the idea of her worrying about him, even in a low-level, unconscious way.

  He should call his parents too. He’d promised himself he’d be more faithful about that, now that his brother was gone. Except what was he going to say? How could he explain the day he’d had? Guess what, Mom? I found an aunt and two cousins.

  Yeah, no. That conversation was going to have to wait so he could have it in person. A conversation where he fessed up about what he’d really been doing in New Brunswick these past days.

  He wouldn’t go into the situation with Hayden. They wouldn’t approve, and they’d be right. He should have been stronger. Should have denied her. Kept his hands off her. Not that he thought for a minute that her career plan could be swept off course, no matter what she might or might not have come to feel for him. She’d never let that happen again, nor would he allow it. But it could leave her unhappier—lonelier—than he’d found her. And that would just suck.

  Except these past few days had been some of the most amazing days of his life. If he had to do it over again, he knew he still could not resist her.

  Physically, she was his idea of perfection. Athletic but not too much so. Strong, toned muscles blending into real feminine curves. And that hair! That curly mass of amazing, multihued golden hair. That golden skin and those blue, blue eyes. Lips so lusciously full, he couldn’t look at her without wanting to kiss them. He knew he’d never find anything more perfect.

  Or more perfect for him, at least.

  And her mind, her spirit, her passion for her job, her patients. And, yes, in bed. He’d been lucky enough to taste that passion, and when he left, she’d go back to saving it for someone else, once she achieved what she wanted career-wise. And he’d better goddamned deserve it. He’d better be worthy of her and not turn out to be a jerk who said all the right things until he got his hooks into her.

  Damn, his brain was like a hamster on a wheel. On crack.

  He thought about going downstairs and snagging that bottle of Macallan’s. Instead he took a long, hot shower. It took a while, but the hot water seemed to unbend him and wash away that slightly manic feeling. When he crawled into bed, all he was left with was the stuff he didn’t want to think about. But happily—or not—if there was one thing he was good at, it was shoving that stuff down and slapping a lid on it.

  This time would be no different.

  Thankfully, his new friend, insomnia, left him alone.

  CHAPTER 27

  Boyd killed the Skype connection and reached for his coffee. It was stone-cold.

  Angela Wood had called and explained that her mother, who was really sorry to have missed him yesterday, wanted to Skype with him. Could he spare half an hour? He’d agreed, of course, but it had turned out to be more like an hour and a half.

  It had been an informative conversation. Sandra Duncan had met Arianna in school in happier days, before Arianna and Sheldon lost their parents in a car accident. Sandra was closer to Sheldon’s age, and didn’t really know the older girl all that well, but Arianna had been a beauty, she assured Boyd. Beautiful, shy, and very sweet.

  While Sheldon had been fostered out to a local family, Arianna was not. Sheldon liked to think that because his sister was so pretty and smart, her social worker set out to make sure she had more opportunities. For whatever reason, Arianna had ended up with a family in Fredericton.

  Boyd braced himself to hear that his mother had been impregnated by her foster father or foster brother, but apparently his mother had lucked out. The foster family was really nice. A stay-at-home mom with a younger daughter of her own, and a dad who was a university professor. The prof had helped Arianna make her course selections in high school and helped her apply to university. She was accepted into the nursing program and was in her first year when she got pregnant.

  Boyd assumed it was a fellow student, but Sheldon’s impression was that it was someone older, someone she met at her part-time job. She used to act as a hostess at an exclusive steak house in one of the hotels, to help pay her tuition.

  Boyd was not impressed. A fellow student was one thing. He could understand kids getting carried away. But it sounded like his father was a rich older guy who seduced an innocent college student. What a douche.

  Sandy went on to tell him Arianna had been sort of happy about the whole thing, Sheldon thought. Or as happy as an unwed woman could feel in her situation. She’d been looking forward to the babies’ arrival. But then she did an about-face and said she wasn’t keeping them. Sheldon saw her once after she’d given them up and was shocked by how distraught she was. He tried to get her to tell him who the father was so he could beat the piss out of him—thank you, Uncle Sheldon—but she wouldn’t tell. She kept saying it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t even know. Sheldon convinced her to see a doctor about her depression. He’d had one telephone call from her after the meds had straightened her out. She’d said she was feeling much better and was going to try to get her kids back. Then the next thing they knew, she was dead.

  Boyd had felt so crappy to hear that. The antidepressants her brother had talked her into taking might have restored her mental health, but they were clearly the “aggravating agent” that caused her sudden cardiac arrest. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned that. As far as he was concerned, the Duncans didn’t need to know that detail. It was clear that Sheldon Duncan had felt guilty enough for not being there for his sister, never mind that he’d been a minor in the foster care system at the time.

  Unless . . . Could someone have killed his mother the same way they’d killed his brother?

  No, that didn’t make sense. Morgan had accused Boyd of being a conspiracy theorist, but not ev
en he could buy that one. First, someone would have to know she had long QT syndrome, which he doubted was widely diagnosed in small centers three and a half decades ago. Then they would have to give her a reason to take antidepressants. Taking her babies away would certainly do it, but he doubted that was part of a diabolically complex plot to get her to take medication. Hell, she might have had straightforward postpartum depression. It was a fairly common ailment, as he understood it. Then there was the brother who’d urged her to get those meds. Without his intervention, she might not have sought medical treatment at all.

  And shit, did they even know about aggravating agents causing sudden cardiac death in LQTS cases?

  But again, that went back to knowing she had it, the possibility of which he figured was slim to none.

  No, her death must have been an accident. No villain could have controlled for all that.

  Of course, maybe she didn’t have LQTS. Maybe Josh hadn’t had it either. Maybe someone could have just jammed her full of some toxic substance that would have induced cardiac arrest in anyone, regardless of their health status. Except surely a rigorous autopsy would have been done on a twenty-year-old woman and toxicological tests would have pointed to foul play, if it had been present.

  Sighing, Boyd got up and dumped the cold coffee. What he really felt like was a beer. Maybe he’d walk to that pub downtown where Hayden had taken him when he first landed in town. He could almost taste that tall, frosty glass of Picaroons. He might as well eat too. It was close enough to suppertime.

  Ten minutes later, with the pub in sight, his phone rang. His first thought was Hayden. No one else called him these days. But a quick look at the caller ID showed City of Fredericton.

  That had to be the police department. Heart pounding, he hit the “Answer” button. “McBride.”

  “Ray Morgan here. We got the toxicological report back from the forensics lab,” he said, confirming Boyd’s hunch.